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“Oh, I didn’t realize. She didn’t mention it.” Iris carried the teapotover to the table and went back for the mugs. “She said she was going for a walk, but she didn’t say she was coming to see you.”
“Apparently, she wanted to talk to someone on the outside, someone who doesn’t know her and Pierre.”
“It’s lovely of you to give her advice.”
“I didn’t, not really. I was more a sounding board than anything else. She went to find Joseph after, maybe he was more help than me.” Esme nodded toward the teapot. “Thank you for taking over. It’s nice to be looked after for a change.”
“How are you feeling?”
Esme pulled a face. “The nausea is terrible.” She gave Iris a sympathetic smile. “Laure told me you were so ill when you were pregnant that you couldn’t face having any more children.”
“Yes, I was,” Iris said, feeling a real annoyance toward Laure, not just because she’d told Esme about her crippling sickness, but also because she hadn’t told her she’d come to see her. Why hide it? Had Laure thought she would mind?
A silver bracelet with a beautiful knotted clasp slid down Esme’s arm as she reached for her mug. “Was it tokophobia, do you think?”
“I think it was, in some form or other. But nobody really knew about it, as if a fear of giving birth, or of disgust at being pregnant, couldn’t exist. But that was twenty years ago. Things have moved on, I hope.”
But the conversation brought the bad memories back and, feeling suddenly panicky, she looked for something to distract Esme. “That’s a pretty bracelet. Is it new?”
Esme flushed. “Yes, I saw it online and decided to order it.”
There was an awkward silence which Iris didn’t fully understand.
“How’s Joseph getting on? Is he settling in well?”
“Really well.” Esme lifted her arm and gave it a little shake. Iris couldn’t help wondering if it was a tell, if the mention of Joseph had linked subconsciously to the bracelet in Esme’s mind. It wouldexplain Esme’s flushed cheeks when she had mentioned it. “The thing I was most worried about was our close proximity to The Watershed,” Esme continued. “If we were at the other end of the village like you, the pub might not be such a temptation. But he seems to have resisted so far.”
“That’s good.”
“How’s Gabriel? Is he adapting to being at home?”
“He seems much better in himself since he decided to work on the walled garden. It’s taken his mind off things.”
“Hugh told me that Gabriel was the one who found the young boy in the quarry.”
“It’s”—Iris searched to explain—“changed him. Which is understandable. But you think he’d feel—I don’t know—valorized for having been with Charlie at the end, happy that Charlie didn’t die alone. But he has no positive feelings about it at all. There’s just this guilt.”
“Because he’s a doctor and couldn’t save Charlie?”
“That’s certainly part of it, although he was reassured by the paramedics there was nothing he could have done. But there’s something else, something he won’t talk to me about. He used to confide in Pierre, which is another reason I’m annoyed with him, not just for what he’s done to Laure, but for what he’s doing to Gabriel.” She paused. “I’m glad he feels able to talk to Hugh.”
“Hugh was saying that they should go for a drink together. I’ll get him to call Gabriel.”
“He’d like that.” Iris glanced at her mobile. “I should go.”
Esme stood and pushed her feet into a pair of fuchsia sandals. “Are you doing anything nice this weekend?”
“I’m going to meet a friend in London on Friday, for lunch and shopping. Then Laure leaves on Saturday.” She turned to Esme. “Why don’t you come to lunch on Sunday? If her meeting with Pierre doesn’t go well, and she comes back, I might need some help.”
Esme smiled. “That would be lovely. Thanks, Iris.”
Iris walked home, her mind on what she had seen, Joseph with hishead on Esme’s stomach. Hugh had said, the night of the supper, that he’d been away for most of January, when Esme’s baby would have been conceived. Esme had reminded him that she’d gone with him and had stayed a few days, and, of course, he had been joking. But… Iris gave herself a mental shake. But nothing.
21
Gabriel walked to the village pub, glad that Iris had gone to London for the day. He was still angry with her for reading the letter from Maggie Ingram’s grief counselor. He’d tried to justify his anger by making it about his privacy being invaded. But deep down, his anger was directed at himself, for being careless. Now that Iris knew about the letter, he wouldn’t be able to get out of seeing Maggie, not unless he wanted to go down in Iris’s estimation.
Her words about him being in Maggie’s place had struck a chord. If Beth had died in the same circumstances, of course he would want to meet the person who had been with her when she’d died. And hear Beth’s last words from the person who had actually heard them. And hope perhaps that there’d been other words, which had only been remembered after.
