The phone rings and I snatch it up; Ronan said he’d phone me as soon as he could to let me know what he’s arranged.
‘Okay, I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?’ Ronan’s voice sounds quite upbeat and I guess that means he has some sort of solution in hand.
‘Bad news first, please.’
‘After a quick chat with Elliot I’ve spoken to a camera specialist on the outskirts of Paris and they will take a look at it tomorrow. It’s about an hour’s drive away though, but it could be worse. If they have the part in stock it will be a same-day fix; if they don’t, then they will get it couriered overnight and I’ll drive over on Friday to pick the camera up.’
Time to take it on the chin, but at least something is happening.
‘That’s the bad news? It’s not quite as bad as I feared. What’s the good news?’
‘I think you need a change of scenery and you should come with me. I’ve found the perfect place to take you for an absolutely amazing lunch, as a thank you for putting up with my scandalous family. I had no idea about Frank and his nude modelling; if I had, I would most certainly have warned you!’
I think he’s joking with me really, trying to lighten my mood as he senses the worry that never seems to leave me, these days. It’s not solely about money, but Mum as well. I spoke to her earlier on and she’s sold to cash purchasers. She’s expecting to complete in around six weeks’ time, so at least I’ll get to look around the house one last time before she moves out, but it still doesn’t feel right.
‘Sorry, my mind wandered off there for a moment. I’d love a trip out tomorrow. That would be great, but lunch is definitely on me next time.’
‘I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty. I’m looking forward to spending some time together just relaxing for a change. And, Lexie, I’m here whenever you need me, you do know that, don’t you? You’re always in my thoughts.’
‘I know. It’s the same for me, Ronan. I’m getting used to having you around and when you aren’t it feels as if something is missing in my life. See you tomorrow; sleep well.’
As I put the phone down, I stare at the coffee table, then reach forward to open the drawer. I threw everything back into Grandma’s box the other day and it’s all out of sequence again. Emptying it out, I begin sorting the notebooks into a semblance of chronological order. Jumping up, I grab the one from the kitchen table that I’ve almost finished reading and quickly settle back down.
This time I decide to number them on the reverse. Then I notice there is already something written on the back, but it’s very faint on the coarse, buff cover. It’s more like an imprint now, although it was originally written with an ink pen, by the look of it, which has since rubbed off from constant handling.
Holding it up to the light, I can see the indent of the word ‘April’. Flipping them all over, it’s easy to sort them out. I begin with June, the month Grandma arrived in Versailles and there are two for that month. Ronan and I took one each, so we’ve covered those. I’m working on the July one now. Ronan has already read through the August one and there are two for October, but there’s nothing for September. Perhaps that’s the one Ronan is reading right now. November also has two, then there’s December and no January. I add March and April to the pile, only to discover there’s no February and the final one is May.
How strange. I count them and there are only twelve, plus the one Ronan is reading. I’m sure there were fifteen, so two have gone astray. Glancing across at the stack of paperwork and files on the kitchen table, I wonder if they’re buried amongst the piles there. On a few occasions both Ronan and I sat at the table while making notes.
After a quick tidy up I still can’t find the missing notebooks and come to the conclusion that I miscounted and there were only thirteen to begin with. It just seems strange that Grandma skipped out two whole months. I will check with Ronan tomorrow. Maybe he put them to one side for some reason, and when I do a clean through, I’ll find them in between a stack of invoices or something. He knows how precious the contents of this box are to me and he can only work with one notebook at a time anyway.
‘Right, Grandma, let’s finish off your July notebook and see what that throws up.’
After a couple of hours, it’s all becoming a little clearer. We have the Bulldog, the Terrier and now, The Spaniel. But what we also have is a real sense of how immersed Grandma felt in her surroundings. Ronan read the first of the two June notebooks and it was full of intricate little drawings, but mostly it was about her daily routine here. But in the second one which I read, as the days went by there were more and more references to the internal wrangles and conflicting personalities around her. A month later and the tension had continued to build.
Another difficult and emotional day. The Bulldog has yet again upset things by bringing even more bad news. Today’s committee meeting signalled the need to restrict spending further, due to emergency repairs to the roof of the palace. He had to beg for the basic things we need just to keep going, let alone looking to the future.
It’s a tough time and the Terrier wanted to storm into the meeting at one point, eager to be heard before they made their final decision. It was all the Spaniel could do to hold him back. I feel the passion, the hurt deep inside of him. But it’s an impossible situation. The Terrier simply will not listen, but what can be done?
Public opinion, the committee said, is against major change to the gardens anyway, but the Terrier became angry. He said that if a replanting programme is not put in place soon, the future of the park is doomed.
The Spaniel said he’s a fool and the cycle of nature is that the landscape will inevitably change over time. Trees will die and new trees will be replanted if and when money is conjured up. The argument was in French and I followed it as best I could. He said that money doesn’t come out of thin air and rubbed his fingers together, thrusting them in the face of the Terrier. He was incensed and I had to step in between them.
How awful for her; she could see where it was all going and there was nothing anyone could do to change the outcome. When someone is fighting so fervently for what they truly believe is right, how can they simply give in and accept defeat? The atmosphere must have been unbearable at times.
I’m not surprised to discover that after work each day Grandma spent a little time in the gardens with her notepad, drawing. Perhaps that’s how she relaxed and de-stressed after the battles that seemed to rage around her on a daily basis. The last page is entirely taken up with a sketch of Marie Antoinette’s beloved Virginia tulip tree. It was planted in 1783 and uprooted in 1999, when storms devastated the park after 210 kilometres per hour winds tore through Versailles.
The trunk leant gracefully to the left and then forked as it rose, lofty limbs whose size I can’t even imagine. It was summer and the canopy of leaves are merely strokes of the pencil, but so carefully applied that each line seems to graduate a little. Feathery wisps turn into dark smudges, as she pressed harder on the page to simulate the tight mass of leaves.
I wonder what she was thinking as she sat there drawing. My phone rings and I feel around, yanking it out from under the cushion next to me on the sofa. It’s Mum.