Flowers of Darkness by Tatiana Rosnay (e novels to read online TXT) 📕

icon. Andy’s face showed up. She was on a bus, her earphones in place. She let out an astonished yelp when she saw her grandparents together. What the hell were they doing? Wearing bathing suits? Were they swimming, or what? This was insane! When did Mums get there?

Clarissa laughed through her tears. She said it was all very simple. She was going to spend a couple of days, or more, here in Guéthary. She was going to take her time.

“That’s it,” said Toby with a serious tone. “Your granny is getting surfing lessons.”

Andy roared with laughter.

“You guys are incredible. I love you both to the moon and back. Was this planned?”

“Yes,” said Clarissa.

“No,” said Toby.

“I don’t want to spoil the party,” said Andy, “but Mummy blew a fuse. She’s looking for you everywhere, Mums! Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

“I’ll handle your mother, missy,” said Toby. “You leave that up to me.”

They chatted cheerily for a few minutes more. Andy had to go; she was on her way to class. She’d call soon.

Toby and Clarissa returned to Guetharia. The streets were now bustling with pedestrians, joggers, cyclists, people getting on with their chores. Several people greeted Toby, who responded with a smile. Inquisitive and friendly glances were shot at Clarissa.

“Are you hungry?” asked Toby in the elevator.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you wait on the terrace? I’ll rustle something together. And I’ll call Jordan.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“That you’re here. Safe and sound.”

She sat on the terrace, facing the sea. When they were married, Toby was the one who enjoyed cooking. She remembered the delicious smells coming from the small kitchen on the rue d’Alésia. Clarissa let her eyes rove over the water and its shifting highlights. Paris and the C.A.S.A. residence seemed far away. She thought of her phone, placed on the kitchen table. She thought of Chablis being cuddled by Adelka. She thought of François’s letter lying at the bottom of her bag. She thought of her father, and how he was able to send all that energy, even from another country.

Toby came out carrying a tray. She helped him set the table. Tomato salad, cured ham, Basque cheese, bread, and grapes. Red wine.

“If I’d known you were coming, I would have gone shopping. That was very short notice.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, sitting down.

She asked him if he had managed to get hold of Jordan.

By way of response, he poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.

“Tell me what you think. Irouléguy, domaine Ilarria.”

She took a sip. It was good, she told him.

“It’s not too bad,” he agreed. “I told Jordan I was watching over you. Okay by you?”

She said yes.

During their meal, Toby said that ever since he’d met her, ever since that very first day, he’d understood she soaked up emotions like a sponge, everything going straight to her heart. He remembered listening to Clarissa on a podcast, several years ago, talking about Virginia Woolf. She had referred to how her favorite writer liked to dig out “beautiful caves” behind her characters, so as to give them humanity, humor, and depth. That figure of speech struck him. He didn’t know, truthfully, what lurked in Clarissa’s subterranean caves, but he did know this. It didn’t matter why Clarissa had come here today, what François had done, why she’d left her flat, what Jordan truly thought about her mother’s state of mind. What did matter was that Clarissa was going to have to learn, over again, how to put down her weapons, how to find her own peace. Thinking about her father filled him with hope. The old fellow certainly led by example, with his optimism and his wit taunting the passage of time. He never moped, never looked behind, never complained. He still knew how to laugh. He still found delight in life, at his age.

Toby paused. Then he said in a gentle, affectionate voice, “So what’s in those ‘beautiful caves’ of yours, Blue?”

“Two things. A divorce and a move.”

“Now that’s clear.”

“You don’t want to know why?”

“You’ll tell me in due course, if you need to.”

“And what if I don’t tell you anything?”

“Not important.”

They put the dishes away together, then had tea and coffee inside, discussing Adriana, Aunt Serena’s brooch, and the holidays Jordan was organizing.

“The wind is changing,” said Toby suddenly. “Look at those gray clouds scurrying in from Spain. You’ll see how fast the rain comes. It’s quite spectacular. We have front-row seats.”

They went outside to observe the clouds and the light interlacing. The breeze had turned cool; the sea became rougher before their very eyes. The storm was gaining strength as it drew nearer, and Clarissa felt she was witnessing what happened inside her whenever she yielded to her worst fears.

“Do you think of him sometimes?” she asked.

Toby didn’t need to ask her whom she meant.

“Every day, in some way or another.”

“How do you think of him?”

“I see him the way he would be now. I see a man. I like the idea of him being forty-something. Maybe a dad. Maybe not. Sometimes, I see him in nature, up there in that sky, in that ocean. He’s out there somewhere; I’m not sure where, but I know he’s there.”

Clarissa said that for so long, she had not been able to mention their son. She hadn’t been able to put into words what his death meant to her. Hypnosis helped, but it had at the same time drawn her away from her memories of him. She now wanted to be able to utter his name without trembling, and she wanted that name to find its own place. She wanted to be able to visit their son’s grave.

She whispered, “Glenn.”

Toby’s hand settled on her shoulder.

Clarissa watched the ocean churn and swell, listened to the wind picking up. The downpour was coming in from offshore, heralded by huge black shadows encroaching upon the water’s silvery surface, like long threatening claws sliding their way, like those flowers of darkness growing inside her head.

Even if the storm came,