If this is goodbye

I watched her dance, of course, and was rather satisfied when she managed even with the poor guidance her partner offered. There, I had done my job rather properly… Of course, my eyes only followed her silhouette to unsure my lead had born its fruits, right ? It had nothing to do with her inner grace, nor the waterfall of ringlets that swayed down her back as she turned. Nor her brilliant smiles as she took pleasure in performing the dance. No. Nothing do to with it.

The day that followed was the last one in Châtillon, and I had to run all over the place because of budget issues and material being stolen, or not, and stuff that made my day rather difficult. In the end, though, I managed to spy on my little protégée as she acted in a scene with the main characters, exchanging two words as she passed. I studied, from afar, the expression of her face, the light in her eyes while she pretended to look contrite. My head bobbed up and down in approval; she was rather talented, the little Lady Frances.

Even if I had had the time, I kept my distance. She addressed me a smile as she passed by, and I had no trouble keeping myself busy. She didn’t push; I was grateful for it. Already, a few rumours had spread from the crew who’s seen our interaction yesterday. I didn’t want to add this to the mix of my difficult marital situation. But in the end, as the day wrapped up and most of the locals were being released, I couldn’t resist but let my gaze wander across the great hall.

Her eyes locked with mine, a gleam of happiness shining through. Her hand was enclosed in another man’s, her boyfriend, probably. There. This should be enough to quell any rumours then. I descended the steps, and made a beeline for the couple through the chaos of after shooting. Frances addressed me a beaming smile, and started fishing something in her handbag.

I couldn’t help but remark the possessive arm wrapped around her waist, and how she leant into the dark-haired man beside her. A happy couple; they reminded me of Helen and myself twenty years ago. Was our own flame dead, or could I rekindle it?

— “Hey,” Frances said as I approached. “This is Stéphane. Stéphane, this is, Tristan.”

The man shook my hand vehemently, and I knew, at once, that he recognised me.

— “Nice to meet you”

I responded in kind, trying not to cringe at the terrible French accent. One that Frances curiously didn’t have. Well, who was I to judge? My own accent was rather exotic, and one of the reasons they picked me up for that espionage. Villains always have a accent, after all. Before Frances’s boyfriend – a rather handsome guy with his dark hair and eyes – could shake himself out of his star-induced haze, Frances squeaked; she had found the precious item in the enormous bag.

— “My mother wanted me to give you this.”

The young woman handed me a bocal with a little cap, and I understood that I held a precious piece of raspberry jam.

— “For your family… or yourself if you can't wait” she smiled.

My mouth might have been a little agape, but my incredulity was doused by the indignant cry of her boyfriend. And even if his words were laden with that French sarcasm, his dark eyes were not laughing.

— “Hey, how come I don’t have some?”

Frances’ tone was so dry it could have cracked the earth.

— “Try asking, maybe. Or complimenting, it works just as well.”

Ouch. So, not so happy after all. Family-in-law relationship always were the most difficult ones. And despite the way I had been welcomed in her home, I wasn’t about to comment. There were many, many ways for great people to immiscate themselves in the life of a couple. The little piece of jam in my hand, though, reminded me that I had been adopted. A common occurrence, apparently, for this family who picked up strays.

Was I a stray man in need of affection ? Shaking myself, I gave Frances a heartfelt smile.

— “Convey my thanks to your mother.”

— “Father said you might have trouble bringing tomatoes home, so…”

I laughed, imagining the ripe vegetables squashed in my suitcase.

— “I’ll have to come back.”

Her smile was genuine, going all the way to her lovely almond eyes, her eyelashes long and thick – and devoid of any makeup.

— “You’d be very welcome. Bring your wife and kids, it could be a nice.”

— “Yeah”

Someone in the back was trying to get my attention, and I gestured that I would be over at once. When my eyes returned to the couple, I could see Frances shifting from one foot to the other.

— “So, erm. Goodbye then, and thank you” she said.

I shook her boyfriend’s hand once more, then exchanged a quick glance with Frances where many emotions seemed to pass. I could make heads or tails of none, for my heart suddenly chose to stutter. That was it, the end of a nice acquaintance that would remain carved into my very being. This little break she had offered me, this bout of genuine affection, was priceless. Without thinking, I pulled her into a quick hug. My tall frame enveloped hers so easily, and despite the surprise, she wound her arms around my shoulders tightly, the warmth of her hands resting in my upper back. It lasted but a second, but it felt so right that I was slightly dazed when I let go.

— “Goodbye,” I whispered, sharing one last glance before I walked away.

This very evening, I put the jam into my suitcase with much care. As I enveloped it in a piece of t-shirt so it wouldn’t break, my attention was called by a few lines written on a sticker glued to the bottom. Neat, rounded letters – feminine, no doubt – had written: “Just in case”. Then there was her number.

Just in case. In case I needed to talk. In case I needed a friend with no prejudice, someone who would neither judge nor reprimand. In case I needed a piece of sunlight in my life, or the reminder of a day dancing under an oak tree.

Sitting on the sofa, I considered the little token with fondness, then fished out my phone. I typed in her number, and labelled it “Lady Frances”.

I would probably never use it.

I almost did a year later, especially when my life went south faster than a plane about to crash, and I needed support more than ever.

But I didn’t, because it wouldn’t have been fair to her. She was so young, so innocent, she would give too much time and attention to a broken-hearted old man, and I could only whine and moan my distress in return. I needed to rebound, to find inner strength in myself and understand my mistakes. I had friends. And character. I could do it.

Besides, she probably had a life, by now. A career. Probably a husband to be, maybe a child?

So time passed, and even if I didn’t forget those moments than shone in my memories with the brightness of nostalgia, the lady Frances became part of history. One name that I sometimes spotted in my phone, wondering why I had not deleted it altogether. Something that belonged to the past, like the address of my childhood home, or the smell of the ocean when I got to my grandparents’ house by the beach.

History.

… for two years and a half, at least.

Author's note: so here is the end of the first arc. Leave a little comment if you want to read more, and I'll endeavour to post what follows ! Cheers to you all and happy holidays.