sort of man.”
Enzo turned toward the doctor’s wife. “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. The receptionist said you’d worked at the clinic.”
“Only for a short while, a very long time ago, when Alain and I were first married and he was the new kid on the block in the practice. I stayed on for a while after Primel was born. My mother was a big help looking after the baby. But with Alain’s hours, and mine, it just wasn’t practical, and in the end I gave it up.” She smiled, almost sadly. “I always promised myself I’d go back to nursing when he got older. But then we had the girls, and I’m still in demand as a mom.”
Alain smiled fondly at his wife. “She’s more than just a nurse you know, Monsieur Macleod. She’s a trained physical therapist. We could do with her back.”
She returned his smile. “Maybe. Once the girls have gone to university. We’ll see.”
Alain threw back his head and roared with laughter. “ On verra, on verra.” He turned toward Enzo. “It’s been the same refrain all our married life. We’ll see, we’ll see. And when Elisabeth says “we’ll see,’ it means you can bet your shirt on it. I remember once, many moons ago, we sat talking in this very room about the possibility of having more children. Primel was proving quite a handful at the time. And all Elisabeth said was, “we’ll see.’ As you’ve seen for yourself, one became three. Without any further discussion, I might add.”
Elisabeth grinned. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to prevaricate in the beginning and decide for herself in the end.” She sipped at her whisky. “Without any further discussion. And, anyway, you don’t make babies by discussing it.” She and Alain exchanged another smile, then she laid down her glass. “I’d better go and see to old Emile.”
When she had gone, Alain took Enzo’s glass and refilled it, along with his own. He sat down in the space she had vacated, as if needing somehow to feel close to her when she wasn’t there, drawing on the warmth she had left behind. “We were in the same class at school, you know, and I fancied her from the first time I set eyes on her.” He chuckled at the memory. “I managed to get myself a place at the desk beside her, and used to walk her home after school. Until she got glasses, that is. Ugly, blue-rimmed things. And braces on her teeth. I went right off her then.” He laughed. “Poor Elisabeth. She went from beautiful swan to ugly duckling in the space of a month, and couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk to her anymore.” He shook his head. “Children can be so cruel.”
Enzo’s smile was tinged with sadness. These were two people who so obviously adored each other, even after more than twenty years of marriage. He thought how different his own life might have been had Pascale lived. How many more children they might have had together. A tiny worm of envy worked its way into his thoughts, and he had to shake himself free of it. He said, “Evidently she dispensed with the glasses and the braces, and you got back together when she turned into a swan again.”
“Oh, it was an off and on thing right through primary school, college, the lycee. It wasn’t until I was leaving for medical school, and we faced the prospect of permanent separation, that we came to our senses and realised we didn’t really want to be apart. So she came with me. We shared student accommodation in Paris. A cosy concubinage. She trained as a nurse while I graduated in medicine. But we didn’t actually get married until I came back to the island to fill a vacancy at the clinic.”
“And was that all that brought you back? To work at the clinic?”
“There were elderly parents, Monsieur Macleod. My mother had died a few years earlier, and I knew that my father was going to need someone to look after him. Elisabeth’s father was ill…” He paused, sipping thoughtfully on his whisky. “But I think, in the end, I would have come back anyway. This was a wonderful place to grow up, monsieur. Paris had its attractions, of course. But I could never have seen myself raising children there. This is the only place I would ever have wanted to bring up a family.” He smiled sadly. “The irony, of course, being that as soon as they are old enough, they leave. Can’t wait to get away.”
It was some time and another couple of whiskies later that Elisabeth returned. She picked up the bottle, shocked at how little of it remained, and raised an eyebrow. “There is no way you can drive home, Monsieur Macleod. You’d better stay over.”
“Oh.” Enzo tried to count up the drinks he had consumed in the last couple of hours. The whisky in Le Triskell, and three, maybe four, here at the doctor’s house. “That’s very kind. But I was really hoping to get back. Madame Killian is expecting me.”
