"Come, Maurice and Isabelle have been busy in the kitchen and have prepared dinner for us."
In truth, neither was hungry, but they would not have hurt the feelings of the elderly couple who had worked so hard for them. Roland took Grace's hand and led her from the hall to the dining room. It was a beautifully appointed room, dominated by a cherry wood dinner table and chairs, sideboard and display cabinets containing fine china. On the wall to one side hung two small oil portraits of Annette and Philippe. They were painted with a light, almost impressionistic, touch, but had nonetheless captured the essence of the sitters. Grace looked at them, appreciating the skill of the artist. She looked at the corner of Annette's portrait and the initials "REB" leapt from the canvas. She turned to Roland,
"Did you paint these? You did, didn't you?"
"Yes. Do you like them?"
"I love them; they are wonderful. Roland, you have such a gift. You never said you painted."
"Sweetheart, the subject never came up and, besides, I only dabble; I would never credit myself with any real talent. I suspect Philippe brings these out when he knows I'm going to visit," he self-deprecatingly replied.
"Roland, you do have talent; these are truly Annette and Philippe. You don't paint at the hospital, do you? I have never seen any evidence of it."
"I don't have the time to paint nowadays; there is too much going on. I do have a small set of oils and of watercolours, but I have only done the occasional small study. Hetty hated me painting; she said it wasn't a fittingly masculine activity for an officer and that I would do better to hunt rather than waste my time on daubing canvas. After Freddie died, I stopped altogether."
Grace felt awful that she had unwittingly focused him on his wife's cruelty and his son's loss, "I'm sorry, my love, I did not mean to bring back bad memories for you. I didn't know."
"You take away the bad memories, my angel. Telling you about them removes any power they had to hurt and, besides, I was thinking of perhaps starting again. Do you think it would be a good idea?"
"Oh, definitely, you should. You have a true gift and I'm so proud of you."
He drew her to him and kissed the top of her head. "Very well; I shall. Now, we are not in the main dining room tonight. I thought that you would prefer something more intimate so we shall eat in the orangery."
"That sounds wonderful, Roland."
He took her hand and led her through the room to half glazed doors at the end, which opened into a large greenhouse, teeming with ferns, ornamental figs, a small vine and the titular orange trees in ceramic pots. At its heart was a small round table, covered in white linen, more of the fragrant cabbage roses in a bowl, and laid with the most delicate crystal and china. A bottle of champagne had been placed in an ice-bucket to one side, twin flutes waiting to be filled. The table was candlelit and the gentle light contributed to the magical atmosphere in the room, which overlooked the gardens beyond.
"This is so beautiful, Roland. I cannot believe that this is for us."
"It's for you, my darling."
"Why? How?"
"Because I asked for it to show you how much I love you, and Philippe and Annette wanted to do something to welcome you to their lives."
"Oh, Roland; I love you so. Philippe and Annette have welcomed me with open arms; I must thank them, but how can I repay them?"
"By being happy with me in their home," he simply said.
"In that case, full repayment has already been made. I adore you and I am happy with you wherever and whenever we are together."
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. No words were necessary. Maurice had waited in the background and he now entered the orangery to seat this pair, whom he had taken great delight in telling Isabelle, were "les amoureux". He had been absorbed in his thoughts, watching the pair together. He had known Roland over the years that he had visited Monsieur Mouret and was pleased to see the change, which this woman had wrought in his master's friend. Gone was the sadness which had haunted his expression; now he seemed filled with joie de vivre. As for his lover, Grace, she lived up to her name, was clearly very much in love with Roland and seemed of a caring disposition. She was a nurse after all, so she must be good at looking after people, Maurice thought. Yes, she would do very well for Roland. He had heard Monsieur Mouret say this to Madame and Monsieur was seldom wrong. He had disliked Roland's wife from the moment he had met her, he said, and he was right; she had made poor Monsieur Roland's life a misery. If this deserving man could be happy with Mademoiselle Grace, then he, Maurice, certainly had no qualms about serving their needs. He was a Frenchman, after all, and affairs of the heart were no one's business except the couple involved, and this couple were wrapped up in each other. Added to this, he was a patriot, and they were part of the forces fighting to protect his country, working so hard in the hospital to heal the men wounded by the German invaders that they had no time together. Let them enjoy this time and find peace for a few hours.
Maurice pulled Grace's chair from beneath the table and with a gentle "Mademoiselle Grace, s'il vous plaît," she took her place. "Monsieur Roland, s'il vous plaît," was followed by a quiet aside for Roland's ears only, "Mademoiselle Grace est belle, Monsieur."
Roland nodded in acknowledgement and smiled at Maurice, who went to uncork and pour their champagne. He brought the flutes of the delicately fizzing wine and offered them to Grace and Roland, stepping back immediately, so that they had some privacy. He left the orangery to bring the first course and Roland waited, until he had gone, to take Grace's hand, raise his glass and say,
"To you, my forever love. You bless my life with your love; may it grow throughout our lives together."
Grace was overcome with emotion, as she sipped the champagne. "I want for nothing as long as I have you, Roland," was her heartfelt response.
He bent his head and brushed a kiss across her hand. "Maurice has taken quite a shine to you, my darling."
"Has he? He is very gallant."
"Yes, he says you are beautiful, and he is right, but there is something even more than beauty about you tonight. You glitter like the brightest jewel and yet you wear none."
"I have never been so happy and have never felt so loved. Perhaps that is what you see."
"I see you, my darling Grace, and I shall keep this image of you tonight right here, set as a seal." He touched his hand to his heart and she had no words to tell him how she felt, but he knew all the same. Maurice returned with a tureen of onion soup and croutons. He ladled the steaming liquid into bowls and left them to their food.
"So, what do you think of my friends, my love?"
"They are both so kind, Roland. To go to so much trouble and to allow us to use their house is beyond kind. They clearly care about you."
"They care about you, too, Grace. Philippe told me earlier that you were perfect for me and I for you."
"He is a man of exquisitely good taste then," Grace teased.
"He is right."
"Thank you, Roland, for loving me enough to bring me here, to introduce me to your friends and to share them with me. I feel as if I have known them for years and yet we only met today."
"They feel the same about you, my love. Annette is loyal, loving, clever and funny; she will be a true friend to you. I can see that she has already embraced you as part of the family."
"I have never had a close female friend before and I always longed for a sister, so perhaps we shall become like that."
"I feel certain that you will. She told me that she thought you were perfectly named. I thought that was a beautiful thing to say."
"Oh, Roland, I don't know what to say, but I am so grateful."
"I do know what to say; you are the grace that lights my every day and protects me each night."
Grace looked deep into his eyes and her expression was everything he could have wanted. She held out her hand to him and he placed a kiss on her palm, turning her fingers over it to keep it safe. A slight cough from behind an ornamental fig broke the moment and made them both smile. Maurice appeared from his hiding place and removed the soup bowls, which were soon replaced with plates for the delicious "Coq au Vin", which was Isabelle's signature dish. Their appetites were slight, however, although each tried to do justice to the hearty casserole and vegetables. Finally, Maurice brought in the "Tarte Tatin" with a flourish and served slices with thick clotted cream from the dairy. Roland said that they would take coffee in the drawing room and he led Grace there, slipping his arm around her waist as he did so.