Sarah couldn’t help wondering what William would have thought of them. It depressed her as she went back to Claridge’s that night, that she didn’t like the first daughter-in-law she had, and she suddenly wondered if she’d have any better luck with the others.
It was an odd life. These children, who did such strange things. Who led their own lives, in their own way, with people who appealed to no one but themselves. It made her even lonelier for William as they flew back to Paris, and drove to the château. It was the first Christmas they’d spent without him … a year since he’d died … and Xavier would be two years old on New Year’s Day. Her mind was full of memories as they drove home. But as she pulled up slowly in front of the château at dusk, she saw a man standing there, who looked so familiar to her and yet so different. She wondered if she was dreaming, as she stared at him. But she wasn’t. It was he … and for a moment he looked as though he had barely changed. He walked slowly toward her with a gentle smile, and she could only stare at him. … It was Joachim.
Chapter 24
She stepped slowly out of the car, and he looked at her long and hard. She had changed very little. She was still a beauty. She looked more dignified now, her hair was only a little gray. She had turned fifty that year, but looking at her, it was hard to believe it.
“Who is that?” Julian whispered. The man looked very strange. He was thin and old and he was staring at their mother.
“It’s all right, darling. He’s an old friend. Take the children inside.” He picked Xavier up, and took Isabelle with him, and they went into the château, looking over their shoulders, as Sarah slowly approached him. “Joachim?” she whispered, as he came slowly toward her with the smile she knew so well. “What are you doing here?” He had waited so long to come. And why now? There was so much to tell him, and to ask him.
“Hello, Sarah,” he said quietly, taking her hands in his own. “It’s been a long time … but you look very well.” She looked much more than well. Just seeing her again made his heart beat faster.
“Thank you.” She knew he was sixty years old then, but the years hadn’t been kind to him. Yet they had been kinder to him than to William. He was still alive, and William was gone now. “Would you like to come inside? We’ve just come back from England,” she explained, sounding suddenly like a hostess with a long-expected houseguest, “from Phillip’s wedding.” She smiled, their eyes still searching each other beyond what she was saying.
“Phillip? Married?”
“He’s twenty-seven now,” she reminded him, as he opened the door for her, and he followed her in. They were both suddenly painfully aware that he had once lived here.
“And you have had other children?”
“Three,” she nodded, and then she smiled. “One very recently, Xavier will be two next week.”
“You have a baby?” He looked visibly startled and she laughed.
“You don’t look nearly as surprised as I did. William was quite a good sport about it.” She didn’t want to tell him William had died, not yet at least. And then she realized that Joachim didn’t know William had ever returned. There was so much she had to tell him.
She invited him to sit down in the main salon, and he looked at the room, so full of memories for him. But looking at her was even more remarkable, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring. It stunned him to realize that if he had come the day before, she might still have been in England.
“What brings you here now, Joachim?”
He wanted to say “you,” but he didn’t. “I have a brother in Paris. I came to see him for Christmas. We are both alone, and he asked me to come.” And then, “I have wanted to see you for a long time, Sarah.”
“You never wrote to me,” she said softly, and she hadn’t written to him. But looking back now, she wasn’t sure she would have, even if she had known where to find him. Perhaps once, but it would have seemed unfair to William.
“Things were very difficult right after the war,” he explained. “Berlin was a madhouse for a long time, and when I was able to make my way back this way, I read in the newspapers of the remarkable survival of the Duke of Whitfield. I was very happy for you then, I knew how much you had wanted him to return. I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to write to you after that, or to come to see you. I thought about it sometimes. I was in France several times over the years, but it didn’t seem right, so I never came to see you.” She nodded. She understood only too well. In some ways, it would have been very strange to see him. There was no denying what they had both felt for each other then. They had managed to keep it in check, fortunately, but one couldn’t pretend that the feelings hadn’t existed.
“William died last year,” she told him sorrowfully. “Or actually, this year, on January second.” Her eyes told him how lonely she was without him. And again, he couldn’t pretend ignorance. It was why he had finally come now. He had never wanted to interfere with her life with him, knowing how much she loved her husband, but now that he knew he was gone, he had to come, to satisfy the dream of a lifetime.
“I know. I also read that in the paper.”
She nodded, still not understanding why he had come, but nonetheless happy to see him. “Did you remarry eventually?”
He shook his head. “Never.” She had haunted him for more than twenty years, and he had never met another woman like her.
“I’m in the jewelry business now, you know.” She looked amused, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you?” This time he seemed genuinely surprised. “That’s something new, isn’t it?”
“Not anymore. It was after the war.” She told him about all the people who had come to them to sell their jewelry and how the business had grown after that. She told him about the Paris store, and Emanuelle running it, and about the store in London.
“That sounds quite amazing. I’ll have to go and see Emanuelle when I’m in Paris.” And then, as he said it, he thought better of it. He knew she had never really liked him. “I imagine the prices are a little rich for my blood. We lost everything,” he said matter-of-factly. “All of our land is in the East now.”
She felt sorry for him. There was something desperately sad about this man. There was something beaten and terribly lonely about him. She offered him a glass of wine, and went in to check on the children. Isabelle and Xavier were having dinner in the kitchen with the serving girl, and Julian had gone upstairs to call his girlfriend. She wanted to introduce them to Joachim, but she wanted to talk to him for a while first. She had the odd feeling that there was a reason why he had come to see her.
She went back into the living room to see him again, and when she did, he was looking over the books. And after a moment she saw that he had found the book he had given her, twenty years before, for Christmas. “You still have it.” He looked pleased, and she smiled at him. “I still have your photograph, on my desk, in Germany.” But that seemed sad to her too. It was so long ago. There should have been someone else on his desk by now, and not Sarah