Alain leaned forward to look at him. “Elisabeth’s right, Monsieur Macleod. You’re in no state to drive. And neither am I, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll drive you back,” Elisabeth said. “I’ve only had half a glass. I’m sure Madame Killian can drive you into town to pick up your car in the morning.”
As they followed the one-way system out of Le Bourg the moon was high, washing its bright, silvery light across the island. So bright, Enzo thought, that it might have been possible to drive without headlights. Elisabeth’s large green SUV seemed huge in the narrow streets, but she handled it with an easy confidence, and Enzo felt comfortable in her presence, leaning back against the headrest in the passenger seat, enjoying the sense of giving himself over completely to the control of someone else, an abrogation of all responsibility.
They passed a signpost pointing back the way to Port Lay. “One day,” she said, “if you have time, I’ll take you down there and show you where I used to live. For me it is the most beautiful corner of the island.”
“Take me now.” He glanced across at her. “It’s not too much out of our way, is it?”
She smiled. “No. A five-minute detour.” She hesitated for only a moment, before swinging the SUV around and taking another route out of town.
As they left the tiny conurbation behind them, she turned into a narrow road that wound steeply down the hillside. Enzo caught only occasional glimpses of the ocean, before suddenly it opened up ahead of them, moonlight reflecting silver across it’s unbroken surface. And there, the tiny harbour of Port Lay nestled among the rocks of a natural inlet that cut deep into the side of the hill.
A stone-built harbour wall cut across its entrance, leaving only the narrowest of channels for boats to come and go. In the sheltered waters of the inlet, half a dozen small boats were tethered to the quayside, overlooked by a large white house that glowed in the wash of the moon.
Elisabeth drew in at the top of the hill where a bridge spanned the beach below. “It’s hard to imagine now those tuna fleets coming in and out of that tiny little harbour. But they did, and the place was alive with activity. I used to sit on the quayside as a little girl, watching them land the catch, waiting for my dad. I knew all those faces. Island faces. Red and weathered. Such a hard life, Monsieur Macleod. We don’t realise how lucky we are.” She was lost in momentary reflection. “But we’ll come back another day, and I’ll show you my house, if you’re interested. And the old fish processing factory.” She nodded up the hill to the right, where a large building stood dark and empty, the legacy of a way of life gone forever.
“I’d like that.”
“It looks better in the sunshine.” She revved the engine, swung across the bridge, turning sharply to the left at the far side, and accelerated up an impossibly narrow street between whitewashed cottages.
They cut back through Le Bourg and were soon heading east, along the north coast, to where the road dipped down to the beach at Port Melite. Enzo closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the woman at the wheel, allowing the whisky its freedom to take him where it would. It wasn’t until the car drew to a halt, that he opened his eyes again, realising that he had drifted off to sleep.
A phosphorescent sea washed up on the half moon of sand in the bay below the Killian cottage. Elisabeth had drawn in beneath the trees that overlooked the beach and was smiling at him indulgently. “You can wake up now, monsieur. Your limousine has reached its destination.”
“Oh, my God!” Enzo sat up. “I hope I wasn’t snoring.”
“Only a little. I just turned the radio up louder.” She laughed when she saw the horror on his face. “Only joking, Monsieur Macleod.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Enzo.”
“Well, Enzo, I am happy to report that snoring is not one of your vices. But you do talk in your sleep.”
“Do I?”
“We were having a very interesting conversation. It wasn’t until we got to Kervaillet that I realised you were talking to yourself.” She laughed. “And so was I.”
Enzo looked at her, unsure whether or not to take her seriously, till he saw the twinkle in her eye. Then he grinned. “Thank you for the lift, Elisabeth. And I’ll look forward to seeing Port Lay in the sunshine.” He paused as he opened the passenger door. “I didn’t dream that, did I?”
