by Susan Lewis
Then Daniella was saying, ‘This is a strictly female affair, Luc, so I’m afraid you have to go.’
With a humorous lift of his eyebrows he planted a kiss on his sister’s cheek, and wandered back outside.
Lilian had brought necklaces, bracelets, earrings and even toe rings, all set with onyx, amethyst, turquoise and amber. Daniella chose several pieces, while Jessica held back, unable to accept gifts from Lilian when she was already taking so much more than Lilian would ever want to give.
In the end Lilian laughed and threw out her hands. ‘Please choose something,’ she cried, ‘even if it’s only earrings or a bracelet.’
‘This necklace is beautiful,’ Daniella suggested, holding up a strand of pearls mixed with aquamarines.
Lilian eyed it critically. ‘Maybe it’s a little garish,’ she said. ‘Jessica usually prefers something more understated, like this,’ and picking up a delicate silver bracelet with tiny crystals sparkling between the links she let it drape over her hand. ‘I had you in mind when I chose it,’ she told Jessica. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Jessica said, because it was, and since she could give no reason to refuse it, she watched as Lilian fastened it around her wrist.
‘It looks even lovelier with your tan,’ Lilian said, as they all admired it.
‘But Lily, I can’t . . .’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘Oh là là,’ Daniella murmured as a heavy thud, followed by running footsteps, came from upstairs. ‘Sounds as though Hugo is awake.’
After she’d gone to fetch him Jessica began helping Lilian to pack the jewellery away, and for the first time in all the years they’d known one another they seemed lost for something to say.
‘What is it?’ Lilian asked after a while. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’
‘Oh God no,’ Jessica cried, pulling her into her arms. ‘How can you even think it?’
‘I don’t . . . I mean . . .’ Lilian tried to laugh, but too many tears had come into her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I seem to be very emotional at the moment . . . Jet lag and overwork . . .’
Feeling her heartbeat starting to slow, Jessica looked into her face. The paleness of her skin, how tired she seemed . . . ‘Lily, are you . . .’
Lilian’s eyes came to hers, then her mouth trembled as she began to nod. ‘Yes, I am,’ she whispered, ‘but please don’t say anything. I haven’t even told Luc yet.’
Trying to push aside everything else she was feeling, Jessica hugged her again. ‘But why?’ she said. ‘He’s going to be thrilled.’
‘I’m just so afraid of losing it,’ Lilian confessed. ‘I thought maybe I should get the amnio over with, make sure everything’s all right, then tell him.’
‘But whatever happens he’ll want to go through it with you.’
Lilian’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said. ‘I just . . . I don’t know . . . You don’t really think straight at a time like this, do you? You imagine all kinds of things . . .’
Hoping it was only her conscience that was making her read Lilian’s anxiety the way she was, Jessica squeezed her hands, saying, ‘There’s often nothing as unstable as a pregnant woman, and with your history it’s understandable you’d be worried. How far along are you?’
‘Almost three months.’
Jessica tried to smile. ‘It’s wonderful news, Lily,’ she said, her voice sounding strangely normal. ‘It really is.’
Lilian’s eyes started to dance. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said. Then putting a finger to her lips, ‘Ssh, Daniella’s coming.’
‘I was thinking perhaps everyone would like some tea and pâtisserie now,’ Daniella suggested as she carried a sleepy-eyed Hugo into the kitchen.
‘Sounds a wonderful idea, if anyone’s got any room after that delicious lunch,’ Lilian responded, going to put some water on.
‘I don’t think I have,’ Jessica said, ‘but I’ll go and ask the others.’
Wishing it was as easy to escape her feelings as it was the kitchen, she wandered back into the garden where the children had coaxed their father and Yves into another game of badminton, and Fernand was still sleeping. For the moment there was no sign of Luc, but then she saw him coming out of the music room, and because it would have appeared odd, even rude, to turn away she waited for him to join her.
