by Susan Lewis
She stared distractedly down at her hands. ‘He wanted to give you both some time to think,’ she went on. ‘He wanted you to have the chance to see how it would be if he were no longer here. He has the freedom to leave Lorvoire, and you do not. That’s why he is prepared to leave for good if that is what you want.’
‘But how could I want that?’
‘You don’t now, but you might one day. Armand believes that you will always love each other, but that your love might destroy you. You are married to François, Claudine, and François will never let the baby go, and nor will you. That means you will always be married to him. Armand is prepared to live with that, to settle for whatever you can give him, but he is afraid that what he can give in return may not be enough for you. He will return to Lorvoire sometime in August, by which time you may have decided what you want him to do. If you decide he must leave, I shall do nothing to stand in his way …’ She bowed her head as her eyes filled with tears.
‘Please don’t be afraid,’ Claudine whispered, reaching for her hand. ‘I won’t ask him to go, I couldn’t. Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but …’
‘You may think it is selfish, but it isn’t, chérie, not really. You deserve to be loved, and so does my son. But my poor Armand has been through so much already … I can’t help wishing that François had found it in himself to love you, for then, perhaps …’ She smiled sadly and squeezed Claudine’s hands. ‘The ways of fate are strange, Claudine. Who knows, maybe one day you and Armand will find happiness together. One day …’
She stopped, and as Claudine met her wise, knowing eyes she suddenly had the feeling that Liliane was holding something back from her.
‘What is it, Liliane?’ she whispered softly.
Liliane shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she answered. ‘Nothing more than the silly fears of an old woman.’
‘Fears? Oh, Liliane, I will never do anything to hurt him, I swear to you …’
‘That’s not what I’m afraid of. It’s …’
Again she looked into Claudine’s eyes, and instinctively Claudine knew what she had been about to say. ‘It’s François, isn’t it?’ she said.
Liliane looked away, but Claudine knew she had been right. She knew because suddenly she could sense François’ presence, as though he were sitting there in the room with them.
She didn’t press Liliane any further that day, but she was sure now that in some way she didn’t yet understand, François was manipulating all their lives.
Élise had never been so relieved to see anyone go. Monique had been in her drawing-room the whole afternoon, harping on about her conscience in a way that made Élise want to slap her.
‘I don’t have the stomach for this sort of thing, Élise,’ she had wailed. ‘I can’t carry on with it. If you’d seen her body lying there at the foot of the stairs you’d know how I feel. I should never have talked Jean-Paul into employing Philippe, I should never have allowed you to talk me into any of it. I …’
‘Just a minute!’ Élise interrupted. ‘As I remember it, you came to me asking how we might be rid of The Bitch.’
‘Yes, but I was angry then, and jealous. I suppose I still am jealous of her, but I didn’t want the baby harmed, not really. I know that now; just holding him in my arms, I could die to think of what almost happened to him, and that I was partly responsible. I hope you don’t think that Philippe can come back to the château, because …’
‘He’s not coming back!’ Élise snapped.
‘That’s good, because if he did I should feel obliged to tell François who he is.’
‘You’re too late for that, François already knows.’
Monique’s eyes rounded with horror. ‘He knows?’ she gasped. ‘Oh my God, he doesn’t know I had anything to do with it, does he? Élise, you didn’t tell him?’
‘Of course I didn’t tell him. And as far as I know, he has no idea of your involvement. Now, if it’s all the same to you I’m expecting a visitor.’
Monique stood up and pulled on her gloves. ‘Before I leave I should like to have your word that no more harm will come to Claudine,’ she said.
Élise didn’t even bother to hide her contempt as she swept her eyes over Monique’s petite frame. ‘You have my word,’ she said, ‘for what it’s worth to you.’
‘I confess, not a lot,’ Monique retorted stiffly. ‘In fact, if anything does happen to my sister-in-law I shall know where to come.’
