The drive on the wagon through the tunnel was interesting. Not as much fun as the ferry but a new experience. And when they got through to France, it was dusk.
Marc drove for the promised ten minutes, apparently knowing exactly where to go. And then he turned into a hotel entrance. Lucy frowned. When he had said they would stay in a hotel, she had expected to stay in one of the large chain of motels that were to be found in every large French town. But this was different. There was a long drive to what had obviously once been a chateau of some kind.
As they drew up outside, a couple of men in uniform walked out to greet them. Marc spoke to them in French—of course. But it gave Lucy a shock to be reminded that English was not his native language. And his French voice sounded sexier.
He turned to her. 'You'll be shown to your room and your things taken up. As we decided, you'll be sharing with Simone and there's a cot ready for Lucille. I'll knock in five minutes, you can tell me then if there's anything you need.'
'I'm going to feed the baby,' said Simone, 'and then I want to feed me. Marc, order me something light and a salad. I'll have it in my room. And I want half a bottle of wine.'
'You can have one glass of wine,' Lucy said cheerfully, 'and that's it. But as much bottled water as you like.'
'All right, then,' Simone said grumpily. 'This is as bad as being in hospital.'
Marc turned to her. 'When Simone and the baby are settled, Lucy,' he said, 'I wonder if you'd like to dine with me downstairs. We have the baby alarm, Simone and Lucille will be quite all right without you.'
'Downstairs here? Wearing these jeans and this shirt? I'd be asked to leave.'
He smiled. 'Well, I think you look most... becoming. But if you wish, we can dine on the terrace.'
Then his face became remote again. 'But, of course, if you are tired, you may have a meal in your room with Simone.'
He had given her an out. A choice. She paused a moment and then said, 'I've been cooped up in the car all day. I've slept a fair amount, I think I would like to stretch my legs a little. But I want a bath first.'
'Of course,' Marc said. 'I want one myself.'
There were Lucille and Simone to look after first. But when Lucille was tucked up in her cot, and Simone was in bed with a great collection of fashion magazines, Lucy had a bath in the largest bath she had ever seen, and with the largest collection of free toiletries. Afterwards there were the softest of white towels, the size of a bed sheet. She could get used to this.
And as she luxuriated, she wondered why it was that she had decided to accept Marc's offer of dinner. They weren't friends, couldn't be. After what he had been to her it would be impossible to go back to mere friendship. She supposed she was just curious; she'd never been to a hotel like this. And it would be part of her cure. To prove to herself that she could work with him and not be affected.
And she was desperately hungry. The tray brought up for Simone had been wonderful. Yes, that was it, she just wanted to experience things, it wasn't that she wanted to be with Marc at all. And, anyway, she was getting over him wasn't she?
She had brought just one dress rolled up in her case, a simple cotton dress in a shade of pastel blue. It had straps, there was a short jacket to go over it. Before she had got into the bath she had hung it up to let the creases fall out. 'Nice dress,' Simone said when she came out in it. 'You look good in it.'
Lucy decided not to mention that it had come from a catalogue.
She was getting on well with Simone now—in fact, she quite liked her. She would take no nonsense from her and Simone accepted that. She knew that Lucy was only thinking of her and the baby.
She brushed her hair, put on a touch of make-up. Then she went, at the time arranged, to meet Marc in the lobby.
He too must have packed carefully. He was wearing the grey linen suit that he had driven down in, but instead of the black sweater there was a fresh white shirt, bright tie. And his clothes had definitely not come from a catalogue.
He looked at her and she could see the appreciation in his eyes.
'You look lovely,' he said. 'I asked for a table on the terrace, but I feel that we should change to the dining room so I can show you off.'
'The terrace will be fine.'
They were shown to their table, her chair pulled out for her and the candles lit. She put the baby alarm on the table.
'Always the efficient midwife,' he said. 'Nothing must get in the way of your work.'
'Nothing will,' she said. 'I'm always super-careful.'
