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Kirstie was keeping the pink dress on. She obviously adored it. Ben had changed into jeans and a sweater, replacing the suit he’d worn for the wedding, and Ethan was still in his outfit as best man.
It remained for her to find something to wear, Francine thought, which meant unpacking her cases or rummaging around to see what she’d left behind in the wardrobe when she’d departed all those months ago.
There was an evening dress there of pale turquoise silk that Ethan had always liked her in. Low cut with a hooped skirt, it fitted better than it had ever done because of the weight she’d lost, and at the same time emphasised the dark chestnut of her hair and her beautiful green eyes.
When she went downstairs to where the three of them were waiting for her Ethan said, ‘Did you have to wear that, Francine? The dress belongs to another life.’
‘Do you want me to take it off, then?’ she asked, with the feeling that so far she hadn’t done anything right.
‘No, of course not, we need to be off. I’m still in my role as best man until the evening is over.’
As he drove them along snow-covered lanes beside hedgerows touched by winter’s frosty fingers, to the big farmhouse where the afternoon reception had already taken place, Ethan was wondering what really lay behind Francine’s sudden appearance.
They’d agreed that the children should come to him from the middle of December until after New Year, and now she was here beside him looking pale and drawn with dark shadows under her eyes.
If only things had been different between them he would be holding his petite French wife close and wanting to put right what was wrong, but those days were gone for ever. The split was hurting beyond telling, and for his own part he was living with the knowledge that if he’d been prepared to leave the practice the two of them would still be together.
But torn two ways, he’d felt he owed it to Barbara Balfour to keep to the present arrangement. She had placed her life’s work in his capable hands. For as far back as anyone could remember she’d provided those who lived in Bluebell Cove with first-class medical care and was now a semi-invalid, barely able to walk and relying on him to carry on the good work.
He and Francine had met at university where they’d both been studying medicine. They’d fallen madly in love, had had a fairy-tale wedding in Paris, and for twelve years she’d seemed content living on the Devon coast in beautiful Bluebell Cove.
They’d joined the practice originally as newly qualified G.P.s and she’d taken time out to have the children, returning when they were older on a part-time arrangement.
He’d known that she’d been homesick sometimes and had understood, agreeing that they should spend holidays and weekends with her parents whenever possible, but homesickness had never been the big issue that it was now.
It had been losing them and their house becoming hers that had made Francine want to go back home to live at the very time when there was nothing to go back for, or so he’d thought, but he hadn’t taken into account the property on the outskirts of Paris.
Heartbroken, it had been her only comfort when those who’d lived in it had been taken from her. In the end it had won the struggle for her affection and he’d thought despairingly that he must be the only man living whose marriage had been destroyed by a house. Not because of adultery, or incompatibility, but by an attractive detached dwelling near Paris.
The farmhouse had just come into sight in a blaze of light, and as Ethan pulled up on the drive Francine thought this was what Bluebell Cove was all about, friends and neighbours looking out for each other, a caring community in a coastal setting that had welcomed her into its midst as a young French bride all those years ago.
The wedding couple were just inside the hallway, waiting to greet their guests as they arrived, and when Jenna saw Francine she beamed across at her in welcoming warmth and exclaimed, ‘Francine, how lovely to see you!’
From Jenna’s new husband there was just a cool nod and she got the message. Lucas would have seen what she’d done to Ethan and crossed her off his ‘people I like’ list, and she was prepared to accept that on the premise that maybe he’d never been so homesick he couldn’t think straight.
During the evening people came up and said how nice it was to see her there. No one asked any questions, but it was there in their manner, an awkwardness that came from curiosity unsatisfied and a desire to cause no embarrassment for the respected head of the village practice.
There was one person it didn’t apply to, however—the woman who had done the job for many years previously that Ethan was doing now. ‘So you’ve come back to us,’ Barbara Balfour said unsmilingly when they came face to face, ‘and not before time. I’m glad to see that you’ve found some sense.’
