‘And she replied?’
‘I got one in return within a couple of days. I wasn’t sure how my correspondence would be received as I told Clementine in no uncertain terms that I’m very sorry but I had already met the love of my life.’
‘Brutal, Guillaume!’ My shoulders spring up somewhere around my ears. Should I have given him more pointers?
‘Let me finish,’ he says, holding up a finger. ‘I didn’t want to give the woman unrealistic expectations. I explained Mathildewas the love of my life, and I miss her terribly still and always will. If that didn’t discourage her then I’d be open to becoming acquainted with her slowly via letter.’
My shoulders relax. I do tell matches honesty is always the best policy, so perhaps he’s expressed himself well. ‘What did she say back to that?’
He chuckles and I almost fall off the bench. Not once since Mathilde died have I heard such a sound escape his lips. ‘Clementine wrote in great detail, describing her ex-husband, and I only laugh because it was the polar opposite of what I wrote. She called him a snivelling crackpot of a man who has been going through a mid-life crisis for most of his adult life. While written in jest, I felt it was cathartic for Clementine to write about what unfolded, and how it had stopped her opening her heart again. It’s understandable that she would have reservations trusting in love, so I have reassured her I’m only a letter away and she may use me as a sounding board as long as she wishes.’
My heart explodes. It really does. This is exactly what I hoped would happen. Guillaume has so much love and support to giveandto receive in turn. Having a special friend to converse and confide in might just be their ladder to love… ‘That’s so lovely, Guillaume. I bet she really could use a friend like you. Often it’s easier to confide in someone who is a stranger to the situation. There’s a real freedom in being able to express those pent-up emotions and receive support in return.’
‘True, true. I felt it would be unfair to continue singing Mathilde’s praises when Clementine’s marriage was so different, but sometimes it’s hard not to. Mathilde’s always with me.’ He pats his heart but doesn’t choke up this time. The guilt has been replaced with a quiet confidence.
‘I’m sure Clementine understands and will be just as respectful when you reminisce about Mathilde, but it’s nice thatyou’re hesitant to make it the focus of your letters.’ Marmalade, the ginger cat, saunters over and springs up on Guillaume’s lap, letting out a plaintive meow. The sound is so sad it gives me goosebumps. Is it because her best friend Minou is missing?
I don’t mention this to Guillaume because I don’t want to tear up again, and I’m sure he’s noticed the difference in Marmalade’s nature too.
While I gaze around the cemetery for Minou, I ask, ‘How many letters have you sent and received?’
‘Oh, who’s counting? There’s been a number of them, going back and forth as fast as the post service can keep up. I’m expecting a reply today. It’s made leaving work rather exciting, stopping to check my PO box in the hopes there’s a letter waiting for me.’
‘That really is beautiful.’ I can picture his face as he stops to check for a letter, his wide smile as he carries it home where he pours a robust red wine and sits on the sofa to read.
‘I’m so glad Paris Cupid found Clementine for me. She’s a wonderful person and seems to be at the same stage of life as I am. It’s not that we want some torrid love affair, it’s more that we want to build a friendship based on trust and mutual affection. Having someone in this big bustling city I can write to about my day, my work, my pain, my joy, breaks up the monotony of those long dull evenings.’
‘I agree. Clementine seems a good match for you and I’m so happy to hear the nights aren’t as lonely. Do you have a timeframe in mind to meet or will you take things as they come?’
He absently pats Marmalade, unaware that she’s gazing up at him with such rapture in her eyes, as if his presence is easing the loneliness of missing Minou. The cats here love Guillaume, so much so that when he’s here I become almost invisible to them. Perhaps I need to invest in fresh tuna more regularly.
‘As a gentleman, I think it’s best to follow her lead in that respect. There’s no need to rush. I’m enjoying the letters far more than I can say.’
‘You really are a gentleman, Guillaume, and you’ve made me very happy giving this a chance.’
‘I really should thank you for encouraging me, but I don’t want any praise to go to your head and give you any more crazy ideas.’
I laugh. ‘Probably wise.’
‘Anyway, let’s talk business. Which of these suit you?’ He points to the folder.
‘Benoit can have the postcards, but I’ll take the rest.’
‘Merci.Now, price?’
I rattle off a figure, ready to counter.
‘Fine,’ he says.
My jaw drops. ‘But – Guillaume, we always negotiate.’
‘No time! I’ll deliver them on Friday.’ If I didn’t know better I’d say his mind was busy with thoughts of a certain Clementine…
Guillaume says goodbye to Marmalade, packs his things and strides away with great purpose. I spend the next little while traipsing through headstones and ornate graves, looking for Minou, but have no luck finding the tabby cat.
21
The market is hectic the following Friday as shoppers are out and about enjoying the start of autumn. There’s an influx of tourists on holidays and the halls are awash with many an accent. Guillaume waves as he delivers my latest purchases, but I’m too busy with a group visiting from Australia to chat to him. The Sydney ladies pepper me with questions about the handwritten diaries, having never seen such a thing on sale before.