‘We have to talk,’ he said quietly.
‘No . . .’
‘I have to see you.’
‘You don’t understand . . .’
‘No, it’s you who doesn’t . . .’
‘Luc, please don’t say any more,’ she interrupted, and forcing a smile in case anyone was watching, she said, ‘OK, one slice of apple tart for you,’ and turning away she went to take orders from the others, knowing that no matter what, she had to avoid being alone with him again.
It was after midnight when Lilian woke up to find the bed empty beside her. For a moment she lay where she was, listening for the sound of Luc in the bathroom, or perhaps on the balcony outside, but beneath the occasional chirruping of night birds and rasp of crickets there was only the incessant, immutable silence.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she sat for a moment, still naked after their lovemaking earlier, then she reached for a robe.
He would be in his studio, of course. It was where he always went when artistic urges came over him in the night, or if he had difficulty sleeping.
She moved quietly down the two flights of stairs and along the hall into the kitchen. Then, looking through the window over to the studio, she felt her heartbeat slow. There were no lights. Everything was in darkness. He wasn’t there.
Trying to push away the fear she looked down through the vineyard, searching for lights in the grape-picker’s cottage. There were none. Then she saw him, leaning against a pillar on the terrace, his back to the house as he stared out at the night.
For a long time she stood watching him, knowing if she went to him he would gather her against him and kiss her, and probably say sorry for waking her. Then they would go back to bed and maybe even make love again. It could be as easy as that. She didn’t need to ask him why he was there, or what he was thinking, and even if she did, she could pretend to believe whatever he told her.
In the end, fearing the truth too much, she turned around and went back to bed alone.
Jessica was sitting on the low, cushioned window ledge, her arms wrapped around her knees, the diaphanous mesh of the drapes falling about her in silvery moonlit folds. She couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t stop her mind working or her conscience tearing her apart. Even knowing about the baby hadn’t stopped her wanting him, or imagining a world in which they could be together.
Putting her head back she closed her eyes and felt a cool draught of night air come in from the vines. When her phone started to ring she wasn’t sure if she’d been expecting it to, she only knew it would be him, and that she was going to answer in spite of knowing she shouldn’t.
‘I have to see you,’ he said gruffly. ‘I want to hold you so badly.’
Though it was how she felt too, she said, ‘We have to try to forget these past two weeks. If we’re going to stand any chance of keeping a friendship, and you know we need to, we have to pretend they didn’t happen.’
‘And you can do that?’
Her eyes closed, because she knew she couldn’t, but it would do no good to admit it.
‘I keep thinking about you,’ he said. ‘I should have made love to you that first time, at the lake.’
‘I wish you had.’
‘Let me come to you now.’
‘No. You know you can’t . . . There are things you don’t know, Luc, but you will, and then you’ll understand why we have to end this conversation now.’
‘Jessica . . .’
‘I have to go.’
‘Wait.’
But she didn’t. She pressed her thumb to disconnect, then after turning off the phone completely she remai
ned sitting where she was, letting tears roll down her cheeks while promising herself that they would be the only ones she would shed, for she simply didn’t have the right to any more.
The rising sun was burnishing the overhead beams in a soft rosy glow as Lilian lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Luc was beside her now, facing away, towards the door that he’d left slightly ajar when he’d finally returned to bed a few hours ago.
She turned to look at the familiar breadth of his back, the darkness of his skin and hair, and felt such an edge of panic to her love that she was barely able to fight it. Once again she tried to push herself past the wall of denial she’d constructed, to make herself admit when she’d first started to suspect them. With a painful churning inside she recalled the moment she’d first seen Jessica’s sculpture, and decided it was probably then. If she was right, the suspicion must have buried itself in her subconscious, for she hadn’t really been aware of it at the time.
