Darkest Longings

by Susan Lewis

  He picked up a towel, and wiping his hands, turned back into the room. Claudine had her back to him, but as he looked at her glorious mane of curls beneath that outrageously frivolous hat, and her delicate white hands lying on the table beside her glass, he experienced a sudden surge of feeling. She was trying hard not to show it, but he had seen it in her eyes: she was lonely and confused and frightened. It made him want to put his arms around her, and tell her he would be there for her if she needed him. But of course that would be an outrageous thing to do. And if he did it, how could he begin to justify it? He could not possibly tell her that the torment in her lovely blue eyes reminded him of the way another woman – another woman who loved François – had looked in the weeks before she died.

  Armand knew Claudine had heard of Hortense because Lucien had told him so, but he was certain she didn’t know the real truth about what had happened that night in the wine cave. Apart from François, Louis and Doctor Lebrun, Armand guessed that he was probably the only person in the world who did know. He had witnessed it with his own eyes. Even François did not know that; he had never told anyone except his wife, Jacqueline; how, hearing voices, he had come out of the tasting cellar at the back of the cave and stood frozen with horror as he saw François and Hortense struggling with the knife. How he had seen the silver blade, with François’ great hand clutched around the handle, plunge into Hortense’s chest.

  François had been so quick in catching her and running with her to his car that by the time Armand reached the mouth of the cave, he was already speeding down the drive with Hortense’s limp body beside him. Then Louis had appeared from nowhere, and from the look on his face it was clear that he too had seen a great deal of what happened.

  ‘He’ll be taking her to Doctor Lebrun,’ Louis had said in a flat voice.

  Armand had simply stared at him, then followed him into the cave. ‘How do you know he’s taking her to Lebrun?’ he asked, his strained voice echoing eerily in the silence.

  ‘I know my son,’ Louis answered. ‘But if you have any doubts, go after him.’ He started to unravel the hose which was hooked on the wall.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Armand asked.

  ‘Clearing up the mess.’

  For the first time Armand had noticed the blood on the floor, and the sight of it seemed to jolt him back to reality. ‘You can’t do that!’ he cried. ‘If François has killed her …’

  ‘François didn’t kill her!’

  ‘But I saw him! I saw what happened …’

  ‘She wasn’t dead. When he carried her out, she wasn’t dead. Why do you think he’s taken her to Lebrun?’

  ‘But Louis, if they don’t save her François will be …’

  ‘They will save her!’ Louis had thundered.

  But they hadn’t. Lebrun had fought for her life all through that night and into the next day, but in the end Hortense died and François was never brought to trial. Armand had no idea what Louis told the de Bourchain family, but they left France soon after, and as far as he knew they had never returned.

  It was just over two years now since it happened, and still Armand despised himself for having remained silent. But as Louis pointed out at the time, if the de Bourchain family wanted the matter hushed up, then their wishes had to be respected. And certainly it had been easier that way. It would have been his word against François’ and Louis’, and though he cared nothing for François, he knew his father would have wanted him to stand by the Comte. If he had spoken out, whether the courts believed him or not he would have had to leave Lorvoire, and that would have broken his mother’s heart.

  For a long time after that night Armand had been unable to look at François without remembering what he had seen, without remembering other things, too, that were still, even now, too painful to dwell on. But after a time it had become easier, mainly because François had continued to treat him just as he always had – like a brother. It had been a long struggle, but knowing that his bitterness was hurting no one but himself, Armand had finally learned how to live with it.

  Claudine’s voice brought him back to the present. ‘That’s a marvellous idea, Liliane,’ she was saying. ‘I really think we could hold the entire festival here in your cottage! And it’s so kind of Armand to offer to sing for us …’

  ‘What?’ he barked.

  ‘Ah, so you are still with us,’ Claudine grinned, leaning back in her chair. ‘We were beginning to wonder.’

  ‘Me sing?’ Armand repeated.

