Page 48 of A French Adventure
Maxine had taken the first refreshing gulp of her drink when Leonie asked, ‘There is nothing of my father here in the house, is there?’
‘Did you expect there to be?’
‘No not really. The house has a good vibe about it.’ Leonie studied the water in her glass. ‘Which it wouldn’t have if there was a trace of him here.’ She paused. ‘Where are the things you were going to show me?’
‘In a box under the stairs. We can get it out later. It’s nothing much, but they meant the world to me after you’d been taken away. Toys, books with stories I used to read to you, clothes and, of course, Anatole was in there.’
‘Why didn’t you come after us in the beginning? Papa always told me you didn’t care enough.’
Maxine stilled and put her glass down. ‘You’ll never know how much I longed to do that, how much I tried to do it. But I literally didn’t have a clue as to where he’d taken you. And nobody would help me. It was a dreadful time for me. The solicitors every time I asked – which was often daily – repeated like a mantra, “the child is well and being cared for by her father.” I doubt they even knew where you were living most of the time. As for the gendarmes in Paris, they didn’t want toknow. He was your father so he had every right to take you on holiday, they said. I screamed at them once that you’d been kidnapped, not taken on a jolly holiday.’
Leonie was silent for a moment. ‘Did Papa have a drink problem when he was with you?’
‘He was an alcoholic long before me,’ Maxine said quietly. ‘As what they call a high-functioning alcoholic, he was adept at keeping it hidden from me until we were married. It was mere weeks before he stopped hiding it from me and showed his true self. He knew if I’d realised about it before I would never have married him.’ Maxine bit her lip as she looked at Leonie. ‘Other people always found him charming. They’d see him as a happy social drinker. If I – or you, I suspect – had told anyone what he was like behind closed doors, they would have called us liars before they believed it.’ Maxine picked up her water but put it down again without taking even a sip. The moment she had been dreading had finally arrived. The moment when she had to voice the concerns that had plagued her every day. ‘There is something I dread asking but I need to know – was Daiva ever abusive in any way towards you?’
Leonie gave an unexpected shiver, and Maxine looked at her anxiously.
‘He controlled every aspect of my life, but he never touched me or hit me,’ Leonie said. She gave Maxine a sharp glance as she heard her sigh of relief. ‘He abused and hit you?’
‘Frequently. It got so bad, the local hospital would ask me what I’d tripped over this time or which door had walked into me? They guessed the truth and did try to get me to tell someone, get some help, but…’ Maxine sighed. ‘I wouldn’t. I was terrified he’d take it out on you, I couldn’t take that risk. Even when he started threatening to take you away from me if I didn’t do what he told me to do.’
‘I’m sorry he did what he did to you,’ Leonie said quietly, looking at her for the first time with empathy.
Maxine nodded. ‘I need you to know that although our estrangement was not my fault, I do feel I was partly responsible. That sounds like a contradiction, but it’s not really. I think Daiva had guessed that I was secretly trying to find a way of leaving and taking you with me. So he decided he’d go before I did, and then cut contact completely. If I’d managed to escape with you, I’d probably have done the same to him for a different reason. Not merely to punish him, but also because I was terrified of what he might do to you. My big regret is that I left it too late to leave him. But to cut me out of your life so totally was more than cruel to both of us. It was the action of a barbaric man.’ Maxine wiped the tears away from her cheeks with her hand. ‘Leonie, however you feel about me, however much you blame me for things, I am so happy that you and I are back in touch.’
Leonie, at her side, caught hold of her nearest hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘I can give you a hug if you are needy,’ she whispered.
33
After a couple of days sightseeing with Natalie, Vivienne felt like a tourist intent on ticking off places and experiences. They’d walked around Antibes looking at the sights until their feet hurt, tick; they’d caught the train to Nice on another day and walked along the Promenade des Anglais, tick; they’d been on a boat trip to the Îles de Lérins, tick (that was somewhere Vivienne was determined to revisit) when she suggested that a nice quiet drive out into the back country up to Puget Theniers would be a good idea before they ran out of time.
Vivienne and Natalie had a leisurely breakfast out on the terrace the next day before setting out for Puget. Vivienne suggested they drove straight up the main 202 road and as they left Nice behind, Natalie was intrigued by all the steel nets hanging across the face of the mountainous sheer rock sides of the road. ‘What are they for?’
‘In bad weather, there are often rockfalls and landslides in this area, roads are closed for days, weeks sometimes. Maxine told me there was a devastating landslide over there in the mountain village of Saint-Martin-Vésubie after a big storm only a couple of years ago,’ Vivienne said, gesturing to the hills andmountains on their right-hand side. ‘Hard to believe now, isn’t it?’
An hour later as they drove past the village sign, Puget Theniers and saw the modern bridge over the river, Natalie asked, ‘Do you know where this Pascal Rocher actually lives?’
‘The lady in theMairiewe spoke to said he lives by the church.’
‘Let’s hope there aren’t too many houses around the church, but presumably we can ask a neighbour.’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem finding the right house,’ Vivienne said. ‘La Postealways delivers letters to a box outside houses with the owner’s name on it. We just have to look at the postboxes.’ She hesitated and glanced at Natalie. ‘D’you think we’re doing the right thing? I mean, I did leave my contact details and he hasn’t used them. Maybe we…’ Her voice died away as she gave Natalie an anxious look.
‘Mum, we’re here now. Maybe your message wasn’t passed on. If we find him, you can talk to him face to face and if he doesn’t want to know,’ Natalie shrugged. ‘It won’t matter – we can forget all about him.’
They parked in the main car park and began to walk through the village towards the church. Vivienne pointed out the Quincaillerie du Rocher to Natalie as they passed. ‘There’s the shop where I bought your catering tins. Want to pop in and have a look around now?’
Natalie shook her head. ‘Maybe afterwards. Let’s get this French connection sorted.’
They walked along the street peering as discreetly as they could at names on the house postboxes.
‘Mum, I think I’ve found it,’ Natalie called, standing by the front door of one of a row of terraced cottages.
Vivienne joined her and together they read the name on the box ‘Rocher et family’.
‘Maybe it’s a relative of Pascal and not the man we want,’ Vivienne said.
‘May I ask why two English ladies are standing at my front door hoping to find a man?’ an amused voice behind asked in accented but perfect English.
