We'll meet again

I opened out, she said, like a flower does in the sun or when it is given needed water. She is right, of course. I am frivolous and susceptible to admiration, but I do pride myself in knowing my weaknesses.

When we met he would suggest we take a glass of wine together; he knew the right place to take me. It was a kind of wine bar with secluded corners where people could talk in peace. He told me a great deal about his family's winery and was quite eulogistic describing the gathering of grapes; then he would tell me about the pests, the inclement weather, and all the hazards that had to be watched.

He knew, of course, that I had left my home to go off with Jacques.

He talked often of Jacques and the people who called at the studio; he was one of those people who is very interested in others and in what is going on.

When I was alone I liked to stroll in and out of the secondhand bookshops which abound on the Left Bank. I constantly thought how much Violetta would like to have been there. Then I would grow morbid, wishing that she were with me and thinking how different it would have been if she were and we were on holiday together, carefree, eventually to return to our real home in Caddington. Then the enormity of what I had done would be brought home to me. I thought of them all mourning me.

If I had known then that Violetta would become engaged to Jowan Jermyn and in the course of events would become my neighbor, I might never have left Tregarland. But what was the use? It was done now.

Characteristically, I had plunged into this adventure. It was the sort of thing I had been doing all my life-but never so irrevocably as I had now.

I had realized it was a mistake-perhaps the greatest of my life.

What I had felt for Jacques was slowly slipping away. Not only for me, but for him. I recognized the signs. As for myself, here I was, in a foreign land, dead to all I had known in the past… my sister... my beloved family... my husband, who, after all, had cared for me, and my child.

It was no use. I deserved whatever was coming to me. I knew I did.

But that did not make it any easier to bear-in fact, it only made it harder because of the knowledge that it was my own actions which had brought it about.

One day when I was wandering rather aimlessly round the secondhand bookshops, I met the Baileys. It was one of those encounters which happens simply because one meets fellow countrymen abroad, like that other occasion when we had met Dermot. He had heard us speaking English in the cafe near the schloss and had stopped. Then he noticed me. I believe that he would have found some way of getting to know me, but it was the language which had first attracted his attention.

I had paused by a shelf to look at a book-a very old one called Castles of France. As I stood there, a middle-aged man standing close to me reached out to take a book from a shelf and, as he did so, another book was dislodged. It was a heavy one and it fell, grazing my arm as it dropped to the floor.

The man turned to me in dismay. "Mademouelle," he stammered, "Pardonnez-moi.”

The accent was unmistakably English and I replied in our tongue.

"That's all right. It hardly touched me.”

"You're English," he said with a delighted smile.

The woman who was obviously with him was beaming at me. I guessed that they were in their late forties. Their look of pleasure at finding a compatriot amused me.

"And you knew that we were," added the man.

"As soon as you spoke," I said.

He grimaced. "Was it so obvious?”

"I'm afraid so," I said.

We all laughed. We might have passed on and that would have been an end of it' but the man showed concern about the book which had hit me.

He picked it up and said: "It's rather heavy.”

He replaced it on the shelf while the woman said: "Are you on holiday?”

"No. I'm staying with a friend.”

"Oh, that's nice.”

"I hope the book didn't hurt you," said the man. "Look. Why don't we sit down for a bit? Have a coffee. There's a nice place a step or two away.”

"I do like those little cafes," said the woman. "And isn't it a relief not to have to think how to say what you want to for a little while?

And if you do get it out fairly well, they rush back at you so fast that I for one am completely lost.”

I was thinking: Why shouldn't I have a coffee with them? It will be something to do.

So I found myself sitting with them in the cafe near the bookshop.

They told me they were Geoffrey and Janet Bailey. He was working in the Paris branch of an insurance company and they had been here for six months or so. They were not sure how long they would stay.

They had a house at home near Watford, convenient for the City, and they had a married daughter who lived close by who was keeping an eye on things for them.

They asked where my home was.

"Weller ..." I said. "It's in Cornwall.”

"Cornwall! A delightful place. Geoff and I thought of having a cottage there. In fact, we might retire down there, mightn't we, Geoff?”

He nodded.