by Anne Fraser
‘Alors!’ he said, clearly satisfied. ‘Now it is in the lap of the gods but, given the way his fingers are pinking up, at least the blood supply has returned. We shall have to wait until we can tell how much use of the fingers he will retain. The next few days will be critical.’ As he peeled off his mask and gloves, Julie could see tiredness wash over him. Whatever he showed outwardly, God knew what reserves he needed to concentrate for such long periods of time. Julie also guessed that the fact that Alain was his friend added to tension of the procedure. ‘I shall go and speak to Michelle,’ he said. ‘Then I think you should take them home. Once Alain comes round from the anaesthetic he will sleep. Probably until the morning.’
But Michelle, although relieved that the procedure had gone well, refused to leave her husband’s side. Pierre also insisted on staying until his friend had come round from the anaesthetic. ‘Take Caroline home, please, Julie,’ he asked. ‘Tell everyone that the operation went as well as could be expected.’
‘What about you?’ Julie asked. ‘How will you get back?’ She looked directly into his eyes, wanting some connection with him. Wanting to know that back there in the vineyard had meant something to him too. Surely this time she couldn’t have been mistaken?
‘I’ll find someone to give me a lift home. Don’t worry, I know them all well here. I used to come here to help out when I was a medical student and still operate here when they need me.’ He must have seen the questioning look in her eyes. ‘We’ll talk later, Julie,’ he said. ‘First I have to make sure Alain is okay.’
Reluctantly, Julie left Pierre and Michelle to their bedside vigil. Unbidden, an image of Pierre, feet up on a coffee-table, flirting with one of the gorgeous French nurses, leapt into her mind. She pushed the thought away, horrified to discover how jealous the thought made her. As she drove a subdued Caroline back to the house, her mind wandered back to the kiss she and Pierre had shared. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t meant something to him. Nobody could kiss a woman like that without caring for her—even a little. She thought back to the feel of his lips on hers, the feel of his lean body, hard against hers. His fingers on the back of her neck. She almost moaned aloud. Damn, damn damn, she cursed inwardly. Despite her best intentions, she had done the very thing every fibre of her being had warned her against doing. She had fallen in love with Dr Pierre Favatier. But how did he feel about her?
As they were pulling up in front of the farm house after a silent journey, Caroline finally spoke.
‘Something bad always seems to happen here. I hate it. I want to go back home.’
Julie looked at her sympathetically. Being here, the place where her parents had spent their last few days, must be hard. Instead of bringing some closure to the young woman, it seemed to remind her of everything she had lost.
‘We can go back any time you like,’ she said softly. ‘You can stay with me until your uncle returns.’
‘Could we? Could I?’ Caroline said, sounding relieved. She grasped Julie’s hand. ‘Thank you. I don’t know why you put up with me—you don’t owe us anything yet you want to help us.’
But Julie knew that Caroline was rapidly becoming the younger sister she’d never had. And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact she was Pierre’s niece. It was probably something to do with the loneliness she knew the young woman felt. It was the same feeling she’d had for years.
She smiled at Caroline. ‘Hey, I like you. I think we have stuff in common.’
As they got out of the car, Caroline looked at Julie speculatively. ‘Nothing to do with Uncle Pierre, then?’ Julie drew a sharp breath. Had she guessed how Julie felt? Before Julie could formulate a reply, Caroline continued. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you aren’t that sort of person.’ By this time they were in the kitchen. Caroline sat at the table, absent-mindedly tracing the deep grooves in the wood while Julie tipped some milk into a saucepan to heat.
‘Anyway, I don’t think he’s your type.’
Julie was loath to get into a conversation with Caroline about Pierre, but she was couldn’t help feel stung.
‘I’m not his type, you mean.’ She tried a laugh but even to her ears it sounded hollow.
‘No, you’re not…’ Caroline said slowly. ‘Papa used to say that Pierre liked them tall, beautiful and brainless. And you’re…’ She clasped a hand over her mouth.
‘Not too tall, not beautiful and…’
‘Not brainless,’ Caroline finished for her, and the two women laughed. Julie poured the hot milk into two mugs and added a liberal amount of hot chocolate that she’d found in one of the cupboards. She sat down next to Caroline.
‘But, actually, I think he does like you,’ Caroline went on.
Julie felt her cheeks grow warm.
‘I hope he does like me,’ she said, deliberately misunderstanding the younger woman’s meaning. ‘He’s my boss. I have to keep on the right side of him.’
‘No. It’s more than that. It’s the way he looks at you. You make him smile.’ Julie felt her heart beating in her chest. Could Caroline be right? Did Pierre feel something for her? Was she more to him than just a colleague and a friend to his niece?
She stood as Caroline yawned. ‘C’mon,’ she said, clearing the cups from the table. ‘I think it’s time for bed.’
But after Caroline had gone up, Julie felt too restless to follow suit. Instead, she made herself a cup of coffee and, slipping into her coat, took her drink onto the large veranda that surrounded the house.