  ‘Yes, sing,’ she confirmed. ‘Any song of your choice. Your mother tells me you have a wonderful voice, and I can play the piano, so I shall expect you for rehearsals up at the château every evening, starting tomorrow, until the grapes are in.’

  Armand’s eyes moved from her to his mother and back again. ‘You’re serious!’

  ‘Of course we are,’ Claudine said, winking at Liliane. In fact, now that she thought about it the idea was beginning to seem rather a good one. ‘That’s settled, then,’ she said, getting up and picking up her gloves. ‘If you know of any more talent in the village, let me know – I think the idea of a cabaret is a splendid one. I shall have to think of something for Solange to do, she’s bound to want to join in. I know, perhaps you and she can sing a duet, Armand.’

  ‘Now, hang on a …’

  ‘And I shall think of a little play for the children to perform. What do you think, Liliane? We could do Sleeping Beauty. Charles Perrault’s supposed to have got his inspiration from the château over at Rigny-Ussé, so that keeps it local. Yes, it’s getting better all the time. I can hardly wait to tell Solange.’ She paused. Armand was staring at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘what do you suppose I can give François to do?’

  Armand exploded into laughter. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said. ‘If you can persuade François to do anything at all, then you shall have my unconditional surrender and I will sing with Solange.’

  ‘I accept the challenge,’ Claudine said with a grin, holding out her hand. ‘And now I really must go.’ She was enjoying herself so much that she wished she could stay a little longer, but she must get back to the château for dinner.

  ‘I’ll be up at the caves tomorrow,’ Armand said, as he opened the door for her. ‘If you still want to know something about how we make the wine, then I’ll be glad to show you. You asked me about it at the wedding, do you remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember,’ she smiled, though he suspected that she didn’t. ‘I’ll look forward to it. What time should I come?’

  ‘Around eleven might be best. The deliveries will be finished by then. Will François be at home tomorrow?’

  Armand saw the hunted look come into her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘as far as I know.’

  ‘Good. There are a few things I need to go over with him.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’ And kissing Liliane on both cheeks, she shook hands with Armand and went out into the damp night air.

  Armand stood at the door watching her tail-lights weave back through the village. She’s a remarkable woman, he was thinking to himself, quite remarkable. He grinned. And bossy too! When the car lights disappeared from view, he turned back into the cottage and his eyes were alive with laughter as he said to his mother, ‘But I can’t sing!’

  François had already arrived by the time Claudine returned to the château, though she didn’t see him until he came into the drawing-room before dinner. She was sitting in a window-seat discussing the harvest celebration with Solange when the door opened, and without even having to turn round she knew at once that he was there.

  As he walked into the room she looked up, but he was engaged in conversation with a man who had introduced himself to her on the stairs earlier as Captain Paul Paillole. He had driven down from Paris with François that afternoon, he had told her, and was looking forward to spending a few days at Lorvoire.

  Claudine watched as François spoke quietly to Jean-Paul, the butler, then turne
d to greet Céline and Freddy. He did not once glance in her direction. She glared at him, longing somehow to humiliate him in return, but she managed to control the urge and continued her conversation with Solange.

  Later, over dinner, served in front of a roaring fire in the dining-room, François again conversed mainly with the Captain and his father; Claudine wished she could be as oblivious to his presence as he clearly was to hers. At last she turned her attention to Monique who, she realized with dismay, was talking excitedly about weddings. It hadn’t been difficult to persuade her to postpone the announcement of her engagement until the whole family was together, but as she listened to her now, and watched the way her feverish amber eyes continually sought Freddy’s, Claudine was overcome with sadness. The way that Freddy planned to free himself from her would cause her real pain; she didn’t deserve that kind of rejection, no matter how scheming she had been. Perhaps she should try and have another word with Freddy, Claudine thought, before he talked to Monique …

  Feeling her aunt’s eyes on her, she looked up and smiled, then turned to listen to Captain Paillole.

