The weekend came and went before I had the chance to blink. I think it was probably the best weekend of my life, even though it had got off to a shaky start.

I felt bad at first that I had thought my father was capable of murder, but he explained that I had every reason to accept that he had done it. I had been raised in a violent household and he admitted that it was only due to the love and protection that my mother ensured I received that I had turned out the way I had.

The next few weeks I saw him more. It was not easy for him to get to Limoges. He had no car and the train journey was long but still he made sure that he was not a stranger.

He was even more a changed man. The relief he felt at having such a burden lifted from him was visible to all. His outward appearance of normality and joy was no longer an effort for him to project for my benefit but was now genuine, as if he could once more enjoy life without many of the burdens that had so very nearly destroyed him.

Before I knew it, the days began to get shorter as the summer faded and Autumn approached.

I had given up my crutches soon after and was able to use a stick for support as I walked often around the garden in the warm sunshine.

My leg healed well and, within a few weeks I was able to walk unaided and with a negligible limp, my dreams had become less frequent and I felt well and rested.

One evening, towards the middle of September, I was sitting in a deckchair under the shade of an apple tree when Françoise appeared and sat beside me.

She said nothing at first but kept looking at me as if there was something on her mind. Something she wanted, no, had, to say. I didn't push her but I had a feeling I knew what it was.

Finally she spoke. 

"I have to write a report for your Airline, as I have every month since you came here. It was part of the agreement.”

“Yes, I know.” I replied. “You have to tell them I am well now.”

“Yes,” she said sadly.

“I will have to go home, I know that,” I spoke gently, my heart heavy. “We always knew that this day would come, Françoise.”

“I just wanted to tell you, you know, before I send it.”

I took her hand.

“I owe you my life. Without you I have no idea what may have come of me.”

She squeezed my fingers.

“Karen, you owe me nothing. You are almost like a daughter to me. The pleasure you have brought to this family is reward enough and seeing you fight back to health and the effect it has had on your father too, is wonderful.”

We sat quietly for a moment and I reflected on all that had happened since that fateful day in June. After a moment or two, Françoise spoke again, lying back in her deck chair and looking up into the branches of the tree.

“Your father will be here again tonight, for the weekend, so I will delay posting until Monday when I return to work.”

“Do you like my Dad, Françoise?” I asked her.

She smiled and, still without moving, answered slowly.

“Yes,” she said, “I do.”

“I am glad,” I said, closing my eyes. “I think that you two are probably the most important people in my life right now.” I turned to look at her, “Along with Pascale and Dominique of course!” I quickly added.

Françoise chuckled.

“Hmm,” she said, “I think Pascal has developed a bit of a soft spot for you.”

I could not reply to that and I wasn't surprised at all. Pascale had been close to me ever since that first time when she climbed into bed beside me, but it made me a little sad too. I could only think of Pascale as a close friend, maybe even a sister but that was all. I had no sexual attraction to her at all.

Françoise seemed to sense my thoughts.

“I think she has a crush on you. Oh, don't worry,” she smiled as I opened my mouth in a half hearted attempt to protest. “I have seen how you are together.”

“I am sad she feels that way about me,” I confessed, “I don't want her to be unhappy when I leave. I will stay in touch and come and visit, I promise that much. But I want her to be happy, to find someone whom she can fall in love with.”

“She will, one day, I am sure,” she replied, “She is young and has her whole life ahead of her.”

“I feel strange, Françoise.” my mind had started to whir, thinking now of my own future and what lay ahead for me.

She turned her head to face me whilst still lying back in the deck chair.

“Not in the way I did when I first came here,” I reassured her. “Strange, in that I don't know which way my life is heading now. So much has changed since the crash. I have nothing to go home for.”

Françoise gazed steadily at me as she spoke.

“Karen, You have much to go home for. You are young, too and have so much ahead of you. The one thing this crash has done is opened your eyes and put your life into perspective. Now you can see clearly. You no longer have to search for love.”

“But I feel so different now, as though my old life is over and a new one has not yet begun. I think Karen Farmer was indeed killed on that day and I have yet to be reborn.”

There was a silence whilst Françoise studied me, her eyes looking deep into my soul as though contemplating what to say next.

Before too long she spoke.

“There is something that may set you on the first step of that new life, Karen.”

I frowned, puzzled at what she meant. I wanted to ask but I didn't know what to say. A kind of fear seamed to wash over me and my heart missed a beat as she reached into her pocket and took out an envelope and looked at it.

“I received this some weeks ago. The sender asked me only to pass it to you if, or when, I thought you would be ready. I think that now, you are ready.” She handed me the envelope.

Now I looked at it. It was an expensive velum with nothing on the front but my name, hand written in black ink.