‘I’m just visiting for Christmas, Dr. Balfour,’ she told her politely. ‘I live in Paris now.’
‘I see!’ was the cold reply. ‘And you’ve taken the children with you. Ethan doesn’t deserve any of it.’
He wasn’t around at that moment. Her husband was dancing with his daughter. Only Ben was with her and his mind was on other things as he observed the banquet that would shortly be available to everyone.
‘Jenna is a lovely bride. I’m sorry I missed the service this afternoon,’ she said smoothly, as if she hadn’t just been taken to task. ‘And now if you’ll excuse me…’ Moving away, she hurried towards the cloakroom before the tears she was holding back began to fall.
When the dance was over Ethan and Kirstie went to where Ben was standing still transfixed by the food and his father asked, ‘Where’s your mother, Ben?’
‘Er, I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘She was talking to Dr Balfour and then she went.’
‘Went where?’
‘I don’t know.’
It added up, Ethan thought grimly. Francine talking to sharp-tongued Barbara and then disappearing. She must have gone home.
‘I won’t be long,’ he told them both. ‘I’m going to find her.’
As he hurried out into the lamp-lit gardens his step faltered. She was standing beside an ornamental pool, looking down into it sombrely, and he sighed. Francine had been right, he thought. It would have been better if she hadn’t come.
If he’d been there when Barbara had accosted her he wouldn’t have allowed it, but he hadn’t been and where everyone else had been pleasant enough, that wasn’t her style.
‘Do you want to go home?’ he asked when he reached her side.
She shook her head, ‘No, Ethan. I’m sure I deserved to hear what Barbara had to say. You told me not to spoil the children’s Christmas and I won’t. I just came out to get a breath of air, that’s all. Let’s go back inside.’
For the rest of the evening she was how she used to be. Smiling and relaxed. Dancing with the children in turn and laughing when Ben said, ‘I don’t mind dancing with you, Maman, but I don’t want to do it with soppy girls.’
‘What about you and Kirstie dancing all the way to the headland?’ she teased. ‘You didn’t mind that, did you?’
‘No, not really, but Dad said I had to because he wanted to dance with Phoebe.’
‘Oh, I see.’ And she felt she did.
Phoebe Howard was a lovely, uncomplicated girl who, the story went, had been deserted by her partner when pregnant. It was understandable that she might be attracted to someone like Ethan, and that he should be attracted to her after what she’d done to him over the last few months.
Yet Phoebe wasn’t there tonight and it wouldn’t be because she hadn’t been asked. Surgery staff would have been invited because the bride worked there and the district nurse would be included, but as Phoebe would still be on maternity leave and didn’t live locally, maybe she didn’t want to spend too much time away from the baby.
On the other hand, it could be that the young single mother had seen her when she’d danced back to the square with Ethan and had gone because she’d observed that his wife had turned up.
It was time to leave, the wedding couple were starting their honeymoon in the morning and Ethan was having a last word with Lucas before they left regarding him being in charge of his property while they were away.
On their return his friend would be bringing Jenna to The Old Chart House next door to theirs, which Lucas had bought and refurbished when he’d come to live in the village.
When Ethan joined them and the four of them went to where he’d parked the car there was silence amongst them. Kirstie and Ben were tired because it had been a long and exciting day. Ethan was contemplating the misery of spending the night with Francine in the spare room, and she was envying the wedding couple for the freshness and simplicity of their love.
Theirs had been like that for a long time, hadn’t lost the magic, until Ethan had taken charge of the practice and been so keen to make a success of it that she’d thought a few times that she and the children came second, just as Jenna and her father had come second to it during Barbara Balbour’s reign.
She’d been twenty-eight and Ethan thirty years old when they’d had a fairy-tale wedding in a church in Paris, and now the precious thing that they’d had was dying because neither of them would give way to the other.
The children were in bed and after making sure they were settled with no televisions being switched on or mobile phones being used, Francine came downstairs to find Ethan making coffee in the kitchen.
