Secrets

by Galia Ryan

  As if still absorbed in heavenly contemplation she kept her pace sedate and ladylike. Normally she would have risked rebuke by cutting across the perfectly mown grass, but not that day. Only when she neared the stone arches marking the front entrance to the school did she break into a trot.

  Without slowing she went straight to the cloakroom to wash her face and wind her long blonde hair up into a knot. Moments later she was dashing for the stairs.

  “Stephanie!” Reverend Mother had emerged from her office and was locking the door behind her. “You are late for something?”

  Stephanie immediately dropped the expected curtsey. “Yes, Mother, my English lesson.”

  “Ah, Soeur Marie-Pierre.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And how are your studies going?”

  “Good, Mother.”

  The nun studied her curiously for a moment then moved towards the ornate staircase. As she made her way up, Stephanie followed, careful to maintain the required two treads distance.

  “We have high hopes for you, Stephanie.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Have you given any thought to your future?”

  “Not really, Mother. Only that I would like to continue my studies.”

  “Very commendable. Not every path is clear at the outset. You would do well to remember that only God has knowledge of your destiny. Place yourself in His hands.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Reaching the top of the stairs, the woman responsible for the physical and spiritual wellbeing of the convent turned. Tucking her hands into her voluminous sleeves, she smiled, albeit briefly. “I have had a call from your father. He would like to see you at the weekend.”

  Stephanie’s heart surged. Freedom!

  “I did explain you were in the middle of your revisions.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “But I understand you have been applying yourself to your work, and so I thought that perhaps a little time off wouldn’t hurt. I suggested Sunday midday might suit.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  “You must give him our regards.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Stephanie bobbed again, but Reverend Mother had already walked off.

  * * *

  According to those who knew the family, Stephanie was the most headstrong of the Duvall children. Even had the notion pleased her father, he would have preferred his eldest child benefit from a little more maturity. He wished she were more like Charles’ daughter, at least in some ways. Far more diligent in her studies, the girl had already mapped out an acceptable career path. Perhaps it was because Charlotte had two older brothers who both possessed a natural intelligence that contributed to her focus. He had no idea.

  Catching the change on the dashboard clock, Alain tapped the steering wheel impatiently. It felt as if he had been parked outside the convent gate far longer than ten minutes. He’d hoped to avoid ringing the push-bell in the stone pillar; he had an aversion to making small talk with nuns. Piety made him awkward. Like plenty of others, he justified sending his daughter to be educated by a faith in which he had little belief by paying the exorbitant fees without protest.

  He fidgeted, trying to find a more comfortable position. Stephanie’s inability to manage time was a continual irritant and a failing inherited from her mother, an ethereal free spirit with little concept of commitment or responsibility. From the beginning of their relationship he had known he and his Scandinavian wife were a mismatch. Ulla had been a true child of the seventies ‘me’ decade, caught up in the miasma of new-age thinking. He’d been a little more cautious. Even so, he’d been ecstatic when she agreed to marry him. She was expecting his child, and though he knew in his heart she cared little for society’s approval, he had allowed himself to believe their love had a future.

  It had taken a long time to accept that the failure of their marriage was as much his fault as hers. The reality of providing for his wife and infant daughter forced him to throw himself into his work. Later, when he and Charles agreed to merge their companies, he had tried to convince himself that Ulla’s determination to continue her journey of self-discovery, sexual gurus et al., without him was just another facet of their personal lifestyle. It was easier that way. Divorce was the sad but inevitable consequence.

  What he had not foreseen was becoming the sole caregiver of their daughter. Stephanie, his wife explained, would be better off with him. He could offer stability and financial security; whereas she had little idea where life was taking her.

  He panicked, and countered that a child needed its mother. Ulla smiled and shook her head. Then she was gone.

  He had tried to find her. Called on friends, driven to places she had been seen. All without success. Having little other choice, he had employed a nanny and alleviated his guilt with an excess of expensive toys and treats for his motherless infant.

  His second attempt at marriage was far more successful, perhaps because it was based on pragmatism rather than emotion. Amelie, although unexciting in comparison, was without doubt a perfect wife. She was an even more perfect mother to their son, born a little over a year after their marriage. Unfortunately her relationship with her stepdaughter was not as successful. Not for lack of trying on his wife’s part.

  “Papa!” Stephanie jumped into the car, her kiss enthusiastic. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re late.”

  “Only a minute or two.”

  She dismissed the reproof and leaned forward to retune the car’s stereo to a channel more to her liking.

  “And don’t touch that.”

  It was too late. The white reggae band UB40 was loudly extolling the benefits of red, red wine, and his daughter was giving him the smile she had used on him ever since he could remember. He knew defeat when he saw it, and while conceding her choice of music, he nonetheless reduced the volume before pulling out into traffic.

  “I thought we would find somewhere for lunch, and then the afternoon is yours to choose.” Alain said.

  “Okay.”

  “So, how are your studies going?”

  “Good.”

