Darkest Longings

by Susan Lewis

  ‘So,’ he declared, as they walked back into the sitting-room, ‘my brother has thought of everything, right down to your need to be close to the children – when they come.’

  It was that remark, as much as anything, that was causing Claudine so much misgiving now. As she sat on her bed on her wedding morning, the reality of what lay ahead – and of what she felt about it – was at last beginning to come home to her.

  She looked down at her hands, at the diamond that glittered in the sunlight, and for a moment her feelings engulfed her. Then suddenly she got up from the bed, dragged the cheval mirror away from the window and stripped off her clothes.

  As she gazed at her reflection she tried to see herself through François’ eyes. Tried to imagine his hands on her breasts, his mouth seeking hers, his fingers exploring her most intimate places. His own naked body …

  She closed her eyes as the heat seared through her veins, and as her fingers closed around her nipples the sensation that shot through her loins snatched the breath from her body. She clutched at the bedpost, biting her lips as she waited for the tide of longing to subside.

  How could her body betray her like this? How had this come about when she detested and despised him? Yet, almost from the moment when she discovered that exquisite bedroom in the apartment upstairs, when she realized that even after they were married she was to sleep alone, she had known it was pointless to go on deluding herself. Ugly as he was, cruel and malevolent as she knew he could be, she could no longer deny that she wanted him in a way she had never wanted any other man in her life. She desired him with every fibre of her body, and had done almost from the moment she met him.

  She threw back her head and looked up at the ceiling, wanting, but not daring, to scream. Why, dear God, when he so plainly did not want her, did she want him so much?

  Suddenly she froze as she heard his voice outside, calling to Lucien. Then hearing him laugh, it was as if all her resolve gathered in a towering surge of defiance; when she looked back at herself in the mirror, her eyes were hard and shining.

  ‘Today,’ she whispered to her reflection, ‘you are going to marry him. And after that, only you can see to it that he becomes the husband you want him to be. Your desires need not be a weakness, they can be a strength if you learn to use them correctly. And he will want you, one day he will want you every bit as much as you want him.’

  She ran her hands down over her hips, then slipped her fingers into the moistness between her legs, and a cry escaped her lips as she discovered the power of her need. How could just the thought of him do this to her?

  Quickly she withdrew her fingers, then picking up her négligé, she covered herself and walked to the window. He was there, standing at the centre of the stable yard with Lucien, and as if he sensed her eyes on him, he looked up. But when he saw her, he turned away. She watched him as he strode across the yard, feeling almost faint as she imagined that immense body lying over hers, taking her, violating her. She could almost feel the brutality of his mouth, the ruthlessness of his hands, the …

  ‘Mon Dieu,’ she murmured, and closed her eyes as her fingers were drawn to the ache in her loins.

  Suddenly there was a knock on the door. She started, but hearing Dissy’s voice she swallowed hard and called for her to come in.

  ‘Ah, ha!’ Dissy cried. ‘Permission to enter at last!’ Then seeing Claudine’s naked body through the transparency of her négligé, she laughed. ‘A dress rehearsal for the big night?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Claudine answered, almost gasping on a sudden onslaught of nerves. ‘How are things progressing downstairs?’

  ‘Don’t ask! But Jean-Charles and Sophia have arrived with the dress, they’ll be wanting to come up soon.’

  ‘I must bathe. Come and talk to me while I do.’

  Just then Magaly walked into the room. ‘The packing is almost finished,’ she said, her round face beaming its habitual smile. ‘I shall put your lingerie here on the bed, then go to sort out these people downstairs. Estelle has arrived from the beauty salon with the manicurist. Shall I tell them to come up?’

  ‘Give me half an hour,’ Claudine answered. ‘Did Jean-Charles remember the shoes?’

  ‘Of course. I telephoned him yesterday to make certain,’ and she laughed as Claudine blew her a kiss.

