June 10th 1904

The picnic had been Marie's idea.

As soon as she had woken and seen the sun shining through her bedroom window onto her bedspread, she'd been filled with the idea of spreading a rug out somewhere in the park and eating cold meats, pickles and jams.

So, there he was, dragged away from his creative labour on the balcony, where he'd been perched on a small chair with a pencil and a piece of paper, scribbling verses and ideas down roughly. Now sprawled out on a large blanket, leant to him by his housekeeper Mrs. Moore, and safe guarding a picnic hamper filled with goodies.

He let the sunshine fall onto his face, warming his skin, and tried to remember the last time he'd felt as relaxed. It had been a long, long time.

A shadow stood in front of him, blocking the light, and he squinted up.

Marie stuck out a hand, clasped in it, and springing lightly, was a bunch of white daisies, the ends of their petals tipped with pink splashes of colour.

He sat up, taking them gently,

"Thank you, they're beautiful,"

Marie settled herself down in his lap, and watched as he punched vertical holes in their stems one by one, before taking a single daisy and threading the stem carefully through the hole of another, before doing the same again,

"What are you doing Papa?" Marie asked, her eyes transfixed on the chain of flowers forming before her,

"I'm making you a crown of daisies,"

Christian looped the last daisy round, effectively tying it off, and rested the small loop of flowers on top of Marie's almost white gold hair. It slid down to her forehead and she giggled as the petals tickled her skin.

She stood up and turned to face him,

"Perfect," Christian smiled, for once not feeling a wash of guilt that he was having fun without her there, or without thinking how much more enjoyable a moment would be with her there with them.

He looked up, Marie was crouched down beside him now, placing a small buttercup into the empty buttonhole of his shirt.

Her face was screwed up in concentration, her tongue poking out with the effort.

He reached out and gently trapped her tongue between his thumb and forefinger,

"What's this then?" he tugged it softly, and she whipped away giggling,

"Papa," she giggled and sat back away from her, admiring her handiwork, "Perfect," she mimicked him, pleased with herself, and he couldn't help but smile and laugh.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, and grabbed her under the arms, swinging her up and around in the air, before bringing her into his body and collapsing backwards to the ground with her lying on his chest.

She giggled and straightened her crown of daisies again, he sat half-up and planted a small kiss on her cheek.

Someone clearing their throat made them both look up.

Christian groaned quietly as he pulled himself up, moving Marie off his chest and onto the rug beside him,

"Mother."

He eyed her carefully, aware that she could say something that might upset his daughter.

"How long have you been there?"

Josephine gave what he could only describe as a sad smile,

"Long enough," it was said so softly that he could barely hear her.

He smiled at Marie,

"How about you go and collect some more daisies so we can make a chain for your Grandmother,"

Marie nodded eagerly and moved off. Josephine came closer, waiting until she was out of earshot.

"I..." there was a small, subdued pause, where Josephine looked as though she were summoning the courage to say something, "...apologise. My suggestion the other day was, nothing short of barbaric. You must understand, it's been a long time, the son I knew was not the type to raise a child single handed, but, you, obviously, are."

Christian looked up, pleasantly surprised, and she carried on.

"Seeing you with her now, makes me realise that, maybe, you are a better parent on your own than your father and I ever were, together."

They both looked over to where the small four-year old was knelt on the soft grass picking up daisies.

"She's my granddaughter, I know I'd never forgive myself if I didn't get to know her, if I just gave up on her because of my silly ideas of grandeur."

Christian gave a small smile, knowing how much pride his mother had had to swallow in order to say everything she had.

"She's a beautiful little person,"

Josephine smiled softly at the depth of his words and sighed, as if eager to change the subject,

"I'm, on my way home from town, would you like a lift to your apartments?"

Christian looked up as Marie came to stand by his side, shyly offering the handful of flowers to Josephine, who took them carefully,

"Why don't you join us for lunch. I'm sure Mrs. Moore packed more than enough food, she usually overcooks."

Josephine looked startled, but eventually nodded,

"That would be wonderful, and whilst we eat, you'd better tell me more about her mother."

Christian eyed his mother, looking for any cynicism, but finding none, he settled down, with Marie beside him,

"Mama was almost an actress," said Marie, her eyes sparkling as she mentioned the mother, of whom she'd been fed stories since she could remember.

Seeing the look in Christian's eyes as he gazed down at his excitable young daughter, Josephine saw for the first time the depth of Christian's love for both his departed partner, and his child.

"I'll talk to Theodore," she said, suddenly,

Christian smiled,

"I wouldn't waste your time mother."

Josephine shook her head sternly,

"No, I will talk to him. I will make him see sense, if he only does one thing for me in this marriage, it will be this," she looked over at Marie, with a kindly expression, "Now then, tell me more of your mother little one, I want to know all there is to know about her."