The Ribbon Weaver

Chapter Twenty-Eight



It was the last day of François’ visit before he and his family returned to Paris, and he was not in a good humour, for despite all his attempts to get Amy to set a date for their wedding, she had refused. Oh, she was as loving and as affectionate as ever, but on this point she would not be swayed, insisting that for now she was happy as things were. François, who was used to getting his own way, was determined that he would change her mind before he boarded the train the next day.

They were sitting in the grounds of Forrester’s Folly beneath a cloudless blue sky, and Amy looked enchanting in a soft cream linen dress that was adorned with little pink rosebuds, which only made him more determined to make her name the day.

The last two weeks had been fraught in some respects. Since Mr Burrows’s visit, which Josephine had immediately told them all about, the poor woman had become obsessed with finding her daughter again, and that and the forthcoming wedding were all she seemed able to talk about. Almost daily, to Mr Forrester’s deep concern, she would insist on visiting Mr Burrows’s office in the town to see if he had managed to get any further along with his enquiries, and this left the entertaining of their Parisian visitors sitting very squarely on her husband’s shoulders.

Adam was also giving him cause for concern, for since the night of the ball and Eugenie’s untimely visit he had closeted himself in his room, often not even venturing out to eat or oversee his businesses.

When Mr Forrester visited the stables one day, Seth had commented on the fact. ‘Is Master Adam all right, sir?’ His face had shown his deep concern. ‘Only it ain’t like him to leave Pepperpot in his stall for such lengths o’ time without taking him out to exercise him.’

Mr Forrester sighed. Old Seth had been his faithful servant since the day he had moved into The Folly and had worshipped Master Adam when he was a child. It was he who had taught Adam to ride his first pony after many patient hours on a leading rope in the small paddock at the back of the stables.

‘I have to confess, I am concerned about him, Seth,’ the man admitted sadly. ‘He doesn’t seem to be himself at all, but then no doubt the end of his marriage is taking its toll on him. But I have no doubt he’ll come round when he’s good and ready.’

‘Let’s hope as yer right, sir.’ Seth had mumbled, but as his master walked away he was deeply troubled.

Now, François picked a buttercup and held it beneath Amy’s chin, making her giggle. ‘What would you like to do today, chérie?’ he asked. ‘We must make the most of every second, for this time tomorrow I shall be on my way home to Paris.’

‘I know,’ she answered, solemn again. It was hard to believe that his stay was almost over. It seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye.

‘Why don’t you come with me to see Gran again before you leave?’ she suggested. ‘You have only visited her twice in the whole of the time you’ve been here and she has not had time to get to know you.’

François could have thought of many things he would much rather have done, but not wishing to upset her, he nodded. ‘Very well then; it shall be as you wish.’

They pulled themselves up from the soft green grass and as François turned towards the house, Amy caught his hand and swung him about. ‘Let’s not take the carriage. It’s such a lovely day. We could walk it.’

‘But is it not some long distance away?’ he objected.

Amy laughed. ‘It’s no more than a few miles, so come along. I walk it all the time. You’ll turn to fat if you don’t get your exercise and I don’t want to be married to a fat husband.’

‘Ah,’ he said, seizing his chance, ‘does this mean that you are having second thoughts and you will agree to setting the date for the wedding after all?’

‘No, it does not.’ Grabbing his hand she started to haul him in the direction of the woods. ‘Now come along with you.’

It was some time before they turned into the lane that led to the cottages and by then Francois was complaining bitterly. Amy simply ignored him. It was Sunday and many of the cottagers were outside their homes. Some were just sitting on chairs that they had carried from the kitchen, enjoying the feel of the sun on their face, whilst others were tending the small vegetable plots that were allocated to each cottage.

It was as they approached Bessie’s cottage that Amy saw Toby digging away in his garden. He had his shirt off and his muscled arms were gleaming with sweat as he upturned fresh vegetables for their dinner. He had heard all about François from Molly, but up until now he had not met him, nor if truth be known did he have any wish to. However, Amy had other ideas and she drew François to a halt merely feet away from him.

Toby stopped digging and looked towards her.

‘François, I would like you to meet Toby Bradley. He and I have been brought up together and he is my best friend. It was Toby who taught me to read and write. Toby, this is my fiancé, François Laroque.’

The two men eyed each other warily, but then Toby wiped his hand down the side of his trousers and extended it. François eyed it reluctantly before shaking it and inclined his head.

‘François is going home tomorrow,’ Amy told Toby. ‘So I thought it would be nice if he came to say goodbye to Gran.’

As François saw the different emotions flit across Toby’s face, his arm settled possessively around Amy’s waist. This young man was just a little too good-looking and familiar with Amy for his liking.

‘Then I hope yer have a good visit,’ Toby now said, and without another word he turned about and began furiously digging again.

Amy moved François along and seconds later she was pushing him into the cottage, which once again appeared very dark and dismal to the young man.

‘François has come to say goodbye to you, Gran.’

At the sound of Amy’s voice, Molly, who was seated at the side of the fire busily knitting yet more socks for the twins, looked up and smiled. ‘I didn’t hear the carriage,’ she commented, as she nodded pleasantly towards François.