  ‘Of course,’ he was saying, ‘the British navy may have a hundred and eighty destroyers, but we in France have fifteen more than the Germans’ twenty-two, you know.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ François said, setting down his wine glass, ‘if it comes to it – and despite what they say at the Foreign Office, I think we can be fairly certain it will – we shall be relying heavily on the might of the Royal Navy. Statesmen and …’

  Claudine had spoken almost before she realized. ‘But I heard on the news that the Royal Navy have signed an agreement with Germany today, so surely …’ Her heartbeat suddenly slowed as François moved his thunderous eyes to hers. There was silence round the table, and beneath that inimical gaze she began to feel herself tremble.

  Then suddenly Louis laughed, and covering her hand with his, he said, ‘Britain and Germany signed that agreement back in July, ma chère. What you heard on the news today was the fact that it is running into difficulties already.’

  Claudine gazed down at her plate. Her fork was poised over the turbot in its creamy mushroom sauce, but as she dug into it she felt a dryness in her mouth that she knew would prevent her from eating. It had been a simple mistake, that was all, just a simple mistake … She stole another look at François and felt herself go tense with fury. But anger wasn’t the answer, she had learned that, and reasoning with him was no good either. All she could do was try to ignore him; involve herself in the life of Lorvoire as much as she could, and never, never interrupt him when he was speaking …

  Céline and Freddy didn’t stay long after dinner, and to Claudine’s relief Monique retired early so she and Solange went upstairs to Claudine’s sitting-room for a nightcap. Louis, François and the Captain remained in the library until well past midnight, by which time Claudine was lying in bed, listening to the rain.

  Her heart quickened as she heard the door to their apartment open. She could hear François’ footsteps as he moved about the sitting-room, and thought how she had lain awake listening for that sound while he was away. Why was it, she wondered angrily, that she felt so empty when he was gone, yet hated him so when he was here?

  She reached out to turn off the lamp beside the bed. She didn’t want to see his face when he came in, she wanted to pretend that he wasn’t really there, that the horrible pounding of his body was happening in a dream. But in her heart she knew that wasn’t the real reason why she had turned off the light; she’d done it so that he wouldn’t see the pain in her eyes when he got up to go.

  When at last the door opened, the light from the sitting-room fell across the bed and she could see his monstrous silhouette as he stood there in the doorway. Though she couldn’t see them, she could feel his eyes upon her, and defiantly she stared back. And then, though she could hardly believe her ears, she thought she heard him heave a sigh of resignation at the prospect of having to struggle with her again … A great surge of anger erupted inside her; she flung back the bedcovers, hoisted her nightdress over her thighs and spat, ‘Here you are, this is what you’ve come for, isn’t it?’

  His only response was to look at her. Then, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his collar, he walked towards the bed. As he came to a stop beside her, her nails bit into the palms of her hands – but his eyes weren’t on her nakedness, they were gazing mockingly into hers. Then, saying nothing, he lifted the blankets and covered her again.

  She glared up at him, a buzz of alarm sounding in her head. What foul trick was he about to play her now?

  He reached out to turn on the lamp, then slid his hands into his pockets, all the time keeping his eyes fixed calmly on hers. She watched him warily as he sat on the end of the bed, leaning one shoulder against the bedpost and stretching out his legs. She could see the hideous scar that started beneath the corner of his right eye, and the soft light gleaming on the greased smoothness of his hair.

  ‘I have asked the notary to come here tomorrow at three,’ he said. ‘He will arrange your allowance. If you find the amount unsatisfactory then I will naturally increase it. The money will be yours to do with as you please …’

  ‘I have money of my own,’ she snapped.

  He nodded. ‘I am well aware of that. But as I said, the money is yours, to do with as you please. If you choose not to use it …’ he shrugged ‘… ça ne fait rien.’

  She eyed him suspiciously; then a thought struck her. ‘Guilt money!’ she cried. ‘Is that what it is? Does it salve your conscience to pay for what you’re doing to me? Or is it your sick way of making me feel like a whore?’

