‘My paternal grandmother lived in this village. I lived on a smallholding a few kilometres away from here from the age of one until I was seventeen when… when I left.’ Belinda pushed open the car door and got out, relieved the rain had stopped. Without waiting for Alain, she walked towards the open gates of the churchyard and immediately turned left along a path. When he caught up with her, she said, ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, the things you remember? I haven’t been in this churchyard for nearly forty years, but I know exactly where the old family grave is.’

A minute later she stopped in front of a gravel-filled plot with a carved granite angel standing at its head. Of the names carved on the lichen-covered headstone, it was just possible to make out part of the names and the dates from the eighteenth century. The last name was still clearly visible: Martha Odette Rochelle Belrose. 1915–1979.

‘I was twelve when she died and missed her so much,’ Belinda said quietly. ‘I spent a lot of time with her. She’d have been spinning in her grave if she’d known what was going to happen five years later.’ Belinda stopped speaking and blinked rapidly.

‘You okay?’ Alain asked.

Belinda nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘You like a few minutes alone? I see you back at the car,’ Alain offered.

Belinda shook her head. ‘I’ve been wanting to come and pay my respects for a long time. I just couldn’t face it alone,’ Belinda said. ‘When – if – I get back after Easter, I’ll come with flowers. Thank you for bringing me today.’ She gave Alain a wobbly smile. ‘We’d better get back.’

She was relieved when Alain turned and began to walk back to the car and didn’t press her for details on what had happened five years after her grandmother had died.

‘Your turn,’ she said as they drove out of the village.

‘My turn?’

Belinda nodded. ‘Yes. You know a little now of why I didn’t want to be here, but why didn’t you want me here?’

‘That, I’m afraid, I’m not going to tell you today. As you said earlier, it’s personal and I don’t wish to discuss it.’

Belinda opened her mouth to protest and closed it again. If Alain didn’t want to tell her, she couldn’t make him. She hadn’t told him the full story surrounding her grandmother either. Some things were better kept private.

16

It was a subdued Belinda who arrived back at the auberge that evening. She said a quick ‘Hi’ to Fern who was in the kitchen preparing dinner, before declining to join her for their usual cup of tea and going straight to her room instead. When she went downstairs ready for dinner at seven o’clock, she made a concentrated effort to try and push all thoughts of her grandmother out of her mind.