Page 87 of The Last Kiss

“Merci bien,” she starts, but Henri tuts and she switches once again, a look of deploring disregard etched into her smooth skin. If Henri is forty-two she must be nearing seventy, but she looks mid-fifties at most. That’s some face cream and sunblock she uses. “One can only hope to survive such heartbreak. Poor, Henri, my boy. Recovering from his father’s death has been hard, especially considering the extra responsibility he also holds.”

I shoot him a puzzled gaze while he motions for me to sit in the guest of honour seat at his mother’s right side, pushing the chair in at my knees.

“Extra responsibility?” I ask.

“Oui, of course. His guardianship of Simone.”

I fall onto the chair the last three inches. “Wow.” I hold back my ‘what the fuck’, because I’m sensing a test here from the Mothership and I don’t want to fail. Not that it matters. I’ll never see her again. But I do like the chances of an odds-against challenge. “That is a lot of responsibility.”

And really, you’d think he’d have mentioned it.

Especially after the barn this afternoon. I’m pretty sure that was a profound moment. We might not have made statements, but I sure as hell felt them.

“It’s better for Simone to be in a settled environment.” He quirks his brows together in an almost frown. He’s reading from a script. I can hear it in his voice, so I play along.

“Oh definitely.” But really what I’m thinking is what on earth is his sister doing in Paris when her daughter lives here.

“You look tired, ma petite,” he murmurs, leaning close to my ear.

I nod. “I am a little. It must have been the early flight,” I lie, because truly I’m exhausted, not just tired. My body is heavy, like lead sinking to the bottom of the ocean. It’s a hot mess combination of flying, excitedly walking around Perpignan, and then an afternoon of Henri sex.

His gaze narrows. “Of course. That’s why I take the Eurostar. It gives me longer to relax.”

“I see,” his mother, not to be excluded, speaks, “you’re the reason for the extra trips to London.”

Henri reaches for my hand and gives a squeeze. “I told you, Maman, it’s all about fate.”

Her small mouth tightens, reminding me for some reason of Barney’s ass. I wonder how he is, and if Liv remembered to give him his allocated number of treats. Or has Paige thrown the whole packet of Dreamies around the place and Liv’s vacuumed them up off her cream carpet?

“I’m not one for fate or such whimsy,” she clips on in modulated English. “Relationships are things you work at.” She drives a hard stare at Henri.

My cheeks flame. “Well, we live in different countries.”

“Exactly.” She waves a dismissive hand in our direction and then adds something in French that makes Henri straighten up while her eyes glitter with fire.

The fight I’d had climbing onto the plane this morning, surviving the cab death ride, and the drive I’d had since sitting in Dr Francis’ consulting room and deciding that I needed to see Henri one more time, begins to ebb out of me.

My head weighs heavy, but it’s nothing to do with sensation in my chest.

“Henri.’ I clutch his hand as my vision darts with black spots.

“Julia?” He fires off rapid words. “What’s wrong, ma petite fleur?”

“I don’t feel so good. I’m so sorry.” I whisper through the crowding darkness swimming across my eyesight.

“Maman, I’m taking Julia to bed.”

“In a guest room I hope.”

He explodes from his chair, scraping it back across the floor. I don’t understand a word he says but can put a tenner on the fact he’s just told her to go and do one.

“Odile, Simone, our apologies.” Gently he cups my elbow, helping me from my chair. “Don’t worry, mon coeur, just follow me.”

We walk in echoing silence down the enormous and ornate hallways, my vision slowly coming back. My legs are so heavy though, the heels on the sandals keep scraping the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. The last thing I want is to eat a meal with her when she’s in one of her moods.”

“For someone so small, she’s fierce.”