Ronan explains that one of the gardeners in the sixties was adamant that many of the trees had been allowed to grow too tall for the high water table. The roots had travelled along the ground, rather than downwards, which in his opinion was a serious concern as it compromised their stability. The inherent danger for the future was that trees wouldn’t die because of their age, but because they would become unstable.
But Maurice, for some unknown reason, had a sudden change of heart and the project was abandoned before a conclusion could be drawn. It’s becoming apparent to me, that is the puzzle Ronan is trying to solve. What really happened, because it feels as if there might have been a conspiracy going on. One that targeted Maurice, perhaps as he was a lone voice at the time, daring to challenge the people above him. Having committed to the idea of the survey, was pressure then applied to make him stop?
Diving into Grandma Viv’s box once more, I decide to try to put the notebooks in some sort of order. To my amazement, as I look at the inside covers and then skim the first page or two, not only does it become apparent that there is a natural order, but also that some are much less about her work. I find one detailing a day trip to Paris and another a picnic by a river.
Halfway through the exercise, one inscription on the inside cover jumps out at me. It’s an old saying. There are none so blind as those who will not see.
I always thought it was those who cannot see, which, now I think about it, is actually something very different indeed. In actual fact it’s referring to people who choose to ignore what they already know. Is that because they are arrogant, deluded or have no choice in the matter? It’s possible that Maurice was a realist and had no choice other than to be pragmatic because of funding issues. But I can’t help wondering whether the real reason was that he was ordered to stop and he hadn’t wanted to lose face by sharing that information.
The first page of Grandma’s notebook reflects the frustration of that time.
The arguments get worse by the day. We’ve spent too many hours cataloguing, measuring and testing soil to throw away all that hard work and yet today we were told the project has been shelved.
My heart leaps in my chest. She doesn’t specifically mention trees, but this seems to fit in with the period Ronan was talking about in his book.
Tempers flared yet again and this time it came to blows. I fear that someone will be sacked after the incident today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I have been sent to work in one of the greenhouses and our little group of three has been disbanded for the time being. It always comes down to the same thing. Money. I fear they are in danger of making a grave mistake. But my voice is nothing, because this isn’t my battle. My heart is heavy for those to whom this represents a major defeat. People care so passionately, and I feel privileged to be here, but useless.
My eyes begin to smart. Grandma felt a real part of what was going on; Ronan and I must piece this together somehow, even if we aren’t going to get any cooperation at all from George. Maybe he didn’t have anything to do with Grandma when she was here, but I’m convinced he recognised her from the photograph. Perhaps they didn’t get on; I veered between glimpsing a wry sense of humour in him and feeling as though we were trespassing, and he wanted to throw us out. Grandma wouldn’t have warmed to that sort of reception, either.
I make a start on the second notebook in the newly ordered row and read late into the night, making copious notes as I go. If these weren’t so very precious, I’d highlight sections, but one day, when Maisie is grown up, I want her to read them, too. To see this other side to a lady we loved because of her kindness and selfless nature is humbling.
If Grandma hadn’t returned from Versailles, I have no doubt at all that her life would have been consumed by her work here. She might never have had children and it makes me wonder how much choice we each have in our own destinies. Is it, indeed, mapped out for us? And if that’s the case, did she ever have even the teeniest tinge of regret in her heart for what might have been? Sadly, that’s something we may never know for sure, unless I can successfully piece together the clues.
14
Stepping into a Dream
Driiing. Driiing. Driiing.
I open one eye and shift the pillow off my head. The light slanting in through the partially open blind tells me it’s not that early and I vault out of bed. Did I arrange to see Ronan this morning? It’s… Sunday, isn’t it?
Throwing on a baggy T-shirt over my cotton camisole and shorts, I hurry down the two flights of stairs to swing open the door. Rather surprisingly, it’s Solange’s smiling face I see in front of me. As soon as she glimpses my bed hair, her smile begins to fade.
‘Oh. So very sorry, Lexie. You were enjoying a lie-in and I should have considered that fact. Another time, maybe?’
‘No, not at all. It’s lovely to see you and I said feel free to pop in for a chat. Coffee?’ I turn and begin walking up the stairs so that Solange can step inside and follow me up.
As I head straight for the kettle, I indicate for her to take a seat at the table.
‘This is a lovely layout up here – very open, I like it. Really, though, I shouldn’t interrupt you. It’s just that I stayed at Philippe’s last night and as I had to walk past… well, I promised you a tour of the palace and I have an hour and a half free this morning.’
I do a double take.
‘Now?’
‘I know. I did not think this out.’ She laughs softly. ‘Philippe asked me to move in with him last night, so my head is full of fluff? this morning.’ She looks at me questioningly, checking she has the right word.
‘Good one! Cotton wool is the most commonly used saying. But that’s wonderful, Solange.’
‘Our secret. Renée does not know yet.’ She puts her finger up to her lips, keeping them tightly shut.
‘Of course! Look, if you’re happy to make the coffee, because I can’t function without the first one in the morning, I can be ready in fifteen minutes.’ It’s times like this I bemoan not having a shower, so it will be the quickest dip in history.
‘Great. That will give us enough time for a quick tour of a couple of the rooms before I have to escort a party of VIP guests around.’
We slip in through one of the staff entrances and Solange gives me a running commentary as we walk. Although I pride myself on the depth of my research for any project in which I’m involved, I quickly come to understand that even the most professional of photographs simply cannot do more than give an impression of the grandeur and opulence here. It’s experiencing the scale up close, and knowing one is walking on ground traversed by some of the most important royals, nobles and dignitaries in France’s colourful history, that gives me the chills.
‘We’re lucky, we timed it well. I feel that the experience of the Hall of Statues is often diminished, as eager tourists file through here quickly in vast numbers after queuing patiently for, often, a couple of hours. Everyone is eager to get to the more celebrated rooms like the Hall of Mirrors, the various salons and the bedchambers of the King and the Queen.’