  Dissy picked up a nail file and stretched out on the chaise-longue at the side of the bath. ‘Did you invite Freddy to stay on at Montvisse after the wedding, or did he invite himself?’ she asked. She waited, but there was no answer. From the look on Claudine’s face Dissy could see that she hadn’t even heard. ‘Claudine!’ she called. ‘Hello!’

  Claudine looked up. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she said. ‘What were you saying?’

  ‘I was asking about that brother of mine, but it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Oh, Freddy! Hasn’t he grown? I would never have recognized him. He tells me he’s going to be nineteen at Christmas, and there was me thinking he was still in short trousers.’

  ‘Well, he’s at Oxford now, and very definitely in long trousers.’

  ‘He’s extremely handsome, Dissy. He has quite a romantic look about him too, don’t you think?’

  ‘He cultivates it, darling. He wants to be a poet.’

  ‘Is he any good?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Daddy says he’s bally awful, but then Daddy would. Mummy, of course, thinks he’s better than Byron.’

  ‘And what does Poppy think?’ Claudine asked, referring to Dissy’s husband, by his nickname.

  ‘Best not repeat it,’ Dissy grinned, and laughing, Claudine let her négliǵe float to the floor and stepped into the bath.

  ‘Clo,’ Dissy said thoughtfully, a few minutes later. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask. Is there a reason why you’re not having bridesmaids?’

  Claudine lay back in the scented water and closed her eyes. ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘that it just didn’t seem appropriate.’

  ‘What? How on earth can bridesmaids not seem appropriate at a wedding?’

  With her eyes still closed, Claudine merely raised her eyebrows and said, ‘I don’t know, but they didn’t.’

  Dissy stared at her. The absence of bridesmaids wasn’t the only thing that struck her as odd about Claudine’s wedding. What worried her most was that ever since she’d arrived she had been aware of a change in Claudine herself, which as the week progressed she had no longer been able to dismiss as pre-wedding nerves. And surely it was strange that Claudine had said almost nothing about François – when Dissy had expected her to be talking of nothing else, confiding all the details of the proposal, declaring her undying love. Then there had been the mysterious absence of the bridegroom. Apparently he had been at the château just prior to her arrival, but he had then been called to Paris on urgent business which had kept him there until two days before the wedding.

  Oddest of all, perhaps, had been Monique’s interrogation. Two days ago, while Claudine was in Chinon meeting François from the train so that they could register their marriage at the town hall, Monique had taken her for a walk in the woods, where she had proceeded to ask all manner of questions about the way Claudine and François felt about each other! If the bridegroom’s sister is in the dark about their relationship, Dissy had thought, who does know what’s going on? Then, she and Monique had talked about Freddy. Dissy had found Monique’s interest rather surprising – she must be at least five years older than Freddy, perhaps more.

  But it was when she and Monique returned from their walk that Dissy had received the biggest shock of all. The man waiting there on the steps of the château to greet her, Monique proudly informed her, was none other than the future Comte de Rassey de Lorvoire.

  Dissy was ashamed now at the way she had stopped dead in her tracks and her mouth had actually fallen open. But he was so ugly, and so … Well, so big, standing there beside her lovely Claudine. His hand, when he held it out, had made Dissy shudder, but that was nothing to what she had felt when she looke
d into his eyes … She’d hardly slept a wink that night, and even Poppy had confessed to finding the man a trifle unusual.

  However, Claudine had done nothing to invite any comment about her fiancé, nor had she expressed any doubt about what she was doing. ‘In which case,’ Poppy had said only that morning, ‘it would be singularly inappropriate for you to mention your own doubts, Dissy. As we all know, Beavis has done nothing to pressure her into this marriage, so we can only conclude that this is what Claudine wants.’

  ‘But is it what François wants?’ Dissy said. ‘He doesn’t love her, Poppy, I know he doesn’t. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at her. If anything, he despises her. And surely she can see it too?’

  But if she could, Claudine was saying nothing. And at three o’clock that afternoon Dissy stood amongst the two hundred guests in the Royal Abbey of Fontevraud and watched her best friend, in a dress to make even a royal wedding gown look dowdy, walk down the aisle on the arm of her father, to a man who was as unsightly as his brother – standing beside him in full dress uniform – was handsome.

