Tahitian Wedding

by Angela Devine

  Claire chuckled.

  ‘Danny, have you been drinking?’ she demanded.

  ‘I hope you recognise a hurt silence when you hear one,’ replied Danny in injured tones. ‘No, I haven’t been drinking. Or no more than a quick snort anyway. But I do fancy a night on the town tomorrow, so how about joining me for dinner?’

  Claire thought guiltily of Alain and hesitated.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she began.

  ‘Aw, come on,’ wheedled Danny. ‘You know how hopeless my French is, don’t you? For some reason, the only words I can ever remember are “citron” and the numbers from one to six. I’ll probably wind up eating half a dozen lemons for dinner if you don’t take pity on me!’

  Claire gave in.

  ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘Where do you want to eat?’

  ‘There’s some place in the tourist brochures called the Belle Vista that sounds good. I’ll get a hire car and pick you up at seven-thirty and we’ll go there. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ agreed Claire, with a faint sense of misgiving.

  After Danny had rung off, she said goodnight to the others and went to her room. Marie Rose and her mother were comfortably settled at the kitchen table, poring over a seating plan for the wedding, and her father was outside, strumming his ukulele and watching the moon rise over the dark lagoon. It was the sort of evening which had once filled her with deep contentment. All the family at home, pursuing their own separate interests, but enjoying the sense of each other’s closeness. But for once it gave Claire no pleasure at all. Instead, a confused feeling of sadness welled up inside her. Not only because Marie Rose was getting married and the family was splitting up forever. It was more than that, worse than that.

  Claire felt lonely, miserable, an outsider. Her parents had each other, Marie Rose had Paul, but whom did she have? Nobody. For six years she had pretended that she loved being independent, mobile, completely without ties. But deep down she knew it wasn’t true. Somewhere inside her was an aching longing for commitment, permanence, love. And in some incomprehensible way, when she thought of those things now, the image of Alain Charpentier rose before her. So was Marie Rose right? Did Alain love her? And, more frightening still, did the powerful, confused feelings he awoke in her mean that she loved him? But why would he be involved with Nadine Hugo, if all that were true? A low cry of impatience escaped Claire and she paced across to the window and pressed her face against the cool glass.

  ‘I can’t possibly stay on here,’ she whispered to the silver sea and the dark silhouettes of the coconut palms. ‘It’s no use. I’ll have to go back to Sydney as soon as the wedding is over.’

  Yet, surprisingly, she woke the following morning with a feeling of renewed optimism. The sun was pouring down from a vivid blue sky, the sound of children’s laughter came from the beach and a breeze was blowing in from the ocean, warm and mild and tinged with salt. It was impossible to feel gloomy on such a day. After a lazy breakfast of crusty French bread and fresh pineapple, Claire came to a decision. As a matter of courtesy, she would have to phone Alain and cancel the dinner. But she had a shrewd suspicion that he would argue with her, so she didn’t intend to give him the chance. Instead she would leave it until the last possible moment to contact him.

  One of her cousins good-naturedly took her out in his pirogue and she spent a magical day on the turquoise lagoon, snorkelling and catching fish from the brightly painted canoe. When they returned at sunset, she took a quick shower and then phoned Alain’s hotel.

  ‘Hello,’ she said rather breathlessly. ‘This is Claire Beaumont. May I speak to Monsieur Charpentier’s secretary, please? No, I don’t want to speak to Monsieur Charpentier himself, I just want to leave a message. Can you please tell him that I can’t have dinner with him tonight? Tell him…tell him I have a headache. Thank you.’

  ‘Alain’s going to murder you for this,’ predicted Marie Rose, filing her nails and shamelessly listening in. ‘He’s not the kind of man that can be stood up and take it lying down, you know.’

  ‘Well, he’d be a contortionist if he were!’ retorted Claire smartly. ‘Now for heaven’s sake leave me alone, Marie Rose. Danny will be here soon and I have to get ready. I want to have a really great time tonight.’

  Yet for some reason the great time didn’t materialise. Danny arrived at seven-thirty looking so reassuringly familiar with his russet beard and twinkling hazel eyes that Claire hugged him. But once they were at the Bella Vista restaurant, she found it impossible to concentrate on what he was saying. The food was good, the band was playing lively foxtrots and Danny was telling her about his idea for a TV programme about a new type of electric car, but her mind kept wandering. Had Alain received her message? Or had he come to her house and found the place in darkness? And, if he had received her message, had he taken Nadine out to dinner instead of her?