If he thought there was a message for him there, he didn't acknowledge it. He said, 'I've ordered us a bottle of champagne. I know we both need to keep our heads clear, I think this is the best way.'
'As you wish,' she said. She thought that drinking champagne was an odd way of keeping a clear head, but he seemed to know what he was doing.
'Now, what would you like for dinner?'
She blanched when she saw the menu—in French, of course. Half the dishes she didn't recognise. 'I think I need some help,' she said.
So he helped her. She had an asparagus and shrimp cocktail with an amazing orange dressing, lamb stuffed with chestnuts and vegetables of the season and apple pancakes flamed with brandy.
It was not a heavy meal but she thought it was one of the best she had ever tasted. And at the end, a sure sign that she had enjoyed the meal, she felt considerably happier at being with him.
'You didn't tell me that Simone was close to your mother,' she said as she sipped from her champagne flute.
He pondered. 'Simone's parents live in the heart of a town. They have a large modern flat, traffic pours past outside constantly. Whereas, as I showed you, my mother—and myself in time—live in a country castle. Simone has always been a romantic. She thinks it is like living in a castle in a fairy tale. And my mother loves having her there, though she will stand for no nonsense.'
'And you're not a romantic?'
'No. I love the castle but I am a realist. It may be a romantic looking building but I have to pay to have the roof replaced. Simone doesn't think of that. And Simone is still enjoying herself rebelling against her background.'
Lucy had to ask. 'Do you ever feel that you'd like to do that yourself? Rebel against your background?'
Of course, he knew the point of her question. 'Not at all,' he said. 'I know what I am to be and I am happy with it.'
But she thought she saw doubt, if not actual misery in his eyes.
He sipped his champagne and went on, 'Incidentally, I should have told you before. Simone's parents extend to you their deepest thanks.'
The waiter came over, brought them tiny cups of coffee and brandy. When he had gone, Marc said, 'I'm pleased that you felt that you could dine with me this evening, I've enjoyed your company. I feel perhaps we can talk now. And, Lucy, I've missed talking to you. It has all been... even harder than I expected. And I expected it to be hard.'
She knew her voice was shaky as she said, 'I miss a lot about you.'
He nodded, looked bleak. 'The day after tomorrow you will see where I live, perhaps understand a little of why I am the way I am, see why I am dedicated to the valley and its people. I would feel better if I thought that you could understand.'
'We'll see,' she said. Then she stood. 'If you don't mind, I think I'd like to go to bed now.'
He had stood too. 'Of course. I will escort you to your room. You have my room number—any problem at all, ring me. I will arrange breakfast to be served in your room, just after the baby's early morning feed. Then we will make a good start.'
'Whatever you say,' said Lucy.
She had enjoyed the meal. It was bittersweet being with Marc. And it was more sweet—or bitter—realising that he felt just as bad as she did.
In many ways it was an easy trip. Probably Simone and Lucille could have managed without her. The baby was especially good and Simone's mood improved every mile they got nearer the castle. But then, nothing went wrong. And Lucy knew just how bad things
could be when things went wrong with a few-days-old baby.
They drove across France by motorway. Lucy decided that French motorway cafes were nicer than English ones. The weather got warmer. And then, in the distance, they saw a great line of mountains. They were getting there.
Marc had booked them into another hotel, and they arrived at this one considerably earlier. Simone told them that this time she wanted to eat outside, and eat with the pair of them. Lucy thought that was a good idea. She didn't want to be alone with Marc again. It reminded her too much of what might have been.
Last night she had almost felt that they could be together again. She didn't want that. He had decided that it was impossible, and he was probably right. But she couldn't stop herself loving him. Stupid, wasn't it? she thought.
So the three of them were sitting outside, again on a terrace, but this time one with a view across miles of green fields to the blue mountains in the distance. Beside them in her carrycot was Lucille. Every now and again she would gurgle contentedly.
