coming from a woman who had married and divorced two of them.
‘The English are cold. They have no passion in their souls. Look, Monique, I am at the end of the telephone if you need to discuss things. Why don’t you come to stay with me for a while?’
‘In Paris?’
She smiled briefly. ‘That’s where I live and you needn’t make it sound such an unpleasant idea. We must stay in touch anyway so that we can sort out the finances and so on. You are aware of the terms of your mother’s will?’
‘Only that she left it all to you. Any money she had and the house she had here and the one in France. What isthere to sort out?’
Sylvie shrugged, one of those wonderful Gallic shrugs. ‘Did you ever see the cottage in Normandy?’
‘No. I knew she inherited it years ago but I don’t think she ever stayed there. Did she?’
‘Once or twice. And I’ve been there too. But your mother was not interested in property and so I’ve been taking care of it for the last few years. A local couple look after it for me. Here.’ she rummaged in her handbag. ‘This is a photograph.’
Monique glanced briefly at it, not really interested. ‘It looks lovely,’ she said grudgingly, attempting to hand it back.
‘No, keep it.’ She sighed. ‘I feel very cross with Isabelle. There was no reason to cut you out of her will. She should have left you something. She was such a vindictive woman and I have no idea why. What was your quarrel about?’
It was Monique’s turn to shrug. ‘I can’t remember. I know she was opposed to my marriage even though she never met Mike and she thought I was stubborn just like my father.’
‘That’s no reason to disown you. What was she thinking of? Perhaps her mind was a little unbalanced. She was always far too sensitive a creature.’
‘We shall never know,’ Monique said flatly, for it was true. There was no point in having regrets and she was not going to twist herself into becoming a bitter woman by trying to unravel the reasons why her mother had disowned her. She had to live with the fact that she was born late in life to a couple who wished they had never had a child and that was one of the reasons why she had decided long ago that she was never going to inflict that emotional neglect on a child of her own. She thought fleetingly of the child she might have had. What a blessing losing it had been. ‘Nevertheless I feel badly about it.’ Sylvie sighed and patted her hand.
‘Don’t.’ For once she was unconcerned about the money.She didn’t feel very much emotion, was incapable of that where her late mother was concerned.
‘I mean it, Monique. You are most welcome to come and stay with me.’
‘I can’t leave Mike for any length of time.’
‘Why not? It will do him good, make him appreciate you that bit more. Believe me, a little time spent apart from him will be time well spent and you might get somewhere with your paintings in Paris. It’s always been the place to be for the budding artist and I have connections, my dear. You would, however, have to stop painting those dreadful bleak scenes of yours.’
‘They sell.’ Monique smiled a little. ‘But I know what you mean. I want to get back to portrait painting. I think I have a talent for that.’
‘You could paint me. How wonderful. I would love to have my lovely niece stay with me for a while. I’ve never had a daughter of my own, you see, so you are the next best thing.’
For a fleeting moment a shadow passed over her face and Monique saw that, underneath the glossy exterior, lurked a lonely middle-aged woman. It begged the question, though, of why women, particularly older ones, always wanted to mother her when her own mother had never cared a fig?
‘Take care, my dear,’ Sylvie had said, embracing her as they parted. ‘And take my advice. Life, as we can see, is short and you owe it to yourself to be happy. So if all else fails, take a lover. It will spice things up. Believe me it can only be
‘The English are cold. They have no passion in their souls. Look, Monique, I am at the end of the telephone if you need to discuss things. Why don’t you come to stay with me for a while?’
‘In Paris?’
She smiled briefly. ‘That’s where I live and you needn’t make it sound such an unpleasant idea. We must stay in touch anyway so that we can sort out the finances and so on. You are aware of the terms of your mother’s will?’
‘Only that she left it all to you. Any money she had and the house she had here and the one in France. What isthere to sort out?’
Sylvie shrugged, one of those wonderful Gallic shrugs. ‘Did you ever see the cottage in Normandy?’
‘No. I knew she inherited it years ago but I don’t think she ever stayed there. Did she?’
‘Once or twice. And I’ve been there too. But your mother was not interested in property and so I’ve been taking care of it for the last few years. A local couple look after it for me. Here.’ she rummaged in her handbag. ‘This is a photograph.’
Monique glanced briefly at it, not really interested. ‘It looks lovely,’ she said grudgingly, attempting to hand it back.
‘No, keep it.’ She sighed. ‘I feel very cross with Isabelle. There was no reason to cut you out of her will. She should have left you something. She was such a vindictive woman and I have no idea why. What was your quarrel about?’
It was Monique’s turn to shrug. ‘I can’t remember. I know she was opposed to my marriage even though she never met Mike and she thought I was stubborn just like my father.’
‘That’s no reason to disown you. What was she thinking of? Perhaps her mind was a little unbalanced. She was always far too sensitive a creature.’
‘We shall never know,’ Monique said flatly, for it was true. There was no point in having regrets and she was not going to twist herself into becoming a bitter woman by trying to unravel the reasons why her mother had disowned her. She had to live with the fact that she was born late in life to a couple who wished they had never had a child and that was one of the reasons why she had decided long ago that she was never going to inflict that emotional neglect on a child of her own. She thought fleetingly of the child she might have had. What a blessing losing it had been. ‘Nevertheless I feel badly about it.’ Sylvie sighed and patted her hand.
‘Don’t.’ For once she was unconcerned about the money.She didn’t feel very much emotion, was incapable of that where her late mother was concerned.
‘I mean it, Monique. You are most welcome to come and stay with me.’
‘I can’t leave Mike for any length of time.’
‘Why not? It will do him good, make him appreciate you that bit more. Believe me, a little time spent apart from him will be time well spent and you might get somewhere with your paintings in Paris. It’s always been the place to be for the budding artist and I have connections, my dear. You would, however, have to stop painting those dreadful bleak scenes of yours.’
‘They sell.’ Monique smiled a little. ‘But I know what you mean. I want to get back to portrait painting. I think I have a talent for that.’
‘You could paint me. How wonderful. I would love to have my lovely niece stay with me for a while. I’ve never had a daughter of my own, you see, so you are the next best thing.’
For a fleeting moment a shadow passed over her face and Monique saw that, underneath the glossy exterior, lurked a lonely middle-aged woman. It begged the question, though, of why women, particularly older ones, always wanted to mother her when her own mother had never cared a fig?
‘Take care, my dear,’ Sylvie had said, embracing her as they parted. ‘And take my advice. Life, as we can see, is short and you owe it to yourself to be happy. So if all else fails, take a lover. It will spice things up. Believe me it can only be
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