‘Go home, Monique,’ Élise sighed. ‘Go home and ponder on what François would say if I were to tell him how his precious sister tried to kill his son. And while you’re about it, do something about that pathetic jealousy of yours. If you haven’t got the guts to use it, Monique, it’s not worth having.’
‘And you would know, wouldn’t you, Élise?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And if I were to tell Claudine about you?’
Élise burst out laughing. ‘Is that the best threat you can come up with? Go home to your precious nephew, and if I were you I would start guarding him with my life.’ She smiled at the way the blood drained from Monique’s face. ‘Now that’s what you call a threat!’ she sneered.
Of course, Élise thought when she had slammed the door behind Monique, she would have to make it up with her. After all, who knew when she might need her again? But this afternoon she wasn’t in the mood to soothe Monique de Lorvoire’s peevish conscience.
She had been on edge ever since she had received the mysterious telephone call from a man with a German accent telling her someone would be coming to see her on a matter concerning François de Lorvoire. She wasn’t too sure why, but a sixth sense seemed to be warning her that whatever her visitor had to say, she should have nothing to do with it … But she had been intrigued, all the same, and had arranged the meeting for this afternoon. Her unknown visitor was due in less than fifteen minutes.
An hour later, Halunke let himself quietly out of Élise’s apartment. He noted with distaste the blood on his gloves, and peeled them off, looking cautiously along the grey marble landing as he did so. In an apartment downstairs someone opened and closed a door, and he moved instantly back against the wall. Then, when all was silent again, he stripped off the black woollen mask and tripped lightly down the stairs. As he reached the bottom his stomach growled with hunger, and he chuckled quietly to himself; raping de Lorvoire’s mistress had given him quite an appetite.
A fleeting image came to him then, of the way he had left her; sprawled across the floor, her mouth swollen and bloody, her clothes in tatters and her eyes still glazed with terror. He had given her a taste of what would happen if she ever double-crossed the Komitee. But she wouldn’t do that, not now they had guaranteed the death of de Lorvoire’s wife in return for her services.
He grinned. The Pascale woman might have thought herself clever and cunning enough to accomplish that alone – and who could say, perhaps she would have succeeded – but she could be in no doubt now that there was a far, far greater force controlling the fate of de Lorvoire and his family than Élise Pascale. She, like him, was no more than an instrument, a card in the pack, to be played when von Liebermann judged the time right. But he, Halunke, constrained as he was by von Liebermann, would deal the final hand, because for him this vendetta with de Lorvoire was as personal as it was deadly.
He got into his car and started the engine. Checking his mirror to pull away, he was surprised to see de Lorvoire’s sister making her way along the street towards the Pascale woman’s apartment. He’d seen her leave, just as he arrived, and wondered what had brought her back. But then he dismissed her from his mind. His main concern now was Armand St Jacques, the vigneron, who, according to the villagers of Lorvoire, was somewhere in Burgundy. Laughing at that he pulled out into the traffic, and wondered how long it would be, now that the child was born, before St Jacques succeeded in seducing de Lorvoire’s wife. Not long, he decided, as de Lorvoire himself had seen to it that she was easy prey. Halunke’s laughter died and
his hands tightened on the wheel. The situation between the vigneron and de Lorvoire’s wife suited him perfectly, for now, but what he really wanted to know was how long would de Lorvoire allow it to continue?
– 15 –
ARMAND HAD BEEN away from Lorvoire for almost three months, but now he was back. He had returned three days ago. Claudine knew because Liliane had told her, but she hadn’t seen Armand, nor had she heard from him. She knew he was deliberately avoiding her – and today she had decided to put an end to it. She had left the château half an hour ago and come to stand here, in the shade of the forest, just beyond the waterfall. At the heart of the valley the church clock rang out the midday hour, and a few minutes later, just as Liliane had told her he would, Armand started up through the vineyards.
