‘Are youOK?’ he asks, his voice still groggy.
‘I’mOK,’ I answer, not mentioning how foolish I feel for turning Alistair into something he’s not. I hope Robin hears the comfort I feel just listening to him rouse, that he would know, as I do now, that the idea I could ever have imagined a future with anyone else seems preposterous and grey.
‘What’s going on?’ he asks.
‘I’m looking at the sun through the Arc de Triomphe.’ I switch my camera to show him, hoping that the sharing of this moment says something more: that I’m concerned about him, not my work or our finances, only him.
‘I’m sorry I lashed out,’ he says, sitting up and rubbing his big brown eyes.
‘I understand,’ I reply. The videocall is a safe place for us both to talk rationally without the physical heat of emotion getting in the way. ‘Don’t be mad – Carly told me about the loan.’
He closes his eyes for a moment, rubs his temples.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been carrying that burden alone,’ I say.
‘You’re not angry?’ he asks.
‘No.’ I shake my head, watching him fondly. ‘I’m glad I know. Now we can share it together. I was worried you wanted out of our marriage.’
He smiles a sad smile. ‘I’m so sorry, love.’
We say nothing for a moment, both of us watching the other.
‘Is it the reason you’ve been so withdrawn?’ I ask.
‘Partly,’ he answers.
‘That and burn out?’
‘I think so,’ he says, reaching for a glass of water, leaning his head back on the headboard.
‘You’ve been trying to provide for such a long time, to protect my inheritance, and Carly’s,’ I say, trying not to allow the guilt to eat into me.
‘We both have.’
‘You’ve had the burden for longer,’ I say, acknowledging how before Carly and I came along he helped his brother out financially too. ‘Burn out is our bodies’ way of telling us to slow down.’
He contemplates this, and nods. ‘Something needs to change. I can’t run the bookshop for ever, not as it is. And you can’t write if we’re under this much pressure.’
‘Everything changes,’ I say, repeating Marleen’s words from last night. ‘Our circumstances need to change, not you, and not me.’
‘But how?’ he asks. ‘I can’t see a way out – the bookshop is dead in the water. What else do I have?’
‘That’s what we need to figure out, and we will,’ I say, hoping Carly might be the key but not quite sure how, not ready to tell Robin her dream just yet. ‘Talking to each other is a good start, remembering we both want the same things: a little more income, a little more freedom, and each other. It’s not so difficult.’ I stand to move towards the tomb of the unknown soldier.
There on the ground, a simple granite rectangle in brass outline, with the wordsIci Repose un Soldat Français Mort Pour la Patrie.
‘What are you looking at?’ he asks when I’m quiet for a time.
I turn the phone to show him the grave, an everlasting flame flickering with the sun behind it.
‘From darkness comes light,’ he says, and in that moment I know he will find his own peace, his own happiness.
‘Always,’ I reply with a smile.
If I’m honest, I’d hoped that Christopher Rose would turn up at the last minute and I’d be off the hook, but with only a few minutes remaining and with the library bar full of family, new friends and eager readers, it seems I’m going to have to take his place after all.
‘Welcome,’ Flynn begins, remarkably showing nothing of the stress he’s been under these last twelve hours. ‘Due to unforeseen circumstances, there’s been a last-minute change to the programme, and we find ourselves in the privileged position of being able to welcome to the stage one of the grandes dames of romance writing, Frances Henderson.
