Wearing another wet suit, Toby prepared a backpack with beach towels and flasks of water.
In the elevator, Clarissa blurted, “Listen, Toby. I have something to tell you. Jordan thinks I’m starting to lose it. She thinks I’m deeply depressed.”
Toby looked at her calmly as they went down.
“I’m aware.”
“Did she call you?”
“She did. Last night. And how’s your dad? Is he okay?”
“Black-and-blue, but valiant. A warrior.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
He didn’t add anything else. Clarissa felt both frustrated and relieved. Should she take the lead, tell him in detail about everything that had torn her life apart these past few months? She could start with François’s betrayal, how it had precipitated her escape to the nightmarish residence. She could tell him that nobody had wanted to believe her but that the truth about C.A.S.A. would soon come to light. Toby didn’t seem in the least interested, or even slightly curious. Whistling a little tune, he pushed open the door of the residence, let her exit before he did, and headed off toward the port. There were no waves today, he said, so they’d walk a little farther, toward the Alcyons. They’d enjoy a good swim, which wasn’t often the case in Guéthary, because of waves and current.
Encumbered by the large wet suit, Clarissa tailed behind Toby. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jordan’s phoning her father and voicing all her fears. Logical, after all. She wondered, wincing, what Jordan had told Toby, exactly: that Clarissa was imagining things, hearing noises, suspecting the worst-case scenarios; that she was paranoid, depressive, fragile, and that she’d dragged Andy into her delirium.
She capitulated to the beauty of the seaside around her. The gentle and tender sun had nothing to do with the pitiless, fiery ball that recently brought Paris to its knees. Toby walked to the left of the port, passed by the few boats, the seawall, and Clarissa followed him down a long jetty that gave on to black boulders they had to climb over. Toby held her hand and cheered her on. Her sneakers kept slipping, and she nearly fell, but he caught her each time.
They were alone on the rocks. The sea was smooth, with hardly any swell. Toby leaped into the water in one go. When he emerged, his white hair, soaked, seemed darker.
“Come on, Blue! Your turn!”
With a small shriek, she jumped in. She wasn’t cold. She had forgotten the bliss of swimming in open sea, of being out of one’s depth, of feeling one’s body carried by the flow. The last time had been in Italy, last summer, with François. It was an extraordinary sensation, filling her with a profound yet simple joy. Tears of happiness began to flow, mingling with salty seawater on her wet cheeks, and she felt silly giving way to her emotions.
It seemed everything about her was raw, on edge; everything she experienced was increased by a factor of ten that took over her entirely. Toby looked at her keenly but said nothing. He let her catch her breath.
“Look,” he said. “Not a spot of pollution. In the heat of the summer, it’s another story. But we’re onto it! We’re keeping up the fight!”
For twenty minutes, they swam toward the south, and returned to the rocks. Toby helped Clarissa hoist herself out. They went back to the jetty and Toby spread out the towels. He swiftly removed his wet suit, but Clarissa had more trouble with hers. He had to assist her. Her clumsiness made them giggle again. Toby hadn’t said a word about her thinness, the marks of her exhaustion. But she was sure he had noticed.
She couldn’t help being stirred by the masculine, familiar hands hovering near her body, her skin. Those hands knew her by heart, had been to her body’s most intimate places. Time had gone by, but Clarissa had not forgotten a thing.
“Do you still have a lady friend?”
“A lady friend? Lady friends, you mean!”
He smiled impishly.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I do see a woman from time to time.”
“Is it serious?”
“More or less.”
“What’s her name?”
“Catherine.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s a retired English teacher, like me.”
“That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”
A long spell of silence drew itself out between them as they lay in the sun.
“Do you also think I’m a down-in-the-dumps basket case?”
“The very idea!” he scoffed, with another mischievous grin.
He got up and beheld the horizon like an ancient mariner.
She remained on her back, eyes shut, listening to the breeze and the lapping of the water.
“You didn’t seem surprised to see me turn up on your doorstep,” she said.
“I have a special radar where you’re concerned, Blue. And that radar has made a lot of progress.”
She stood up as well, and they were side by side, facing the ocean.
“If you hadn’t come, I would have gone to Paris.”
“What for?”
“For a while now, my radar was telling me you weren’t in a good spot.”
“So you agree with our daughter, then, is that it?”
Toby paid no heed to the anxiety in her quivering voice. For a couple of moments, he did not speak. Then he said that when she had needed him the most, all those years ago, he had not been there for her. He had never been able to forget the fact he had let her down. It had taken him a while to accept that he hadn’t measured up, that their son’s death had affected him in such a way, he had not known how to help Clarissa, and had felt powerless. He had failed in extricating her from her sorrow, and another man had done just that. It had cost him dearly. He blamed himself terribly. Clarissa said nothing, moved to tears by his confession and the feelings it was sparking within her.
A phone ringing interrupted his monologue. Toby bent over to rummage around in his backpack. A smile lit up his face.
“Here,” he said, handing her his mobile, “take this call from little Miss Sunshine.”
It was a video call from Andy.
Clarissa slid her finger over the