It had a slight scent which I attributed to being in Françoise' pocket but it didn't seem quite the same as the scent that she wore.

I turned it over and looked at the back but there was nothing there save an embossed logo of the stationary company and a red wax seal containing an ornate J.

I looked back at her and frowned.

“Who is it from?” I asked.

“There is a way to find out,” she laughed gently, “Open it.”

I picked at the edge of the thick paper flap and peeled it back, breaking the wax seal.

Inside was a single sheet of velum, folded in half, which I removed and opened carefully.

I began to read and, as I did, my chest constricted, making breathing difficult, as I read the words.

My Dearest Karen.

As I write this, I find that my hand is a little unsteady.

For the first time in my life, I have found someone with whom I can genuinely feel safe and trust with my deepest secrets.

Suddenly, all my wealth, my work and lifestyle are no longer important.

I understand that you may not be happy at this news so I have sent this letter to Matron Blanchard at the hospital so that she can decide whether you should read it.

We talked a lot whilst I recovered in Limoges. She told me how fragile you were and I have no desire to upset you and delay your recovery by even a minute.

If you are reading this then I am sure that she has judged it appropriate to pass it to you so I can tell you that I will be waiting for you when you return home. The matron has promised to let me know when that will be.

I am sure you understand that it is you with whom I have entrusted my heart and hope that you feel the same.

Please be assured that I understand entirely if you do not and I can promise you that I will never cause you any trouble.

I await a reply from either yourself, or from Madame Blanchard (She promised to inform me of your decision either way).

I wish you a full and complete recovery and await your reply for as long as it takes.

Your loving friend,

Jemima. X

I stared at the expensive cream coloured paper long after I had finished reading. I understood now what had been missing, why I had no attraction to Pascale, apart from being due to the situation.

The description of how she felt applied equally to me. I had been looking in the wrong direction for love. It had never occurred to me that a woman would ultimately be the one with whom I would fall in love. It made so much sense now!

Slowly, I became aware that Françoise had been watching me as I read and I wiped away the tear that had formed.

“So now, Karen, there is someone to return home to?”

I nodded, realising that a broad grin had been spreading across my lips.

“Yes,” I whispered, “Perhaps there is.”

“You do know, Karen, that if there is anything you want to talk about I am happy to listen. It will go no further.”

I gazed at her with admiration. There was no-one on this earth who I trusted more.

“I know, thank you,” I said, “Only, I don't really know what to say.”

I handed her the letter.

“You don't mind me seeing it?” she asked.

“No, I don't mind,” I replied and, deep down, I knew that Jemima would not mind either..

She read it through before she spoke again.

“I was aware of how she felt about you,” Françoise said at last. “but how do you feel?”

“I don't really know, if I am honest,” I replied, after a moments thought “I am not sure how I am supposed to feel. Should I not feel this way about a man?”

“Why?” Françoise asked, quite simply.

“Shouldn't I fall in love, get married, have children...?”

“Well, that is what usually happens, what is expected but sometimes that is not the reality.” She paused. “These feelings you have for Jemima, have you ever felt them for a man?”

I didn't need too much thought before I replied.

“No,” I said, “I have been with so many men, hoping, wishing but they have all been the same, wanting the same thing. Some of them were married, I am ashamed to say. I stupidly thought that if they were married they would be different but no, it was stupidly naïve of me to think it.”

“Not stupid, Karen,” she smiled, “Naive? Certainly but equally certainly not stupid. Sadly, you craved the love that your father lacked the ability to give you.”

“So I am destined to stay single for my whole life?”

“Who knows what the future holds, I certainly don't but there is one thing you need to ask yourself. Is there anyone you have ever met who wants you for yourself, not just for what you will do? Someone who thinks so highly of you that they would risk their own life just to ensure you are safe?”

I pondered the question, thinking of all the men I had ever met. Not one of them fitted into that description. I was about to answer in the negative when I stopped myself and looked at Françoise. She was smiling and raised an eyebrow as if she could see inside my head, hearing every thought as it formed.

“You mean...?” I began, slowly.

She didn't answer but tilted her head to one side, still with her eyebrow raised.

“Jemima?”

Again, no answer.

"But she is a woman. She can't..." I stopped, “Can she?”

“Can't she?” came the cryptic reply, “Why not? Did you feel nothing when you touched her thigh to teach her a lesson?”

“Well, yes, I did,” the words came slowly as I remembered. “But I was confused, lonely, although, at the time, I didn't know it.”

“Maybe, but didn't Jemima feel something to? Something that led her to seek for for you instead of looking after herself?”

“Damn it, Françoise, you are right, ” I exclaimed, “Why not indeed!”

