The Reinvention of Love

I know you will understand. We Hugos understand suffering, do we not!
    I hope your translating work goes well. Do not let Papa tell you that you are too slow. I have always appreciated your measured pace, François-Victor. You have always been a safe haven for me.
    Your loving sister, Adèle
    My dear Maman,
    This will be my last letter for a while, Maman. You know that I love you, but I fear that if you don’t trust me, and I cannot convince you to do so, then I have little to say to you for the time being.
    I simply want to be with the man I love, and have there be no argument about this. I know you will understand, Maman. Once you think on it for a while, you will understand.
    I hope Papa is still letting you off the island. It would be good for you to be in Paris, Maman. Your true life is there. Just as my true life is here.
    I embrace you.
    Your Dédé
    Dear Mrs Saunders,
    Please excuse my damaged English. The rent, which I am not paying, will be paying soon.
    Mademoiselle Lewly
    My darling Albert,
    I was too bold, wasn’t I? I walked right into that house after you, right into the middle of that dance. Perhaps I wanted to be caught. But I certainly did not want to be pulled from the dance floor. You almost tore my arm out of its socket; you handled me so roughly. I also did not need to be dragged from the house. I would have left of my own accord if you’d simply asked me to go. I did not need to be dragged into the Poor House cemetery and be berated by you. I was not Adèle, but Antoine, and Antoine has done nothing to receive such venom from your lips.
    It does no good to threaten me with the law. What would the police do? If I can be Antoine, I could be Pierre,or Sebastien. There is no stopping me. I will make you understand that you must love me. I will not leave you alone. I cannot. You must see by now that I cannot. And there is no escape. I know where you are. If your posting is changed, I will hear of it and follow you.
    My love will not be denied.
    It is my destiny to be with you, as it is yours to be with me. You cannot flee your destiny. I will always be right behind you.
    Your beloved Adèle
    My darling Albert,
    What good do you think it did to send the policeman? I did not listen to a word he said. I will not do as he requests. And now, I will simply leave Mrs Saunders’ boarding house and find other lodgings. The police will not find me again.
    Your beloved Adèle
    Dear Mrs Saunders,
    I must go. Take the dresses. I leave the dresses for the money which I should be paying you. They were once made fine by a perfect Paris dressmaker. Please be having them.
    Mademoiselle Lewly

CHARLES

    I AM NOT EXPECTING to ever see her again, but she comes one night after I have had my supper. The tray is still on my desk and when Adèle, my cook, comes to the door of my bedroom, I think she has come simply to take the tray away.
    “She’s here,” she says, hissing like a snake.
    “George?”
    “No.
Her
.” Adèle fixes me with her gaze, as though the intensity of her expression will somehow convey her meaning to me. I hear slow footsteps on the staircase outside the bedroom. Whoever is here has been let in the house already and is on her way up to see me.
    “The Channel Islands,” says Adèle, desperately, and just as I realize what she’s trying to tell me, Madame Hugo enters my room.
    She has changed. She has grown stout. Her dark hair is a weave of grey. She wears a dull-coloured shawl against the chill of the evening air.
    “Adèle.”
    “Charles.”
    The other Adèle is blocking Madame Hugo’s entrance into my chamber. “That will be all,” I say to her, and she backs, reluctantly, out of the room. I hear her footsteps hesitate on the staircase and I walk over and deliberately shut the door behind Adèle.
    I am not dressed for company, am wearing only trousers and a shirt. Not even a waistcoat, and my shirt not even tucked in.
    “Adèle,” I say, just wanting to hear her name out loud again.
    “Charles.” She extends her hand. I take it. Her skin is cool from the outdoors.
    “Please, sit.” I wave my hand towards the chair by the fireplace and she crosses the room and takes a seat. I perch on the edge of my desk chair. My heart is thudding so noisily in my chest that I think I may faint.
    “I thought you were in exile,” I say.
    “Victor is in exile. And it’s self-imposed. I have returned to Paris for the time being.”
    “You’ve been in Paris a while then?”
    “No, not very