While he stayed on at Tourville I devoted myself to him entirely. I realized then how deeply I had loved my mother, although we had drifted apart when she had separated me from Dickon and I had nursed a grievance against her. Now she was gone, I could understand how she had felt, how she had been ready to sacrifice herself for me. I wished that I could have told her that I understood and how much I had loved her. What she would have wanted me to do more than anything was to care for my father, and this I would do. Theirs had been one of the most romantic love-stories I had ever heard of. The idyllic adventure of youth, then the reunion in middle age when they had both grown wiser and realized what they could offer each other. Their perfect love had a bitter, tragic ending. Did every good thing in life have to be paid for? I wondered.
To see him now, this poor broken man who had once been so suavely sure of himself, wounded me almost as much as the loss of my mother. We had taken to each other on sight, and now there was a close affection between us. He had first brought me to France and looked after me when I needed special care; now it was my turn to look after him.
He seemed to be unaware of the passing of the days. He wanted to be with me all the time, to talk of my mother—of his first meeting with her, the excitement, the passion they had shared … and then the long years without each other. ‘But we never forgot, Lottie, neither of us … ’ And then the coming together, and the perfection of that later relationship. ‘It was a miracle,’ he said, ‘finding her again.’
I was thoughtful. She had written to him, telling him of my existence and the need to save me from an adventurer. Dickon! I thought, Dickon again. He moulded our lives. It was always Dickon.
There was comfort in thinking of him now because it took my thoughts momentarily from our tragedy.
One day my father said: ‘Lottie, I wish you could come home. Come back with me … bring the children. I think life would be bearable if you did.’
I replied: ‘I could come for a while, but this is my home. When Charles returns … ’
‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘A selfish thought. But if only it could be …
‘We shall see each other often. You must come here and I will come to you.’
‘Dear daughter,’ he said, ‘how different you are from the others. But then you are
‘Perhaps this will change Sophie. Perhaps now that she knows you need company … your own about you … ’
‘Sophie thinks of nothing but her own hurt. Armand … I never had much in common with him. He goes his own way. He is indifferent to me … to his wife … to our family … indifferent to life, I sometimes think. I have had one child who is dear to my heart. Oh, Lottie, I wish you would come home with me.’
He knew that I could not do that. I must wait here for Charles’s return.
I tried to make him talk of other things, but there were so many dangerous subjects. I dared not mention the state of the country because that would remind him of that terrible scene which had resulted in my mother’s death. Neither Sophie nor Armand was a happy subject. The children were a great help. Charlot delighted him and I was glad to see a friendship springing up between them. Claudine was interested in him and would sometimes allow him to pick her up, when she would peer into his face and scrutinize him.
She said to him: ‘Are you my grandfather?’
I saw tears in his eyes when he told her that he was.
‘You’re crying,’ she accused, looking at him in horror. ‘Big people don’t cry.’ She added: ‘Only babies do.’
I took her from him because I saw his emotion was too great for him to bear. He loved the child, though. He might be proud of Charlot but I think it was Claudine with her frank comments who had first place in his heart.
With the three of us together I think we could have found some semblance of happiness and I wished that I could go back with him.
The next best thing was that he should stay at Tourville and this he did, seeming in those first weeks to be unaware of the passing of time.
He talked to me a great deal of his past life. There had been many women between that first encounter with my mother and the reunion. ‘Yet never once did I stray in deed or even thought when she was with me. Perhaps that does not seem very remarkable to you, but for the man I was it was little short of a miracle.’ He went on: ‘I am pleased to see your friendship with Lisette.’
I am very fond of her,’ I replied. ‘It is not always easy for her. She was educated with Sophie and me and she was with us so much, and then there were occasions when it was brought home to her that she was only the niece of the housekeeper. I think she felt that a little.’
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have done what I did.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It seemed best at the time.’
‘It was good of you to allow Tante Berthe to have her niece with her.’