It was there now though, along with all the curious incidents and small memories it was awakening . . . Such as the shock they’d both experienced when she’d turned up on Friday, that seemed so out of proportion. And the raspberries Luc hadn’t remembered dropping off at the cottage, when he could only have done so less than an hour before. Then there was the table set so romantically for two, and the way Jessica had claimed she wasn’t entertaining, then quickly said she was. But what was lending her suspicion the most conviction of all wasn’t really the sculpture, or the dinner, or even the way they were treating her, it was the way they seemed to be avoiding one another. She couldn’t even recall them saying hello or goodbye since she’d got back, which wasn’t normal for two people who’d just spent so much time together – unless they’d fallen out, or unless they had something to hide.
Finding herself unable to lie still any longer, she got quietly up from the bed and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. As she started towards the door Luc stirred and turned onto his back. She looked down at him, waiting for him to wake up, but he didn’t. She wondered if he’d gone to Jessica in the night, if that was why he’d taken so long to come back to bed, but quickly she pushed the thought away. This was all in her head, she was being paranoid, falling victim to her conscience, for she’d always been afraid of the price she might one day pay for concealing what had happened just before Natalie’s death. And Luc would be the ultimate price. So there was still a chance she was wrong, that she was making up an affair to punish herself for a crime that couldn’t be forgiven. But it had only been done to protect Jessica. They’d only lied to spare her any more suffering . . .
Going down to the kitchen she put some water on to boil, then stood gazing out at the vineyard, seeing nothing but images of them together, her best friend and her husband, and in ways that were so painful to imagine that she truly didn’t know how she’d cope if they turned out to be true.
Tears began falling onto her cheeks. To keep trying to tell herself it wasn’t happening was delusional to the point of stupidity. Somehow she had to confront this, and then she must find a way to keep him.
Though she’d half-intended to make coffee, instead she let herself out of the kitchen and went over to the barn. In all her life she’d never wanted to do anything less, but something was carrying her forward, telling her that if any proof existed of a relationship between them then this was where she would find it.
Pulling the cover from Jessica’s sculpture she gazed down at the exquisite features, so serene and aesthetically perfect, and so lovingly carved by Luc’s own hands. She could imagine them in here together, the light pooling around them, in their own special world. Anything beyond this room would have ceased to exist, because all that mattered was this beautiful work they were creating together.
As a sob escaped her she put a hand to her mouth to stifle it. Could life really be so cruel? Had the two people she cared most about in the world really betrayed her? If they had, neither of them would have done it lightly, so that could only mean they loved one another more than they loved her. She put her hands to her face, wanting to scream with the need to deny it, but she fought it down, forcing herself to remain calm. This was no proof, it was merely a sculpture. There was still a chance she was wrong.
A few minutes later she was sitting in front of Luke’s computer, scrolling through his files, but the only shots she could find of Jessica were the usual ones he took of subjects he was sculpting, the head from all angles, top, bottom, sides, full on . . . Oh please God let this be all there was. Please let it be her conscience playing her tricks.
Not entirely sure what she was looking for now, she began searching through the drawers in his desk. The top one was a chaos of pens and tools and small scraps of paper that bore only scribbled notes to himself. The next contained photo cards for the computer, a diary with no recent entries, chequebooks and cash. It was in the bottom drawer that she discovered the sketch pad, and it was on the first page that she finally found the proof.
As she stared down at Jessica’s naked body, so brazen and beautiful, and so obviously aroused, she could see, in her misery, why he would love her more.
‘No!’ she cried brokenly. ‘No! No! No!’ And ripping the drawing from the pad she began tearing it to shreds. As the pieces fell to the floor she looked down at them, breathless and confused. Then running back into the studio she grabbed a chisel and began stabbing it into Jessica’s face, destroying the most beautiful piece Luc had ever created.
When it was no more than a pile of mangled clay she dropped the chisel, and stood staring in horror at what she had done. How would she ever explain this? Now her insanity was spent, what reason was she going to give for such an act of savagery other than to admit she knew the truth? But she didn’t want it to be true. She wanted to be wrong, she had to be wrong, and clasping her hands to her face she sank down to her knees as she started to sob.