‘Thanks,’ she said awkwardly as he passed hers to her. ‘I’ll take mine upstairs if you don’t mind.’
He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll be going to bed myself soon. It’s been a long day, but I want to get the turkey in the oven first so that it will be almost cooked by the time I get up.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she murmured, feeling like an outsider in her own home, though it wasn’t her home, was it? She’d forfeited the right to call it that when she’d gone to live in France.
With her foot on the bottom step of the stairs he was about to remind her of that fact by calling, ‘The clean sheets are where they always were, though not as immaculately laundered maybe.’
As she lay sleepless between the sheets that he’d described she heard voices and laughter outside the window. In the next moment the beautiful words of a well-known Christmas carol were being sung and tears threatened again.
It was as if the fates were reminding her of what she’d thrown away by bringing to her notice every aspect of the enchantment of Bluebell Cove at Christmas. So far there’d been the dancing through the village, a Christmas wedding and now the carol singers.
In the middle of the night she could smell the turkey cooking quite strongly and wondered if the oven setting was too high. On impulse she crept downstairs in her nightdress to check on it.
It was a mistake. When she opened the kitchen door Ethan was there, basting the turkey. She turned to make a swift exit but he’d seen her and asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Er, nothing,’ she said hurriedly, ‘I just thought that it might be cooking too quickly.’
‘I see,’ he said evenly. ‘Well, you can sleep easy as I’ve just turned the heat down, so go back to bed, Francine. Remember you’re visiting. I’m in charge.’
She turned and went back up the stairs with the message crystal clear that she had overstepped the mark by butting into their Christmas.
‘I’m in the way, aren’t I?’ she said the next morning while the children were opening their presents. ‘I’ll go as soon as there is a flight. There should be some on Boxing Day.’
‘I thought you came because you wanted to be with Kirstie and Ben over Christmas and New Year,’ he said levelly. ‘There is no rush as far as I’m concerned. Just don’t get any ideas about taking over now that you’re here. As I told you last night, I’m in charge. I’ve had to be whether I wanted to or not.’
As he watched the colour drain from her face he was ashamed for letting his hurt manifest itself so clearly. Whatever Francine did, he would never stop loving her. He’d been just as inflexible in what he saw as his priorities as she’d been in hers when their difference of opinions had started to take a stranglehold on their marriage, so at least he should be civil.
At that moment Ben came dashing in, carrying the sledge that had been one of his father’s presents to him. ‘It’s great, Dad!’ he said. ‘Can I go and try it out?’
‘Yes, take Kirstie with you?’ he told him. ‘She’ll want to have a try.’
‘Not now she won’t. She’s too excited by what Maman has brought for her.’
‘And what might that be?’ Ethan asked.
‘Fancy boots and a necklace.’ He turned to his mother, ‘The telescope is great, Maman.’
‘And so are both of you, my darlings,’ she said softly as he went chasing off to try the sledge.
At that moment Kirstie appeared, still in her pyjamas and wearing the boots and necklace. They smiled at the vision she presented and it was almost like old times for a moment.
Francine had come down to breakfast in a robe and slippers, not wanting to miss the children opening their presents, and now, with the memory of having been made to feel surplus and in the way, she went back upstairs to get showered and changed.
It was a strange sort of day, alternating between happy moments with the children and long silences when Ethan and she were alone. She’d noted that the turkey was cooked to perfection and wished she’d not interfered the previous night, and in keeping with her general feeling of being in the way broke the silence between them at one point to ask, ‘Have you invited anyone round for Christmas dinner?’
‘Such as?’ he asked with dark brows rising.
‘Er, Phoebe and her baby perhaps?’
‘Phoebe Howard. Why would I do that? She does have family to be with, you know.’
‘She was your partner when everyone was dancing through the village.’
‘So? I had to find someone, and as she’s been to see me at the surgery with depression a few times I thought it might cheer her up if I asked her to join me.’
