Ella felt strangely off balance, and not just as a result of their long journey. Once they’d stowed their luggage in the boot of Caroline’s car and driven the short distance to the ferry embarkation point, she was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions that surged through her as the Île de Ré came into view. The children bounced with excitement on the back seat as they saw the boat approaching, reminding Ella of the day when she’d stood in this same place, watching the boat that was coming to carry her across the water to the island.
Memories crowded back, of impressions and sensations and the voices of Marianne and Monsieur Martet, both now gone. Memories of Christophe. She wondered what his life in Paris was like these days, but there would be time to ask Caroline. She settled back in the passenger seat, easing her back, which was stiff from sitting on trains for so long. She took a deep breath of the sea air and felt the tension in her shoulders ease a little. She seemed to have been carrying herself so carefully for so long, trying to hold it all together, as if she would splinter into tiny pieces if she relaxed for one second. But now, away from home, away from Angus’s wounded, guilty eyes, the luxury of the long summer holidays stretched before her. She looked forward to introducing the island to her children in the coming weeks; and she hoped it would be a time of healing so that she could find a way to carry on, somehow, the life that seemed to have come to a dead stop.
‘How does the car get on to the boat?’ Robbie asked, leaning forward between the front seats to watch as the ferry drew up alongside the quay. A smell of diesel mingled with the salt tang of the sea on the warm air that wafted in through the open windows of the car.
‘There, look.’ Caroline pointed. ‘They will put ramps in place. Once all those cars have come off, we will drive on.’
‘Can we take a picture? I want to show Daddy that we went on the ferry.’
‘Here, give me the camera and I’ll take one of the three of you. Stand a little closer, there, that’s good, now smile!’ Caroline handed the camera back to Ella and then helped Robbie climb back into the car again. ‘Come on now. We don’t want to be left behind! We’ll be on the island in a hop and a skip and a jump.’
Ella joined Caroline where she sat on the terrace. The table had been cleared whilst she was upstairs putting the children to bed and now all that was left was the remainder of the bottle of white wine that had accompanied the evening meal and their two glasses, sitting alongside a pitcher of white roses whose petals were illuminated in the glow from a candle lantern.
‘Here.’ Caroline topped up one of the glasses and pushed it towards Ella. ‘Did they go down okay?’
Ella nodded. ‘It’s hard to tell whether they’re more excited or exhausted. Robbie’s out for the count already. He asked me when we can go and see the boat that we’re going to do the sailing in, but by the time I finished answering he’d already fallen asleep! And Rhona can hardly keep her eyes open, although she’s determined to read another chapter of her book before she turns out the light. She loves the room, especially the vase of flowers on the dressing-table. And they both absolutely adore you already. I knew they would.’
‘Well, the feeling is entirely mutual, I can assure you. And since it looks increasingly unlikely that I will ever have any children of my own, I think I shall borrow yours instead.’
‘Have you not met anyone?’
‘There’s an artist I see from time to time, when it suits us both. But he’s definitely not a family man.’ Caroline paused, taking another sip of her wine. And then she said, ‘And, to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I have the strength to bring children into a world where there are people capable of doing what they did to my mother. And to Agnès and her children. No, I’m a career woman and it’s better this way. It’s my choice. Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m content and fulfilled. And I shall very much enjoy being a special “aunt” to Rhona and Robbie.’
Caroline reached out and held Ella’s hand briefly, before releasing it to take another sip from her own glass.
‘So. We have many weeks in which to catch up, although after all these years maybe even that won’t be enough time. But perhaps we should begin with you. Do you want to tell me what happened to make you change your mind and come to the island for the summer after all?’ She shot Ella an astute glance. ‘I’m guessing whatever it was may be the cause of those dark circles beneath your eyes.’
They talked late into the night. They scarcely noticed as the candle in the lantern burned low and then guttered in a pool of its own wax, flickering twice before finally dying, to the disappointment of the moths that had gathered on the glass.
