She’d woken to discover that Anatole had, as he had warned her, taken himself off at the crack of dawn to get to his desk, and she had immediately felt her spirits flatten at the dispiriting prospect of his absence for several days to come. Sternly, she’d admonished herself for her craven wish that Anatole were not so diligent in the execution of his responsibilities towards Timon’s affairs. She had dramatic testimony that it was those very qualities that she had so much reason to be grateful for. It was, she knew, totally because Anatole had such a strong sense of responsibility that he had undertaken so drastic a course of action in safeguarding Georgy’s future.
Marrying me! Bringing me here to live with him, with Georgy! Making a home for us here!
Automatically she felt her cheeks glow. He’d done so much more than that!
He’s transformed me—transformed my life! Given me a wondrous happiness that I never knew existed! In his arms I have found a bliss that takes my breath away!
Her eyes lit with the light that was always in them when she thought of Anatole and how wonderful he was—how wonderful it was to be here with him.
To think I once feared that he would take Georgy from me! To think that I wished he had never discovered his existence—never come into my life!
Because it was impossible to think that now! Utterly impossible! With every passing day, every hour spent with him, her gratitude and her happiness increased beyond measure! He was doing everything to make her feel comfortable here in Greece, to make her feel at home...valued and cherished.
His concern for her, his solicitude, his thoughtfulness, were all so precious to her!
With deft swiftness she got Georgy ready, then followed suit for herself. It was another warm sunny day, and even if she wished that she could look forward to Anatole coming home, however late he might be, she would not let her spirits sink. She had another Greek lesson in the afternoon, and she was making steady progress in the language—both speaking and reading it. She thought ahead. In the evening she would busy herself reading some of the hefty history books about Greece that Anatole had provided her with in English. She was determined to be as informed as possible when she applied to the history studies course Anatole had suggested she take after the summer.
A little glow filled her again. He was so thoughtful! Despite being rushed off his feet at work he had still found time to think about what she might like to do after they were married, getting her brain engaged again and not neglecting her love of history.
To think that, were it not for him, I’d be stuck studying accountancy and facing making a living endlessly totting up rows and rows of dull figures! I can study at my leisure, study the subject I love most, and it’s all thanks to Anatole!
She headed downstairs with Georgy, telling him just how wonderful his big second cousin was—information that her nephew received with equanimity and a familiar chortle. When they reached the kitchen he wriggled in her arms to be set down, but then, as she was about to settle him into his highchair, ready for breakfast, something caught his eye.
It caught Lyn’s too.
It was a package on the kitchen table, set in the place she usually sat. It was wrapped in gold coloured wrapping paper and bound up with a huge silver bow. Puzzled, she went round the table to look at it. Georgy immediately lunged for the enticing bow, and she had to busy herself getting him secure in his chair and then hastily unfastening the bow and presenting it to him. He did what he always liked doing best, which was to cram it straight in his mouth to sample. She let him do so absent-mindedly as she undid the rest of the wrapping.
Inside the gold paper was a document case—a tooled leather one—and on the top of it was a card. She lifted it and turned it over. Anatole’s familiar handwriting leapt at her.
Timon instructed me to buy you things you like—I hope this fits the bill.
Curious, emotions running, she opened the document case and withdrew its contents.
She gasped.
Attached to some thick, headed paper was a photograph of a house.
An obviously English house in mellow brick, with roses round the door, set in a lovely English garden. In the foreground was a white picket fence, into which a little wicket gate had been set. The photo, she suddenly realised, had been taken from the wide strip of sand onto which the wicket gate opened.
Memory shot through her.
And a spear of emotion with it!
She knew exactly where this house was—exactly where the photo must have been taken! In her head she heard herself telling Anatole about when she had first seen houses like this one.
‘Lindy and I used to walk past them all and discuss which one we’d live in...’
She picked up the photo and stared at it. This was certainly one of the prettiest she and Lindy must have seen!
Her eyes dropped to the rest of the contents of the document case and then widened in disbelief. With a catch in her throat she lifted them up.
It was a set of title deeds—deeds to the house whose photo she was gazing at.
Deeds made out to her...
Incredulously she let go of the papers, her hands flying to her face, not believing what she was seeing. Yet it was there—all there in black and white. The formal headings and the language was telling her that she was the owner of the house in the photo...
She gave a little cry and her eyes lit upon a note clipped to the corner of the deeds. It was in Anatole’s handwriting. She picked it up and stared at it, emotion lighting within her.
‘So you can always have a place you love in England for yourself.’
‘Oh—Anatole!’ she exclaimed. Incredulity went through her and through her—along with wonder and a wash of gratitude. She could not believe it—for him to have done such a thing for her!
She rushed to find her mobile and with fumbling fingers texted him straight away.
It’s the most wonderful surprise—and you are the most wonderful man in the world! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Moments later a reply arrived.
Glad you like it—in haste, A
For the rest of the day she was in a daze of wonder and happiness. If she had thought it a sign of his solicitude and care for her that he wanted her not to neglect her studies, this incredible act of generosity and concern overwhelmed her!
That Anatole had taken to heart her concerns that Georgy should not lose all his English heritage—and even more, that he had remembered her telling him about her seaside holiday with Lindy, a precious little island of carefree happiness in a difficult childhood—was a shining testimony to just how wonderful he was!
How am I going to bear divorcing him?
The thought sprang into her head unbidden—unwelcome and unwanted—and she felt it stab at her. She had got used to trying to keep it at bay, for with every passing day spent in her new and wonderful life she knew she was finding the prospect of just how temporary their forthcoming marriage was supposed to be increasingly unwelcome. How simple it had sounded when she had first let herself be drawn into this drastic solution to safeguard Georgy!
But things are now completely and totally different from then! Never in a million years did I imagine just how my relationship with Anatole would be transformed by him! Now the last thing I want to do is for us to part...
The cold wash of knowing that at some point in the future Anatole would extract himself from their marriage, conclude what had never been intended to be anything more than a temporary arrangement solely to enable them to adopt Georgy and settle him out here in Greece, chilled her to the bone.
Words, thoughts, sprang hectically in her brain.
I don’t want us to part! I don’t want us to go our separate ways, make separate lives for ourselves! I don’t. I don’t!
She gazed at Georgy, anguish in her eyes.
I want to go on as we are, being together, bringing up Georgy together, making our lives together...
Her face worked.
Maybe Anatole does too! That’s what I have to hope—that he is finding the life we are making here as good as I do! That he is happy, and does not want us to change anything, for us to divorce and go our separate ways...
She could feel hope squeezing at her heart—hope and longing.
Let it be so—oh, please, please let it be so!
Didn’t that incredible gift of his—the fantastic gift to her of a house of her own, where she could take Georgy sometimes to walk in the footsteps of his mother—show all his generosity, all his thoughtfulness? Wasn’t that tangible proof of how much he felt for her?
And how easy it was to spend time with him—how comfortably they chatted and talked! That was good, wasn’t it? It must be, surely? And the way they could laugh together, too, and smile at Georgy’s antics...
And Georgy—oh, Georgy was beloved by them both. How doting they were to him, how dedicated!
A quiver of fire ran down her veins as she thought of the passion they exchanged night after night, the incredible desire she had for him, that he too must feel for her. Surely that most of all must tell her that what they had between them was not something unreal, temporary, that could be turned off like a tap?