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“Of course, Sandrine. Friday.”The two women presented themselves on Friday to a cautious reception by mother, father and Henry. The latter remained silent throughout the visit, but Sandrine watched him carefully and saw he’d missed nothing.After his wife had poured out the tea the father opened the conversation.“May I speak, Mistress Sandrine?”She was not yet at ease at being addressed with such formality and surface respect, but Sandrine nodded.“I shall not dwell on our earlier meetings.” He glanced briefly at his wife, who remained without expression. Sandrine was confident she knew or suspected the circumstances of these meetings that were, in all truth, rapes. “I was unaware at the time that you had become pregnant.”He paused to sip his tea. With a glance at his wife, still expressionless, he continued. “Some months after I returned to England, my wife ... miscarried.”Here he touched his wife’s arm. She did not flinch but she did not respond, either.“The baby my wife carried was. There followed the usual routine she followed most mornings: turn on the Nespresso machine; grab a mug; grab a coffee pod; and once the lights stop flashing press it once, and then a second time. The coffee machine still doing its thing she headed back to her bedroom, grabbing the clothes from the floor and throwing them into the laundry bin as she opened one of her drawers, pulling out a black, mid-thigh length, nightie she pulled it over her head as she headed back to the kitchen to retrieve her coffee. Walking into the lounge, she sat down and pushed a button to turn on her iPad while she drank her coffee, sitting on the end of the blue-grey chaise lounge couch they had she put her legs up and sat back scrolling through the screen over and over until she went one time to put her mug to her mouth and drink and found that the mug was empty.When she next moved the digital display on the DVR was showing 10:00. Putting her iPad down she got up, taking her empty coffee mug to the.
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