by Anne Mather
‘Alain’s father died when he was only a teenager,’ she had told her. ‘Needless to say, he was not your grandfather’s brother. No, Simon, my first husband, was an industrialist. He made quite a lot of money out of technical machinery, computers, that sort of thing, and naturally he wanted Alain to follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately, Alain was still at university when he died, and unable to take over his father’s position. Simon was killed in a plane crash, you see. No one could have guessed he would die so young.’ She sighed. ‘The company foundered. As luck would have it, Simon had bought shares for me in other companies and I remained solvent, but our company, Alain’s father’s company, was taken over by the Marron organization.’
Ryan frowned. ‘That name—Marron—I’ve heard it before.’
Louise nodded. ‘No doubt you have. If Alain ever mentioned his first wife to you, he will have told you that her name was Julia Marron.’
‘Of course,’ Ryan nodded. ‘He did once tell me her name. But that was all.’
Louise’s smile was bitter. ‘I am not surprised. It was a disastrous marriage, from start to finish.’ She pleated the folds of her skirt. ‘And of course, I was to blame.’
‘You?’
‘Yes.’ Louise paused. ‘When Alain had completed his degree, I arranged for him to meet Julia Marron on every occasion. I had this idea, you see, and as we all moved in the same social circle, it was not difficult to throw the two young people together. Julia’s father, Henri Marron, was much older than my husband, and he was the head of the Marron organization. Julia was his only offspring. Do you see the way my mind was working?’
Ryan nodded. ‘You hoped Alain would eventually gain control of his father’s company again.’
‘Not only that, Ryan. I was ambitious. I saw him as the chairman of the Marron organization.’ She shook her head regretfully. ‘I was a fool. So ambitious! And look what it brought me!’ She pressed her lips together. ‘But it is no use decrying the past. I did what I did, and I regretted it bitterly. Alain married Julia, with encouragement. I should have guessed it would never last. Julia was too—too frivolous, too fond of parties and buying clothes to interest a serious man like my son. But mothers will always interfere. Unfortunately in my case, it ended as disastrously as it had begun.’
Ryan wished there was something she could say to alleviate the other woman’s pain, but there was nothing.
Louise heaved a sigh. ‘They split up after a couple of years. Initially Alain remained with the organization, but gradually his interest began to dwindle. We were still friends—acquaintances—in those days. He told me he was unhappy remaining an employee of his ex-wife’s family. But I insisted it was foolish of him to give it all up when at some future date he and Julia might get together again.’ She hesitated, her face strained. ‘It didn’t happen like that. Julia began pursuing him again. It was as though his lack of interest in her aroused her desire for him.’ She paused, controlling herself. ‘There was a terrible row one evening. Julia had been drinking. She had started drinking soon after their marriage, and I know Alain despised her for it. This particular evening she had gone to his apartment and tried to seduce him.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Alain threw all the sordid details at me later, that’s how I know so much. He turned her out. She got in her car, one of those fast sports models, drove recklessly away, and—and killed herself.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘Oh, yes.’ Louise nodded slowly. ‘Not deliberately, I don’t think. Julia was too selfish for that. But indirectly, I suppose, she managed it. At any event, when Alain discovered what had happened he came here, to my house, in a terrible state. He accused me of being responsible for the whole sorry mess. And—and I suppose I was. No—’ this as Ryan tried to protest, ‘no, my dear, I know I forced him into that marriage. He would never have married anyone like Julia, had I not been behind him, urging him on.’ She sighed again. ‘Afterwards, he disappeared for a time. I think he spent some time in Italy, and eventually, through his solicitors, I discovered he had joined a man called Pierre Ferrier in his vineyard. Your father, my dear.’ She squeezed Ryan’s hand.
‘But how—how is your name—?’