  As they knelt side by side before the priest, Claudine was shaking. She had no idea what she was feeling, she simply listened as the priest’s guttural chant echoed solemnly through the abbey and her own heart thudded in her ears. Then François’ hand was on her elbow, helping her to her feet, and the priest was whispering to her to remove her veil. She didn’t look at François as she did so, but kept her eyes fixed on the priest while François repeated the marriage vows in a warm, gentle voice that belonged to a man she didn’t know … Then it was time for her to pledge her troth.

  A shadow fell over her face, and there was the briefest touch of lips against hers. After that she remembered nothing until the organ suddenly started to play and they were walking back down the aisle.

  They returned to the château in Louis’ open-topped Bugatti. Marcel drove slowly, so that Claudine could wave to the people who lined the cobbled streets of the villages along the way – Fontevraud, Candés St Martin, St Germain-sur-Vienne – as they called out their good wishes. Beside her, François made no attempt to disguise his loathing of such a display. His discomfort was ridiculous, she thought, and she laughed – but even the sound of her own laughter did nothing to dispel the strange feeling of displacement.

  When all the guests had returned, they sat down to the twelve-course wedding feast in the lavishly decorated ballroom of the Château de Lorvoire. Almost every noble family in France was represented, and several members of the English aristocracy were there too. Claudine sipped her champagne and laughed as everyone drank the bride’s health, then the bridegroom’s, then quite spontaneously, Solange’s. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she pushed away the oysters, then the smoked salmon, the turbot, the grives aux raisins. When someone called to her, she answered, her eyes dazzling in their beauty and her lips never far from laughter. Beside her François had his back half-turned as he conversed with her father – but Claudine barely noticed.

  At seven o’clock the ballroom was cleared and the dancing began. There was much hilarity when Poppy took over the piano and the band picked up the rhythm of the Lambeth Walk, a dance from a London musical, while Dissy taught everyone the steps. Like a child who never tires of the same story, Solange insisted they play it over and over again, until Louis had a quiet word with the band leader, then tangoed his wife off across the floor. Lucien took Claudine, and soon the whole room was a mass of gaily twirling bodies and grandly stamping feet. Claudine danced for what seemed an eternity, moving with the music from a fox-trot to a quick-step, from a rumba to a waltz, changing partners with such frequency that in the end she laughingly pleaded exhaustion, and taking Solange by the hand, started to wander round the room talking to guests.

  François remained on the edge of the proceedings, shaking hands where he had to, but mainly engrossed in what Beavis and his father were saying. One subject preoccupied them: the increasing probability of war. François was listening intently; as a British diplomat and a close friend of Neville Chamberlain, Beavis was naturally well-informed, and since the collapse of Léon Blum’s government in June and the rise to power of his father’s old friend Camille Chautemps, there was much to discuss.

  Eventually, aware that Céline was watching him, and knowing that on this occasion he must do what was expected of him, he excused himself and made his way over to Claudine.

  She was standing in the middle of a group, laughing at something Lucien was saying, but when they saw him coming the crowd parted to let him through. As everyone around her fell silent, Claudine turned, and when she saw her husband she cocked her head on one side and placed a hand on her hip.

  ‘Would you care to dance?’ François said, fixing her with his eyes in a way that seemed to banish the presence of those around her.

  ‘I should be delighted,’ she said, and taking the hand he held out to her, she allowed him to lead her to the middle of the floor.

  The band, who had been waiting for this moment, smoothly brought the piece they were playing to an end and started an instrumental version of ‘The Very Thought Of You’. It was one of Claudine’s favourite songs, and as the other dancers cleared the floor and François pulled her into his arms, she wondered if he knew the words. But if he did, he gave no sign, and she wasn’t sure whether she was sorry or glad.

  ‘It is unusual, I know, for the bride and groom to have the last dance,’ he said, as he led her through her paces, ‘but then ours is an unusual alliance, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘The last dance?’ she echoed.