Claudine watched him as, engrossed in thought, he strolled towards her. He couldn’t see her, the sun was behind her; and besides, he was staring down at his feet as the baked earth coated them in dust. Every now and again he waved a hand through a cloud of clinging insects as they swarmed about his face, or stopped to check on the ripening grapes. She could feel the tension mounting in her body, her heart was pounding with apprehension, but as he drew closer she summoned all her courage and disappeared into the shadows.
It wasn’t until Armand reached the long grass at the edge of the forest, and felt the welcome coolness of the shade beneath the densely locked branches, that he finally looked up. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the blinding glare outside to the silvery sunlight dappling the lake, and he was on the point of stripping off his shirt when he suddenly stopped.
He didn’t move. He couldn’t. It was as if he was entranced, and could only watch. Claudine was swimming through the lily pads, gliding gently towards the bank. Slowly she pulled herself up and let the water cascade in tiny beads of silver over her naked body. She stood for a long time, letting him look at her, until finally she started to move towards him. Her breasts were large and firm, and the brown nipples stood out proudly. Her belly was flat, her hips gently rounded, and as her long legs moved smoothly through the water he could see the black, curling thatch of pubic hair. In that moment he knew desire as he had never known it before in his life.
Neither of them spoke as she stepped from the water. It was as if nature itself was holding its breath, as if the air between them had fused with the power of her sensuality.
She stood in front of him, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, her lips slightly parted. He searched her eyes with his, then, starting to unbutton his shirt with one hand, with the other he drew her into the circle of his arm and pressed his lips hard against hers. She moaned softly as his tongue entered her mouth, then put her hands around his face, holding him to her as he shrugged off his shirt and let it fall to the ground. The feel of his hard, bare skin pressing against hers was almost too much for her, but he pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length and looking down at her breasts.
They were heavy with milk, and for a moment she felt embarrassed, but as if he had read her mind he lifted them in his hands and gently squeezed. The warm liquid flowed from her nipples, and bending his head he took one in his mouth. Her head fell back, and as she ran her fingers through his hair she felt his hands circle her waist.
When he stood up again his lips were red and moist, and as he sucked her lips between his own he started to unfasten his belt.
She watched until he stood naked in front of her, and moving into his arms, she gasped as his hardness pressed against her belly. She clung to him, never taking her mouth from his as he laid her down on the grass. Again he kissed her breasts and smoothed his hand over the satin smoothness of her thighs. Then her breath caught in her throat as his fingers slipped between her legs and began moving back and forth.
As if they had a will of their own her hips lifted from the ground and his fingers slid gently inside her. ‘Oh, Armand,’ she murmured, ‘Armand.’
His mouth came down on hers, and now his tongue was hard and demanding. He rolled onto her, and as he felt her legs part beneath him he raised his head and looked deep into her eyes.
‘Je t’aime,’ he whispered. Then very slowly, very gently, he eased himself inside her, watching her face as her eyes closed and her breath stopped coming. He waited, and when her eyes finally opened she saw that he was smiling.
‘I love you,’ she smiled back, then she whimpered and gasped as he pulled back and pushed into her again. Still holding her eyes with his, he pushed in and out of her with long, tender strokes while she ran her fingers over the contours of his face.
‘Never stop doing that,’ she sighed.
‘I think I’m going to have to, quite soon now!’ he said.
She laughed with him. ‘Oh, I love you,’ she said, wrapping her arms around him, and as he started to move more rapidly she felt her hips responding to the rhythm. Gradually the sensation in her loins started to swell through her body: it was as if it was invading her, pushing her away and pulling her back until she no longer knew what was happening to her. She could hear him breathing, feel him beginning to tense, and as he started to murmur her name she lifted his face between her hands. She wanted to see him when he let go, she wanted to be there, with him, she wanted him to look at her. But as the sounds started to come from the back of his throat and he ground into her, his eyes were tightly closed. And she was glad. Because for those few blinding seconds, as ecstasy gripped her so savagely that she cried out with the force of it, it wasn’t his face looking down at her, it was François’. The shock ripped through her, and her whole body stiffened as the tidal wave of her climax evaporated. She blinked, and suddenly it was Armand again looking down at her, his eyes suffused with tenderness.