  “Just good? I would have hoped for more.”

  Stephanie was gazing out her side window. “What can I tell you? You know my grades.”

  “I do,” he replied evenly, “but there’s more to your education than just grades.”

  Even concentrating on the road he heard her sigh.

  “Have you finalised your thoughts for University yet?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”

  “It means not exactly. Papa, can we talk about something else?”

  “Of course. What would you like to talk about?”

  Alain knew there was little point in pursuing the subject if she wasn’t in the mood, but he would return to it later. Then she would be giving him answers. It was, after all, his money that was funding her future.

  “Spring vacation. Let’s talk about that.” Now she was animated.

  “Okay.” He carefully avoided a van making an awkward turn. “Well, Amelie has mentioned booking a couple of weeks in Florida towards the end of April. She thinks it’s too crowded in summer.” He turned to her with a conspiratorial wink. “How does that sound?”

  Her eyes rolled, and she shook her head in exaggerated disbelief. “Please don’t tell me you expect me to go to a theme park?”

  “I thought you’d enjoy it. All those rides and such.” Even as he spoke, he realised the improbability of it.

  “Papa.” She loosened her seatbelt in order to turn and give him her full attention again. “Gabi’s family is going down to Antibes. They’re getting their place ready for the summer and she’s invited some of us to go down with her.”

  “Gabrielle Bouvier? Is that the one with the red hair and freckles? The one whose father is a judge?”

  “It’s auburn,” she corrected him. “And yes. So I was hoping you would let me go. Please, Papa?”
<
br />   “Hmm.” he offered. “And who are ‘some of us’?”

  “Oh, you know,” Stephanie countered, “Madeleine, Josephine.” She gave him her most beseeching look. “Can I go?”

  “Not so fast. What does Mme Bouvier think of her daughter inviting all her school friends to what may be a busy family time?”

  “She’s fine about it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Stephanie’s voice was tinged with exasperation. “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll think about it.”

  Swallowing his disappointment that she obviously preferred to spend time with her friends rather than her own family, he realised she had inadvertently given him an advantage. If she wanted his blessing to spend time on the Côte d’Azur with the Bouviers, she needed to be a little more forthcoming about her education and her thoughts for the future.

  When he tapped the steering wheel this time, it was to the beat of the music.

  Chapter 3.

  The spring temperatures in Antibes were unseasonally hot. Mme Bouvier lay on the brightly cushioned sun-bed determined to pay little attention to anything other than the cracking of ice in her aperitif. She certainly had no intention of letting the ringing of the house phone disturb her. That was the point of employing a housekeeper. Failing that, one of the girls would answer it. It was probably for them anyway. A local boy, no doubt. Having Gabi’s friends down might not have been her idea, but it was turning out to have advantages. They kept each other company for one thing, and that meant personal time for herself.

  Stretching out a long shapely leg, she pointed her toes towards the turquoise of the pool. It was good to get the sun on her body after all these months in the city. She considered whether to reapply sunscreen. One had to be so careful, even with all these high-factor numbers. She had never really taken to the thick creams designed to protect against the harsher rays of the sun. For heaven’s sake, what was wrong with the oil she had used all those years ago? Ambre Solaire. Now that was a scent to conjure up images of long, hot summers, cheap white wine, and the music of Santana.

  Gradually lowering one leg, she raised the other. Her calf muscle tightened uncomfortably as she held the pose.

  What was the name of that track she had liked so much back then? She had danced on the beach, the sand still warm from the heat of the day. Strange, how potent memories could be. Perhaps she should look for the album in a record store, relive her youth a little.

  She settled back, and was just drifting off when a shadow fell across her. It was intrusive and unwelcome.

  “Mme Bouvier?”

  Trying to contain a sigh she raised her Versace sunglasses. “Stephanie? Is everything all right? I heard the phone.”

  She couldn’t put a finger on why her daughter’s friend made her uncomfortable, but there was definitely something going on in that elegant head that was inappropriate for a sixteen-year-old.

  “Yes, it’s all fine. That was my father. They’ve returned early from America. My brother ...” There was a pause, and Stephanie shook her head in a theatrical manner. “He injured himself at the theme park. Oh, it’s nothing serious. Amelie can be a little bit overprotective at times.”

  She nodded, hoping Stephanie wasn’t going to stand there too long. She really wanted to close her eyes again. If nothing else she had to decide on where they should eat that evening. They had dined at home for the past two nights, and it was time for a change. Thankfully she had heard there was a new place in Juan-les-Pins getting good reviews.

  “The thing is ...” Stephanie began again.

  The sunglasses were almost back in place.

  “He wants me to return home.”

  She hadn’t the energy to sit up. Instead she raised an arm to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare.

  “Oh. I see. Well, that’s a shame, but I suppose you should do what your father thinks best.” She made an attempt at an understanding smile and hoped the girl would take the hint.