As she sipped her drink, she mulled over the day’s events. She kept coming back to the feel of Pierre’s arms around her and the pressure of his lips on hers. She’d had a few dates since Luke, but none of them had ever sparked the feelings within her that Pierre had. Not remotely.
She looked out over the vineyards, the early spring breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. The moon was full, casting a silver glow as far as the eye could see. For the first time in as long as she could remember Julie felt at peace. She loved it here, she thought, and thinking back to that moment amongst the vines before they had been interrupted, she knew with breathtaking clarity that she loved Pierre. Loved him completely, hopelessly and for ever. But how did he feel about her? Was it really possible that he felt something in return? Or was she, as she suspected, about to have her heart broken?
CHAPTER EIGHT
JULIE was interrupted from her musings by the arrival of a car. She watched as Pierre with a few words in French to the driver and climbed out. As he came towards her she caught his look of surprise. Damn it! Did he think she had been waiting for him, ready to take up where they had left off in the vineyard? But weren’t you secretly hoping for that? an unwelcome voice whispered in her ear.
‘You are still awake, then?’ he said.
He sat down on the bench on the veranda and stretched his long legs in front of him. He had changed back into his jeans and T-shirt and even in the half-light Julie could make out the lines of tiredness around his mouth and eyes. Once again she felt every fibre of her being react to his presence. Each individual nerve in her body seemed to be straining towards him. She longed to pull him close, kiss the lines of worry from his mouth and soothe the lines of tiredness from his eyes. But something in his expression stopped her.
‘I couldn’t sleep. Caroline has gone up, though. How is Alain?’
‘He is all right. We’ll know more in the morning. Michelle insisted on spending the night with him. She wants to be there when he wakes up.’ Julie didn’t know if it were tiredness, or whether it was because Pierre was back on his native soil, but his accent seemed more pronounced. He had never seemed more French to her—or more distant.
‘But I am glad you are still awake,’ he said. ‘I wanted to talk to you. There is something I have to tell you.’
The flatness in his voice chilled Julie.
She turned away from him and looked out across the fields. She suspected she wasn’t going to want to hear whatever it was he had to say
.
‘Julie, look at me,’ he said softly. Reluctantly she turned until she was facing him. The air seemed to cool and Julie shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
‘I’m sorry,’ Pierre said. ‘I shouldn’t have kissed you before. In your flat. And then again in the vineyard. I had no right.’
‘It was only a kiss!’ She tried to keep her voice light. ‘Men and women kiss all the time without it meaning anything.’
‘But you’re not the kind of woman to kiss a man without it meaning something. Are you?’ he said softly, and Julie could hear something—could it be regret?—in his voice.
‘No,’ she admitted softly.
‘Then it was not right. I should not have done it. I must tell you—I can’t love another woman. You have to know that.’
‘Katherine?’ Julie said, icy tendrils creeping through her veins.
Pierre hesitated.
‘Not Katherine,’ he said at last. ‘Iona.’
‘Iona? Caroline’s mother?’ So her suspicions had been right! It all made sense. The way he had looked at the photograph. The way he had said his sister-in law’s name when he had woken up that day in her flat.
‘You were in love with your brother’s wife?’
‘I was always in love with her—from the first time I met her. And if it wasn’t for me, she’d still be alive.’
Julie looked at him. Gone was the smiling, sophisticated surgeon. Instead, standing before her was a man who looked as if he had lost everything. She felt her throat tighten.
‘Did she love you?’ The words came before she could stop them. Her head was reeling.
He looked bleak.
‘Once—perhaps. But by the time I realised I loved her it was too late. She had met my brother and fallen in love with him.’
‘Did she know how you felt?’
‘Yes. She guessed. Eventually. After Caroline was born.’ He said harshly, ‘I wasn’t as good at hiding my feelings as I thought. That’s why she left France.’ Julie could hear the pain in his voice. ‘She believed it was for the best. That once we were separated by hundreds of miles I’d get over her.’
‘And did you?’ Julie breathed, her heart growing cold.
‘No,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘I will always love her. There will never be anyone else for me. Every time I look at Caroline it is Iona’s face I see. Sometimes it is almost more than I can bear.’
His words stabbed into Julie’s heart like a thousand needles. She loved him. She knew it with devastating clarity. The way she felt about him was the way a woman felt only once in a lifetime—if she was very lucky. But it was no use. He had made it clear that there was no room for her in his life. She had given him a glimpse of her heart and he had turned away from her.
Now, more than ever before, Julie knew she had to hide the way she felt from Pierre.
‘It was just a couple of kisses,’ she said again, struggling to keep her voice light. ‘We are both adults. Let’s not read more into it than it was.’
Something moved behind Pierre’s eyes. Was it relief? Regret? Julie couldn’t be sure, but given what he had just told her it was far more likely to be relief.
‘You are a beautiful person.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Here inside where it really matters.’ Julie couldn’t help but smile at the theatrical gesture.
‘Ah, beautiful inside,’ she said softly. ‘The equivalent of saying we should be friends.’
