More Than A Dream

‘It’s Laurent—well, Laurent’s yacht, at any rate; apparently a motor cruiser went into her side. I don’t know any details; the rescue launch has gone out...’ Breaking off, he continued, more to himself than her, ‘He’ll be all right. More lives than a cat...’ And then he closed his eyes, as if he was silently praying.

‘Charles,’ his companion said quietly and, grasping his arm, drew his attention to the rescue launch that was slowly entering the harbour. Glancing at Charles’s face, she saw hope warring with bleak presentiment. Averting her eyes, she too stared at the launch as it slowly motored to the quayside.

A man and a woman were escorted off first, the woman weeping hysterically, the man white and obviously shaken. No one else, only the blue uniformed figures. Charles and his companion walked towards the man who was obviously in charge. She saw him shake his head.

Feeling helpless, and useless, she watched as a white-shrouded form was stretchered up and put carefully on the cobbles. Saw Charles kneel and gently pull back the covering to stare down at, presumably, the face of his friend, and then stand helplessly by as the stretcher was picked up and carried to the waiting ambulance. The other man accompanied it, leaving Charles looking lost and anguished, unbearably hurt.

Her heart aching for him, she walked back to his side. Slipping her hand into his arm, she held it warmly against her.

‘I should have gone with him,’ he said bleakly. ‘I was intending to, only I wanted to finish fixing something on Wanderer. If I’d been with him...’

‘If you’d gone with him,’ she said gently, ‘it might have been you.’

‘You think that matters? No, Melly, it wouldn’t have mattered at all. No loss to anyone. But Laurent... Oh, God.’ Turning his head, and obviously becoming aware of the knots of people still talking, speculating, he clenched his teeth and eyes tight for a moment, then, grasping her hand, he said harshly, ‘Let’s get out of here before the Press arrive!’

Pulling her along the sandy track and across the main road towards a block of flats, he pushed through the main entrance door and into a waiting lift. Pressing the button for the third floor, he kept his face resolutely turned to one side, away from her, until the lift halted and the door slid open.

Melly had just time enough to notice that the landing was covered with expensive green carpet, the walls painted cream, before she was tugged along to a door at the end. Flat three hundred and one. Charles inserted his key and, still grasping her hand, pulled her inside. Releasing her, he strode along the tiny hall and into a door at the end. Following slowly, she watched him push open the french windows of the large square lounge and step out on to the balcony for a brief moment. Then, still without speaking, he came inside and made for the bar set up in one corner.

Feeling totally inadequate, and uncertain what to do for the best, she investigated the kitchen and made coffee and sandwiches, neither of which Charles touched, but just refilled his glass every time it was empty and stood staring out over the harbour. Knowing there was nothing she could say to alleviate his suffering, she thought it was probably best to allow him to come to terms with it in his own way. Curling up in the armchair, she watched and waited, in case he should need something. Anything. A shoulder to lean on, cry on. Someone to hold.

As the sky gradually purpled, then blackened, he gave a long sigh and gently pushed the windows to. Turning, he stared at her for a moment before walking, quite steadily, across to the standard lamp and switching it on.

‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘I’ll be all right.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed helplessly.

Walking across to the cream leather sofa, he sat, still nursing his glass, and began to talk. All about Laurent, their friendship, the things they had done together. ‘He was my friend,’ he concluded quietly. ‘My very good friend.’ A look of such agony crossed his face that Melly felt tears start to her eyes. Placing his glass carefully on the floor, he hunched over, his head on his knees. Without stopping to think, she rose quickly, and sat beside him. Putting her arms round him, she held him close, laid her head against his and rocked him silently.

‘Don’t go,’ he said thickly.

‘No, I’ll be here. As long as you need me to stay, I’ll be here.’

They had sat for a long time like that, until, eventually, she had helped him into his bedroom, helped him undress, and had then lain beside him in silent comfort.

* * *

‘Madame? Madame!’

With a little start, she blinked, turning her head, and stared rather blankly at Jean-Marc.

‘It is the telephone, madame. Your mother.’

‘Mother? Oh, right, thank you.’