‘Oh, Armand,’ she cried, pulling him to her and burying her face in his neck. ‘Armand, I love you.’
‘I love you too, chérie,’ he whispered.
She knew he thought she had reached her climax, and she would have done if it hadn’t been for … Again she tensed, and she hated François in that moment as she had never hated him before. It seemed that she could never be rid of him, no matter what she did.
A long time later they were still lying in the grass. Her head was resting on his shoulder and they were staring dreamily up at the sunlit trees. She looked down as he lifted one knee and felt a thrill run through her at the masculine hardness of his thigh. Idly she ran her fingers through the coarse golden hair, and turned her face to look at him.
He gave her a quick hug, then said softly, ‘We must talk, chérie.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I know, but don’t let’s spoil today. Today let’s pretend that everything is all right, that I am yours, that nothing can come between us.’
She heard him laugh. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ she said, lifting herself up to look at him. ‘And I want you.’
‘Again?’ he teased.
‘Yes.’
‘Then kiss me.’
She did, and as his arms encircled her she trailed her fingers from his thigh to his penis. He groaned into her open mouth and pulled her closer. And as they started to make love, lazily and languorously, she suddenly knew it would be all right this time.
But it wasn’t. François was there again, at the very moment when she was reaching her climax. She wanted to scream as rage tore silently through her body. Why was he doing this to her? Her pleasure had never mattered to him, so why should he be there now, taunting her, denying her what he wouldn’t give her himself?
Armand kissed her, and as she felt his love embrace her she told herself that perhaps it needn’t matter. Every other moment they spent making love was so wonderful, why should it be so important that she achieve the final release?
‘I’m going to take a swim,’ he said. ‘And then I’m going to leave you.’
‘Leave me?’
‘I have work to do. For your husband.’
‘Don’t!’ she cried. ‘Please don’t let’s ever mention him.’
‘Ssh!’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘I’m sorry. It was meant as a joke, but it was in very bad taste.’ He kissed her on the mouth, then drew back to look into her eyes. ‘But we will have to talk about him one day, chérie, you know that.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but not now.’
They saw each other every day after that, meeting at the waterfall to talk and laugh and swim; to begin the picnic Liliane had made for them, and then leave it unfinished because their impatience for one another was greater than their hunger … For the time being Armand gave up trying to make her talk about the future. The day would come soon enough when they would have to decide what to do. For now, it was enough to be happy.
The harvest came and went. They joined the festival at Chinon this year, as Claudine and Louis had decided to hold the Lorvoire feast on alternate years only. Soon, with the coming of autumn, the weather started to change, and since they could no longer meet at the waterfall Armand began repairs to an old cottage at the far side of the forest. It became their home, and Claudine went shopping like the housewives of Chinon for bread and cheese, lace curtains and rugs. She bought a wireless too, and the first thing they heard on it, sitting together in a deep armchair, was the voice of Edouard Daladier, the French Prime Minister, telling them that an agreement had been reached in Munich, and the threat of war in Europe was over. The following day they heard that, under the terms of the Munich Agreement, the Germans had entered the Sudetenland, but as Armand had bought a new bed they were too preoccupied with trying it out to care what was going on in the rest of the world.
A week later Liliane returned from the market at Saumur in Thomas’ lorry, with a peculiar contraption she insisted was a stove. Now at last Claudine could try her skill as a cook. But when the big moment came, her fish stew was a disaster. Armand couldn’t bear to see her so disappointed and going to stand behind her at the door where she had wandered in a huff because he’d laughed, he slipped his arms around her waist. She leaned her head back against his shoulder.