Louise half smiled. ‘I got to know Emile Ferrier quite by accident. He was not involved in the wine-growing business, but he did own several stores where the Ferrier wines were sold. Again, I interfered. I allowed Emile to take me out, to visit me here—all to gain news of my son. Letters evinced no replies, and I did not dare to visit Bellaise myself. Eventually Emile asked me to marry him, and because I was fond of him, I agreed. I think that was another black mark against me so far as Alain was concerned. He saw my marriage as a deliberate attempt to ingratiate myself with the Ferrier family. And I suppose it was. But it did no good.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘Emile died several years ago, and now I am alone again.’ She looked at Ryan and now Ryan could see why she had thought there was something familiar about that stare. Her eyes were Alain’s eyes. ‘When I discovered that Pierre was dead and you had married Alain, I could not resist one more attempt. When you didn’t answer my letter I guessed that Alain had prevented you.’
‘No. No, he didn’t.’ Now it was Ryan’s turn to look discomfited. ‘He said if I wanted to go to Paris, I should go’
‘But he would not come with you?’
‘No.’
‘And of course, he made no mention of the fact that I was his mother?’
‘No.’ Ryan sighed. ‘Why didn’t you?’
Louise grimaced. ‘My dear, it took a great deal of courage to sit down and write to you at all. I was risking Alain coming here and denigrating my name still further. No—I thought my relationship to your father might interest you sufficiently to persuade Alain—’
‘Me? Persuade Alain?’ Ryan was incredulous.
Louise nodded. ‘I guessed as much, of course. It was so soon—your marriage, I mean. So soon after Pierre’s death. I guessed there was more to it than there appeared.’
‘My father left us each a half share in the vineyard, contingent upon us marrying one another.’
‘Oh, no!’ Louise stared at her. ‘Poor Alain! So he has had two marriages thrust upon him!’
Until then this had not occurred to Ryan, but when it did it was a devastating realization.
Linking her fingers together, she said: ‘You must understand, though, I never asked Alain to marry me. I didn’t want to marry him. Not at first. I—I hated him. I knew nothing about him, you see, and I imagined he had taken advantage of my father. It was only later that I discovered that without him my father would have been ruined. His health was so bad, you see.’ She swallowed convulsively. ‘It—it was to be a marriage of convenience. And—and it worked. At first.’
Louise frowned. ‘Then what happened?’ she asked gently. ‘Did Alain—take advantage of you?’
Ryan could have laughed had it not all been so serious. ‘Oh, no,’ she denied unsteadily. ‘Alain was not to blame. I—I fell in love with him, you see, and—and I began—I began—’
‘– wanting him?’ Louise was astute. ‘Oh, don’t look so embarrassed, my dear. I know what it is like to want a man. I loved Simon very dearly, and when he was killed I was shattered.’ She paused. ‘Go on.’
Ryan moved her shoulders awkwardly. ‘The inevitable happened. It wasn’t Alain’s fault. I—I asked for it. Afterwards, he was furious. He—he asked me to leave and go back to England.’
Louise shook her head. ‘And you refused?’
‘Yes.’ Ryan caught her breath on a sob. ‘I didn’t want to leave him. I loved him. Just being near him was enough.’
Louise nodded understandingly, putting an arm about her shoulders. ‘Don’t go on. I can guess the rest. When you found you were expecting a baby, you were afraid of what he might say.’ She gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘I know the feeling.’
‘I—I couldn’t bear for him to feel—sorry for me.’
Louise held her closer. ‘You poor child!’ She sighed. ‘And Alain does
n’t know where you are?’
‘No one knows. Oh—unless he gets anything out of David.’
‘David?’ Louise drew back to look at her. ‘Who is David?’
‘David Howard, an Englishman. He came to teach at the village school just after Christmas.’
‘I see. This Englishman—he is a friend of yours?’
‘You might say that. It—it was through him—’ She broke off. ‘He drove me into Anciens yesterday so that I could catch the night train to Paris.’
Louise’s eyebrows ascended. ‘You started to say something else. What was it?’
Ryan flushed. ‘Nothing really.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, well, I think Alain was—he didn’t like for me to be friendly with David.’
‘No?’