It was hot, they were sitting under an umbrella to protect them from the sun. Lucy felt that she could take off the little jacket she had worn the previous day. They had another wonderful meal. And then they were content to sit there and watch the sun go down.
She looked across at Marc. This evening he was in trousers and open-necked shirt. He was sitting there casually, leaning back in his chair, laughing at something Simone had just said. Lucy looked at the athlete's body, the wonderful profile, the smile that charmed everyone. And she felt a stab of emotion so strong that she gasped.
There was a linen napkin on her lap. She took it, wound it tightly around her hand and squeezed. Last night she had thought she had been coming to an accommodation with her feelings. She had even thought it not fifteen minutes ago. Now she knew she could do no such thing. She loved him as much as she ever had. What was she to do now?
She could survive. She would have to survive. But after this short trip, when she was forced to be with him, she would make sure that they never met again. There was always work for a midwife. She would move from the Dell Owen Hospital. Perhaps she might move out of the town completely. Just as long as she didn't have to meet him.
Next morning was different. Lucy woke early, sat in bed waiting for breakfast to be brought for them. Then she went to open the shutters to look out. They had had two days of sun. But now the sun had gone. So too had the view of the mountains in the distance, they were shrouded in mist. It was going to be a gloomy day.
They got off to an early start, drove upwards steadily. After an hour there were the first splashes of rain on the windscreen, then a sudden sharp squall. That settled down to a steady, non-stop drumming on the roof.
'Typical mountain weather,' said Marc. Then he peered at the horizon and said, 'And I don't think it's going to clear.' He seemed quite happy with the situation.
They were driving out of the well-cultivated land too. As they ascended, the villages and towns were less frequent, they didn't have the air of prosperity that could be seen lower down. They had turned off the motorway onto what was supposed to be a main road, but there wasn't much traffic on it. And soon they turned off that.
Now they were on a small winding road, going upwards all the time. Lucy was glad that they had the four-wheel-drive. And the rain was a hissing, pelting force. They had to drive slowly. And though it was the middle of the day, Marc had to turn on his headlights. Because they were in a narrow valley and the cloud and mist pressed even lower, it seemed like night time. Finally they turned off into an even narrower valley.
'The entrance to Montreval,' Marc said laconically. 'Fifteen miles of this and the road stops. And there is the village. We won't meet much traffic. Not a lot goes to Montreval—or comes from it.'
Simone was asleep. And Marc appeared to have become more and more content as they neared his home.
Now the rain was booming on the car roof. He drove slowly, carefully. In places Lucy could see the water rushing in sheets across the road. The odd farmhouse they saw looked either impoverished or abandoned altogether. Lucy caught glimpses of rockfaces, of drenched stands of spindly trees.
And then they turned the sharpest corner of all and Marc stopped the car. 'First view of home,' he said. There's the castle I was born in. For me that is home. And I don't know whether I love it or hate it.'
Lucy leaned over to peer through the rapidly moving windscreen wipers. Well, yes, she supposed the castle and the surroundings were a bit fairy tale. But they needed the sun. Now everything looked grey and desolate.
She glanced at Marc, surely there should be some feeling of gloom brought on by this weather. But there was none. He seemed happy, his face smiling.
'May as well carry on,' he said. 'I hope my mother's got our rooms warmed.'
Simone struggled into consciousness and said, 'She will have. Your mother's a great hostess, Marc. I'm looking forward to staying with her. And she'll dote on little Lucille here.'
'My mother doesn't dote on anything or anyone,' said Marc. 'She is above all practical. And what little Lucille here will do is remind her that it's about time that I produced an heir for the family.'
'The weather must be fine sometimes,' Lucy said weakly.
'Sometimes,' Marc agreed. 'In fact, spring and early summer here are magic. As I told you, you should see the wildflowers. And for that we put up with the rain.'
'Who wouldn't?' Lucy asked.
