When she could finally speak, all she’d been able to say was, ‘I have to get away. I’m taking the children. I have to get away . . .’
‘Please, don’t do this, Ella.’
She’d snapped at him then, lashing out in pain. ‘You have no right to ask anything of me, Angus Dalrymple. I need to get away, to take some time away from you. I can’t think straight. Perhaps the distance will give me some perspective. And it will give you time to decide what you really want.’
‘I don’t need any time. I know what I want. I have always known what I wanted, Ella, and it’s you. And our children. The affair is over. I promise. It’s over and nothing like that will ever happen again. But I need you to be present, Ella. You haven’t really been here, in our marriage, for a long, long time now. We both need to make an effort.’
Her wounded expression had cut him to the very core. ‘I’ve tried so hard,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t have anything left over any more.’
The silence that followed was a terrible one, filled with the voiceless scream of recrimination and blame.
He’d lifted his eyes to hers, slowly, wretchedly. ‘Alright then. Maybe you should go to France for the summer. Perhaps you’re the one who needs some time to decide what you really want.’
Caroline insisted on coming to meet them at the station on the mainland. ‘Don’t worry. I need to come to buy materials for the new gallery in any case: I’ve moved to bigger premises, in Saint Martin on the harbour-side. It’s a better location, as well as having more space; more tourists pass by there than in Sainte Marie. So I’ll be coming over anyway and I don’t want you and the children to have to trail from the train to the ferry with all your luggage. It’ll be even more of an adventure for them, taking the car across.’
Ella almost wept when she saw her old friend standing on the platform. She lifted Robbie down from the train while Rhona struggled to help with the bags. Caroline enfolded her in an embrace that felt at once so strange and so welcome that Ella truly had to fight back the tears.
She was still reeling from the shock of discovering Angus’s affair and from the strain of the past few weeks. They’d put on an act for the children, although Rhona, always sensitive to the undercurrents of emotion that flowed between her parents, had become more anxious than ever, her wide, serious blue eyes watching her parents’ every move as she tried to make sense of the atmosphere of anger and pain that hung in the air like the smell of something burning. ‘I want you to come too, Daddy,’ she’d begged, clinging to him as he saw them on to the train at Waverley.
‘Come on, Rhona. Mummy needs you to help her. Now, you’re going to send me a postcard every week, remember? And take lots of photos to show me. I’ll be here when you get back, waiting for you all.’ He’d met Ella’s eyes as he’d spoken that final sentence, the lightness of his tone belying the strength of his message to her. Then he’d kissed her, awkwardly, on the cheek and watched his wife and children climb into the carriage of the train that would take them away from him for the summer.
Ella felt strangely off balance, and not just as a result of their long journey. Once they’d stowed their luggage in the boot of Caroline’s car and driven the short distance to the ferry embarkation point, she was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions that surged through her as the Île de Ré came into view. The children bounced with excitement on the back seat as they saw the boat approaching, reminding Ella of the day when she’d stood in this same place, watching the boat that was coming to carry her across the water to the island.
Memories crowded back, of impressions and sensations and the voices of Marianne and Monsieur Martet, both now gone. Memories of Christophe. She wondered what his life in Paris was like these days, but there would be time to ask Caroline. She settled back in the passenger seat, easing her back, which was stiff from sitting on trains for so long. She took a deep breath of the sea air and felt the tension in her shoulders ease a little. She seemed to have been carrying herself so carefully for so long, trying to hold it all together, as if she would splinter into tiny pieces if she relaxed for one second. But now, away from home, away from Angus’s wounded, guilty eyes, the luxury of the long summer holidays stretched before her. She looked forward to introducing the island to her children in the coming weeks; and she hoped it would be a time of healing so that she could find a way to carry on, somehow, the life that seemed to have come to a dead stop.
‘How does the car get on to the boat?’ Robbie asked, leaning forward between the front seats to watch as the ferry drew up alongside the quay. A smell of diesel mingled with the salt tang of the sea on the warm air that wafted in through the open windows of the car.
‘There, look.’ Caroline pointed. ‘They will put ramps in place. Once all those cars have come off, we will drive on.’
‘Can we take a picture? I want to show Daddy that we went on the ferry.’
‘Here, give me the camera and I’ll take one of the three of you. Stand a little closer, there, that’s good, now smile!’ Caroline handed the camera back to Ella and then helped Robbie climb back into the car again. ‘Come on now. We don’t want to be left behind! We’ll be on the island in a hop and a skip and a jump.’
Ella joined Caroline where she sat on the terrace. The table had been cleared whilst she was upstairs putting the children to bed and now all that was left was the remainder of the bottle of white wine that had accompanied the evening meal and their two glasses, sitting alongside a pitcher of white roses whose petals were illuminated in the glow from a candle lantern.
‘Here.’ Caroline topped up one of the glasses and pushed it towards Ella. ‘Did they go down okay?’
Ella nodded. ‘It’s hard to tell whether they’re more excited or exhausted. Robbie’s out for the count already. He asked me when we can go and see the boat that we’re going to do the sailing in, but by the time I finished answering he’d already fallen asleep! And Rhona can hardly keep her eyes open, although she’s determined to read another chapter of her book before she turns out the light. She loves the room, especially the vase of flowers on the dressing-table. And they both absolutely adore you already. I knew they would.’
‘Well, the feeling is entirely mutual, I can assure you. And since it looks increasingly unlikely that I will ever have any children of my own, I think I shall borrow yours instead.’
‘Have you not met anyone?’
‘There’s an artist I see from time to time, when it suits us both. But he’s definitely not a family man.’ Caroline paused, taking another sip of her wine. And then she said, ‘And, to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I have the strength to bring children into a world where there are people capable of doing what they did to my mother. And to Agnès and her children. No, I’m a career woman and it’s better this way. It’s my choice. Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m content and fulfilled. And I shall very much enjoy being a special “aunt” to Rhona and Robbie.’
Caroline reached out and held Ella’s hand briefly, before releasing it to take another sip from her own glass.
‘So. We have many weeks in which to catch up, although after all these years maybe even that won’t be enough time. But perhaps we should begin with you. Do you want to tell me what happened to make you change your mind and come to the island for the summer after all?’ She shot Ella an astute glance. ‘I’m guessing whatever it was may be the cause of those dark circles beneath your eyes.’
They talked late into the night. They scarcely noticed as the candle in the lantern burned low and then guttered in a pool of its own wax, flickering twice before finally dying, to the disappointment of the moths that had gathered on the glass.
‘Oh, Ella, I’m so sorry that you are suffering this way.’ Caroline picked up a petal that had dropped softly on to the table from one of the roses, stroking its silken softness with her finger. ‘In my solitary state, I have often envied you your husband and your family. But I do see that it’s not all plain sailing. I remember my mother saying once, when we were out in Bijou, that the secret to making a marriage work is a lot like sailing a boat: if you have too much anchor and no sail then you will feel trapped; but if there is too much sail and not enough anchor, that doesn’t work either. You need to try to find the balance between the two and then steer a course that is true. And, she said, the way you do that is with the compass of your morality and the rudder of your soul.’