‘No. He came back one afternoon unexpectedly, and found us talking together in the kitchen. He was furious!’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘That—that was the night…’
Louise gave her a curious look. ‘Was it indeed? It seems to me that my son is not as blameless as you would have me believe.’ She shook her head. ‘But enough of that now. We can talk later. I suggest Madame Lefevre shows you to the room she is preparing for you and you rest for a while. Things always look brighter when one is not fatigued.’
And so Ryan had been shown to this delightful room with its equally delightful adjoining bathroom. She had showered the grime from her body and taking Alain’s example had slid naked between the sheets.
Now she turned to the long mirror that was set in the wardrobe door and surveyed her naked body without pleasure. Her breasts were firm and filling out now, her waist narrow, her hips curved and unknowingly provocative, her legs long and slender. There was no sign yet that within the supple skin Alain’s seed was strong and vital, no sign of the swelling life growing inside her. But in a few weeks her waistline would begin to thicken, and in a few months she would be big and clumsy. How could she have stayed at Bellaise, she demanded silently, longing to justify her actions? How could she have stayed with Alain knowing that every time he looked at her he was reminded of her foolishness and sickened by it?
With a sigh she thrust back the wardrobe door and took down the shirt and jeans she had worn earlier and which Madame Lefevre had put away for her. Then she put on her underwear, donned the shirt and jeans and brushed vigorously at her hair.
She was wondering where she might find her aunt when there was a knock at her bedroom door. Quickly she pulled it open and stood back to allow the maid, Colette, to enter with a tray.
‘Madame Lefevre sent a small snack, madame,’ she explained politely, setting the tray on the table by the window. ‘Dinner is not until later and she thought you might be hungry after your rest.’
Ryan’s mouth twitched. ‘That was kind of her,’ she exclaimed, touched by the housekeeper’s thoughtfulness which no doubt had been instigated by Louise Ferrier. ‘Thank you.’
Colette departed and Ryan examined the tray. There was a dish of cold consommé, something which would not have spoiled had she still been asleep, some rolls, and a fluffy peach mousse to finish with. A glass of fruit juice accompanied the meal, and Ryan drank this thirstily.
Colette returned just as she was finishing and smiled at the empty dishes. ‘You are feeling better now, madame?’ she suggested, and Ryan nodded. ‘That is good. Madame Ferrier is in the sitting room. If you would like to join her, I will show you the way.’
Louise Ferrier smiled and rose to her feet when Ryan came into the room. ‘Ah, you look much better, my dear,’ she exclaimed with satisfaction. ‘Are you feeling rested?’
‘Very much.’ Ryan forced a smile. ‘And I’ve just had the most delicious snack!’
‘Ah!’ Louise nodded. ‘So—sit down!’ and when Ryan was seated: ‘Did you bring any other clothes with you?’
Ryan grimaced at her jeans. ‘You mean instead of these? Just a skirt and a couple of sweaters, I’m afraid.’
Louise considered her thoughtfully. ‘You would pay for dressing, my dear. Did anyone ever tell you, you’re quite beautiful, you know?’
Ryan couldn’t help colouring. ‘You’re very kind.’
‘Not kind. Just truthful.’ Louise spread her hands. ‘We must see about getting you some new clothes. I shall enjoy that.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘No buts, my dear. I insist. You simply cannot stay here with me, meet my friends, wearing jeans and a sweater, no matter how casual today’s fashions may be. Besides, this is what we have to talk about, is it not? Your staying here?’
Ryan curved her arms round her knees, curling her body into a hunched position. ‘You know I can’t stay here. Not now.’
‘Why not?’ Louise stared at her.
‘Well—because you’re Alain’s mother, for one thing.’
‘You think that is a good reason for leaving?’ Louise’s voice was low and taut, and Ryan felt contrite.
‘Oh, please, try to understand. If—if he finds out I am here, he will think I am—taking advantage of your good nature.’
Louise snorted. ‘If my son finds you here, he is much more likely to think exactly the opposite. You forget, Alain and I…’ She broke off. ‘But this is silly. Of course you will stay here. This is your home. Not only are you my great-niece, but also my daugher-in-law. Where else would a daughter go than to her mother at a time like this?’