‘Ah! That is what Ben must have meant when he said you made him dance with Kirstie because you wanted to partner Phoebe.’
She saw his jaw line tighten and when he spoke again his voice was even colder than it had been in the kitchen in the middle of the night. ‘Do you honestly think I would consider replacing you after so short a time?’ he said. ‘I valued our marriage more than anything on earth—you were the one to cast it aside like an old shoe.’
‘Surely you see there was more to it than that, Ethan,’ she reminded him in a low voice. ‘Our differences of opinion were too big to ignore, and now that I’m here will you please let me help with whatever has to be done instead of shutting me out.’
‘All right.’ he agreed sombrely. ‘We’re both of the opinion that we don’t want to spoil the children’s Christmas so maybe it is best that you do help out.’
‘Thanks for that, and I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusions about you and Phoebe. It was just that I thought you deserved someone special to fill the gap I’ve left and that she might be it.’
He didn’t reply. If he had done he would have told her that the gap she referred to would never be filled…that he didn’t want patronising. He knew what he deserved and it was her, back in his life where she belonged. But it was too late for that. The marriage would soon be over. The solicitor’s letter amongst the Christmas mail had confirmed that the divorce proceedings were progressing satisfactorily.
When she came downstairs later she was holding a gift-wrapped parcel and offering it to him said, ‘I didn’t want to give you this earlier as I was concerned that the children’s excitement might be spoiled if you refused to accept it.’
‘But it’s all right if I refuse it now, is it?’ he enquired quizzically.
‘I’d rather you didn’t, but it’s up to you,’ she said, and went back upstairs with the feeling that she’d made things worse again.
Yet there was light in the darkness. Shortly afterwards he came up after her, wearing the cashmere sweater she’d bought for him in Paris and been doubtful she would ever see him in it, and announced, ‘If you look in the top drawer of the dressing table in the master bedroom you’ll find a belated birthday gift and something for Christmas that have been waiting for you to show up, so that you might receive them in a less impersonal way than in the mail.’
‘And you can’t be bothered to give them to me personally?’ she asked as a lump came up in her throat.
‘Why, Francine? Would you want me to?’ he asked gravely, and thought he was punishing her again because even in the present circumstances to have her beside him in the flesh was bringing joy to his soul.
‘Yes, so either that or leave them where they are,’ she replied, and went to gaze out of the bedroom window.
When she turned she could hear him going back downstairs and when next she saw him he had his cook’s apron over the sweater and was preparing to serve soup and a sandwich for lunch to appease their appetites until the main meal in the evening.
Chapter Two
FRANCINE was whisking the cream to go on top of the dessert she’d made for the Christmas meal and keeping an eye on the vegetables at the same time when Ethan announced, ‘I’ve invited my parents for New Years Day. They’ve always come before and I don’t see any reason to alter the arrangement. When I made it I didn’t know you would be here.’
‘Fine by me,’ she told him with a sinking feeling inside. ‘It will be nice to see them.’
‘Yes, my mother maybe, but as you already know, my dad is a man who doesn’t mince words.’
‘I’ll go out for the day,’ she offered hastily.
He was frowning, ‘The children won’t want that.’
‘They won’t even notice. They’ll still be engrossed with what they’ve had for Christmas.’
‘Nevertheless I don’t see why you shouldn’t be there. Mum and Dad might feel hurt if you can’t be bothered to spend some time with them. After all, they are not to blame for this situation.’
‘And I am?’
‘We both are,’ he said grimly, ‘but it’s past. We’ve made our beds and must lie on them. To get back to what I was saying, it would do you no harm to see them. You’ve known them long enough. If Dad gets out of hand about the divorce, I’ll deal with him.’
He was asking her to be polite to his parents, Francine thought wretchedly, polite to the kind mother-in-law that she loved. Jean Lomax had only moved from northern England to the south when she’d married his father, but had known what homesickness was and had understood how much she’d wanted to live in Paris in the house that was the only thing she had left of her parents.