  He nodded. ‘Unless you’re intending to leave in your wedding gown, it is time you went upstairs to change.’

  Trying not to mind that he had passed no comment on her dress, with its waterfalls of lace, flowing taffeta skirts and pearl-studded silk bodice, she said, ‘How long do I have?’

  ‘As long as you like. But I’d prefer to arrive at Poitiers before midnight.’

  ‘Poitiers?’

  ‘We are spending the night at an hotel there. Did I forget to tell you? My apologies.’

  She looked away as she suddenly became aware of his hand in the small of her back. ‘Will you be driving us?’ she enquired, in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.

  ‘Unless you have a notion to do so,’ he answered. ‘However, if you continue to tremble the way you are now, I wouldn’t advise it.’

  Her eyes shot to his, but there was no humour in his face; if anything, he seemed bored.

  ‘I’ll go upstairs to change,’ she said, and turning abruptly, she walked from the dance floor.

  An hour later, followed by Céline, Solange, Monique and Dissy, Claudine walked down the grand staircase and into the hall. She was wearing a navy Mainbocher suit with a cerise silk blouse and navy wedged shoes. Magaly had redressed her hair, which was now rolled in a snood under her navy and cerise hat. In the distance she could hear the sounds of the party, which she knew would continue into the small hours of the morning. For one fleeting moment she wished with all her heart that she could stay.

  The others were fussing around her, offering her all the advice traditionally given to brides for the first night of their honeymoon. Solange, as usual, was outrageous – but for once Claudine wasn’t laughing. She was staring past them to where François stood at the door with Lucien, Beavis and Louis. He too had changed out of his wedding clothes; now he was wearing a dark double-breasted suit and a black trilby hat.

  Her eyes closed for a brief moment, then pulling herself together, she walked towards him. ‘I’m ready,’ she said in a quiet voice.

  He turned, but before he could speak Beavis had taken his daughter in his arms. ‘Au revoir, chérie,’ he said, and for the first time that day Claudine remembered that her father wouldn’t be there when she returned from Biarritz. For a moment she was unable to speak, dreading that her tongue might betray her and announce to everyone present the sudden terror that had seized her. Then, taking a breath, she said goodbye to
Beavis and turned to François. Behind her she could hear someone crying – she guessed it was Tante Céline, or perhaps Dissy.

  François placed a hand under her arm, and without looking back she walked with him down the steps of the château. It was dark outside, but then the courtyard was flooded with light as Jean-Paul pulled the switch. The black Citröen was there, long and low and startlingly sinister. François opened the door for her to get in. With her eyes fixed straight ahead, she passed him and sat down in the deep leather seat. Then he closed the door behind her, and seconds later he was sitting beside her, starting the engine, easing it into gear. They moved slowly off down the drive. Behind them their families were waving, but neither of them turned back.

  Beavis and Céline stood side by side, watching the tail lights until they disappeared from view.

  ‘Like a lamb to the slaughter,’ Céline murmured, repeating the words Claudine herself had uttered on these very steps the first time she had come to Lorvoire.

  ‘What was that, chérie?’ Beavis said, slipping an arm around her.

  She looked up into his handsome, smiling face. Then, as her hand moved over his chest, smoothing the brilliant white stiffness of his shirt, she remembered that there was something she had to do, and linking an arm through his, she started to lead him back into the party. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘But I think we need something now to take our minds off our precious girl, don’t you?’

  Beavis’ answering smile was remote; both he and Céline knew that it was unlikely either of them would be able to put Claudine out of their minds for long. But they would have to try, for she was no longer only Beavis’ daughter and Céline’s niece. First and foremost, now, she was François’ wife.

  – 7 –

  THE DRIVE TO Poitiers was long and silent. François kept his eyes on the road ahead as in the darkness shadows and light swept through the car. After they had been driving for about an hour, Claudine rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. She would never have expected to be able to sleep at such a time, but she did for a while, and when she woke she saw they were on the outskirts of a town.