Pierre looked puzzled. ‘I mean it. You are lovely inside and out. You give so much to other people…’ He stood and stepped towards her. Instinctively, Julie moved away from him until her back was pressing against the railings of the veranda. It was taking all her self-control not to let him see how much she was hurting. If he came any closer, she was in danger of breaking down.
Pierre stood over her. The moon slipped behind a cloud and for a moment his expression was hidden from her. In the darkness she could feel his presence. The air seemed to snap and crackle between them. Surely he wasn’t as indifferent to her as he was making out? She felt his finger trace the scar on her cheek. He said something in rapid French that Julie couldn’t follow. Then with a muttered oath he stepped away from her.
‘You must believe in yourself. One day you will find someone who loves you—only you. Someone who sees how beautiful you are who will make you believe it.’
‘How I feel about myself has nothing to do with you. You have made that clear,’ Julie said, beginning to get angry. Who was he to tell her what she should and should not be feeling? And how patronising to tell her she would find someone who would love her. If he didn’t want her, that was one thing, but to wish her on someone else. How dared he? ‘And if you’re worried about a repetition of today’s events, don’t be. It won’t happen again. Caroline and I are going back to Scotland tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? Does she hate it here so much? Does she hate me so much? And you?’
‘It’s not all about you, Pierre,’ Jules said hotly. ‘Caroline is finding it difficult to be here where her parents spent their last few days. Surely you can understand that? And she senses that being around her makes you unhappy. She thinks you are angry with her.’
Pierre’s eyes turned as bleak as a winter morning. ‘I have failed her, when all I wanted was to protect Iona’s daughter. I hoped that being here, where her papa grew up, where her parents were so happy for a time, would help,’ Pierre said. He chewed on his lip. ‘I was wrong to bring her. It is too soon.’
‘And for you?’ Julie asked. ‘How do you feel, being here?’
Pierre looked away and Julie felt her heart crack as she saw a spasm of pain twist his mouth.
‘I kept away when they were here,’ he said. ‘I had my work, my home in Paris. I knew it would be too hard seeing them here together so much in love.’
‘Is that why you never went to see them in Scotland?’ Julie asked. She didn’t want to hear, but she couldn’t help wanting to share his pain.
‘Yes. I was selfish—I can see that now. Jacques never understood why I avoided him and his family. Why I never took the time to see them. In France family is important. But I guess he put it down to my selfish ways. And it was easier to let him think that.’
‘Poor Caroline,’ Julie said. ‘I’m sure part of the reason she is so angry with you is that she doesn’t understand why you neglected your family.’
‘If I had gone to see them, if I had put my own feelings aside, maybe they wouldn’t have died. They would have stayed in Scotland and been safe. Caroline is right to blame me.’
‘That’s just ridiculous.’ Julie said hotly. ‘It was an accident. A tragic, terrible accident. You can’t possibly hold yourself responsible.’
‘But I do,’ Pierre softly. ‘And I must somehow find a way to make it right with Caroline. I need to make sure she is happy. I owe her parents that, at least.’
‘Then you need to start by trying to talk to her,’ Julie said. ‘She needs to know that you love her—not just that you feel a duty towards her.’
‘Why are you so wise? And you not much older than my niece?’ Pierre said with a small smile.
But I’m not so bloody wise, Julie wanted to say, otherwise I wouldn’t have fallen for you. But, of course, she couldn’t say the words. He had made it perfectly clear that whatever he felt for her wasn’t, and would never be, love. All at once the fight went out of her. Let him do as he pleased. He and his family were no concern of hers. However much she wished they were.
‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ she said through stiff lips. Avoiding his eyes, so he wouldn’t see how much she was hurting, she left him alone, staring into the night.
Pierre stayed on the veranda for a few moments, thinking about what Julie had said. He knew she had been telling him the truth. He had been so wrapped up in his own grief he hadn’t really given the girl upstairs as much thought as he should have. The truth was that she looked so much like Iona and Jacques, it almost tore his heart apart. But Julie was right. It was about time he
thought about his niece instead of his own pain. He had been unbelievably selfish. And what was almost worse, he had hurt the very person who had tried to help him. He closed his eyes against the image of Julie’s dark grey eyes awash with pain. He groaned. He had been a selfish fool. Seeking comfort when he had nothing to give in return.
He went upstairs and looked inside the bedroom in which Caroline was sleeping. But to his consternation he found it empty. Where was she? Then a thought struck him. He moved along the dark passageway towards the room that he and his brother had shared as children. The one Iona and Jacques had slept in the night before their deaths. He had only been in it once since then, but had found it, with its faint scent of Iona’s perfume, too painful to visit again. He opened the door and, sure enough, sitting on the bed, clutching a teddy that had belonged to his brother when he’d been a child, sat Caroline, who was sobbing as if her heart would break.
He strode over to her and gathered the stricken teenager in his arms. ‘Shh, mon chou,’ he said, rocking her gently. ‘It is all right. It is all going to be all right.’
After some time her sobs quietened until he felt her relax in his arms. He brushed her hair out of her swollen eyes.
‘I miss them so much, Pierre,’ Caroline whispered. ‘Why did they have to die? It’s so unfair.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘If I could have died in their place I would have.’