Page 57 of The French Wife

He held her gaze for a long time and she looked deep into his eyes, not wanting to look away. He reached over the table, took her hand in his and they sat there holding hands for a while. It didn’t feel awkward or strange, it felt perfectly natural, and when he leaned over the table and kissed her on the lips, that felt natural too, as if it was always meant to be. She returned the kiss, tenderly and sweetly, just as it was given.

‘Why don’t you stay?’ Emma asked. ‘I mean… on the camp bed. Surely you’ve had too much to drink to drive home?’

‘I brought my bike in the back of the truck,’ he said. ‘Just in case the Corbières was as delicious as it was.’

‘I’d like you to stay,’ Emma said. ‘You could go back in the morning.’

‘All right,’ said Gaston. ‘I’ll help you set up the camp bed in the spare room.’

Although they set up the camp bed, Gaston ended up sleeping beside Emma in her bed. It felt too soon to make love, so Emma was grateful that they just kissed, held each other close and talked long into the night, finally drifting off to sleep in one another’s arms in the small hours.

The next morning, Gaston got up early and kissed Emma goodbye.

‘I need to get back before Charlotte’s up,’ he said. ‘I promised to take her swimming in the river first thing this morning.’

‘Of course,’ Emma said, propping herself up on her elbow and watching him dress, loving the movements of his lithe, tanned body, the way the muscles on his arms rippled.

‘Why don’t you come down later and meet her?’ he said, sitting on the bed and stroking Emma’s hair. ‘We could have lunch in one of the restaurants on the boulevard. If you feel ready, that is?’

‘I’d love that,’ she said without hesitation, and she meant it. Meeting Gaston’s daughter held no fears for her. She was looking forward to it.

‘Alright then. Shall we say twelve at the brasserie?’

‘That would be great,’ she replied.

Then, with one last, lingering kiss, Gaston left.

Emma lay back, stretching, smiling at the ceiling, a warm feeling stealing through her, feeling more contented than she had in years.

At that point her phone buzzed. Checking it, she saw it was a text from Paul Brodin.

Grand-mere will show you the unfinished paintings. Could you be there at 11 this morning?

She replied she would be delighted to, then lay back on the pillows. It was only eight o’clock and she felt a little jaded from all the red wine she’d consumed the previous evening. She had time for a lie-in before she had to get up and drive into St Marie.

At about five to eleven, Emma walked along beside the River Orbieu towards Madame Brodin’s house. It was a beautiful day; the river sparkled and the walls of the abbaye opposite were the colour of honey in the morning sunshine. Her heart sang and there was a spring in her step. Before she’d left the house, she’d said goodbye to Eliza and kissed the urn.

‘I have to go out now, my darling,’ she’d said. ‘But I won’t be long.’

She’d had the powerful sense that Eliza would have been happy for her, that she would have given Emma her blessing to go and meet Gaston and his little girl.

Madame Brodin’s shutters were thrown back and the windows open to let in the morning breeze from the river. Emma knocked on the door and, as before, Madame Brodin opened it quickly. She was dressed exactly as she’d been on Emma’s previous visit: all in black with a headscarf covering her hair.

‘Madame Hudson,’ she said with a smile. ‘My grandson told me you wanted to see my old paintings.’

‘Yes, I’d like to very much,’ Emma replied.

‘Very well, I will take you through. There are only two left, I’m afraid, both unfinished. I’m surprised you want to see those, though.’

‘I’m interested, that’s all. I found some paintings by the same artist in a cabin on my land. I’d like to see what else he painted – he was very talented.’

‘Indeed,’ Madame Brodin said sourly. ‘Come.’

She beckoned Emma through the house, through a back door and into a little courtyard. Opposite was the barn with a flight of stone steps leading to a door on the upper floor. Madame Brodin pointed to it.

‘It’s up there,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind, you can go up by yourself. I find the steps very difficult nowadays. Let yourself in. The paintings are stacked on an old dresser against the far wall.’

‘Thank you,’ Emma said.