Chapters (56)
- Cover
- Dedication
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
- Acknowledgements
- ‘The Survivors’ Ad
- ‘The Betrayal’ Ad
- ‘The Liberation’ Ad
- Copyright
I had intended to go straight from the barn to the house to question my father, but instead I headed in the direction of the stables. I was wound so tight, I couldn’t trust myself. The wrong words might come out to Papa. What better way to calm down than a nuzzle with one of the Caussade white horses?
The second reason was Léon Roussel. I’d seen him heading in the direction of the stables after he’d walked out of the barn. He had left André and me to our privacy, to brother and sister talk inside the barn, except, of course, at first there was no talk. Just silence, solid as a wall. Each brick in it seemed unbreachable.
I’d said, ‘I’m happy to see you are walking again, André.’
‘Is that what you call it? Walking.’
My brother lifted one of the crutches from the floor and held it aloft for me to admire. It was beautifully handmade – undoubtedly my father’s work – with a strong black leather pad to fit under his armpit.
‘My legs,’ he said. ‘Very handsome, don’t you think?’
‘Yes.’ The word caught in my throat. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were alive, André? I’ve been worried out of my mind, not knowing whether you were dead or alive. How long have you been back here?’
‘Only a month.’
‘A whole month and neither you nor Papa thought to tell me.’
‘I didn’t want you informed of where I was, either here or in Paris. Because I knew you would come and I didn’t want you near me. Go back to Paris, Eloïse.’
I kept breathing. I don’t know how, but I made the air go in and out of my lungs. I didn’t blame him. If I were him, I wouldn’t want me near either.
‘You should talk to Papa, Eloïse.’
‘I will.’
‘I mean now.’
That was it. He didn’t want me here. I walked out of the barn and straight into the sound of the aircraft blasting across the sky.
*
It was a different sound that greeted me in the stables. The high-pitched welcoming whinny that I knew so well, though I hadn’t heard it for a long time. It belonged to Cosette, my fine Camarguais mare, twelve years old, who even now recognised my footsteps and huffed a greeting through her broad nostrils.