Page 62 of One Last Thing
‘Nothing. I’m fine,’ I say irritably, removing my arm from her grasp now I’m up. ‘I wanted to walk around the vineyard, it was stupid. It’s late.’
‘Here, let me help,’ she insists as I take one step forward and wince. I recoil from her, not because it’s her but because it’s anyone trying to help, and she scolds me: ‘Dawn, let me help you.’
I make a few hobbling steps with her assistance before she shakes her head and says, ‘No, you need to rest. Come into the caveau.’
‘I’m fine, Françoise. I can go to my room.’
‘Rest first, then you can go,’ she says without any room for negotiation. Hooking my arm over her shoulders, she leads me to the vineyard cellar, which admittedly is much nearer and a more sensible option considering my current state.
I’d been feeling sprightly after my chat with Jemma, despite both of our disastrous life situations, and thought it might be good to go for a stroll. I hadn’t done much exercise today at the spa and, while I disagree with Henry that horse riding is a good way to get the blood pumping, I do have to say that a little bit of gentle exercise does help my symptoms.
Usually.
Obviously, today that is not the case. I’d decided to have a charming sunset stroll through the vines. It felt like something Diane Keaton might do in a film about finding love at a later age and I got it into my head that I was having a moment, being out in nature, the background noise of the restaurant making me smile as people enjoyed their carefree lives. I’d even seen Nico and Megan enjoying a tipple together and my heart soared. He brought out something in her that no one else had ever managed. A way to laugh at herself.
Wandering through the vines on this warm evening, filling my lungs with fresh air, I feltcentred. I don’t really know what that means, I’ve only read it in pamphlets advertising spa and wellness retreats, and it seemed to make sense to me suddenly. I am part of something bigger. Something wonderful.
Then a muscle in my leg spasmed.
‘ARGH!’ I yelped, the pain shooting through my limb with such force; I stumbled and fell to the ground.
Let me tell you something, I did not feel centred then. I didn’t feel at one with the world. I didn’t feelconnected. I felt . . . angry. So fucking angry. This body of mine. Betraying me without any warning. No chance to prepare. Your control ripped from you.
After a spasm as big as that one, it aches. A dull throbbing ache. I want to be back in the chateau, in my bedroom alone. But I’d wandered quite far and I’m grateful to sit down.
‘There,’ Françoise says, helping me into one of the chairs around the tasting table. ‘Can I get you a drink? A water or tea?’
‘No, I won’t stay long,’ I mutter, still irrationally annoyed that it had to be her to see me in this state.
She nods and then says, ‘I hope you won’t mind if I have a drink of something.’
‘Of course not,’ I say, leaning forwards to rub my leg.
She disappears into a room behind me and I sit in silence, hoping that the pain begins to ebb quickly enough for me to leave soon. When she returns, she’s carrying a wide rounded glass with a short stem filled with a light brown liquid. I raise my eyebrows in surprise.
‘Cognac,’ she answers before I ask. ‘Would you like some?’
‘No, thank you.’
She moves to the chair opposite mine, pulls it out and sits, lifting her chin.
‘Thank you for helping me,’ I say eventually, acknowledging that my anger is not towards her. It’s not towards anyone. It’s not even towards me.
She fixes me with a hard stare. ‘I saw you fall.’
‘I’m glad to have entertained you,’ I quip.
‘I didn’t think it was funny.’
‘Give it time.’
Her mouth is a hard straight line. ‘What is wrong, Dawn?’ she asks in a voice that’s softer than her expression reads.
I wave my hand dismissively. ‘I fell. It’s an open and shut case.’
‘You did not fall. Something happened to cause you to fall.’ Her eyes are boring into me so mercilessly, I’m forced to look around at the minimalist décor and pretend to find it interesting. ‘I’ve noticed you grimace in pain sometimes, the past few days. The way you move up the stairs. Something is wrong.’
‘Françoise, I’m afraid you’ve got this—’
