Courage, perhaps? Hope, even?

  ‘From life,’ she said.

  There was no point in putting any of the groceries away until there was somewhere clean to put them, so Ellie found a shady spot behind the shed to keep things out of the sun.

  The house felt different as she entered it today, maybe because she knew what she would find. Or perhaps it was because she was alone and she wasn’t about to escape anytime soon. If this was going to work, she needed to find a connection to this house. To start caring about it at some level.

  Finding a small fridge tucked under the wooden benchtop was a good start, and, surprisingly, it was cold enough inside for the small metal freezer compartment to be coated with white ice. Maybe Laura was right and there was going to be the less pleasant surprise of a large electricity bill in the near future. The shelves were far from clean, however, and Ellie knew she would need more than paper towels and a spray product to tackle the grime. Was she going to have to find kindling and work out how to get a wood-fired cooker going in order to have some hot water available?

  No. Hidden under a large wooden breadboard was an electric cooktop with two hotplates. She held her breath as she turned one of them on and didn’t let it out until the plate began to glow red. Then she twisted the top of the brass tap over the sink as far as she could, hoping that the spluttering and rust would eventually run its course. By the time she located a cast-iron pot in one of the cupboards, the water was definitely clearer, although the sputtering continued. She half-filled the pot, put it on the hotplate and went back outside to find one of the bags of cleaning products that Laura had selected from the supermarket that morning. She needed a scouring pad and bleach and cloths.

  An hour later and the interior of the fridge looked hygienic enough to put food inside. She rescued the bag that contained milk, cheese, butter and ham and then went back for the bottle of wine. She had just closed the door on her culinary treasures when her phone beeped.

  About to board

  Laura’s text read.

  But I’ve been online to pass the time. Make sure you’re home for a delivery late this afternoon xx.

  More food? Or maybe some more clothes, Ellie thought. That would have been a brainwave. Who knew that cleaning out one small fridge could have made her tee shirt and jeans quite this grubby?

  She looked even worse a few hours later, when she’d emptied kitchen cupboards, scrubbed them out, washed all the pots and put them back. She hadn’t stopped to eat anything, she realised. The crockery cupboard needed to be next on the list so that she had something clean to put food on to and eat it with, but she was tired already and needed to do something about where she was going to sleep.

  Oh, help…

  It wasn’t as if there was any choice about which bedroom she would use, because she knew she couldn’t even set foot in the one with the baby’s cot, but pigeon poo on the floor was almost as off-putting as bats hanging from a curtain rail. Was she going to find some new horror when she went to put clean sheets on the larger bed – like mice nesting in the mattress?

  Ellie sank onto the cushions of the huge old leather couch in the living area. The combination of fatigue, hunger and a glimpse at the scale of the challenge she had taken on was suddenly overwhelming. Especially when she could feel every mile of the distance that was now between her and everybody she loved. Or even knew, for that matter. She was alone in a country populated entirely with complete strangers, most of whom she wouldn’t even be able to communicate with.

  Squeezing her eyes tightly shut was the only way to stave off tears that could end up being an admission of defeat. She’d made a start, she reminded herself. She had food in a clean fridge and clean pots and pans and basins in the cupboards under the sink. A small corner of the house was useable, and all she needed to do was gradually expand that area.

  Cleaning the entire crockery cupboard wasn’t urgent. She could simply wash a single plate. And one wine glass. The thought of a cold glass of the local rosé she had chosen from a bewildering variety on offer in the supermarket was becoming increasingly appealing. She didn’t even have to make the bed today. It was already quite apparent that this couch would be more than comfortable enough to sleep on.

  A bath was going to be essential, however, so Ellie kept her fingers crossed that the tradesman Noah had called would appear. She would never be able to summon the energy to carry multiple pots of hot water up the stairs to try and fill that old clawfoot bathtub, and, anyway, it needed scrubbing out and bleaching before she could even start. Imagining the effort that the task would entail made her sink back against the cushions of the couch, her eyes still firmly shut.

  Her swirling thoughts gradually subsided and it was impossible to resist the lure of escaping completely into sleep. Just for a minute or two…

  Startled into wakefulness by the sound of a truck stopping on the road outside the house and a door slamming, Ellie had a moment of confusion about where she was and what time of day it was. As reality rapidly dragged her back into the present, she noticed that the light had changed, softening into early evening. At the thought that this could be the arrival of the person who could supply her with the luxury of a hot bath, she had a hopeful smile on her face as she hurried to the front door.

  ‘Mademoiselle Gilchrist?’

  She recognised her surname and nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Signez ici, s’il vous plaît.’

  Ellie didn’t understand a word, but having a form and a pen thrust towards her made the meaning clear. Except… why would she need to sign something before any repairs to the hot water system had been made? The truck didn’t look like a tradesman’s vehicle, either, she realised. It was large enough to be blocking the narrow road, and a car was already waiting behind it.

  ‘Um… Sorry… what is this about?’

  The young man’s sigh, along with an exasperated expression, let her know that he couldn’t be bothered with someone who couldn’t speak his language. An impatient toot from the waiting car added to the tension.

