Unravelling Oliver(48)

Alice rose and went to her room silently without looking back at me, and shut the door firmly behind her.

I flew to my own room and immediately rang Oliver. He was groggy, and extremely irritated when I explained in urgent whispers what Alice had said.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Moya. She only knows if you told her. I’ve always been careful. What in God’s name have you said to her?’

Of course I asserted my innocence, but Oliver was furious.

‘I don’t need this! I’m writing. I can’t have any distractions. Do not call me again.’

I didn’t call Oliver again. That day I acted as normal, up to a point. Alice was very quiet. Javier and I spent the morning together saying our intimate goodbyes. I became tearful at the thought of not seeing him again. His eyes darkened with sorrow.

Alice and I left for the airport and spent an uncomfortable two hours in the departure lounge. I spent all of that time going over things in my head. What did she know? How did she find out here? Had she always known? Was Oliver worth it? What did I actually want? And, oh yes, will Con’s facial expression change when he hears?

As the flight was called, I knew that I was headed towards a life of dissatisfaction, frustration and boredom.

There was an enormous fuss at the airport when I declared my intention not to board the plane. The bags all had to be unloaded while mine were identified and the flight was delayed. I hugged Alice and apologized. I didn’t say for what, but I meant it sincerely. She could work it out for herself.

Javier was just leaving when I returned to the école. He beamed from ear to ear.

‘Ma fille,’ he said.

It has worked out well for me. We will live a very different life from the one I always thought I wanted. Javier and I plan to run our little River Bistro together. He will do most of the cooking and I’ll do the front-of-house stuff plus a spot of cabaret thrown in for free, depending on the clientele. We hope to make enough during the summer to live comfortably in a small villa through the short winter months. My children were hurt and furious but will just about forgive me, I think. Kate and her boyfriend are coming to visit next weekend, and when they see how happy I am, they will understand. Con will be a sweetheart about everything financial. Kate tells me that he seems relieved that I am gone and has taken to wearing a kaftan around the house.

I am horrified by what Oliver did to Alice. You think you know someone. It turns out that I rang the house on the very night of the assault. I am in a state of shock, to be honest.

I know I wasn’t fair to Alice. Life wasn’t fair to Alice. But mostly, Oliver wasn’t fair to Alice. So far, the few people that knew about our affair have kept their mouths shut, but when the trial begins next month, the muck raking will begin in earnest. I have a new life now and the last thing I need is for the sordid details of my past with Oliver to jeopardize my future with Javier.

I could make a fortune if I sold my story, but I won’t. Out of respect for poor Alice.





22. Véronique


Towards the end of October last year, two ladies from Ireland arrived at Cuisine de Campagne, both in their late fifties. I noticed them immediately because they seemed such unlikely friends. One of them was loud, wore too much make-up and blatantly set out on a mission to seduce the only available single man in the group. The other was quiet, bookish and less inclined to socialize. I felt sorry for her as it soon became obvious that her friend had decided to abandon her for the duration of the holiday. I introduced myself to Alice and invited her to join us on several evenings, and together with Pierre, we ended up discussing all the things one is not supposed to: politics, religion, race, and so on. Her friend Moya had made the booking online, so it was only on the last night that I noticed Alice’s surname as she signed the guestbook.

‘Ryan?’ I said. ‘The first Ryan I ever met was an Irish boy working here the summer of 1973. His name was also Ryan, Oliver Ryan.’

‘But that’s my husband’s name!’

We laughed at the coincidence. She was astonished, and we quickly made the connection that she was the same Oliver’s wife when she showed me some photos. He was older but still handsome, and there was no mistaking him. We spoke for most of the night. I was happy to hear that he was a successful writer. I recalled that Michael may have mentioned that in correspondence. Alice was shocked when I recounted the pivotal events of that season, of the fire and the death of my son and my father. She knew that Oliver had spent summers abroad – she actually fell in love with him on a foreign trip to the Greek islands – but it seemed that he had never told her much about the summer of 1973 except that he worked on a vineyard. I thought this odd because, whatever his trauma at the time, it was bizarre to me that all these years later he had never mentioned the fire or the deaths. The story of that summer is something one could not easily forget, particularly Oliver. With regard for his privacy, I did not tell Alice of the bond Oliver had with Papa and Jean-Luc, realizing that if Oliver had not talked about it in nearly forty years, he had buried it for a reason. I was discreet as ever, and did not mention Laura except as one of the gang, although it seemed that Alice had heard of her. Alice and Oliver had had their wedding reception in Michael’s restaurant, although apparently Michael and Oliver were no longer friends, and she mentioned that Michael’s sister had died tragically young. Poor Laura.

‘Oliver was an enormous help to me after the fire. He was very upset.’