Finding Margo (37 page)

“Very funny.”

“I just have to go. Where is my passport? I thought I had it a minute ago.” Margo rummaged in her handbag. “Here it is.”

“Where are you going?”

“To England.” Margo took out her passport and put it back in the bag. “I’m taking the early morning Eurostar train to London. Didn’t I tell you?”

“So you did.” Jacques put his hand on one of Margo’s. “But I thought that after last night, we – you and me—”

Margo looked up from her task. “You and me, what? I thought I made myself perfectly clear. I can’t marry you. I will
never
marry you, and that’s final.”

“I know. So you said. But, well, then we—”

“We what?”

“We slept together.”

“So? We just slept. Nothing happened.”

“That’s it,” Jacques said. “Don’t you see? I have never just slept with a woman before.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“There was no sex,” Jacques murmured, stroking her cheek. “Just you and me and the baby. Sleeping. I want to keep doing that. Sleep with you for the rest of my life. And I don’t care if we’re not married. I just want to be with you.”

Margo looked at him and wondered why he had to look the way he did. It would be easier to resist him if he was unattractive. She had to resist him, resist the urge to fall into his arms and tell him how much she loved him and that he should stay; but it would lead to disaster and she would eventually find herself yet again in a relationship that didn’t work, this time with a small child.

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe you. Once we’re together, you’ll start demanding things. You’ll tell me what to do, and before I know it, there I’ll be again.”

“Where?”

“Stuck,” Margo said, putting her underwear on a pile on the bed. “Pyjamas,” she muttered, “and my dressing gown. I have a lot more clothes than when I arrived, that’s for sure. Maybe I can put them in that carrier bag from the supermarket.”

“Stop it,” Jacques ordered, taking her hand again and holding it in a tight grip.

“Go away.” Margo pulled away. “Just get out of here, and leave me alone. I know what I’m doing and where I’m going, and I’ll get there a lot quicker if you just leave me alone.”

“Oh, I see,” Jacques said. “You want to be independent. You want to be this heroic single mother, don’t you? You want the baby all to yourself, so that people can see how bloody marvellous you are. And you don’t want to share him with anyone, not even me, his father.”

“You want to be a father?” Margo said. “How do you know you’ll be any good at it? Do you know anything at all about children?”

“Do you?” Jacques demanded. “How do you know you’ll be any good as a mother?”

“I’ll be all right,” Margo said. “Most mothers seem to cope very well, so don’t you worry.”

“I’m not worried. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent mother. Really dedicated and caring.”

“You bet I will,” Margo said. “I know I will. This is the biggest challenge of my whole life.”

“Poor little baby.”

“Why?”

“How terrible to grow up as somebody’s challenge.”

Margo stared at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Marguerite,” Jacques said. “Listen to me for a moment.”

There was such sincerity and concern in his voice that Margo’s determination crumbled. She didn’t know what to do or say, and unable fight him anymore, she let him take her hand and lead her to the bed.

“Sit down,” he said, “and listen.”

“All right.” She sighed and sat down. “I’ll listen.”

“I grew up without a father,” Jacques said, sitting down beside her. “I know what that is like. I didn’t plan it. This baby happened because we made love.”

“Well yes, I have realised that,” Margo said, trying not to sound ironic. “Go on.”

“It’s not his fault.”

“Whose fault?” she asked, confused.

“The baby’s,” Jacques said, pointing at Margo’s stomach. “Don’t you think it’s just a tiny bit selfish to want him all to yourself?”

“Selfish?” Margo said.

“Yes,” Jacques said, anger creeping into his voice. “You said you always wanted a baby. Why? So you could play with it and dress it up and show it off to your friends like a doll? And the child would love you and only you for the rest of your life? And what are you going to say when he asks where his father is? Have you thought of that?”

“No, I—” Margo started.

“No, of course not.” Jacques shrugged. He got off the bed and picked up his coat that he had left on the floor earlier. “You haven’t really thought of anybody but yourself.”

“Where are you going?” Margo asked.

“I’m leaving.” Jacques put on his coat. “You don’t want me, so what’s the point of staying? I’m not going to beg you. You don’t have the courage to leave everything and come with me, and maybe I didn’t have the right to ask you in the first place. I can’t promise you that life with me would be easy. So, maybe you should go and start a life on your own. At least, that way you won’t be disappointed.”

