probably are too many things changed. The grandfather's death has inevitably left a gap, an unbridgeable gap for our family, I was very fond of him, and God only knows how much I suffered.
I'm not saying that he was the only one, not that.
remember seeing Clotilde, on the evening of the funeral, hugging Dad and try to bring it up, you could see a mile away that had been destroyed.
and that he had noticed soon after, at the tomb, crying beating his fists on his chest:
I must admit that this was the very first time in my life where I felt sorry for someone, I was sorry to see her so, partly because I did not imagine that would grandfather so well, but I think everyone has suffered, and sought to resolve their internal contradictions in his own way, and more or less, all we managed to overcome this sad moment.
Dad, in particular, his way of reacting, so strange, so unusual, so it struck me: they were not in the past few months by the sad bereavement that had struck our family, and he had already done a step that I would never have expected: to decide to marry Clotilde.
See Mom, I want to Clotilde much good, and for me as a mom, you know, but I have to admit that that day gave me a strange feeling to see my father with this woman: in short, I I always imagined that he lacked a female figure next to better say, the figure of a wife, and often, recently, I happened to see him impatient, worried,
almost out, I dare say. He spent his free time to reread old books in the library of his grandfather, and I softened the fact that he tried to deaden the pain in that way.
I was convinced, however, that behind his eyes lively and on, he hid the heart of a broken man, tired and, worse still, not satisfied, self- of his life, his relationship with others. But I could not imagine that Clotilde, I had always seen as a nanny, and nothing more, could play that role as a wife that you, unfortunately too young, you left without notice ..
I still remember that day, and how shocking and almost cruel with which I was aware of this feeling - love? let's call it so - that was hidden inside her daddy for her.
I had just returned from my usual riding lesson, I ran to the kitchen for the master Muriel had just given me the good news that I would soon received military orders, I was becoming very good, you know? I saw them together, smiling Clo
I was happy because it was not that long ago that I saw her smile like that, and then tentennai entering the kitchen.
but I could certainly imagine the motives of her smiles: scostai me a bit ', I might even say that I overheard, but I assure you, Mom, it was not voluntary. I found myself in this situation so strange unintentionally hurt me and what I was looking at, Dad was saying to her, was a succession of images almost goliardic who presented themselves to my eyes.
"Clotilde, my dear, you are me in good stead in the difficult path of growth of my son, Jan Philippe, and only for this deserve much more than what I've always been able to offer you. You are a woman, before a guardian, a charming woman, however. "In my father's voice was trembling, I had never seen him so excited as he spoke to her mother, and remember feeling a strong sense of anger mixed with envy, in scrutinizing their faces, their expressions, their smiles. Dad gave me almost annoying to see kiss the hand that woman
especially irritated beyond belief and my sensibility, the coquetry of Clotilde who did nothing but smile and smile.
Then, at some point, she spoke. I hoped that it locked up, I hoped that in a sense, could deter the next steps of my father, by now predictable for everyone, however:
"It confuses me drunk and you say, sir, Francois, but it flatters me, too. I loved your son since Eleona bore him, I always treated as if it were my son, and that I was not nor weight seemed so unnatural and difficult. But I can not hide that I have always had a soft spot for you, and it makes me immensely happy to receive a compliment from the only man I ever loved. "Clotilde blushed at that moment I saw her very sincere, happy, but with a of sadness, paradoxically, on him.
Who knows, Mom, maybe you thought, maybe she thought he was betraying your trust, and mine too, of course.
was inevitable, however, from there, what happened: a steep and rapid descent of emotions, father knelt before him, one word: "Marry me."
Clotilde stood petrified, looking at him and smiled, but I just at that moment I realized that she had always loved, Mom.
"Mine is a yes ... Francois ... "
sigh, she spoke these words,
I walked away disgusted, I did not see that kiss, I could not accept that the woman, who was very fond, however, could be your place.
I was confused, I felt inadequate, rushed to the upstairs, I remember have opened up with all the strength I had barricaded the door that no one would let me pass. What I saw confused me even more: it was a bedroom, religiously preserved and intact, gave off a strange scent of flowers mixed with that typical pungent odor that sticks to the walls of the rooms permanently closed.
I sat on one of the sleek furnishings, was left to reflect.
I soon realized that the framework, then heard a voice begging me to turn around I do not know if I was dreaming at that moment my brain was almost clouded by anger and confusion, but in time these feelings became more blinding, because that picture was a woman, a woman identical to my Florence.
I started to cry in front of that painting, the woman smiled, looked at me and smiled, almost oblivious to my suffering, indifferent to my sobs and tears to my subdued.
