Page 23 of A French Affair
‘Please, I insist. Take it as an apology for my behaviour when you arrived.’
Belinda looked at him, a half-smile on her face. ‘You’ve already apologised for that, but thank you,’ and she put her purse away.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Alain said.
‘You can, but I reserve the right to remain silent.’ Belinda looked at him as he carefully replaced his coffee cup on its saucer.
‘Do you remember that first day when you arrived and I told you I didn’t want you ’ere and you stormed off saying you, and I quote, “sure as ’ell” didn’t want to be ’ere. Why was that?’
‘As I remember it, I quoted your own words back at you. So I could ask you the same question.’ Belinda closed her eyes and sighed. ‘It’s personal and, actually,’ she opened her eyes as she spoke and looked at him, ‘I’d really rather not talk about it right now, especially in a public place.’
‘Fair enough,’ Alain said. ‘I was just curious.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s go. I pay the bill and see you by the car.’
A gentle rain was falling as Belinda waited outside for Alain under the shelter of a nearby tree. She glanced at her watch. Lunch had taken less than an hour. There was time to do something she’d been putting off ever since she’d arrived for one reason or another. And if she didn’t come back, would she ever have the chance again? Could she ask Alain to take her somewhere, no questions asked?
As he appeared and they got in the car, Belinda took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude back there. Would it be possible to take a short detour? There’s something I’ve been meaning to do for weeks, ever since I got here in fact.’
Alain glanced at her, curious. ‘You going to tell me why?’
‘When we get there I will,’ Belinda said quietly.
‘Okay. Where are we going?’
‘Huelgoat direction via the scenic route, not the N164, for about five kilometres.’
Sitting in the car listening to the mesmeric swish of the windscreen wipers swiping rhythmically across the screen, Belinda wondered if she was doing the right thing. She should have done this journey alone, not dragged a man who knew nothing about her past life along because she didn’t want to go alone. Alain wasn’t a total stranger, but it wasn’t fair on him. On the other hand, it was because of the question he’d asked that she’d impulsively decided to go. It would have been far more sensible to have asked Fern to have taken a detour when they’d met on Sunday for lunch.
‘Oh,’ she said, realising the crossroads they needed were approaching. ‘Turn left here.’
The narrow road twisted and turned, a tall church spire guiding them into a small village.
‘If we can park near the church,’ Belinda said quietly.
Alain parked, turned the engine off and turned to her. ‘And now?’ he asked, his voice gentle, his attitude concerned.
Belinda gripped the door handle and pressed it down, ready to push it open before answering.
‘My paternal grandmother lived in this village. I lived on a smallholding a few kilometres away from here from the age of one until I was seventeen when… when I left.’ Belinda pushed open the car door and got out, relieved the rain had stopped. Without waiting for Alain, she walked towards the open gates of the churchyard and immediately turned left along a path. When he caught up with her, she said, ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, the things you remember? I haven’t been in this churchyard for nearly forty years, but I know exactly where the old family grave is.’
A minute later she stopped in front of a gravel-filled plot with a carved granite angel standing at its head. Of the names carved on the lichen-covered headstone, it was just possible to make out part of the names and the dates from the eighteenth century. The last name was still clearly visible: Martha Odette Rochelle Belrose. 1915–1979.
‘I was twelve when she died and missed her so much,’ Belinda said quietly. ‘I spent a lot of time with her. She’d have been spinning in her grave if she’d known what was going to happen five years later.’ Belinda stopped speaking and blinked rapidly.
‘You okay?’ Alain asked.
Belinda nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘You like a few minutes alone? I see you back at the car,’ Alain offered.
Belinda shook her head. ‘I’ve been wanting to come and pay my respects for a long time. I just couldn’t face it alone,’ Belinda said. ‘When – if – I get back after Easter, I’ll come with flowers. Thank you for bringing me today.’ She gave Alain a wobbly smile. ‘We’d better get back.’
She was relieved when Alain turned and began to walk back to the car and didn’t press her for details on what had happened five years after her grandmother had died.
‘Your turn,’ she said as they drove out of the village.
‘My turn?’
Belinda nodded. ‘Yes. You know a little now of why I didn’t want to be here, but why didn’t you want me here?’