I lay back in the deck chair, a warm feeling spread through my body which seemed to be starting in my heart but then, more quickly than it had begun I snapped back into reality. I had felt like this before, with Harry Simmonds and goodness knows how many others. All that would happen is that I would set myself up and get hurt once again!

No, I thought, let it go. I will be alone for the rest of my life and then no-one can hurt me... ever. Through my thoughts I realised that Françoise had spoken.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, “I was far away. What did you say?”

“Just that I would write and let Mrs. Rana know which flight you will be on.”

“No, don't do that.” I said, staring up into the branches.

“Oh! But I thought...” she frowned, confused.

I turned to face her.

“What would be the point, Françoise. I mean, really what would be the point?” I sighed deeply.

A tear began to form in my eye and dripped onto the thick fabric of the chair. Immediately she jumped up and came to my side, stroking my hair.

“Hey now, don't cry, Cherie!” she said gently, brushing back the hair from my forehead. “Jemima is so much like you. Maybe she is a woman but she is also suffering and lonely, just as you are. You both have acquaintances but friends? Real friends?”

As she wiped the tears from my cheek with a little lace handkerchief I looked at her and smiled.

“No, let it be,” I confirmed, “There is no-one out there for me. I will just go on as I am until the day I pass away unnoticed.”

I pushed myself up from the chair and she offered the letter back to me.

I looked at it for a moment and then at her. I smiled sadly and shook my head before walking away back into the house without a backward glance.

I passed Pascale in the hallway.

“Karen, are you all right?” she asked.

I stopped and looked at her. Eyes dark but twinkling and hair as bright as the sun.

I smiled sadly and kissed her cheek.

“Yes, I will be,” I replied and quickly entered my room and closed the door behind me.

I heard voices outside the door, speaking in French so I didn't understand any of it. I truly hoped that I hadn't upset anyone but at that moment I was in no mood to talk. I had resigned myself to a lonely life and I needed a few moments to think about my future.

I had known from the start that I would have to return home at some time, but I had put my recovery first. Françoise and her daughters had made me feel like part of a wonderful family for the few weeks I had stayed with them. They were not my family though, I was just a guest and now it was time to go back to my old life and I had to prepare myself for it.

I looked down at my hands. They looked a little dry as I hadn't maintained my regime of moisturising and trimming my nails so that had to be the first thing. I could never allow myself to return to those days of the factories. I went to the draw and took out my clippers and moisturiser then sat down on the bed and meticulously trimmed my nails and filed them.

When I was satisfied I dipped into the tub and began to rub the softly scented cream into every part of my hands, missing not a single spot, paying careful attention to the areas between my fingers which used to get terribly cracked and sore.

There was a barely noticed knock on my bedroom door. I ignored it at first, I had to concentrate.

I couldn't ignore the second knock, much harder and louder.

“Karen, are you all right?” a worried voice called out.

“Yes Françoise, come in, sorry.” I replied, not taking my eyes off my hands for a minute.

The door creaked open and a worried looking face appeared through the gap.

“Oh, Sweetheart!” she said, “What have you done?” and walked quickly to me, moving the moisturiser tub away from my reach.

I looked down at my hands once gain only this time they looked different. They were glistening with far too much cream and my fingertips were bleeding. I was trembling now and my hands were shaking and covered with a mixture of blood and moisturiser.

I had trimmed my nails much too short and cut the flesh beneath. I had been obsessively adding more and more moisturiser. Just sat and stared, turning my hands over and over. Once again the tears began to drip from my eyes, splashing onto my shining hands.

She put her arm around me and I lay my head upon her shoulder.

“Maybe I was wrong,” she whispered, “Perhaps you are not yet ready...”

I sat up and looked at her, my eyes wet and puffy.

“No,” I replied with more than a hint of resignation, "You were not wrong. I cannot stay here indefinitely.”

I held up my hands.

“I won't do this again. I will be strong once again, I have to be.”

“All right, but I will inform the Airline that you will not be ready until the end of September. Then you will have a couple of weeks to prepare, yes?”

I put my arms around her and held her close.

“I don't know what I would have done without you, Françoise.”

“Oh, I am sure you would have got through somehow. I have seen your strength and you will have it when the time comies but, for now, come, let me clean your hands.”

I stood and she led me into the kitchen. Pascale and Dominique were both there and jumped up as we entered. Both threw their arms around me but said nothing. I just stood still, not wanting to touch them with my messy hands.Later, as we sat down at the table for dinner I apologised for my irrational behaviour.

They assured me I had no need to apologise and promised they would spend the next two weeks making sure that I was ready for the long journey home and the beginning of the rest of my life.

To be continued...