The Vineyard (17 page)

She took a deep breath and made her way to the ward. She feared a repeat of her last visit, felt her stomach churn.

‘Please, please be ok,’ she whispered ‘Please,’ she pleaded.

Approaching the bed with caution, Lizzie paced forward slowly. The bed was empty. She panicked for a moment and then, in the corner, she saw her, on one side of the bed, seated in a high-backed chair. She observed her mother for a few moments as she read a magazine, her brown-rimmed glasses drooping on to the bauble of her small nose. Her hair appeared brushed and tidy but not the well-groomed state she’d had weeks back. Colour had returned to her complexion though and she appeared comfortable and relaxed, wrapped in a fluffy towelling gown.

‘Hello,’ Lizzie spoke gently. Her lips pursed into a smile. Give her time she thought. Let her have control. In a bed beside her, a grey-haired woman, possibly in her eighties, peered curiously at her. She forced a smile to the woman. Two other ladies looked on from the opposite side of the ward. Her mother then glanced up, snatched sight of Lizzie and flicked another page in her magazine.

‘I thought I told you not to…come.’

‘I tried not to,’ Lizzie said and a silence hung in the air. She cleared her throat whilst her eyes settled on her mother’s. She saw a grey hollowness around them and gradually the rims reddened, spilling tears. Lizzie tip-toed slowly towards her as tears rolled down her mother’s cheeks. Then her vision blurred as her own eyes filled. Neither spoke.

Caroline rose and reached out. Surprised, relieved and slinging her bags on the neatly-made bed, Lizzie caught her in her arms.

‘Of course you did. You always tried Lizzie.’ Her mother’s words brought more sobs as each had their own pain to release. Lizzie shuffled them both to the bed and they sat down together. She reached over and grabbed several tissues from the cabinet beside them and passed some to her mother. Both wiped their eyes and blew their noses before they smiled at one another. Lizzie then gently hugged her mother once again, grateful she had opened up to her.

‘I’m so sorry for upsetting you but I do care mum. I want you to know, I care and I want you to get better.’ Her words flowed so naturally.

‘Thank you for coming back, I’m so sorry, I was still shocked. It all happened so fast. I was angry,’ her mother confessed.

‘Mum, you don’t need to explain, honestly,’ she said, stroking her mother’s hand. ‘I’ve been the one at fault so…please accept my apology for everything I said to you.’

Caroline gripped her hand. ‘You’re not to blame for my bad mothering. I’ve given a lot of thought to what you hurled at me and you’re right, I was…’

‘Mum, let’s not go over this now. Tell me how you are and how your operation went?’

Caroline brushed one hand with the other, now free of the drip but still stained with purple bruising. ‘Well, I’m fine, the operation went fine. I’ve got to recover physically and I’m still waiting for results from the biopsy but I don’t think they are going to tell me anything I don’t already know. I’ve just got to pray they’ve cut out the nasty stuff.’

‘Well they certainly didn’t hang around. And you certainly look much brighter than a few days ago. How is the wound healing?’ Lizzie’s eyes swooped to her mother’s chest.

‘Oh, fabulously. The surgeon comes in daily to check the reconstruction and he assures me it’s mending really well.’

‘That’s excellent news Mum. So, tell me all about it.’

Lizzie gave her mother a squeeze. This was far more than she expected and she needed to just keep the focus on her mother. She didn’t want to risk upsetting her in any way so she kept the conversation on all the things she had learned she could do for her mother in the hope she could persuade her to come home. It didn’t seem right to bring up the subject now though. She kept the visit brief telling her mother she would return tomorrow.

When she spoke to the nurse before she left, she reported her good news. She floated back to the car, delighted at their progress.

