Page 43 of The French Wife

‘She’s five. No, I haven’t mentioned her before… I’m sorry, but I thought…’ He stopped, watching her face.

She forced herself to look at him and saw genuine concern in his eyes. It came to her in a rush that he hadn’t told her about his daughter out of tact and sympathy because he somehow knew about Eliza, although she hadn’t said anything to him about it.

‘I’m so sorry, but I saw the… the urn,’ he said. ‘It was there on the dresser on the first day. I read the inscription and I put two and two together.’

‘Oh God.’ Emma pulled out a chair, sat down heavily and put her face in her hands. The day after Gaston had started work, she’d taken the urn up to her bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t have seen it, but she’d clearly been too late. ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you,’ she muttered, looking up, willing herself not to cry. ‘I moved the urn because I didn’t want to talk about it, I suppose.’

‘No, it’s me who should be apologising,’ Gaston said, sitting down opposite her and leaning forward over the table, looking into her eyes, his own full of sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. I really should have said so before… I can only imagine how tough that must have been.’

‘Please…’ Emma said, screwing up her eyes, wishing he would stop.

There was a long pause during which neither spoke or even moved a muscle. The claustrophobic silence of the old house seemed to press in on them. Then the sound of a wood pigeon cooing on the roof of one of the barns floated through the open window and Gaston shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

‘I lost someone myself,’ he said. ‘Not a child, but someone very close.’

She forced herself to open her eyes and look at him. ‘Did you? I’m so sorry. Who was it?’

‘My wife,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘My wife, Sophie. She died a couple of years ago.’

She stared into his eyes, normally so bright and full of fun, but in that moment, they looked ravaged, almost like mirrors of her own grief. Sophie. Sophie Marchand. Of course.

‘I should have realised,’ she said. ‘I saw her grave in the graveyard when I went to look for Bruno Garnier’s. I didn’t mention it to you, because I felt… well, awkward about it. But I should have done. Although I had no idea Sophie was your wife. How terrible for you, Gaston.’

‘It was. It was terrible. Especially for Charlotte – that’s my daughter. But we have each other.’

‘Do you mind me asking… how did she die?’ Emma asked tentatively.

‘A car accident,’ he said. ‘Pile-up on the autoroute. She was coming home from work and a lorry driver lost control and crossed the barrier. It ploughed into several cars. Four people were killed. Sophie was in a coma for a week. She never woke up.’

Emma looked at him, at the pain in his eyes, and she saw tears forming in them. Although they barely knew each other, she felt a deep empathy with this man. She wanted to slide her hand over the table and hold his, but she held back. She didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.

‘What about your daughter?’ he asked after a pause. ‘What happened?’

‘Meningitis,’ Emma replied. ‘It was very sudden. One moment she was just a normal little girl, full of beans, then one day she woke up feeling ill, and within a few days, she was gone.’

He shook his head. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asked.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. ‘It’s kind of you to ask, but not just now. Another time maybe.’ She couldn’t face exposing the rawness of her loss to him, the terrible aching feeling in her chest that descended on her when she thought about Eliza. Despite the two years that had passed since she’d lost her, sometimes it still felt as though it had been only yesterday.

‘I’m here if you ever do want to,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ she said, getting to her feet and taking a deep breath. ‘I appreciate that… I’ll make coffee.’

Just then there was the rumble of an engine in the yard and the cab of a delivery lorry edged between the gateposts.

‘It’s the cooker and the fridge!’ she said, rushing out to direct the driver, glad of the distraction.

It took the two delivery men and Gaston and a lot of manoeuvring to install the cooker and fridge in their allocated places in the kitchen, but when it was done and the delivery men had left in their lorry, Emma looked around with deep satisfaction.

‘It’s really coming together, isn’t it?’ she said, smiling.

‘It is!’ Gaston said, beaming with pride too. ‘I’ll get Pierre to come tomorrow and connect the cooker, then it will be a fully functioning kitchen. Only the floor tiles to go.’

‘And when you’ve done that, I’ll put some pictures up,’ she said. ‘Add the finishing touches.’

‘Then how about that wine tasting we talked about?’ he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he meant, then remembered that when they’d found the bottles of wine in the cellar, they’d agreed to a tasting when the first room was finished.