The Woman from Paris(128)
“Good. I trust her hip is better.”
“Yes, I think she’s well now. Well enough to take her dogs walking over the hills, in any case. I spoke to her last night. I’ve asked her to stay this weekend. She says she might have to bring her dogs, all four of them. Imagine!” She sighed, and a shadow passed across her face.
“George’s lawyer sent me a DVD of footage taken in Switzerland the week before he died. I haven’t watched it yet. I thought I’d wait until the whole family were down and we can watch it together. There’s strength in numbers, and I think I’ll need it.”
“I’m glad you’re waiting. It would be tough to watch that on your own.”
She smiled. It felt good to share her anxieties. “I’m afraid it’ll set me back. I’m beginning to find myself again and feel better about my life.”
“The trouble is, Antoinette, it’s now in your possession. It’s unrealistic to think you can keep it but not watch it. You’re only human.”
“You don’t think it’ll set me back?”
“It might be a good thing. If you see him enjoying himself, it might reassure you that he died doing what he loved. It might be good to see that his last days were happy ones.”
“You’re right. It might help me move on.” She allowed her eyes to seek comfort in his. “You moved on in the end, didn’t you?”
“Everyone does, in their own time. It’s not healthy to hold on to the past. In my experience, it’s best to remember the good times and consider them a blessing. But you have years ahead of you; it’s your choice how you live them. I chose to live mine without allowing the past to cast a shadow over them. It all happened long ago now. I’m grateful that I have those wonderful memories, and I accept the eight years we had together as part of the bigger plan. So was George’s death. Now you must look after yourself. To do that you have to let him go when you feel ready, and look to the future.” His smile was encouraging. “You have such a full life, Antoinette. And you’re a deep and sensitive woman. You’re already flowering as you take pleasure in your family, the garden, and the folly. Allow those simple things to sustain you. We don’t really need a great deal more.”
“You’re so right, William.” She blushed again at the sound of his name. She thought of Rosamunde and how bravely she had fought her disappointment. “Thank you for being a friend.”
“I have always been your friend, Antoinette. You just didn’t know it.”
That night, Antoinette played classical music in the small sitting room. Harris had lit a fire before going home to his cottage at the end of the drive by the gate. It was heartening to think of him there. She put a box of George’s letters on the coffee table and began to go through them slowly, taking care to read every one, for she hadn’t had the time before, when she’d been busy sorting. There were postcards from friends and old letters from the boys at school. He had kept notes on speeches he had to write and the odd diary he had begun but never finished. George was good at beginning things, but not so good at seeing them through. He had always been keen to start the next project.
She remained on the sofa until well after midnight. The DVD beckoned seductively to her from the desk in her study, but she knew it would be a mistake to watch it alone. She pulled out the photographs instead and carefully flicked though them. Shortly, she came upon the ones she’d found with Phaedra, of the ruined castle in Jordan. She gazed into her husband’s smiling face. He was striking a playful pose, showing off to whoever was taking the photograph. Then she noticed a shadow on the sand at the bottom of the picture. She hadn’t seen it before. Now she stared at it more closely. It was a woman, clearly, her skirt blowing in the desert wind, standing on a dune to take his picture. Her shadow was long, so it must have been evening. She frowned uneasily and wondered who she was. Antoinette hadn’t even known he’d gone to Jordan, let alone that he’d gone with a woman.
She hastily reassured herself that he probably had gone with a group, so naturally there’d be women present. However, the jokey pose made her skin go cold. There was something intimate about it and something carefree and informal about his smile—it was the sort of smile a man would give to someone he loved.
She put the photograph down as if it had grown too hot to hold. What if, while she was at home being a trusting wife and mother, George was gallivanting across the globe with another woman? She took a deep breath. It was unthinkable. It was totally out of character. He loved his family and his home; she was certain he’d never have done anything to jeopardize them. But as logical as her arguments sounded, her intuition told her different. He had gone away so much, it would have been easy to lead a double life.