***

With now less than a week remaining in Paris, time was a valuable commodity. Sophie received a text from Lizzie insisting she stay at her apartment for now and that she had informed Marie-Claire. Sophie had begun cleaning any rubbish from her apartment and packed boxes up and labelled them. Her clothes, she sorted into two large suitcases. Among these items were photographs which she now lingered over. Many evoked memories of campsite days with Lizzie. Days which she treasured even when the work was hard. There were photos of them in Burgundy in central France, a famous wine region but on a campsite with the highest turnaround of campers, often one-nighters travelling south. She looked at pictures showing them cleaning tents, on their bikes, which were the only way to get around. How young and carefree they both looked. How hot and hungry they always were! Demands on their stamina were high. It was a fun time though for both of them. As they were the more senior of the couriers, they managed some sneaky time out. Sophie looked at her younger self, the hair bleached by the sun, the tanned skin, which she knew would now come back to haunt her. A chubbier version of Lizzie leaned into her, her arms folded with a huge smile. She too glowed with those sunburned cheeks and skin, sun-dried hair glistening in the heat. She was just considering their diet in those days, high in bread, cheese and wine, when the telephone rang again. Since telling her boyfriend two days ago she was moving on without him, she had managed to ignore Guillaume’s calls. Each time she saw his number, she turned the sound down but now she just had to speak to him. She drew a deep breath.

‘Hello Guillaume, and before you say anything, yes I have been avoiding you and I couldn’t have made it any clearer to you. You and I are finished.’

‘Well I still care and I suppose I didn’t see it coming. We always got along so well but all the time you were planning to leave Paris and me.’

‘I’m sorry you are hurt Guillaume but we have both to move on as I explained. You will find other girls in Paris.’

‘But I want you Sophie.’

‘Right. I have to go now so please don’t make this any harder for yourself. Be good to yourself because you deserve it Guillaume. Goodbye.’

Holding the phone hesitantly away from her ear, she paused.

‘Goodbye Sophie. I shall not forget you.’

She put the telephone down. She stood for a moment and ran her hands through her hair. Her hands automatically lifted up the full length of hair and twisted it. She twisted it again. Then she moved back from the phone and back to her photographs.

‘Goodbye Guillaume,’ she said aloud as if to affirm its finality. She picked up the photos again and tried to distract her mind from the guilt that now engulfed her. From that day she finished their relationship, she had not felt any remorse. Sadness yes, after all she was cutting ties from a lovely person. She believed herself to be in control, assertive and straight with him. Men like straight talk. She didn’t owe him any more. She wanted to talk to Lizzie and offload but Lizzie had enough to deal with. She collected her diary on her bedside table. She took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her hair falling back down to her shoulders she spoke to her reflection

‘No. This is not about looking back or to the past.’ She threw her arms up in the air as if punching out a fierce new energy. She grabbed her diary again – her hands speedily reaching for her pen.
This is about moving forward. I’m changing direction and I’m so happy. I am creating a new future. I have worked hard for this and deserve this new beginning. The key to my happiness has been turned and I can now walk proudly through the door to the dream I have yearned for and earned. That raison d’etre that I’ve felt within is emerging, being born. Guillaume has taught me to be a Parisian, and how to be a good lover. He has been part of my journey and a great friend who now I will miss. That’s all. Once time has healed us, maybe we can be friends again.

The girl in the mirror spoke again pointing at her. ‘For now, Paris still has one more thing to teach you.’ She raced to the hall cupboard and pulled out her coat. She walked the city with notebook in hand and made notes as she discovered each beauty salon in her immediate vicinity. Seven in all. The street name, the business name, the website address, then any cards or brochures and some notes about the décor and ambience, staff, anything which she would find interesting, even beauty creams and products, smells. Staff were often helpful and friendly as she questioned receptionists and therapists standing around about their work and their customers’ demands. She made no secret of telling them she was carrying out market research for her own salon. Well, it would be Lizzie’s, but soon hers officially too.

One day she hoped she, Sophie Pitou, and Lizzie Lambert would own the most successful beauty clinic in France. They were beginning to make their dreams happen and Sophie was now more focused than ever. On her return, compiling her notes she made a further list of areas not covered. They would be covered over the next two day days before her return to Cannes for good. From what she had seen today though, her head was brimming with ideas. Paris did have a different market, true, but there were many things which could be applied to the marketing in the more laid-back south too. Lunchtime pamper sessions were a good idea but it was also good for fillers or laser treatments where aftercare was less of a concern.

So the remainder of the week was organized, with time spent visiting some further salons, then on Thursday a medium-sized removal van would carry her belongings to the storage company in Mougins. Then on Friday she would travel down by car, check her belongings had arrived safely and then continue to Lizzie’s. She couldn’t wait to get going.

