“Sure.” What else would she call her?
“I hope that despite the circumstances...you and I can remain civil to one another.”
“I don’t see why we can’t, Madeleine.”
“Well, that’s very big of you.” The kind words were there, but so was the nettling insolence. “Most wives aren’t so accommodating.”
“Accommodating?” Camille wasn’t quite sure what Madeleine was insinuating, and she wanted clarification.
“Well...” She looked away scandalously, then back at Camille. “He’s put you by his side, but did he tell you about his plans to keep me on the side.”
Camille tried to keep her jaw from falling, and failed. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“I can understand your reaction.” Madeleine said, as if they were discussing a business deal. “A month ago, I thought I might fill your shoes. But then, I find out Julian’s been swept off his feet by some bitch in America...pardon my English.” She smirked, shrugged and perched her hands in the air. “And now I’m relegated to mistress.”
“Guess I have a lot to learn about French culture.” She paused and nodded absently. “Where I come from, we call that a demotion.”
Camille displayed a picture of calmness for Madeleine’s benefit, but she didn’t understand Julian’s reasoning and didn’t like the idea that he wouldn’t marry the girl, but he’d continue to sleep with her after he married someone else. Even if it was just a business deal.
Julian scoured the house, looking for Camille, overwhelmed by his desire to hear the details of the shopping trip. He didn’t trust Madeleine, mainly because he didn’t trust his father to mind his own business. If Papa had his way, there’s no telling what kind of corruption he’d hold over Madeleine.
After having no luck inside the house, he headed for the gardens. He didn’t know Camille well enough to guess which direction she’d gone, so he took it methodically.
The scent from the roses called to him. Maybe it had done the same with Camille. The women in his life, first his mother and then Claudette and Lecie, were mesmerized by the fragrant flowers. Between the two mother-figures, he’d learned the meanings of all their colors at an early age.
In the garden, he snipped a lavender bloom, because he’d been enchanted with her at first sight and a blue bud because he figured she was pretty much unattainable—just like his mother had been.
His mother. Was that where she’d gone? The place his mother used to bring Julian and Andre to play.
The grove seemed to be one of the few areas left to look, even though Camille’s finding it made no sense.
He turned sideways and squeezed into the shrubs, scraping his shirt as he reached the clearing—a place he hadn’t been in over fifteen years. It looked the same, weathered with time but not necessarily neglect. Four windswept benches were centered on each side of the perimeter, four shrubs and the lawn they cornered were manicured, and various vines had spread across the trees behind the hedged borders.
To see her sitting on the bench, much like his mother used to do with her legs crossed at the ankles, warmed his heart. He cleared his throat and moved toward Camille.
Her gaze traveled up and met his, accompanied by a warm smile.
“How did you find this place?” he asked, taking a seat and leaving plenty of breathing room between them. Julian didn’t want to invade her space without an invitation. Anybody who’d search out this place was definitely after seclusion.
“Just my wandering curiosity, I guess.” She shrugged and draped her arms along the back of the bench, her hand nearly touching his shoulder.
Camille had learned to conceal her pain, the hurt carved into her heart over being abandoned by her parents. But here in the late afternoon sunset, her face, well modeled and feminine, gave away her secret.
Sadness twisted into a painful knot inside Julian. A take-charge man, he was used to getting his way and he wanted to remove her pain but didn’t know how. His inadequacy hammered at him, made him feel helpless.
“It’s funny that you should seek out and find this one place over all others.”
“Why’s that?”
“Andre and I used to play here as children.”
“Really?” She gave him one of those looks that said you’re kidding, right?
“It’s the truth.” He nodded, his thoughts wandering off toward his childhood memories. “My mother...my real mother...showed me this place.” He’d opened a door that’d been locked for over twenty years, immediately assaulted by an acute sense of loss.
As if sensing his grief and despair, she removed her arms from the back of the bench and laced her hands together in her lap. “What happened to your mother?” she asked, encasing her words in a careful tone.
Julian leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs and absently caressed the soft petals of the roses in his hands. “She, ah...” He stopped. Talking about his mother was hard; mentioning it meant he’d have to acknowledge the flaw that had consumed her sanity. Weakness. And what if Camille thought that had somehow rubbed off on him? What if she assumed it meant he was also weak?
Did it really matter what she thought? Last week he was sure the only thing that mattered was his wife staying put for the agreed time. After that he didn’t care what happened. But that was last week. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“She killed herself.” Julian continued on, hoping Camille’s presence would continue to bring him peace. “With a bottle of pills.” He hated the helplessness piling around him. “I was five, but I’ll never forget walking into her room and seeing her lying there on the bed.” He looked away, the words snagging in his throat. “I thought she was sleeping.”
Camille closed the gap between them and drew him into her arms. “Aw, Julian...I’m so sorry.”
Instinct, and maybe need, pushed Julian to embrace Camille and hang on as if she’d float away otherwise. A rush of vulnerability swarmed around Julian and he pulled away.
Okay. We can stop this now. He handed her the roses, hoping that would sway her in another direction. “Here, these are for you.”
She took the flowers and draped her arms around him again. Julian wished she wouldn’t do that. He didn’t like how good it felt, but he didn’t try to stop it either. Instead, he welcomed her comforting embrace, even if it did mean he was losing his touch.