Page 70 of The French Wife

‘Yes, come on. Let’s see if we can get across the river.’

They picked their way down the bank between the clumps of marsh grass and gorse bushes and finally stood by the river’s edge. Shading his eyes and peering at the water, Gaston pointed out the stepping stones.

‘They’re just beneath the surface. We’ll get wet feet, but we should just about be able to cross.’

They took off their shoes and socks.

‘Do you want me to go first?’ Gaston asked.

Emma nodded and he stepped onto the first stepping stone, then turned and held out his hand for her to follow. One by one, slowly and carefully, occasionally wobbling and almost losing their balance, they crossed the river and scrambled up the bank on the other side, laughing and panting with relief.

‘It’s not locked,’ Emma said, beckoning Gaston towards the battered door.

She removed the padlock, pushed the door open and they went inside. It was just as she remembered, perhaps a little more neglected-looking because there were no longer any paintings on the wall.

Gaston paced around the little room, touching the walls, the chimneypiece, frowning, deep in thought. Emma examined the furniture, the little table, the old settee. It was all so mouldy and decrepit, there was little chance of her being able to restore it. The oak table had once been attractive, though, and Emma looked at it carefully. Crouching to look closer, she noticed there was a drawer hidden under the top of the table, and out of curiosity, she tried to pull it open. It was stiff and she had to wiggle it, but eventually it gave way.

Inside was a square, leather jewellery box, blackened with age. She took it out and, thrills of excitement rippling through her, opened it up. Inside was a silver bracelet, dull with age. She took it out. A flat section of the bracelet was engraved. Emma peered at it, but it was too dark in the cabin to see it properly, so she took it to the door and looked again. There was an image of two entwined hearts and the words: À Amélie, avec tout mon amour, Hans.

Emma turned it over and over in her hands. So here was the proof, if any had been needed: Amélie Garnier and Hans Bauer had been lovers.

‘Gaston! Look what I’ve found,’ she said, rushing over to where he was examining the chimneypiece. She showed him the bracelet. ‘Perhaps it was hidden here on purpose, well away from the house?’

‘We thought they must have been very close,’ he said, examining the bracelet. ‘And now we know.’

‘I’ll take it home and clean it up,’ Emma said, slipping the box into her knapsack. ‘So, what do you think about this place? Do you think it can be salvaged?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But it won’t be easy. It’s in a pretty bad state. Almost derelict. Why don’t you wait until the house is finished and see if you still want to?’

‘Good idea. It would make a nice place for picnics and barbecues,’ Emma said, ‘down here by the river.’

He smiled. ‘I agree. It’s idyllic.’

They shut the cabin up, crossed the river again and carried on walking up the track towards Le Châtaignier, hand in hand this time. Emma was thinking about Amélie Garnier. She recognised her touch in the furniture and cushions. Perhaps she’d done up the cabin and spent time there away from the farm. Maybe it was a refuge for her, away from her overbearing husband. She remembered Étienne saying Bruno was a cruel man, and a shiver went through her, wondering what had happened between Amélie and Bruno at Le Châtaignier all those years ago, and if she would ever know the whole truth.

When they got back to the house, Emma made coffee, which they took out into the courtyard and drank on the bench in the shade. They sat there chatting for a long time; about their families, about the farm and about Emma’s plans, about Charlotte and how excited she was to be starting school the following month. Emma noticed that Gaston spoke tentatively about his daughter, and she felt a rush of gratitude that he was so caring and respectful of her feelings. She wanted to tell him she didn’t mind talking about Charlotte, that it didn’t trouble her at all, but instead she slipped her arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

He turned and kissed her back, a long and loving kiss, and after a while she said, ‘Shall we go inside?’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘I am,’ she said, kissing him again.

It felt so natural, allowing Gaston to undress her, to kiss her naked skin, to make gentle and tender love with the sunlight flooding the room and the birds singing nearby. So natural to hold each other, to caress each other, as the brilliance of the afternoon sun faded in the sky and the shadows began to lengthen outside.

Later, they walked back down to St Marie and to Emma’s car. He kissed her goodbye as she got into the driver’s seat.

‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ he asked through the open window.

‘I’d like that, but don’t you want to spend the day with Charlotte?’

‘Of course. I promised to drive her down to the coast. It’s about fifty minutes from here. She loves swimming in the sea. Would you like to come too?’

‘I’d love that, as long as I won’t be intruding,’ she replied.

‘Of course not. I’d love you to come and I know Charlotte would too.’

On Monday morning, Emma drove her car down the main road back into St Marie. She was full of anticipation at her forthcoming visit to Suzette Vernay, though as she drove through the valley, she couldn’t help her mind wandering to the day before when Gaston had taken her and Charlotte down to the beach at Leucate Plage, south of Narbonne. Although it had been a hot, sunny day, a fierce wind had been blowing down from the Pyrenees, cooling the beach, stirring up the dark yellow sand, making it difficult to sunbathe, picnic or play beach games.