  His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his dark face hard and inscrutable. ‘I shall be leaving here in a few days,’ he continued, just as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘and shall be away for some weeks. I know you have the highest regard for my mother and father, so I shall trust you not to do anything that could in any way injure or embarrass them.’ He threw her a quick look, and she knew that beneath those words lay a warning. ‘You will find this difficult to believe, I know,’ he went on, ‘but I should like you to be happy here at the château, as much for the sake of my family and the children we hope to have, as for your own.’

  ‘You’re a liar, François,’ she said. ‘You care nothing for me, or my happiness. If you did you would let me go. You would end this farce of a marriage and give me the annulment I …’

  ‘That subject is closed, Claudine. You are my wife now, for better or for worse, as I am your husband. Try to get used to the idea. It will be easier for you if you do.’

  ‘And what about you? How easy is it for you, having a wife who despises you?’

  He smiled, and as he looked at her his eyes seemed to penetrate hers in a way that brought the colour flooding to her cheeks. It was as though he could read everything that was going on inside her mind. ‘You will find that I allow you a great deal of freedom in our marriage,’ he said, ignoring the question. ‘Much more than most wives have, in fact. I require only one thing of you, as you know, and you may be pleased also to know that once you have produced a boy to continue the de Lorvoire line, sexual relations between us will be at an end. Then all I shall require of you is that you are a good mother, and that you are discreet about your lovers.’ He stood up. ‘Tonight I shall let you sleep in peace. However I shall feel obliged to avail myself of my conjugal rights again before I leave, I will let you know when. In the meantime please be in the library at three tomorrow afternoon to meet the notary.’

  He snapped off the light and started back across the room. Claudine’s eyes followed him until the door closed behind him, leaving her in darkness. Then suddenly, without giving herself time to think, she leapt out of bed and stormed into the sitting-room.

  He was standing at the table, looking at some documents, his hands still in his pockets. When he heard her, he looked up, and a frown of exasperation crossed his face.

  ‘I think you should know,’ she fumed, ‘that what
you want, and when you choose to do it, just might not be acceptable to me.’

  To her total confusion, he started to laugh. ‘Is this your way,’ he said, ‘of telling me that you want me in your bed? Now?’

  She looked at him in horror. That wasn’t what she was saying at all.

  ‘Or have I misunderstood?’

  She took a step backwards as he started to amble towards her. ‘What are you doing?’ she cried, as he turned her round and pushed her back into the bedroom.

  She jerked herself away and swung round to face him. The humour had gone from his face, and he seemed bored, waiting for what she was about to say. The frustration was too much for her, and raising her fists she started to hammer them into him. She managed three punches before he caught her hands and twisted them behind her back. The movement brought her body against his, and she felt a bolt of desire strike her with such intensity that it snatched the strength from her legs. But he tightened the grip on her arms, holding her up, and she gasped with the pain of it.

  ‘So,’ he said, his mouth very close to hers, ‘you have a penchant for violent sex?’ He laughed as he saw the expression on her face, but as he looked down at her she felt her lips start to tremble and her eyes flutter closed as she waited for the touch of his mouth. ‘However, I’m afraid I am in no mood to oblige you tonight,’ he said, ‘violently or otherwise.’ And he let her go so abruptly that she staggered back against the bed.

  She watched the door close behind him, listened as he walked across the sitting-room and into his own room. Her head was spinning, her heart was thudding painfully and her wrists were smarting. She threw herself onto the bed and drew her knees to her chest as if to shut out the insufferable humiliation. What in God’s name was happening to her? What had possessed her to go after him like that? For once he had not pressed himself upon her, had been willing to leave her in peace, and she, instead of welcoming it, had … When they were in Biarritz, she’d thought she had overcome this insidious longing for him, had managed to control the treachery of her body; but when he had held her against him just now, when she felt his mouth so close to hers, she had wanted him more than ever.