Writer's Notebook

I stood outside Morgana's front door for at least ten minutes, trying to gather up the courage to knock. What wouldn't I have given for a good, stiff pint of Guinness right now. But I was on my own and any courage had to come from inside me. Standing there made me realise how easy I'd had things until now. Not once could I remember having to face up to a difficulty like this. I'd dived headlong into life and always come up trumps. I guess the great maker in the sky sort of liked me a little more than he did some others. But the downside of all that was that I didn't know how to face up to difficulties. So this was the acid test. Could I learn to face up to my mistakes?

Finally I knocked rather timidly at her door, and immediately followed it up with a far more forceful one. The door opened and Thérèse stepped out. "No need to break the door down. She's in the kitchen and she wants to see you. If you ask me, she must be mad, but there you are." And with a blighting gaze she set off down the road.

I advanced slowly along the passage of the house until I got to the kitchen. Morgana was sitting at the table, tears in her eyes and looking like death. My footsteps caused her to look up and at my sight her face crumpled once again. Her piteous look went right through my heart.

"I've come to say sorry. I behaved abominably." She fixed me with her eyes in a mysterious way, almost as if she couldn't understand what I had said. I tried to stammer a few more words but thought better of it. What more was there to say? And anything more might sound like self-justification. Suddenly her face lit up and the sun started shining through the tears. Looking at her like that I fully expected a rainbow to suddenly break out between her eyes. And maybe that's exactly what happened. Whatever, her joy gave me courage and somewhat sheepishly I stammered, "There's a lot more I want to say but now is not the time. Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

She seemed a little taken aback at the suggestion and hesitated before accepting. I wasn't to learn until that evening why, but I was nonetheless glad that she had said yes. To avoid querying eyes and wagging tongues we agreed to meet up in Besançon. She knew a quaint little Savoyard restaurant conveniently situated between the Conservatoire and the New Theatre which did a wonderful fondue and so I promised to phone and make reservations.

I left almost as quietly as I had arrived, but with an enormous load lifted off my shoulders. As I stepped onto the street, Thérèse was outside waiting.

"What did you say to her?"

"I merely apologised. What else could I say? I behaved like an ass and told her so." Why should I tell Thérèse that we had a dinner appointment? If Morgana chose to do so, that was fine, but she wouldn't find out from me.

"There's more sense in you than it seems," she quipped back. Obviously her antagonism was also on its way out. She took my arm and we walked down the street together. She decided to give me a few home truths about my behaviour but I stopped her once she got around to talking about Morgana.

"Please, Thérèse, not now. We can talk about it tomorrow. And maybe, I'll have a little surprise for you." Her quizzical look begged to be told more. But she had the good sense to keep quiet.

"I need a drink," she said as we passed John's pub and soon we were sitting in front of two cool, mouth-watering pints of Guinness and sharing some funny, light-hearted banter with Annie, when all of a sudden I saw Thérèse go pale as her eyes fixed themselves on the TV screen in the corner. I turned around and was confronted by Violette's face staring down at us from the silent object.