“I suppose,” Margo said, feeling suddenly bleak.

Jacques walked back to Margo and touched her cheek with his finger. “Marguerite,” he whispered. “
Adieu
,
mon amour
.”

Unable to move or speak, Margo watched him walk away. But as he opened the door, she suddenly regained the power of speech.

“Wait,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.

He stopped. “Yes?”

“Don’t go.”

***

T
he room was in darkness. Margo tiptoed across the carpet to the big bed. “Milady?” she murmured softly. “Are you awake?”

The shape in the bed stirred. “
Comment? Qui est la?”

“
C’est moi
, Milady,” Margo said. “Marguerite.”

“Oh.” Milady coughed and sat up. “Is it time for breakfast already? Did I oversleep?”

“No, it’s early.”

“Pull back the curtain. I can’t see you.”

Milady shaded her eyes as Margo pulled back the heavy curtains, flooding the room with bright sunshine.

“What time is it?” Milady squinted at the Cartier carriage clock on her bedside table. “Seven thirty,” she said in an aggrieved voice. “Why are you waking me up at this hour? I never wake up at seven thirty.”

“Milady.” Margo sat down on the edge of the bed and took Milady’s hand. “I came to say ‘goodbye’. I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Milady asked shrilly, sitting bolt upright and staring at her incomprehensively. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to England. To stay with my brother for a while. Then Jacques and I—”

“Oh.” Milady looked calmer as she sank back against the pillows. “To visit your brother. For the weekend, yes? You’ll be back on Monday?”

“No.”

“No? How do you mean? Oh, I see. Tuesday? You’ll be back on Tuesday, then?”

“No, Milady, I’m not coming back,” Margo said very gently. “I’m leaving for good. I’m going away with Jacques.”

Milady stared at her without a word for a long time while the Cartier clock ticked, and the traffic noises from the street below increased in volume.

“I see,” she said very slowly, her eyes narrowing. “It’s Jacques, isn’t it? It’s all his fault, as usual. I thought something like this would happen if he came back. I knew he would stir up trouble.”

“There’s no trouble,” Margo said. “On the contrary, I think it’s all rather wonderful.”

“Wonderful?” Milady demanded. “What’s wonderful about it?”

“Jacques and I, we—” Margo stopped.

“Jacques?” Milady said shrilly. “Jacques? What does he have to do with all of this? You’re going to marry François. I thought it was all settled. We’ll have a small, discreet wedding in a few weeks, and then you will live here, and little Josephine will be born in the spring, and we’ll have the christening at the château.”

“No, Milady, we won’t,” Margo said gently. “There will be no wedding.”

“Just like when François was christened,” Milady murmured, looking dreamily into space. “Charles de Gaulle came to that one, you know,” she continued proudly. “Did he tell you?”

“Uh, no, he didn’t,” Margo said, wondering if she should ask François to call a doctor.

“Well, he was invited in any case, but he had to cancel at the last minute because of some small problem in Algeria. Or was it Indochina? Can’t remember. I only know that I thought it was very rude of him.” Milady’s eyes focused on Margo and she seemed to be back in the present again. “What was it you said, my dear?”

“Milady,” Margo said very slowly, holding the older woman’s hand in both of hers. “Please, don’t be upset. I am not going to marry François.”

“He forgot to ask you? But I
told
him, I know I did. Wasn’t that what we were talking about earlier?”

Oh God, she’s confused, Margo thought. “Don’t you remember, Milady? He did ask me but I refused.”

“Yes, but you said you’d think about it. So I thought—”

“Please, Milady, listen to me,” Margo said in a near sob. “I have to go. I want to live with Jacques and our baby. He is the father, after all. Didn’t you tell me not to do what you did? Did you not say that what you did ruined a lot of lives? Yours and Jacques’ father’s and Jacques’? Lives, I mean,” she ended awkwardly.

“Lives,” Milady murmured, rolling her head sideways and closing her eyes. “All those lives. Wasted.”

Margo leaned forward and stroked Milady’s forehead. “But now we have a chance to undo some of the pain,” she said softly. “For Jacques, in any case. Don’t you think he deserves that?”

