She guessed that those who hadn’t been present the first time she visited had been apprised of her dive into the twilight zone.
Strolling in with Luc, she tried to look reassuringly normal and joyous. Certainly, after the visit to the doctor, some joy must have still been hanging about her because it kept trilling through her spirit. Nothing too terrible could touch her with Luc’s enthusiasm for their shared secret wrapped around her heart like a shield.
‘Alors, Shari, how are you today?’ people said after the exchange of kissing. ‘Are you well, ma chérie? Are you eating your food?’
Laraine herself, dressed in a lovely linen suit, was very attentive to Shari’s comfort. Shari wondered if it was an accident the decanter of mineral water had been positioned near her place setting. How was a woman able to be so charming, so intelligent, so pleasant and discreet all at the same time, and still be so formidable?
At least Shari felt more confident about her clothes. She was wearing her floral dress, heels, and had wound her hair into a chignon to show off some aquamarine earrings Luc had surprised her with in honour of their first consultation.
She’d drawn a caterpillar on her collarbone, but felt pretty sure it would only be visible if she leaned forward, or had to twist about.
Laraine’s cast of characters had expanded. There was a new couple, Raoul and Lucette. Lucette had a baby in a high chair she was feeding while attempting to eat her own food. Every so often Raoul interrupted his conversation to amuse the baby or assist in the production of shovelling food into his little rosebud mouth. Whenever Raoul looked on them a softness touched his eyes.
He loves him, Shari thought, trying not to stare. Really loves him. And he loves her.
Tante Marise was late to arrive, and after she’d kissed and been kissed by everyone she exclaimed to Luc, ‘Again, Luc, and so soon. We are honoured, hein?’ Then she turned to Shari, her blue eyes so genuinely kind Shari felt warmed. ‘I am so happy you are here, Shari. When do you return to Australia?’
Shari felt Luc’s quick glance. ‘Not yet. Not for a while.’
‘Oh, là, but where are you staying? Not in an ‘otel?’
‘Shari is staying with me,’ Luc said, taking up a ladle and turning to Shari. ‘Tagine, chérie?’
All eyes sparkled and flitted between Luc and Shari. After a polite nodded ‘Ah’ from Tante Marise, conversations about half a dozen random subjects broke out while the family digested the information with their tagine à l’orange.
Chickpeas and lentils in a mildly aromatic sauce.
Delicious.
Shari felt a pleased glow. She could have kissed the man right there. A public acknowledgement of their relationship, however discreet, was a breakthrough.
Laraine seemed to take the news in her stride. She merely nodded, as if her son was confirming something she’d suspected all along. Her glance at Shari continued warm, curious, a little amused, and Shari felt it often.
She supposed mothers worried about who was birthing their sons’ babies. By some feat of witchcraft, Laraine had already guessed she was in the family way. How soon would be tactful to fill the matriarch in officially? Not understanding how things worked between mother and son made the territory chancy.
Until Luc was ready to declare his paternity to the world, Shari couldn’t feel any real security. And how likely was he to announce it loud and clear unless he knew for certain he was the father?
By the time they were through the salad course, Rochefort and were embarking on the mousse aux framboises, Rémy’s name hadn’t been mentioned once. The family were making an effort.
Maybe a day would come when she would feel relaxed with them all and stop worrying about every little thing. But after she and Luc had said their farewells, kissed and been kissed, the burning question had crystallised in her mind.
When would she return home? Would she ever?
‘It wasn’t quite so scary this time,’ she said to Luc afterwards.
‘It was good you remained conscious,’ he agreed, smiling.
‘And the earrings helped.’
‘Tu étais belle. Soon they will love you.’
Her heart panged. Would they?
Would he?
She twisted her hands in her lap. ‘It feels strange not to know for certain where I’ll be in a year’s time. Or if I’ll be seeing Neil at Christmas.’
He looked sharply at her. ‘You’ll be here at Christmas. With me. On the very brink of giving birth, if not in the hospital.’
‘If we can arrange the visa.’
‘Don’t worry about that, chérie. You worry far too much. I’m meeting with someone tomorrow, and we will discuss it.’
‘Someone in the government?’
His eyes veiled and he waggled his hand. ‘A friend.’ After a long silence he observed casually, ‘You and Neil must be—very close.’
‘Well, naturally. He practically brought me up, you know.’
He was silent so long, she turned to examine him. He was far away, a curious twist to his mouth.
‘Now who’s looking worried,’ she teased. ‘Lighten up. I’m the one giving birth.’
Eager to fit in, she enrolled in intensive French lessons. Five mornings a week she caught the métro to Saint-Placide where she brushed up on her vocabulary and grammar. It didn’t seem to help when she was on the train eavesdropping on people’s conversations, but at least she was learning things about French manners and customs that hadn’t been included at high school.
Luc was pleased. And she began to notice that, more and more, he reverted to his own language when they were conversing.
Gradually, words and expressions must have been seeping into her understanding, because often she caught his meaning. Not that she understood him any the better, except in the matter of passion, where understanding flowed between them like a tumultuous river.
The first ultrasound scan was an unforgettable experience. The indistinct and everchanging images of a tiny burgeoning person, the brave little rhythm of another heart beating within her had a deeply emotional effect on them both. During the event Luc seemed to lose all power of speech. Shari naturally cried, but glancing at Luc at one point she caught an awed shimmer in his eyes too, though he quickly concealed them from her.
The news was good. The baby was developing well, and growing at the normal rate. The doctor offered to tell them the gender, but seeing a doubt in Luc’s shining eyes, Shari said softly, ‘I think we’d like to be surprised.’
Before they left, the doctor paused. ‘Everything is looking very strong. Your next ultrasound will be in July.’ She produced a schedule with all Shari’s future consultations listed. The amniocentesis test hadn’t been included, to Shari’s relief.
Maybe she could just quietly forget about it. Pretend the subject had never come up. But her relief was shortlived when the doctor added, ‘I see no need for the amnio test you inquired about. Your risk level is very low. Unless you have some concerns you wish to settle?’
Shari tensed. ‘No, no. I just …’ She glanced at Luc, who’d frowned. She could feel a blush creep up her neck and into her hair. Admitting to the doctor that the father of her child had ever had the slightest question about his paternity, rightly or wrongly,