Out of Sight (33 page)

‘So why not go do that?' she urged. ‘Stay and help Gaby
for a few weeks. Talk through her offer properly. Get some perspective. Hardly like you're giving up much here work-wise.'

‘Maybe.' Leonie had to admit to herself how unbearable it would be to turn down Gaby's offer.

‘If Patrick's feelings
are
real, then he'll still be here, won't he?'

Leonie nodded, glancing sideways at her friend. ‘But Stella, don't you want to fall in love again?' she asked, desperate to understand. ‘Long to really feel? To
live
?'

Stella shot her a resentful look, but then evidently thought better. She sighed and shook her head. ‘Doesn't seem worth it to me,' was all she said.

The following evening Stella returned home looking shamefaced and agitated. Her hand shook as she poured herself a slug of wine from a bottle left unfinished the previous night. Leonie was slicing vegetables, and Stella nervously eyed the large kitchen knife in her hand.

‘Lennie, I have something to tell you.'

Leonie put down the knife. ‘Go on.'

Stella knocked back a mouthful of wine. ‘I went to see Patrick today.' She held up a hand to forestall Leonie's protest. ‘I realise it's none of my business. I'm not sure what on earth I supposed I was doing, but I felt I had to do
something
. See for myself just what he's playing at this time.'

‘To warn him off!' said Leonie furiously.

‘Kind of. But he wasn't there.' Stella took a deep breath. ‘Oh God, this is awful. I don't want to tell you, but the receptionist said—' Stella took another deep breath, then went on, articulating very precisely, ‘The receptionist said he wasn't in today because he was down in Brighton with his family.'

‘His
family
?'

‘Lennie, I'm so sorry.'

‘But it'll be some mistake. She must've got him muddled up with someone else.'

‘No. We had quite a chat. When she saw how surprised I was, she said she had no idea either that Patrick was with anyone. Explained that his partner's son was in hospital there with a broken ankle.'

‘I don't understand. How old is this son?'

‘No idea.'

‘Did you tell her about me?'

‘Of course not.'

‘You should've done!'

‘Well, she made a note of my name. Said she'd tell him I'd been in, so maybe he'll work it out for himself. I'm so sorry, Lennie.'

Leonie's mind was already racing ahead, trying to keep up with the rapidly changing geography of her emotional world. ‘In Brighton, you say?'

‘That's where he lived before, isn't it?' Stella echoed her thoughts. ‘Where his son died?'

‘The bastard.' Leonie collapsed into a chair, beginning
to tremble uncontrollably. ‘I can't believe it. Why couldn't he just tell me the truth?'

‘I've been dreading having to upset you all over again.'

‘You did warn me! And I knew. Deep down, I knew none of it was real. How could I be so stupid?'

Stella leant across to squeeze her arm. ‘I'm sorry.' She got up and poured a second glass of wine. ‘Here.'

‘He chose to see me again. Took me for a picnic on Primrose Hill. Held my hand. I believed he was being so kind because he loved me. He knew that's what I felt, and did nothing to stop me.'

‘It's cruel.'

‘Someone phoned him when we were together. It was probably her!'

‘I wish I could help.'

‘You tried your best, and you were absolutely right.'

‘Doesn't give me much comfort now.'

‘We sat there for hours. He talked and laughed and we star-gazed. And all the time none of it was true. None of it. Why? Why do that?'

‘Did you sleep with him again?' asked Stella cautiously.

‘No. But I would have. Jesus, it makes me feel sick.'

‘A lucky escape.'

‘Thank God I hadn't said no to Gaby.'

‘Absolutely!'

Leonie shook her head in disbelief, absently sipping her wine. ‘I can't imagine how he does it,' she said at last. ‘Was he actually congratulating himself on how clever he was
being, spinning his lies and making such a fool out of me? Of her, too, if that was her on the phone. Is that really who he is?'

‘Some people keep separate compartments,' offered Stella. ‘If he doesn't want to think about something, he just doesn't. Like he didn't think about his son that day.'