Milady didn’t reply, and Margo could see a tear roll from the corner of her eye. Milady turned her head and looked at Margo. “What about Josephine?” she whispered. “Will I never see her? Never hold her in my arms? Never hear her call me
Mamie
?”

“Of course you will. As soon as she – or he – is born, we will let you know. We will come and visit you often. I’m going to my brother’s in England for now, and then when Jacques is settled, he’ll come and get me.”

“You’re a fool, Marguerite,” Milady suddenly said so sharply Margo jumped. “You should have married François. Jacques is no good, just like his father. But I can see that there’s no stopping you. Go then,” she said, shaking off Margo’s hand. “Go and be damned. But don’t blame me when it all ends in tears. And don’t come crawling back looking for sympathy. Or money,” she added nastily.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Margo said, getting up from the bed. “I’m sorry you feel like this. I thought we might part as friends after all that has happened between us, all we’ve said to each other.” She paused, not knowing quite what else to say.

Milady looked at Margo with an inscrutable look in her hazel eyes.

“Well, goodbye then,” Margo said. “Goodbye, my dear Milady. I hope that you won’t think too unkindly of me.” She was about to open the door when she heard Milady mutter something from her bed. Margo turned around. “Did you say something?”

“Yes,” Milady said. “I wanted to tell you... I wish—oh, never mind.”

“What?”

“I wish I had your courage.”

***

“W
hat did she say?” Jacques asked as they were leaving the apartment. “Was she very upset?”

“Yes, she was,” Margo said. “But then, so was I. Even though we’ve only known each other a few months, I think we have come to understand each other. I’ll really miss her, and I think she’ll miss me too.”

“We’ll keep in touch with her. And once we’re settled, she can come and visit. What have you got there in that big pink bag?”

“Baby clothes,” Margo said, peering into it. “Your mother has been buying out Baby Dior. There are these adorable little dresses. I just couldn’t leave them behind.”

“You’ll have to give them all away if it’s a boy,” Jacques said as he pressed the button for the lift. “Or he’ll end up like his Uncle François.”

“Oh, François,” Margo exclaimed, turning back toward the apartment door. “I have to say ‘goodbye’ to him.”

“I already did for both of us,” Jacques said, pulling her back. “He’s gone to the office in any case. And he sent you his love along with this.” Jacques showed Margo a flat parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string.

“Oh yes, the gift. He said he was making me something and it would be ready soon.” Margo took the parcel and turned it around. “I wonder what it is. Looks like some kind of picture. Maybe he painted something himself?”

“It had better not be a nude painting of you,” Jacques murmured. “Or I’ll have to go back and strangle him.”

“Maybe it’s a print of the château? Wouldn’t that be a nice memento?”

“Lovely.” Jacques peered up through the lift shaft. “Where is that lift?”

“It’s coming,” Margo announced. “I can hear it creak. Yes, here it is now.”

The lift came slowly down and finally stopped at their floor. Jacques opened the wrought-iron doors and loaded Margo’s luggage inside. When the lift started again, Margo found that with all the luggage, she was squashed close to Jacques. They looked at each other for a moment, and Margo found herself wondering how she could possibly have forgotten how luminous his eyes were. Jacques took her by the shoulders and kissed her softly on the lips.

“Why?” he murmured. “Why did you change your mind?”

“Because of what you said.”

“That you were selfish?”

“No. It was that last word.”

Jacques frowned. “Which one?”

“
Adieu
,” Margo whispered. “I know that in France you only say
adieu
when you know you will never meet again. That’s what your mother said to your father when he died. She whispered
adieu
in his ear and she closed his eyelids.” Margo sighed, leaning her forehead against his chest, feeling tears prick her eyes. “And when you said it to me, I knew I couldn’t bear it if we never saw each other again.”

“Neither could I,” Jacques said and held her close.

The lift stopped.

“Will we go back up again?” Jacques murmured into her ear. “We could stay here and just go up and down and up—”

“No, we have to get out.” Margo got out of the lift, walked through the lobby, and opened the heavy entrance door. She turned around and looked at Jacques, who was slowly closing the doors to the lift. “Come on,” she said, “or I’ll miss my train.”