The Orchid House (55 page)

Julia spent a long time at her desk, sifting through the post accumulated over the past year. Condolence cards had arrived in a continuous stream since the accident. As she opened them and read the moving sentiments inside, she took comfort from knowing how many people had loved them.

She put the cards into a folder to take home to England, then wrote out cheques for the people who had maintained her house in her absence.

She opened a large, official-looking envelope and caught her breath: in it were death certificates for her husband and child, the final affirmation of their non-existence. The investigation and the case were now officially closed.

Armed with a spade, trowel and two small cypress saplings, Julia drove the ten minutes to the treacherous bend where her husband and son had met their deaths. She parked in a bay up the road and made her way back towards the bend with the spade and trowel, then returned for the saplings. Standing at the top of the hill, she could see the charred edges of the trees around the bare spot that had been scorched by the fire. But, as she made her way slowly down the precarious slope, she noticed the beginnings of rebirth. The wild orchids that grew prevalently along the hillside in this region were beginning to poke their heads through the still-charred ground, and a small number of new green shoots were visible. Fire refertilised in its destruction, and Julia could only hope the rebirth she saw around her was metaphorically relevant to her too.

With no ‘X’ to mark the exact spot where either of them had died, Julia chose what she imagined was the centre of the site and began to dig. It was hard work and very hot, but she kept going until she had planted the saplings side by side. She knelt beside them for a while, conjuring the beloved individuals they represented, and celebrating their lives.

‘Goodbye,
mon petit ange
and my Xavier
.
Sleep well. You will always be with me, wherever I go. And one day … one day, we will all be together again. I love you both, so much …’

Finally, standing up and composing herself, she blew each a last kiss, and then walked up the hillside, away from them.

The following morning, Julia felt a lightness, an inexplicable sense of relief that she had faced the worst, and been comforted by it. Others had suggested a memorial service to mark Xavier and Gabriel’s passing, and that might be possible now she had said her own private goodbye. Perhaps this was the moment of ‘closure’ everyone said was so important. Whatever it had been, it was a step in the right direction on her journey towards achieving inner peace to face the future.

Julia now embarked on the next important step: she went to visit the local
immobilier
and explained that she wanted to put her house on the market. The estate agent feigned sadness but Julia knew that, in reality, he was rubbing his hands in glee at the thought of having the most sought-after house in Ramatuelle on his books.

‘Madame, I can pick up the telephone, make one call and you will have your sale. So rarely do houses like yours come on to the market. You can name your price and I can assure you I will get it. But you must decide if you truly wish to do this. Your house comes once in a lifetime, in this village.’

‘Completely sure,’ Julia reiterated. ‘My only thought is that it would be nice to have a family living there.’

‘I think I have just the people,’ agreed the agent.

‘Good
.
’ Julia stood up. ‘The sooner, the better. The house needs to be lived in and I cannot live in it. I will be leaving in a couple of days. If anyone wishes to view it, Agnes Savoir will have the keys.’

The agent walked round his desk and shook her hand. ‘Thank you, Madame, for entrusting your beautiful house to me. And, please, let me offer my condolences for your tragic loss.’

‘
Merci, Monsieur.
’

Julia left the office and walked up to the sunlit square. The pretty cafés were busy with people taking a late breakfast. Julia found herself a table in the sunshine and ordered a
café au lait.
She sipped it slowly, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. She would miss it – the French way of life had always suited her.

It suddenly occurred to Julia that one explanation for her feeling so at home here could be her genetic make-up: Adrienne, whom she now knew to be her great-grandmother, had been French. Julia smiled, taking comfort from links with the past. Human beings were a complex recipe, and she was fascinated to have discovered some of the ingredients that had produced her own uniqueness.

She ordered another
café au lait
, unwilling to leave this moment of calm reflection after the emotional turbulence of the past few days. And she thought about the ‘other’ part of her, the part she knew so little about: it lay far to the East, bathed in the heat of the tropical sun, the result of a tragic love which was only briefly fulfilled. Perhaps one day she would go there and experience the beauty that had so bewitched Harry, but it was not for now.