Florence Why was depicted in that picture? What does that picture in the bedroom?
This was the secret that hid the door closed Clotilde carefully to all key night?
I did not talk to anyone, however, the suffering of this striking discovery, I knew that Florence was not to blame, or rather, was what I hoped.
Marriage, in a few days, was celebrated. Nothing excessive glitz, no churches, for Dad would be the second marriage and would not have been celebrated in a church, so they organized a party made up for a few close friends, close friends of Clotilde and dad.
remember that the bride had to wait long for her husband, who, visibly worried and puzzled, entertained guests on culinary skills kidding my guardian.
Then, the announcement of the entry of the bride father was excited, I can not tell if he really loved her or if his desire was simply to fill that void that you left it, but she cared that this was certainly clear to everyone.
And right in front of everyone, in front of me, and guests in attendance
the couple said that yes, officially became husband and wife.
That day began with some regret, to my heart. Florence was not there, was Clotilde herself curarne invitations, and had not considered it right to invite "outsiders" to his marriage. At that time I was dumb, I was angry for his gesture, after all I had never hidden my love for Flo, and it seemed right that she is missing. But when I saw get Violette, the daughter of Maxime and Clarette Muriel, was inevitable for me to understand everything.
Violette I was literally on her,
even though I tried, through education and the gallantry impartitami to refuse his advances. I loved Florence, and in Indeed, until then, I was convinced that she loved me.
But the death of his grandfather something had changed, I felt that his absence had caused such a sudden tear, a rupture, a crack in our family, nothing was more like yesterday, and she had become increasingly cold, distant , unfriendly.
But I did not think, I did not imagine that would be able to destroy our love with a crooked letter. Clotilde
remember that it was to deliver, and I remember the rapid succession of emotions that pervaded my heart as I read his words:
"Dear Jan Philippe, I am writing This letter from the convent in which I am a few days. I have sisters who have kindly granted me permission to write to say goodbye one last time: I will never forget our love, but my way, now, is this. Please do not look for me, because I already made my choice by following my heart, and I am sure that you, look within, you will understand that the love that bound us to eighteen years typically had a love child, adolescent, not a true love. True love is what I feel for our Lord, and what you feel for the woman he married. I wish you the best in life. With love, Florence. "
I was speechless, breathless.
Clotilde looked at me, rested his compassionate gaze on me following the bitter tears that rolled down my face I do not know why, but at that moment I had the impression that she knew already written in his letter, her, in a sense he was always thwarted love that she always tried to keep me away from Florence, now appeared visibly upset and in pain to see me destroyed.
Yeah, I was destroyed, mother, and I think Clotilde that he had noticed: she noticed him staring into space, perhaps noticed my unsuccessful attempt to recover from the shock of that letter, I could not understand the intrinsic motivation and deep of that gesture. I thought about what I should do, on what could be the right thing, but I felt confused, tired, angry.
How could he say that our love was a child? I would have married, I used to love her as seriously as those statements could not move without feeling? I
sfogai with Clotilde,
me I opened her, I did not know what else to do, Mom. And she listened to me, calmed me down, I stroked his hair as he did when I was a child, and, locking in a motherly embrace,
told me that she would have thought that she would have thought of everything, and that I had to stay calm and just look forward.
So I did, Mom, I looked forward.
took military orders, I was going to make twenty-five.
Clo was so much distressed to organize a birthday party that does not I would never forget, as she used to tell me. I ask you insist on something more intimate, did not want to lavish gifts and that none of the Vendée was invited, for me it was just a day where I felt that it had nothing to celebrate. I would not have felt greater nor smaller than yesterday's tomorrow. What I realized though that day was something to celebrate: my engagement with Violette.
dad was to take the floor, interrupting the dance,
as he had done many years ago:
"Dear friends and allies, are here with us to celebrate the twenty-fifth birthday of my son, Jan Philippe.
Thank you, meanwhile, have chosen to share with us this moment of joy, and there were close to even in the most painful that accompanied our family.
But I take this opportunity to inform you of another joyous event that involves us all: the official engagement of Jan de Philippe Bricherat here this with our Violet Muriel. "
I froze the blood, Mom, I did not think was serious, I did not love Violette. But the choice was made, and the word was given: I approached her, and she looked at me and smiled, I kissed her hand gently, and asked her to dance with me.
Thus, in a fervent voices and the applause of the guests, shaking in my arms a man a woman who did not love,
and rocking her pretending to be happy,
mother, I looked forward. >>
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