Feeling disorientated and muzzy, she got reluctantly to her feet. Memories of that night spent with Charles remained vivid in her mind and, for a moment, she was resentful at having to put them aside. Memories of his lovemaking would probably be all she ever had. All she maybe deserved, because she had made a conscious decision to stay with him that night. It hadn’t only been the action of a friend; it had also been a selfish desire to be near him. With a little sad sigh, she followed Jean-Marc inside.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER a really rather pointless conversation with her mother, and reassuring her that she felt fine, and yes, would let her know the results of her scan, Melly replaced the receiver. Poor mother, stuck over in England while her one remaining, and very pregnant, chick lived in France. She was still trying to persuade Melly to go to England to have the baby. She didn’t trust the French; didn’t think they had decent hospitals; thought the food was bad for her; and, as always, Melly soothed her, explained yet again that French hospitals were probably better than English ones; that the food was fine, didn’t upset her, knowing full well that her mother’s anti-French feelings were just an excuse. It was Charles she didn’t trust. She had also been angling for another invitation, and, naughtily, Melly had pretended not to notice. She had already been out twice, and Melly didn’t think Charles would be too pleased at another visit quite so soon. Neither, if she was honest, would she. Mother would fuss, organise, send her to bed; make her put her feet up; and would again comment on the fact that she and Charles didn’t share a room. And her poor father, who Mother always insisted accompany her, would wander round, looking lost and uncomfortable, fervently wishing he could go home and back to his small engineering workshop where he could hide from the world.

‘Mother?’ Charles queried humorously from behind her.

Turning in surprise, she smiled. ‘Yes. I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘When’s she coming?’ he asked with rueful acceptance.

‘She isn’t. Or, at least, not yet...’ Laughing, she added, ‘It’s all right, you can say it!’

‘Moi?’ he asked with a grin. ‘I’m much too polite. However...’

‘Quite.’ Still smiling, she queried, ‘Have any luck in finding a new stable?’

With a friendly arm round her shoulder, he steered her into the lounge and seated her on the sofa before collapsing beside her. ‘No, the owner and I had a long talk, and I decided, after much deliberation, to leave them where they are.’

‘Because?’ she asked lightly. She knew this husband of hers well enough to know that, if the owner had a problem, financial or otherwise, and unloaded it on to Charles, Charles would immediately set about finding a solution, and therefore wouldn’t dream of adding to his troubles by taking his horses away. Unless of course it was the owner’s mismanagement, or laziness, that had created the problem; then it would have been a very different story.

‘Oh,’ he dismissed, ‘he’s had one or two problems... Why are you laughing?’

‘No reason,’ she denied with a fond smile, ‘go on.’

‘Nothing to go on with. I just decided to leave them with him for the time being. Anyway, with the racing season finished, there’s no immediate hurry. So, want to go out for lunch before your hospital appointment?’

Knowing it was what he wanted, she nodded. ‘Love to. Where shall we go?’

‘Ciros?’

‘Great. Will we get in?’ She knew very well that, with the town still crammed to capacity after the film festival, restaurant bookings were like gold dust.

‘Of course.’

‘Of course,’ she laughed, and wondered not for the first time what levers he used in order to get a table when no one else could. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

They were welcomed as Charles was welcomed everywhere, with delight, with a grin and with excellent service. He explained to the head waiter that she was to have a scan that afternoon, and would therefore need to drink at least one and a half pints of liquid. Not an eyelid was batted, not a comment made, and she was smilingly presented with a large carafe of water, and one of orange juice. Charles watched her with smiling concern as she battled to drink the required amount without once going to the ladies’.

‘God, I’m glad I’m not a woman!’ he exclaimed fervently when they were ready to leave. ‘Is it really necessary to drink all that?’

‘So they say. Apparently the scan won’t work properly otherwise. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. I did ask,’ she added comically, ‘but I didn’t understand the answer.’

Hugging her to his side, he kept his arm round her as he escorted her back to the car.

* * *

The scan itself went off without difficulty; it was when she returned to the reception desk for her card, after a hasty visit to the ladies’, that the troubles began.

‘Ah, Madame Revington,’ the receptionist said, and then, presumably remembering that Melly was English, proudly displayed her talent in that direction. ‘Dr Lafage,’ she enunciated slowly, ‘he is wishing to see you. Oui?’ she asked triumphantly.

‘Oui, très bien,’ Melly complimented. ‘Where? And, more importantly, why?’ she asked lightly. ‘I didn’t have to see him before.’ Registering the woman’s total incomprehension, she gave a wry smile, and because she couldn’t be bothered to dredge up her shaky French she turned to Charles, and silently asked him to translate for her. Which he did with a fluency she envied. He would only intercede if she asked, because he said the only way for her to learn the language fluently was to practise on every conceivable occasion. Which was true, she thought wryly, but it made life very complicated sometimes.