  ‘Venez avec moi,’ he commanded, leading the way to the truck. He waved at the impatient driver that he was blocking. ‘Un moment,’ he shouted, and then shook his head, waving a dismissive hand in Ellie’s direction. ‘Anglaise.’

  It was patently obvious that the irritation was being explained by her nationality. Ellie felt her cheeks flush as she waited for the back door of the truck to be flung open.

  ‘Voilà.’

  ‘Ohh…’ Ellie pressed her hand to her open mouth. So this was Laura’s surprise? It was… fabulous. Her family might be a long way away, but this felt like an encouraging hug. She wasn’t really alone, was she? Her lips curved into a smile that wobbled a little. ‘It’s… beautiful.’

  Her reaction seemed to have diffused the atmosphere. The waiting driver was climbing out of his car to peer into the truck himself.

  ‘Oh là là,’ he exclaimed.

  It was the first time Ellie had heard the exclamation, which was such a cliché, in real life and it took her back to French classes in high school, where she and her friends had decided it was the most hilarious response to anything at all until the novelty wore off. The memory brought another smile and a soft huff of laughter from her lips. When she took the pen and swiftly signed the delivery form, she actually received a smile from the delivery man in return. He jumped into the truck and handed her surprise to his unexpected assistant from the trapped car, who set it onto the roadside in front of Ellie.

  It was a bicycle.

  Not just any bicycle. This one was retro style, bright red, and it had a basket on the front.

  Ellie searched for her schoolgirl French.

  ‘Merci,’ she said. ‘Merci beaucoup. It’s… magnifique…’

  The two men nodded, spoke to each other and then shook hands. Within seconds, the truck rumbled to life and took off along the road. The driver of the car waved as he followed. The sound of the vehicles receded into total silence, but Ellie was still standing there, holding the handlebars of the bicycle.

  This was, quite possibly, the best present anyone had ever given her.

  She could go as far as her legs would be able to pedal. She’d have to do it on the wrong side of the road, but she could go wherever she wanted to go. Into the nearby small village of Tourrettes-sur-Loup for daily requirements like bread or cheese. Into Vence if she needed a supermarket. Back to St Paul de Vence, maybe, to spend more time on those cobbled streets. To a river, even, to fill the basket with stones of her own choosing…

  It was a stroke of genius on Laura’s part, and it pretty much wiped the slate clean of all the criticism and disappointment that had accumulated for too many years. In that moment, Ellie had never felt so much love for her oldest sister. She wasn’t trapped in this sad, dirty little house.

  It felt like Laura had given her freedom.

  3

  Ellie propped the bicycle against the wooden door of the shed and stood there for a long moment, admiring it. Then she took a photo with her phone, texted it to Laura and added a message to tell her that she was the best sister ever.

  The response was instant.

  You’re welcome. Chose the colour to match your hair. Don’t forget to stay on the right side of the road!!!

  The boost to Ellie’s morale carried her back into the house. Into the kitchen, where she spotted a baguette sitting on the recently scrubbed wooden breadboard. Her stomach growled a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so she broke off a large chunk of baguette and prised it open. She folded in a slice of the juicy ham Laura had chosen from the supermarket delicatessen and added some wedges of a soft Camembert. As a final touch, she spread a generous amount of Dijon mustard, squashed the roll a little flatter and then took her first bite.

  Oh, wow.

  There was nothing like hunger to make something astonishingly delicious. The bone-deep weariness from a long day of physical labour sprinkled with dollops of some rather intense emotions seemed to add another condiment. Or perhaps it was that the flavours were so quintessentially French and she was eating it looking out onto that incredible view that could only be the south of France. A view that was now tinged with the first colours of what promised to be a long and gentle sunset.

  There was only one thing that could make this experience even better. A glass of rosé. Oh, and maybe sitting down to eat it. Not inside, though. Right now, that terrace wasn’t looking like a trap to suck someone into a vortex of loneliness. It looked like the perfect place to watch a sunset paint its magic onto an endless sky.

  It wasn’t that lonely, either, Ellie decided some time later. Having swallowed the last mouthful of her sandwich and chased it down with the rest of the wine, she went back inside to refill her glass.

  Such a pretty pale pink. Like that first flush of the sunset that was now deepening into a much more intense colour, with streaks of gold that might become orange very soon. She took the glass with her as she wandered outside again, towards the lemon orchard this time, as if she wanted to step closer to the rapidly darkening silhouette of the nearest mountain.

  No. It wasn’t lonely.

  It was… peaceful.

  So peaceful it felt like nothing she had ever experienced before. The warmth of the air around her was as comforting as a snuggly blanket on a freezing winter’s night. The light was gentle on her eyes, and the silence, only occasionally broken by the call of a bird, was utterly different to the silences she had been living with for so long.

  It wasn’t punishing her with what was missing from her life.

  It felt as if it was soothing her with the promise of a new beginning.

  The sun was low enough now to give the air the soft, misty quality Ellie had noticed yesterday and made her think of classes back at art school, exploring paintings by some of the masters, like Matisse or Chagall.