Chapter Twenty-Three
HAVING SLEPT ONLY fitfully, Jessica was dressed and downstairs when she heard a gentle grating at the window, and looking round saw that Solange, the dove, was back. She smiled. It was amazing how much pleasure such a little creature could give, she thought, as she searched for some crumbs. Hoping it would stay at least for today, because Harry was going to love having a wild bird almost eating out of his hand, she opened the window.
The dove immediately flew off, but was soon back when the crumbs were in the box, pecking away, giving a little flutter to her wings, and throwing a beady eye Jessica’s way. Jessica watched her, smiling, then to her surprise she spotted someone coming down through the vineyard. When she realised it was Lilian she glanced at the clock. They hadn’t arranged to meet until ten and it was still barely eight.
Pulling open the French doors, she was about to ask to what she owed the honour at such an early hour, when the look on Lilian’s face dried the words on her lips. ‘What is it?’ she said, trying to swallow her unease as Lilian came towards her. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I think you know,’ Lilian said brokenly. ‘So please don’t let’s pretend.’
‘Lily, I don’t . . .’
‘I’ve seen the drawing,’ Lilian told her. ‘So just tell me, how serious is it?’ Her face was so ravaged that Jessica had to fight the urge to lie rather than cause her any more pain, but knowing it wouldn’t help in the end, she turned back into the kitchen and waited for Lilian to come in after her.
‘How serious is it?’ Lilian repeated. ‘I need to know.’
Jessica swallowed and shook her head. ‘It’s not what you think . . .’
‘How can you say that? You were naked. Out there, in the vineyard, with my husband . . . Oh God, Jessica, how could you?’ she choked. ‘You know how much I love him, how long I’ve waited for this . . .’
‘Lily, nothing’s happened between us, I swear,’ Jessica cried, tears starting in her own eyes. ‘I know how it must look, but we haven’t slept together. We’ve never even touched one another.’
Lilian was shaking her h
ead.
‘I swear it’s true. He loves you. It’s why nothing happened between us. He didn’t want to betray you. Neither of us did.’
‘And you think being with him like that isn’t a betrayal?’
Knowing it was, Jessica could only look at her helplessly.
‘And now you’re trying to tell me he didn’t lay a finger on you . . .’
‘I won’t deny we were attracted to one another . . .’
‘Of course you were. Look at the pair of you. People don’t come much more attractive.’ As her face started to crumple, Jessica said, ‘Lily, I’m sorry. I’d give anything to spare you this pain . . .’
‘But it’s no more than I deserve,’ Lilian mumbled. ‘It was always going to happen, one way or another.’
Jessica blinked. ‘What are you talking about? None of this is your fault.’
‘Not this, no, but things have a way of working themselves out.’
Jessica was still confused. ‘Lily . . .’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lilian cut in. ‘Nothing does any more.’ Then her eyes came anxiously to Jessica’s. ‘Have you told him about the baby? When he came here last night, did you tell him?’
‘He didn’t come here last night.’
Lilian’s eyes stared into hers. ‘I wish I could believe you,’ she said. ‘I want to, but I . . .’ As the impact of it all hit her again, she covered her face with her hands.
‘He didn’t come,’ Jessica repeated. ‘And no, I haven’t told him about the baby. It’s your place to do that. He’s your husband . . .’
‘Did you think about him being my husband when you took your clothes off for him?’
Jessica said, barely audibly, ‘I tried not to.’
Lilian’s voice sounded ragged and weak as she said, ‘You made love with him that day, didn’t you? Tell the truth, Jessica . . .’
‘No! I swear on the children’s lives. He drew me that way because I asked him to, for my book. I wanted to know how it felt to be an artist’s model.’ In spite of it being partly true, the excuse sounded so feeble that she felt embarrassed even saying it.