Simone was staring, apparently quite content, at the rain bearing against the window. 'I'm always happy here,' she said. 'It's strange. Marc is happy here but in a different way. I can feel that whenever he comes here he has to work. But Tante Clotilde looks after me. She doesn't push me, like my parents do. And Marc pushes himself, he likes it. Here I can stay and just be.'
'What about your future?'
Simone shrugged. 'I'll stay here for a few weeks— or months even. Tante Clotilde needs a companion and she can help me bring up Lucille. After a while I'll think of taking up my music again. Apparently my parents have arranged for me to be seen from time to time by a consultant in Lyon, he'll keep an eye on me.'
Lucy had to ask. 'What about Lucille's father? Will you be in touch with him?'
The reply was all the more emphatic because it was casual. 'No. I don't need him, or anything he could give me. I'm happier on my own.'
Happier on my own. Seems to be a family trait, Lucy thought, but said nothing.
There was no sign of the hysterical patient Simone had been in England. She was calmer now; this place was good for her. But even after only a few hours Lucy was feeling hemmed in. There was a claustrophobic feel to the village and the valley it was in. Perhaps she could just see why Marc thought that she would not be happy here.
They were in a vast room, with stone walls and floor but definitely very warm. There was a big double bed for Simone, a cot for the baby. Adjoining was a bathroom, with a large old-fashioned bath perched on four feet and with gleaming brass taps. Plenty of hot water too.
Lucy had the room next to Simone's. There was a connecting door and if it was left open Simone could call her if she needed help. But there was unlikely to be any need. Simone was happy now.
Lucy went to join Simone at the window. Grey clouds swept over the village below them; there was hardly anyone to be seen. It was nearly autumn; this should be a time of beauty. But all Lucy could feel was depressed.
'We'd better go down for dinner,' Simone said, 'Tante Clotilde likes punctuality. She's arranged for a maid to come and sit with Lucille.'
'Perhaps I could have something on my own up here,' Lucy suggested, 'so you and your family could—'
'No!' There was a show of Simone's old spirit. 'You dine with us! You are a friend, not a servant. And I know Marc would be angry if you weren't there.'
'It's the same dress then,' Lucy said gloomily. 'If I'd known I'd be having dinner every night, I would have packed three.'
They had arrived at the castle about three ho
urs previously and been greeted by Marc's mother. For once, Lucy had guessed right. Madame Duvallier was everything she had expected.
She had been tall, erect, discreetly made up, with white hair carefully arranged. Her dress had been of grey silk—expensive without being obtrusive. Lucy had thought she could see some of her son's character in her face.
She had greeted Simone and Marc happily but calmly. Both had kissed her on each cheek. There had been considerably more emotion shown over Lucille.
Then, in very good English, Lucy had been made welcome. Her hand had been shaken, she had been thanked for what she had done for Simone and Lucille.
'It was a pleasure, Madame,' Lucy had said. She had asked Marc before hand what she should, call his mother. She knew that if Marc had got to know her family, he would have been calling her mother Mum within a couple of weeks. But she didn't think that this would happen here.
A maid had been instructed to take them to their rooms, their bags would be brought up and a drink would be sent. Clotilde had business to discuss with her son; they would meet at dinner later.
Lucy went to get changed out of her jeans and shirt. It was nearly dinnertime and she was not looking forward to it. She wondered how Marc would be. Since they had entered this wet valley she had felt that he seemed more and more distant. He took a pleasure in this place that she couldn't feel. He had smiled but said very little. Well, she would be out of it all tomorrow and she didn't know whether she was pleased or sorry.
The maid entered the room, went straight to Lucille's cot and smiled down at the child. She was middle-aged, the mother of three children herself. Lucy could tell that she was a more than competent nursemaid.
Simone was now ready. She led Lucy out of the room and the two of them stood at the head of the staircase.
'You know,' said Simone, 'we've been together for three days now and yet, with Lucille being with us, and Marc most of the way, we haven't had the chance to have a proper chat. So how are you getting on with my wonderful cousin?'
The Noble Doctor Page 12