***

With Lizzie still in England, Sophie settled herself at the apartment with Marie-Claire’s close to hand should she need anything. Until Lizzie returned, she used her room. She spent the first two days pottering and organising herself. She then spent much of her time at the salon. Even though she didn’t have her friend’s personal guidance, as originally planned, she was pleasantly surprised at the expertise and friendliness of the staff. Josephine made her very welcome and gave her an overview of the set-up and the clients. Over the first two weeks, Lizzie’s manager introduced her to most of the treatments; she was being extremely spoiled.

As she stood, repeatedly staring at herself in the reception mirror, admiring her pampered face, chatting to the receptionist, a dark-haired man entered the salon. He was dressed in long shorts, a loose t-shirt and flip-flops. As he turned his head, she recognised him at once. His beauty was unusual for any man. It was Anton. He didn’t seem to recognise her as he looked her up and down and headed for the receptionist.

‘I want to speak to Lizzie.’

‘I’m afraid she’s unavailable. Can I give her a message?’ Lucie asked.

‘Where is she? Is she still in England?’ he demanded. Lucie glanced over at Sophie who was narrowing her brows.

‘Can I help at all sir?’

‘Yes. Tell me if she is still in England?’

‘Sir. I can take a message and ask her to call you.’

He looked from Lucie to Sophie. His expression softened to a flirty smile. ‘I will call back tomorrow.’ And keeping his eyes fixed on Sophie he said, ‘Mademoiselle Sophie?’ Her skin crawled as he leered at her. Bugger she thought. ‘You are her friend. Please ask her to call me urgently.’

‘You know she is nursing her mother in England right now. She has just had a very serious operation and she may need further treatments for her cancer.’

‘It is unfortunate and I’m sorry for her mother but we have urgent family business.’

Sophie lowered her eyes and counted to five. ‘I’m sure Lizzie will deal with it as soon as she can Anton but please, just give her some time to help her mother, just a few weeks, that’s all.’

Anton stared at her in disbelief but thankfully said no more and exited the salon in a hurried fashion, rather like a spoiled child sulking.

‘Twat,’ Sophie whispered but was obviously heard.

‘Yes, irritatingly. He’s been in a few times lately.’

‘I’m assuming you know who he is?’ Sophie looked at Lucie.

‘Yes. He caught me out before though so I learned the hard way. Poor Lizzie. I told him where she was in Bonnieux. The hotel she was at. He came in saying he needed to contact her urgently and that he was her son’s father. I’m afraid I didn’t know…’

‘No. Don’t blame yourself. And Lizzie wouldn’t blame you. He is such a sleaze bag – as you well saw for yourself. He can turn the charm on when he wants. No, I didn’t realise he was checking on her so regularly.’

‘I don’t think she knows. I haven’t wanted to disturb her with this. He has never left a message. He just demands to see her and then, when he can’t, which has been often recently, for obvious reasons, he says he’ll be back.’

‘Can you do me a favour?’ Sophie asked.

‘Yes. Please, if I can help.’

‘Would you keep a record, in the diary maybe, of dates and times he comes in, and what he says?’

‘Yes. That wouldn’t be a problem.’

‘If you can recall any previous dates, that would be helpful too. By the way, keep my mobile number to hand in case you need to contact me. If he becomes a nuisance, we may have to find a way of keeping him out.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Ok. I am hoping to speak to Lizzie later. I’ll let her know.’ Sophie was now anxious to know what was going on. Why was Anton suddenly so keen to meddle?

The phone rang and Sophie picked it up. ‘Beaute Dedans.’

‘Well I wasn’t expecting your voice. How are you?’ Lizzie said.

‘Great. Never been happier. Well, that’s a lie because I will be when you get back down here.’

‘How come you are there so soon?’

‘I thought you may need some help so I’ve managed to get my arse in gear and find out what goes on, you know, give myself a head start.’

‘Good thinking. Well I hope the girls are looking after you?’

‘Yes. They have been great. You have a great team. They have all been delightful. The manager Josephine is a real asset Liz.’

‘I’m glad you like her and yes, she is. I’ve been lucky. Is she busy? I phoned to make sure all is ok.’