Leonie stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘But what does he get out of it?' she asked herself. ‘That's what I can't figure out.'

‘Nor me.'

‘Though I suppose I did know it was some kind of act,' Leonie admitted. ‘It was just as much me convincing myself that night, wanting to believe in my fantasy of happy-ever-after.'

‘That doesn't excuse him,' observed Stella. ‘He doesn't care about anyone but himself.'

‘Maybe he can't.'

‘Such a shit. He's never going to change.'

‘Nor me, pinning all my foolish hopes on love.'

‘Well, it's not stupid to act in good faith,' declared Stella. ‘And that's all you've ever done.'

Leonie shrugged, feeling suddenly and intensely bereft.

‘His loss, not yours,' Stella insisted.

Leonie smiled at her in gratitude, and wistfully agreed.

Three weeks later, Leonie waited again outside the Angel Sanctuary. At first, she had intended never to see Patrick again. Nor had he called her, though whether from further
cowardice or some tardy sense of honour, she had been unable to decide. But even Stella agreed that she deserved ‘closure'.

To begin with, Leonie had been aware of a huge emptiness within her, a blank space around her heart which until recently had been filled with yearning and conjecture. Though the lack of activity now felt odd, it had taken surprisingly little time to colonise the space with new plans and ideas. As a future partner in Gaby's business she would be able to afford to rent, or eventually buy, somewhere much nicer to live than her old cramped apartment. Audra could help her buy interesting pieces to furnish a new home. She could have a garden. Martine had mentioned that her brother, who had recently re-located from Paris, was eager to be re-introduced.

She was forced to realise how much of her energy had been swallowed up by the black hole of trying to second-guess a deeply hidden man who covered his tracks to an impenetrable degree. Nevertheless, she retained a nagging curiosity about how Patrick would react to his secrets being uncovered, and, as Stella pointed out, why should she, out of consideration for his feelings, relinquish a final chance to put her own emotional affairs in order? And so she waited here, ready to ambush him, before her flight to Bergerac the next day.

Patrick came out more or less when Leonie expected and headed up towards Highbury. She crossed the road and fell into step beside him. ‘Patrick?'

He swivelled, eyes wide with alarm.

‘I came to say goodbye. I'm going back to France tomorrow. I've accepted Gaby's offer.'

His alarm subsided but he glanced at her doubtfully. ‘I'm sure that's a good decision,' he said carefully.

‘Yes, I'm certain it is,' she said with emphasis. ‘Do you have time for a drink?'

He checked his watch, then forced a smile. ‘Of course. Come with me.' He turned and led the way determinedly back in the opposite direction, turning into a side street where a small pub sported several picnic tables on the wide pavement outside. ‘Why don't you grab a seat and I'll get you a drink. White wine?'

‘Thanks.'

He disappeared inside, and she pictured him breathing a sigh of relief at the moment's temporary respite, imagined him trying to work out what she might want from him. She wondered if he had any suspicion how much she knew, whether the receptionist at the Angel Sanctuary had said anything to him about the conversation with Stella.

To Leonie's surprise, her own hands trembled and she felt dry-mouthed with tension. Why had she always been so porous to his emotions, so compliant when he wished to avoid topics or situations? She had wondered recently if it were to do with her parents' divorce, her desire to please her largely absent father, her sense of abandonment at her mother's decision to emigrate. If so, then Patrick had picked her because he had recognised an innate ability
to tolerate and excuse his whims in a way in which a Stella or a Gaby would never do. She looked down at her sequinned slippers, which she had worn deliberately as a small act of defiance, curious to see how their conversation would go once he saw that she was no longer prepared to play along.

Patrick returned with two glasses of wine, and climbed onto the bench seat across from her. He raised his glass: ‘To Riberac. And your return.'

‘Thanks. There's something I wanted to talk to you about before I go.'

‘That sounds serious!' He tried to make a joke of it, but there was already a wariness in his expression.

She spoke softly. ‘I know more about you than you probably think I do.' She saw a glint of repudiation in his eyes, even the hint of a snarl in his hunted smile. ‘You've let me believe things that aren't true,' she told him.

