Love Lost in Time

Late February, 2018
Languedoc, southern France

Madeleine Winters blinked back the tears as long-hidden emotions shook her. Anger. Envy. Yes, even love. A love that she’d considered lost a long time ago. Elizabeth Beauchamp was dead. After nine years of no contact, Maddie had missed her last chance to make her peace with her mother – and to discover once and for all who her father was.
She stared at the heavy yet simple oak coffin, willing it to release its inhabitant for a final talk, an acknowledgment, the revelation of a secret which Elizabeth had now taken to her grave. Nothing moved, except some stray brown leaves swirling around Maddie’s feet. Apart from her mother’s elderly French neighbour, Bernadette Albert, a handful of villagers had attended the funeral, and after the ceremony, they all had left Maddie to her own memories. Ever the pragmatic realist, Maddie knew that nothing would ever bring her mother back, but she mourned her unexpected death.
The breeze whipped at her coat, and she wrapped her scarf closer around her neck.
Madame Albert had called her ten days earlier, to let her know that Elizabeth was in hospital with a lung infection. Maddie had booked herself on a flight to Toulouse. Expecting her mother to be alive and improving thanks to the excellent health service, it distressed her to discover her close to death on her arrival at the hospital in Carcassonne in the south of France, though through no fault of the medical team. It had been too late.

Maddie swallowed hard, fighting back the tears, as she remembered the doctor’s words.
“Madame Beauchamp has bowel cancer. She has refused chemotherapy or any other treatment.” He paused, giving her time to let the bad news sink in. “We have this in writing whilst she was still fully cognitive, should you wish to see it.”
Stunned, Maddie shook her head, unable to utter a word. Why had her stubborn mother not called her before it got too serious?
“Her condition is serious. The lung infection she caught recently has weakened her beyond recovery.”
The words echoed in Maddie’s ears. “Cancer?” she whispered. “Since when?”
The doctor cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “Did your mother not tell you?”
The surprise in his voice made her shake her head in place of a response. Although he acted professionally, careful not to give any indication of his opinion of patients’ personal relationships, a sense of guilt washed over her. People would judge her. How could she not have known her mother was dying?

A nurse had taken Maddie to her mother’s room where she could stay with her undisturbed. She stared at Elizabeth’s beautiful face, criss-crossed with fine lines. Leaning forward, she held a frail hand between hers, her mind in turmoil. Why had her mother not told her she was ill? She knew Elizabeth was stubborn, obstinate, but to refuse to contact your only living relative, your daughter, during a time of need shook Maddie. Their estrangement had gone beyond reason. Her eyes dry, Maddie could only watch her mother’s breathing grow more ragged. In the end, Elizabeth died calmly in her sleep just over six hours after Maddie’s arrival.
And now Maddie was here, by her mother’s grave, saying her final goodbye.
The biting tramontagne wind chilled Maddie’s bones, and she huddled deeper into her coat. Elizabeth had loved the winds that sweep the plain between the Montagne Noire and the Pyrenees during all seasons. They brought winter and rain to a land parched by the sun, and cooled you down during the long, hot summer days.
“Au revoir, Maman.” Maddie dropped the bundle of red roses she’d been clutching onto the coffin, then turned away.