‘I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that to be true. Juliet made her feelings very clear.’
‘Oh yes, yes, I’m sure she did, but I think I know herfractionallybetter than you do. Just put her on.’
Léo paused for a moment. He wasn’t going to give the phone to Juliet: he would respect her wishes. But what should he say to thisimbécile? Anger was boiling inside him, longing for the satisfaction of eruption, but men like Toby thrived on such reactions.
‘Hello? Hello? Bonjour? Are you still there?’
‘Oui, but not for long. Do not call again, please.’
And with that, Léo hung up and returned to the kitchen.
‘I do not think that is the last you have heard of him,’ Léo started, just as the phone rang again. He tapped the green button. ‘Non, merci,’ he said, and hung up. ‘But I think he will start to get the message.’
‘Thank you, Léo,’ said Juliet, taking the phone from him. ‘Now I know he’s trying, I’ll be careful. Surely he’ll go away in the end?’
Léo could only hope so.
TWENTY
The next few days felt settled, and Léo was able to concentrate on developing recipes for the book, which he knew was coming along well. Juliet seemed more relaxed about Sindhu, who had been around more but had not offered any further career advice. Toby had called a few more times, but, to his knowledge, Juliet had simply cut off the calls and deleted texts without reading them. But his feelings of contentment were not to last.
It was a Wednesday evening when he received the email. He was working late in the kitchen, Juliet was upstairs trying out some sketches for the book and the rest of the family was at the house or, in Frankie’s case, out and about who knew where. He was pleased with the progress he had made and decided to check his email while he waited for the oven-baked risotto he was trialling. Working his way through an inbox mostly clogged up with junk, he saw a message from his friend Mathias, and clicked on it, eager to hear his news. But the news was not what he expected.
Dearest Léo,
I hope this finds you well and still enjoying England. I am sorry to contact you with more news of Veronique, but I do not know if you see the French gossip magazines and I think probably not. It is only fair that you know what is being said about you, so that you can respond if you wish…
Before moving on to other matters, Mathias had provided a link to the same magazine in which Léo had previously read about Veronique’s exploits inLe Château d’Amour. This time, there was a large photograph of her at home, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, wearing black clothes, minimal yet skilful make-up and looking extremely pale, if undeniably chic. There were a further three inset pictures. One showed Gilbert, the man she had grown close to on the television programme, looking muscly and brooding, the second was of herself looking drunk and distraught, her mascara streaking her cheeks and the third was an ambulance. The headline screamed: ‘Desperate and Depressed: Suicidal Veronique Recovers to Share Her Story.’ Léo took a deep breath and read on.
After finishing in first place onLe Château d’Amour, and leaving with not only the trophy but a new boyfriend, you might have thought that Veronique’s future happiness was assured. But, shockingly, she tells us that not only was she not as joyful as she appeared, in fact she was at her lowest point.
“I was so happy to win the show, and happy with Gilbert inside the Château, but when we left and the party had finished, everything started going wrong. I felt so miserable inside. I seemed like the girl who had everything, but I had still lost my husband, my babies and, worst of all, my trust in anyone.”
When asked why this trust had been eroded, she at first demurs, clearly unwilling to name names, but soon the tears rise again in her eyes and she confesses, “It is because of what happened with Léo. He made me feel…’ Her voice drops to a whisper. ‘He made me feel so very bad, so worthless, so expendable. I could not believe that Gilbert could be so different, and I started testing him, trying to prove he really was the wonderful man he appeared to be, a man so different from Léo.”
He knew he would have to finish reading the article, but Léo put down the iPad for a moment. The unfairness of what Veronique was saying made him feel as though he was having poison poured down his throat. Tears rose in his eyes as her words sank in, and he let them fall as he steeled himself to continue reading.
She wipes away tears as she continues:
“I didn’t treat Gilbert well, always asking him where he was and looking through his phone and his pockets. It is not surprising that he grew tired of this behaviour and left me. I was in despair and then – and then…”
She stumbles over her words as she speaks, clearly struggling to talk about the next terrible event that takes place. But after sipping some mineral water, she carries on bravely:
“It was then that I lost all hope and decided my life was not worth living. I remember sitting on my bed, weeping, and taking tablet after tablet…and the next thing I recall is waking up in hospital.”
His face contorting with anguish, Léo clicked to read the second page of the article, which featured a large photograph ofVeronique and Gilbert on the sofa, with him also clad in black and looking strained but noble and protective. The article went on:
At this point, Veronique is joined by Gilbert, who wraps his arms around her as she sobs into his shoulder. After a few moments, the tears subside, and he checks that she is able to continue. She nods.
“It was a stupid thing to do, but you must understand that I felt I had no choice, that I had burnt all my bridges. Thankfully, Gilbert found me in time, and I am fully recovered – in more ways than one.”
They look deeply into each other’s eyes, then share a tender kiss.
“Gilbert and I are stronger than ever. I have shaken off Léo’s iron hold on me, and Gilbert and I are ready to move forward as lovers, and…”
She pauses and looks shyly at her man, who nods gently.
“…and as parents. Our baby is due soon after Christmas.”