  Heaving a sigh of relief at the sound of retreating footsteps, she returned to her thoughts. It was all very unfortunate, of course, but if Stephanie had to go home, well, there was little she could do about it. On the plus side, accommodating six in a restaurant was going to be far less troublesome than trying to find a table for seven.

  * * *

  While the main living areas of the Bouvier’s summer residence in Antibes were recent additions, the attic bedroom shared by the girls was part of the original farmhouse. There was even a glimpse of the Mediterranean from the tiny dormer windows. Not that the girls gave much thought to that.

  Having previously deemed the room to be the perfect place for oddments of furniture unwanted anywhere else in the house, Madame Bouvier had ordered it cleared and set up for the girls. Gabi followed that by declaring the newly refurbished room out of bounds to anyone else.

  From the beginning, they had left beds unmade and dumped clothing in discarded piles. A stereo system tuned to a local radio station played loudly as Stephanie repacked her bag. Since all she had brought with her were a couple of bikinis, her favourite jeans, and some half a dozen t-shirts, the task took hardly any time. Her friends were lounging around, watching despondently.

  “I can’t believe you have to go.” Gabi sulked, picking at the last of the clothing on the bed.

  “I know. He’s such a brat.”

  “I thought you liked your stepbrother,” Madeleine put in. She threw aside the magazine she had been absently flicking through and leaned back on the narrow window sill.

  “Not at the moment.”

  There were nods of assent. Apart from Gabi, who was an only child, they all had younger siblings.

  Fingering one of Stephanie’s bikinis as if wondering whether she dare ask to borrow it, Gabi said, “Well, we’ll all be going back in a week’s time anyway. You probably won’t miss much. It’ll be better in the summer. Lots more tourists.”

  Stephanie threw a rolled up t-shirt at her. “Lots more boys, you mean.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Gabi grinned and rolled over to lie on her back. Somebody giggled. “The Martins are coming down this year,” she went on. “I heard Mother on the phone. You know how you like Louis.”

  “That was last year.” Stephanie zipped up her backpack. “This year, who knows?”

  “Well, if you don’t want him, I’ll have him,” Josephine said, looking up from examining her polished fingernails. Her doe eyes, as always, seemed over-large amid her elfin features.

  “I thought you liked his brother?” Gabi said.

  The other girl shrugged. “I’d be happy with either one.”

  Gabi rolled over again and shook her head in admonishment. “You’re bad!”

  Josephine giggled. “But of course. It’s fun to be bad sometimes.”

  “Hey,” Madeleine said unexpectedly. She had started to plait her long dark hair. “Why don’t we all come to the station with you?”

  “There’s no need,” Stephanie said firmly.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s a brilliant idea.” Gabi jumped off the bed. She was animated, and looking at the two others for support.

  “Yeah,” Josephine agreed. “It’ll give us something to do.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes. “What, waiting around on a dreary platform? Stay here. I would.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” Gabi was already opening the door. “You can get dropped off at the station. We can go into town.”

  * * *

  Exactly as the timetable hidden in her bag stated, the journey from Antibes to Cannes took only fifteen minutes. Long enough for Stephanie to coat her long pale lashes with mascara and apply a touch of bronze to her cheeks. As the train hurtled along the coast, she peered into the little mirror on the inside of her compact and added the final touch, a slick of gloss on her lips. Perfect. The tan she had been working on over the past few days had given her skin a healthy glow, and the carefully applied makeup not only enhanced it, but made her look older. And sexier. There w
as no way Charles could resist her.

  It was a shame her father couldn’t see her. After all, in a way, this was all his doing. She thought they’d been managing okay, just the two of them. When she was old enough to understand her mother would not be coming back she even accepted his going on dates. Not that there had been many. But to marry again? And worse, to pick Amelie?

  She thought back to that night all those years ago. Woken by a nightmare, she had made her way to his room, stifling sobs. But it wasn’t his room anymore, it was their room. She’d eased open the door. Amelie was sitting astride her father, her head back, her eyes closed. She was rubbing her breasts.

  Stephanie was puzzled. What was her stepmother doing? Her father reached up and then he was rubbing her breasts, too. But worse, he was making groaning sounds, as if he was hurting.

  Though something deep inside told her that wasn’t the case.

  That was when she began to hate Amelie.

  Giving her makeup a last check in the mirror, she pouted and blew herself a kiss.

  Everything was coming together.

  Chapter 4.

  Charles was leaning against his car, enjoying the heat of the early afternoon. He had been horny for days. Usually he was able to control it. Not always, though. It was just as well that, with Antoinette so busy, the house was occasionally empty.

  Lying on the marital bed, he would give in to his fantasy—one that had Stephanie falling into his arms the moment he closed the door of the Cannes apartment. She would beg him to fuck her. He would suggest tenderly that they should wait, take it slowly, but she would insist she couldn’t. She’d waited too long already. Now she wanted it. No, needed it, and he had to give it to her. She would tear off her clothes and offer him her body, telling him it was his to do with as he pleased. He had earned it.

  Just the thought of being the first to possess such virginal perfection drove him over the edge.