Her thoughts turned to Kit, and she smiled. He had left her alone in the past couple of days; understanding and undemanding as usual, simply sending text messages to say he loved her, and was thinking of her.

Julia took her mobile from her bag, scrolled down, and looked at his message. What surprised her most was the way Kit seemed completely secure in professing his love for her, when she had yet to tell him she loved
him
.

Perhaps she had not been ready.

But now that she had completed the task that – in practical terms at least – closed the book on the past, there was no reason not to say it.

‘
I love you …
’

Julia practised the words on her tongue and, basking in the sunlight, she knew there was no doubt in her mind that it was true.

Back at the house, she went into the study to book her flight home online. She would leave tomorrow, eager to return to Wharton Park and Kit as soon as possible. She wanted to tell him that she was completely his at last
;
unencumbered, free to be with him if he wanted her, for the rest of their lives.

Her mobile rang and she saw it was Kit. She answered it.

‘Hello, sweetheart, how are you?’

‘I’m … okay, thanks, Kit.’

‘Good. I must say, it’s nice to hear your voice. I’ve missed you, Julia. Are you taking care of yourself?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Julia smiled, ‘promise.’

‘Any idea of when you’ll be home?’

Having just booked her flight, Julia knew exactly when, but decided she’d surprise him. ‘I’m not quite sure, but I’ve nearly done what I needed to, so probably sooner than you think,’ she grinned.

‘That’s wonderful news!’ Kit sounded relieved. ‘Can’t tell you how quiet it’s been here.’

‘Pretty quiet here too,’ murmured Julia.

‘Yes, it must be,’ Kit replied sombrely. ‘I’m thinking of you, sweetheart.’

‘Me too. Are you all right?’

‘Apart from missing you, yes, I’m fine. Right, I’ll let you get on then. Just let me know when you’re coming home, so I can kill the fatted calf and set off the fireworks. I love you, darling. Keep in touch.’

‘I will, Kit. See you soon.’

That afternoon, full of a sense of wonder that fate had given her a second chance at happiness, Julia sat down at the grand piano and played with joy rather than pain.

As usual, she lost all sense of time, and became so immersed in the music that she didn’t notice the sun setting behind her. Neither did she hear the door to the sitting room open. Ending the piece with a final flourish, she looked down at her watch and saw it was past seven o’clock. Time for a glass of rosé, she thought, as she folded her score and stowed it in her case, ready to take it home the next day.

A sudden movement behind her caught her eye. And she turned.

For a moment she stared at him, at the figure framed in the doorway. Then instinctively closed her eyes.

She was seeing a ghost, conjuring an image in her mind. He was not real, she knew that.

When I open my eyes, he will be gone
…

She did so. He was still there.

Then the figure spoke. ‘Hello, my Julia. I am returned.’

53

Julia had no concept of how long she stared at him. Still her brain refused to process the messages her eyes and ears were sending.

Because it was …
impossible
.

As she gazed at him, she realised that this was Xavier – and yet it was not Xavier. Or at least, not the Xavier she had carried in her head since the day he had died. This Xavier had aged ten years, perhaps twenty; a Xavier who was no longer merely thin, but gaunt to the point of emaciation. And a Xavier who had acquired a jagged scar running down the left side of his face.

‘I understand you are shocked to see me,’ he offered.

Julia had an inappropriate urge to giggle hysterically at his understatement.

She managed to find her voice. ‘I am trying to work out,’ she said slowly, over-exaggerating her words, ‘whether or not you are a ghost. A hallucination.’

He shook his head. ‘No. I am not.’

‘Then …’ Julia struggled to find the right words, but merely managed a half-swallowed, ‘How?’

‘My Julia, there are many things we must speak of but, please, come to me. Hold your husband, who is back from the dead. And feel for yourself that he is real.’

Xavier held out his arms to her.

Slowly, following his instructions, Julia rose and walked towards him.

‘Oh,
ma chérie
, my Julia,’ he murmured, as he took her in his arms. ‘You cannot know how long I have dreamt of this moment.’