‘Oh, Ella, I’m so sorry that you are suffering this way.’ Caroline picked up a petal that had dropped softly on to the table from one of the roses, stroking its silken softness with her finger. ‘In my solitary state, I have often envied you your husband and your family. But I do see that it’s not all plain sailing. I remember my mother saying once, when we were out in Bijou, that the secret to making a marriage work is a lot like sailing a boat: if you have too much anchor and no sail then you will feel trapped; but if there is too much sail and not enough anchor, that doesn’t work either. You need to try to find the balance between the two and then steer a course that is true. And, she said, the way you do that is with the compass of your morality and the rudder of your soul.’
Ella smiled. ‘It sounds complicated. But then marriage is complicated, as I’ve found.’
‘Well, I hope this summer will give you the time and the space you need in order to get yours back on to an even keel.’
Caroline paused, raising the rose petal to inhale its rich scent.
‘But Ella, there is something I must tell you. When I first wrote suggesting you come for the holidays, I told you that Christophe would be in Paris. Well, in the end his plans changed, before we knew that your own would as well. He is on the island.’
Ella kept her eyes downcast, running a fingertip around the rim of her wine-glass. But her hand trembled and so she dropped it, quickly, into her lap, hoping that Caroline hadn’t noticed.
‘Where is he?’
‘Don’t worry. He will not come to the house, unless you say it is alright for him to do so. He’s staying above the new gallery in Saint Martin – there’s an apartment there. He’s perfectly comfortable, there’s space for him to work, and Bijou is moored in the harbour just in front of the building, so it’s ideal for him. He and I have discussed your visit. He realises it could be awkward for you. With the children here . . . and we’d wondered whether Angus might come too, after all, at least for some of the summer. Although I don’t know whether that would have made it more or less awkward. Christophe would love to see you all, but only if it’s what you want.’
Ella was silent for a few moments. Then she turned to Caroline, her expression unreadable in the shadows. ‘Of course, I’d love to see him. And I’d love the children to meet him too. I’ve told them all about the Martet family, what good friends you all were to me when I was here for the first time nearly twenty years ago. I just wish that they could have met your parents as well.’
Caroline nodded. ‘Very well.’
The tone of their words was nonchalant, but carefully so.
In the darkness, something seemed to have shifted. It was hard to say what, exactly. Perhaps it was just a change in the breeze, which caused the white rose in the pitcher to release its remaining petals on to the table all at once; perhaps it was the delicate wash of light that flooded the darkened garden suddenly, as the full face of the moon appeared above the dunes beyond the whitewashed wall.
Or perhaps it was something less tangible: a barely perceptible awareness in each of the two women that fate, like the swinging needle of a compass, had turned to point towards the possibility of another path. One that, until that moment, had been unimaginable.
‘Good morning! Hello? Coucou! Where are you all hiding?’ The house was still and silent as Ella came downstairs the next morning. She’d slept soundly, for once, worn out by all that travelling. And, having closed her bedroom shutters, she’d not realised how late it was.
A note sat in the middle of the kitchen table, weighted down by the fruit bowl: ‘Mummy. We have gone to have breckfast at a caffy. In Saint Martin. We will bring you back a crussent. Or Caroline says you can come and find us on a bike at the gallery. Love from Robbie XXX’
For a moment, Ella toyed with the idea of staying put and enjoying the peace while Caroline entertained her children. But she couldn’t resist the thought of joining them, not wanting to miss out on the children’s excitement. And the thought of a croissant and a café au lait, sitting in the sunshine on the quayside, was just too tempting.
She hadn’t been on a bike for years, and wobbled slightly as she set off up the sandy track between the neat rows of vines. But she quickly regained her confidence and was soon pedalling along the road that led to the north of the island. The roadside was lined with wildflowers, a petit point of Delft blue, magenta and silver-grey against the raw sienna of the grasses. The ever-present ocean breeze made the hem of her sun-dress flutter about her knees and lifted her hair from her shoulders, cooling the smooth skin of her neck even as the sun warmed her cheeks and forehead.