‘It should never have had to be a secret. He should never have got away with it. I’d like to tell that Professor McKay exactly what I think of him. It’s not too late to report him. For him to get whathedeserves.’
‘It is too late,’ Fi told her. ‘I heard he died last year. Cancer.’
‘Karma, more like,’ Jeannie muttered. ‘Mebbe hedidget what he deserved, then.’
She reached to hug Fi again and, in the silence of that embrace, the gurgle of an empty stomach was loud enough to make them both smile.
‘Was that you or me?’
‘Me,’ Fi admitted. ‘I haven’t eaten much of anything for a long time. I’ve had such a knot inside of me.’
Jeannie had a sudden, overwhelming urge to feed her daughter. To nurture her. ‘Do you think you could eat something now, pet?’
Fi nodded. ‘It does smell good in here, doesn’t it? It’s something Ellie made yesterday and she put the leftovers in a pot to heat up slowly.’
It smelled like meat that had already been slowly simmering in a rich sauce for many hours.
‘I think it’s beef. Something French with a whole lot of wine in it.’
‘A boeuf bourguignon? Or a daube de boeuf?’
‘Aye, that second one, I think. She’s left a baguette to slice up to go with it. Would you like some?’
‘I’d love some. Shall I get it?’
‘No, you stay there.’ Fi’s smile was almost shy. ‘I want to look after you for once.’
Jeannie let her, because she knew so well that looking after someone else was often the best way to get past things that were threatening to come crashing down around you. She’d done it for years, looking after her girls. Ignoring the people who wanted to punish her for what her husband had done. Going to work every day – or night, sometimes – as a nurse in the local hospital so that she could pay the bills and buy the food to cook for them and to keep the house clean and the garden looking like someone cared about it.
She watched Fi moving around the tiny kitchen, slicing up the long roll of crusty bread and stirring the pot of stew that was heating.
No. It was adaube de boeuf. And abaguette.
Because she was in France now.
And, oh… the sound of the language always took her back in time. How long was it now? Coming up to almost forty years, for goodness’ sake. It had been on their first date that she discovered the good-looking Scotsman whose hand she’d stitched could speak fluent French. It had already been love at first sight for Jeannie but listening to Gordon’s deep voice murmuring in her ear in the language of love when he’d kissed her for the first time had taken everything to a completely new level. She could never love another man as much as she’d loved him.
Fi opened a cupboard to take out two bowls. Then she opened a drawer and Jeannie could hear the clatter of cutlery being chosen, but she was still thinking about the past.
Despite everything, that love had never quite died, had it? Her life might have healed but her heart never had. Not completely. How did anybody ever get over losing the love of their life?
She still loved Gordon Gilchrist.
She still missed him.
No wonder it had been so disquieting to come back to this country. To step into a house that Gordon’s brother, Jeremy, had owned and presumably used as a holiday home in later years. It had fair given her the shivers when she’d walked in the day of Ellie’s wedding and had seen that painting hanging over the fireplace.
She deliberately avoided looking at it now. That Fiona was here and needed her family was quite enough for them all to be dealing with. There was wee Lili’s first birthday party the day after tomorrow too. This wasn’t the time to even think about what Jeannie had known she’d have to face during this, her third visit to this part of the world.
There were wisps of steam rising from the bowls Fi was putting on the table and the aroma made Jeannie realise that she was hungrier than she had expected after such an emotional upset. Even if she wasn’t, sharing a meal, just herself and Fiona, was exactly what she wanted to do.
‘Come and eat,’ Fi invited. ‘I feel like I might fall asleep again otherwise.’
‘Good food and sleep,’ Jeannie nodded. ‘It’s exactly what you need. I’ll sleep here too,’ she added. ‘So you’re not alone.’
‘You don’t need to do that, Mam,’ Fi said. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She put a larger bowl filled with slices of the crusty baguette on the table. ‘I don’t think I’ve shared your bed since I was three years old and I was jealous of the new bairn you’d brought home from the hospital. I’m no’ jealous of Ellie any longer, I promise.’
It was so good to hear her huff of laughter that it brought tears to Jeannie’s eyes.