The touch of him and his familiar smell confirmed he was no hallucination.

It was all too much. Julia burst into tears.

‘I don’t understand, I just – don’t –
understand
!’

As she slumped against him, Xavier half-carried her to the sofa and sat her down, his arms locked about her.

‘I know, I know,
ma petite
, it was always going to be a terrible shock for you to see me again. I tried to think how it would be best for you,’ he said, stroking her hair, ‘but there was no good way.’

‘But how?’ she cried. ‘How can you be here? You are dead,
dead
! You died a year ago … and if you didn’t die, then where the hell have you been?!’

‘I will tell you everything, in good time,’ he soothed. ‘For now, we should celebrate that we are reunited.’

‘No!’ Julia pulled away from him abruptly. ‘I need you to tell me
now
! Xavier, tell me now,’ she implored.

‘
D’accord
, you are right. I must tell you. But first, perhaps we both need a glass of wine to help calm our nerves.’

As Xavier left the sitting room to pour the drinks, Julia sat completely still, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

‘Drink this,
chérie.
It will help,’ he said, handing her a glass.

Julia didn’t think it possible that anything, and certainly not a glass of wine, could ‘help’. But she sipped it as he told her to, if only to have something to concentrate on. ‘Please,’ she implored again, ‘you have to explain to me, Xavier. Until you do, I feel I might go mad. Please.’

Xavier took the glass from Julia’s hand and put it on the coffee table. Then he put his own, long-fingered hands over Julia’s, his eyes never leaving hers.

‘
Ma chérie
… I have wanted, yet dreaded this moment for so long. I did not know what to do for the best; should I stay away from you forever? Prevent the shock of this instant, and protect you? And, yes,’ he nodded, ‘in some ways, it would be easier for me too to stay away. To hide, not face up to the terrible thing I have done to you. But then … no! I knew I must not run away, I must be brave and face my responsibility as a husband, and as a father.’

A sudden, urgent thought came to Julia’s head. ‘Oh my God!’ She clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Tell me, Xavier, tell me, tell me – if you are alive – is Gabriel –?’

Xavier shook his head. ‘No
, mon amour
, he is gone, he is gone. I … saw him with my own eyes.’

Julia withdrew her hand from his. She took a deep breath, garnering every ounce of her strength. ‘Just tell me.’

Xavier gulped down the rest of his wine then tried to reach again for Julia’s hands. She pulled them away. ‘No! Don’t touch me!’ She could hear hysteria edging into her voice. ‘Please! Just tell me!’

‘
D’accord,
c
hérie
, I will begin. That day, that terrible day, we left the party at seven o’clock. Gabriel asked me if he could sit in the front of my new car and I agreed. We drove off towards home, with the roof of the car down, Gabriel so excited about being in the front of Papa’s sports car. He was screaming and laughing, urging me to “Go faster, Papa! Faster!” And because –’ Xavier choked – ‘I simply wanted to please him, I did as he asked. I took the bend too fast, and swerved to avoid a car coming the other way. I lost control and the car left the road and tumbled down the hillside.’

Xavier broke down. ‘Forgive me, Julia, forgive me …’ He swallowed, then continued. ‘The car finally came to a halt when a tree blocked its way. I was in shock, and my face was bleeding,’ he touched the scar on his cheek, ‘but I was still conscious. I looked immediately to see if Gabriel was all right, but the seat next to me was empty. I realised he must have been thrown out when the car fell down the hill. I managed to climb out of the car, and ran back up the hillside to find Gabriel.’

Xavier put his head in his hands. ‘Oh Julia, Julia …’

She watched him numbly as he composed himself, but said nothing. What could she say?

‘I found him,’ he whispered, ‘further up the hillside. At first I thought he was just unconscious. You see, there was not a mark on him. But then – Oh! God help me!’ he cried. ‘I lifted him up and his head lolled on his neck like a – broken doll. I knew then he was seriously injured, that the fall had caused terrible damage.’

‘You’re saying his neck was broken?’ Julia had to know, she had to know exactly
how
her baby had died.