  Of course it did. There’d been a good reason why so many famous artists had lived and worked in this part of France, and it probably had a lot to do with this light. And the landscape. She took another long moment to soak in the postcard-perfect scene. Not that she’d ever try to capture it on a canvas herself. Ellie’s focus had always been on smaller details – like that lemon she could see nestled amongst the glossy foliage of the nearest tree in the small orchard.

  She walked closer. Close enough to touch the skin of the lemon. To bend her head and inhale the sharp, clean scent as she cupped the fruit in her hand. Overripe, the lemon fell from the tree at her touch, so she stooped to pick it up. She spotted another lemon not far away, so she picked that one up as well.

  A couple of steps and there were more – still firm enough to be good. With her wine glass still in her other hand, Ellie couldn’t pick up any more fruit, so she started making a small pile. She would bring a bucket out in the morning to collect them, and maybe she really would make some lemonade.

  Ellie finally reached the sagging fence. The shadows were long and deep, but it was still easy to spot the two donkeys – in the same place as yesterday, underneath that olive tree – on either side of the boulder.

  Wait…

  That boulder hadn’t been there yesterday.

  It was an effort to pull her brain back from the peaceful, dreamy space it had embraced. Ellie narrowed her eyes and tried to focus. It wasn’t a boulder. She could see something poking out from the rounded shape because it was pale and almost gleaming as the last rays of the sun touched it. Even so, it took a minute to recognise what she was seeing because it was so unexpected.

  A small, human foot.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Adrenaline flooded Ellie’s body and her wine glass slipped, unheeded, from her hand.

  It was a child. Right between the large bodies of two potentially dangerous animals. Within inches of hooves that could cause serious injuries. Ellie remembered the horrific bruises her sister Fiona had received on one occasion, when she’d been kicked by a horse. Her own unfortunate incident with a pony, as a young child, had instilled enough fear to make Ellie instinctively keep her distance from anything equine.

  But she had to do something now.

  It wasn’t hard to climb over the fence, which was simply a few strands of smooth wire suspended between what looked like upright tree branches. With her heart in her mouth, Ellie slowly approached the donkeys. As their heads swung in her direction and those long ears pointed forwards, her heart rate increased noticeably. They could turn in an instant, couldn’t they? Getting ready to kick or bite her. Trampling that small child without even noticing.

  ‘Shhh…’ she said aloud, even though they weren’t making any noise. ‘It’s okay, donkeys. I… just want to… you know…’

  Save that child’s life.

  She could see a little face now, as well as the foot. A pale face, with a sweep of dark lashes beneath closed eyes and a tumble of dark, curly hair. A toddler, maybe around three years old?

  Ellie kept moving. Slowly, so that she didn’t startle the donkeys into making a sudden movement. She didn’t dare make direct eye contact with them, but she could feel them watching her. She was close enough to touch one of them now and, as she leaned down, could feel the brush of air as it flicked its ears.

  ‘Don’t move,’ she whispered through gritted teeth. ‘Please, don’t move.’

  She touched the child’s shoulder, but he didn’t wake up. Her mouth dried instantly. Had he already been hurt? Was he even alive? No. She couldn’t let herself sink into that horror or she wouldn’t be able to move at all. Crouching, she slid one hand behind the small body and scooped him into her other arm, drawing him out from between the shaggy bellies of the donkeys. Then she straightened, carefully, and took a step back. And then another. The nearest donkey took a step towards her, and that did it. Ellie turned and fled back to the fence, clambered over it and then stopped. Her breath was coming in short gasps and she was shaking like a leaf, but the child in her arms was still sound asleep. Or was he unconscious?

  And then it hit her with far more effect than any kick those donkeys might have delivered.

  She was holding a child.

  The first time she had done so since her own child had died.

  But this little boy – she was sure he was a boy despite those astonishing eyelashes and perfect Cupid’s bow of a mouth – was alive. She could feel the warmth coming from small, bare limbs and the huff of his breath against her neck. It was impossible not to be aware of the dewy softness of his skin or the smell of his hair. Unable to stop herself, Ellie pressed her cheek against the dark curls and closed her eyes as she drew in a long, shaky breath.

  The child stirred in her arms, and Ellie jerked her head back in time to see two large, very dark eyes appear. A flash of fear came and then morphed into surprise, and then, to her astonishment, those perfect little lips curved into a smile.

  ‘Maman?’

  Oh… that single word, so clear it was like a bell in the silent evening, could have been spoken in any language and it would have pierced her heart like a spear. Ellie couldn’t say anything, but her arms tightened a little around the boy as tears sprang to her eyes.

  It became even more heart-rending when two small arms came up to wrap themselves around her neck and that curly head rubbed the space beneath her collarbone to find the most comfortable spot to snuggle into before the little body went limp again.

  Oh… God…

  The feel of this child… The smell of him…

  That small snuffling sound of breathing through a nose that was squashed against her skin.

  Ellie had never wanted to hold a child again because she’d known how unbearable it would be.

  Because she’d never be able to hold her own baby again.

  She couldn’t move.

  Couldn’t think.

  Where had this child come from? Where was his mother?