Amy settled him at the table before hurrying to fetch the lemonade from the thrall in the pantry. ‘We walked,’ she told Molly as she poured some into three glasses. ‘Though I don’t think François was too keen on it.’ Her smile was teasing and he smiled back at her before addressing Molly.

‘I have been trying to persuade Aimée to set the date for the wedding before I return home, but as yet she will not be pinned down.’

If he had expected to find an ally in the old woman he was sadly disappointed when she answered, ‘Well, happen she’ll tell yer when she’s good an’ ready. There ain’t no rush at the end o’ the day from where I’m sittin’. Yer both young wi’ yer whole lives stretchin’ ahead o’ yer.’

François’ lips set in a straight line as he lifted his drink. If he were to be honest, he did not particularly like Molly. She was a little too outspoken for his taste and had no finesse whatsoever. In fact, he found it incredible that Amy, who was so beautiful and intelligent, could have been brought up by such a person, and in what amounted to little more than a hovel too. He also felt that Amy was being allowed to have too much say in the wedding plans. To his mind, her grandfather should have set the date by now and Amy should have obeyed his wishes, but it was more than obvious that Mr Forrester had no intention of forcing her into anything, so there was no help to be found there, nor here with Molly it seemed.

‘Look at that lot Toby’s brought fer us,’ Molly said now, gesturing at the wooden draining-board, which was loaded with a selection of freshly dug vegetables. ‘He’s as good as the day is long, so he is,’ she said, as she sipped at her drink.

Amy looked slightly embarrassed. Knowing her gran as she did, she had the feeling that Molly had not taken to François, whereas Toby could do no wrong in her eyes. But then, Amy was sure things would change once Molly got to know François a little better. He was so charming that it would have been hard for anyone not to like him. The rest of the visit proved to be hard work for Amy. Both François and Molly were both very quiet and she struggled to keep a conversation going, so much so that she was relieved when it was time for them to leave.

‘Goodbye, Gran,’ she whispered as she bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Don’t get waiting up for me tonight. I’m having dinner up at The Folly and I’ll no doubt be late back.’

‘Late back? But surely you will be staying? It is my last night here,’ François objected.

‘Oh, don’t worry. I shan’t come home until late and I shall be back first thing in the morning to see you off,’ Amy assured him.

He shrugged as he crossed to Molly and kissed her hand. ‘Au revoir, madame, until we meet again,’ he said politely.

Molly nodded and once they were gone she wiped the back of her hand across her pinnie. Smarmy devil, she thought to herself, and then went back to her knitting and put him from her mind.

Later that evening, after dining with the two families, François and Amy slipped out on to the terrace. François was in a melancholy mood and Amy was doing her best to try to cheer him up.

‘Don’t be sad,’ she whispered. ‘We shall be together again before you know it.’

He stared off across the grounds. ‘Who knows,’ he muttered, and suddenly a wave of compassion swept through Amy. Perhaps she had been a little hard on him?

‘Look,’ she said hesitantly, ‘I still feel that the autumn is a little soon for the wedding … but what if I agreed to a spring one next year? Would that make you any happier?’

Suddenly his face was wreathed in smiles. ‘That would make me the happiest man on earth,’ he said. ‘And now I shall be able to make proper plans.’

‘Very well, but I still insist on getting married here,’ she warned him.

He nodded eagerly. ‘It shall be as you wish, and I have no doubt you will make a beautiful bride.’ And then she was in his arms and everything else was forgotten.

‘Goodbye, ma petite. Take care of yourself until we meet again.’

Amy clung to François with tears in her eyes as the porter loaded the Laroque luggage on to the train. She could hardly believe that he was really going. The time had passed all too quickly.

‘Just remember the sixteenth of May next year,’ he whispered as he kissed her fingers. ‘On that day we shall become man and wife, and with your talent and our two families united, our business will become world-known.’

Amy thought this was quite a strange thing to say but had no time to comment, for at that moment the stationmaster blew his whistle and François sprinted towards the door of the first-class carriage that contained the rest of his family.

‘Goodbye, mon ange,’ he called as he hung out of the window and Amy waved until she felt her arm would drop off.

‘Ah, that’s that then,’ Samuel Forrester said, and Amy thought she detected a note of relief in his voice. But then in fairness, Josephine had been somewhat preoccupied in her quest to find her daughter and he had been rushed off his feet trying to keep his guests entertained.

Linking his arms through Amy’s, he led her along the platform, and when they came to the entrance he suddenly drew her to a halt and asked, quite unexpectedly, ‘Are you quite happy about this wedding, my dear? What I mean is, I would hate you to feel that because of my business association with Monsieur Laroque, you were obliged in any way.’

‘Of course I don’t feel obliged to marry François. I love him,’ Amy assured him, but she was touched that he had cared enough to ask.

‘Good, then in that case, your grandmother and I will make sure that you have a wedding to remember – and also, never forget that even after you are married, you will always have a home to come back to, should you wish.’

Amy said nothing now and allowed him to lead her to the carriage.

‘Do you know,’ he suddenly chuckled as they rattled through the town centre, ‘it will be nice to be able to get back to work now. Not that the Laroques were anything but the perfect guests, of course. But my dear old mother had a saying: “I like the comers, and I like the goers, but I don’t like the stayers”.’ And then he and Amy simultaneously erupted into laughter.