‘I never made any promises to you.'

‘No, but you let me think you had no children.'

‘I don't.'

‘That you never had a child.'

He gazed at her, blinking rapidly. She could almost see his mind working, turning over phrases that he could use, desperate for some form of words that would fend off the truth, keep her close, but not be a lie.

‘Patrick, I know what happened.'

He looked down, his head jerking slightly. It struck Leonie that, in the same way that her map of the world had
altered irrevocably when she discovered his betrayals, maybe what she was witnessing now was him being wrenched into having to reconfigure his world in the light of her knowledge of his past. She watched, almost too fascinated to be angry, waiting for him to find words. Finally he looked up, and she could not help being moved by the sadness in his expression.

‘I should have told you,' he said. ‘But I couldn't. It was impossible, even when I wanted to. And I did want to. I never set out to mislead you.'

‘And now?'

‘It's in the past. I can never atone. Though I can go on.' He paused, regarding her intently. ‘I have you to thank for that,' he went on. ‘Seriously, it was you who brought me back to life. Showed me how to go forwards again.' He leant across and took her hand. ‘I'll be for ever grateful.'

Leonie beat down the bitter memory of his abandonment, the hurt and loss and disappointment of her miscarriage, and forced some composure into her manner. ‘Will you tell me now what happened to your son?'

Patrick withdrew his hand, retreating inside himself for a long while. ‘I'm not sure I can add to what I assume you've already been told,' he said formally. ‘I can't explain my actions. I forgot that Daniel was in the car, and as a result, he died.'

‘What did make you remember he was there?'

He licked his lips. ‘I didn't. Not until they tried to rescue him. Not even then. I never realised he was there. Didn't
understand what they were doing. And then it was too late.' He paused. ‘I loved him very much. He was a perfect, adorable little boy.' He crossed his arms, closing his eyes for a few seconds. ‘I'll never forget the feel of him.'

Leonie waited, rocking the wine in her glass, putting no pressure on him, but he said no more.

‘Is that how you could leave Riberac the way you did?' she asked finally. ‘No warning, no explanation, just two lines in a letter? Did you manage to forget about me, too?' Leonie watched as Patrick pensively rubbed at the dry wood of the picnic table with his fingertips.

‘I failed you,' he said at last. ‘I was wrong. But I was afraid something terrible would happen if I stayed; that I'd be punished again.'

‘But was it the same? Forgetting I was pregnant by you? The same as forgetting about your son?'

‘Possibly,' he admitted, shamefaced.

‘And your wife,' Leonie went on. ‘You told me you walked, when you left England. Walked to France.'

‘I didn't want to do any more harm.'

‘Did she know you were leaving?'

‘She knew I'd inherited Josette's house. Eventually she got in touch with me there.'

Leonie heard the familiar evasion slide underneath his words, and was overwhelmed by a rush of both pity and distaste. ‘And what happened to her?'

‘I was no good to her. To anyone. Her sister said so, told me to go. I make people unhappy. And I was only capable
of putting one foot in front of the other, my belongings reduced to what I could carry on my back. That's all I was, for a long time. That and, in time, my work, my patients.' Patrick gave a twisted smile and reached across the table again to touch her arm. ‘I warned you I wasn't reliable. Not a good bet.'

His touch depleted her and she moved her arm. He didn't seem to notice. ‘I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry,' he said, circling the surface of the wood once more with his finger. ‘You do believe that?'

She nodded. And it was true: she did not doubt his sincerity. But it felt woefully inadequate, and she had nothing to say in response.

‘I'm glad you're going back to France,' he went on. ‘You were happy there. It suited you. And Gaby and her husband seem like good people.'

‘What about you?'

Leonie's heart beat against her ribs with the urgent wish that he tell her everything, tell her the truth – that he was already with another woman, a
family
. If he could only do that, want her to share in his life, trust her even to be glad for him, then she felt as if some old and malign enchantment would be broken and she could depart in peace, could feel that he had proved himself worthy of how desperately she had loved him.