Ryan was moved by her kindness. ‘But how can you introduce me to your friends?’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m pregnant, remember? In a few months I shall look ghastly!’
Louise chuckled. ‘In a few months you will look even more beautiful than you do at the moment. We’ll buy some of those long high-waisted maternity dresses, and you’ll look marvellous! Don’t you know that a woman’s skin and hair—her complexion—everything acquires a glow during pregnancy?’
‘Alain said he liked me in long dresses,’ Ryan murmured, almost involuntarily, and Louise regarded her gently.
‘We’ll have to let Alain know where you are, you realize that, don’t you?’ she said quietly.
‘No!’ Ryan jerked upright. ‘I mean—why?’ She moved her shoulders helplessly. ‘I was thinking I could write to him care of a box number—’
Now it was Louise’s turn to say no. ‘It wouldn’t be fair, or wise,’ she said. ‘After all, if everything you say is true, Alain won’t come here. He won’t risk seeing me again just to make monetary arrangements with you. We’ll write and tell him where you are in a day or so, it won’t hurt him to wait that long, and no doubt he’ll be only too glad to know you’re at least in decent surroundings. If you don’t give him an address to write to, curiosity may do what satisfaction won’t.’
Ryan could see the logic of the argument, but she wasn’t happy about it. ‘And—the baby?’
Louise looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know. That’s up to you, of course. You want to keep it, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Ryan was vehement.
Louise smiled. ‘I knew you would. As for Alain—I don’t know. I suppose sooner or later he must be told.’ Then at Ryan’s drawn expression, she sighed. ‘We can discuss that later. For the present, it is sufficient that you are here.’
During the evening, over a delicious meal served by Madame Lefevre, Ryan managed to relax a little. Although she was still far from convinced that she should stay here, she was prepared to accept that for a few days she had no decisions to make. Louise was lonely, she bitterly regretted the past, and Ryan guessed that by having her son’s wife here, albeit his estranged wife, she felt nearer to her son. Nine years was a long sentence for anyone to serve, and she wished there was something she could do to help the unhappy woman. Then she chided herself derisively. She was helpless; she could not even help herself.
Because Ryan had slept during the afternoon and Louise was eager to hear everything about her life in England and her subsequent marriage, it was late when they went to bed. Even so, Ryan did not feel sleepy. Talking about Alain had brought his presence into the room, and she foun
d herself wondering how he had coped this first day on his own. No doubt Marie had been there to help him. She would hardly be able to contain her curiosity. And Alain himself? Would he feel curious or anxious about her? Or would he breathe a sigh of relief because she had gone?
Louise had lent her a nightdress. It was a froth of pale green lace that tied at the neck with satin ribbons. It was the most feminine item Ryan had ever worn, and as she sat at the vanity unit brushing her hair she thought how ironic it was that she should be wearing something so delicate when only she would see it. She sighed. Was it true? Did women acquire an added allure when they were pregnant? She would hardly have thought so, contemplating how shapeless they became. She supposed rather sadly that a man who loved his wife might feel a sense of pride of possession, but that was all. But for her there would be no such satisfaction.
Thrusting the brush aside, she switched out all the lights and walked to the window. The street lights illuminated the square below, cold and shadowy in the darkness. But even as she watched, a cab drew into the square and she thought inconsequentially that others than themselves kept late hours in St. Hélène.
The cab rattled over the cobbles, coming right round the square to stop outside Louise Ferrier’s house. Ryan’s eyes widened. Surely Louise was expecting no visitors at this time of night? A man thrust open the door of the cab and climbed out—a big man, wearing a dark overcoat, whose silvery fair hair glinted in the lamplight. Ryan looked—and then looked again. She shook her head. No! She was imagining things. The man down in the square was nothing like Alain. He was someone coming to the house next door, and her sensitized emotions were painting Alain’s image on a complete stranger.
The door bell jangled noisily, and Ryan fell back against the wall of her bedroom. The bell rang again, and she put her hands over her ears. It couldn’t be Alain, it just couldn’t! And if it was—what did he want? What was he doing coming to his mother’s house when for nine years he had stayed away?