  ‘Don’t you agree, Claire?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Mmm? What? Oh, yes, of course I do!’

  Danny looked at her severely.

  ‘Considering I just asked you if an electric car could be fuelled by recycled bubble gum, I’m not sure that your opinion is worth much,’ he said. ‘Come on, mate, what’s the matter? You’ve been daydreaming all evening.’

  Claire smiled wanly.

  ‘I-I’m sorry, Danny,’ she stammered. ‘I guess I’m just not with it tonight. Would you mind if I went home.?’

  Danny’s big hand covered hers.

  ‘Whatever you say,’ he agreed.

  Half an hour later, the hire car turned into the Beaumonts’ driveway. Danny opened the door and walked Claire up the path with one arm affectionately round her shoulders.

  ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ he insisted, bringing her to a halt under the veranda light and gazing seriously at her. ‘Can’t you tell me what it is?’

  ‘I’m thinking of leaving the TV show and staying here in Tahiti,’ blurted out Claire in a rush.

  Danny looked taken aback, then he smiled knowingly.

  ‘I get it,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve fallen in love with someone, haven’t you?’

  ‘No! Yes…I don’t know…Maybe,’ replied Claire incoherently. ‘But I don’t know if he even likes me and we keep quarrelling…Oh, Danny, what do you think I should do?’

  ‘Just do what your heart tells you and good luck,’ advised Danny. Then he put his arms around her and hugged her. ‘I’m pleased for you, mate, and I’m sure it will all work out.’

  She clung to him gratefully and stood on her toes to plant a warm kiss on his bearded cheek.

  ‘Thanks, Danny,’ she said. ‘You really are an awfully nice man.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ agreed Danny modestly. ‘Well, stay in touch, love.’

  He flicked her under the chin and was gone. She stayed for a moment on the veranda, biting her lip as she watched the red tail-lights of the car vanish, then she turned the knob on the front door. It opened easily under her hand. Marie Rose must be at home, she thought, dropping her bag on the hall stand. But it was not Marie Rose who turned to face her as she entered the sitting-room. It was Alain.

  ‘You!’ she breathed.

  His blue eyes glittered dangerously as he took in every detail of her shimmering red flounce-necked dress, the string of pearls around her throat and careful make-up.

  ‘How’s your headache?’ he asked with a sardonic lift of his black eyebrows.

  She flinched.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘How did you get in?’

  He gestured towards a couple of cartons lying on the floor.

  ‘More of Aunt Yvette’s china,’ he replied indifferently. ‘The neighbours had a key and let me in. I was just about to leave when you and your…companion arrived.’

  ‘Don’t say “companion” in that hateful, sneering way!’ protested Claire. ‘Danny’s an old friend.’

  ‘Oh, I dare say,’ purred Alain. ‘And I suppose you always kiss your old friends goodbye with such abandon, do you?’

  �
�How do you know I was kissing him?’ demanded Claire furiously. ‘Were you spying on me?’

  ‘No, I was not spying on you!’ grated Alain. ‘I couldn’t help but notice you through the window from where I was standing. See for yourself.’

  It was true. A direct line of sight went from Alain’s position to the veranda outside.

  ‘Well, you’re twisting everything,’ cried Claire, turning back from the window to face him. ‘I only kissed Danny because I’m fond of him. There was nothing wrong with what I was doing!’

  ‘Really?’ marvelled Alain, and his blue eyes were like opals lit with cold fire. ‘You don’t think it’s the slightest bit rude to break a date with one man so that you can go out with another?’

  She shrank, realising that the criticism was unanswerable.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said huskily.

  ‘Oh, it’s not important,’ retorted Alain, still raking her body with that fierce, brooding gaze. ‘I suppose I should be grateful that you’ve disillusioned me so expertly. You know, it’s a funny thing, Claire. Yesterday I was beginning to wonder whether I was wrong about you, but now I see that I was right all along.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ breathed Claire.

  He took a step towards her. Then his forefinger touched her forehead and moved slowly, almost lovingly down her cheek until he cupped her chin in his hand. She stood still, scarcely breathing, but aware that she was trembling under his touch.

  ‘What do I mean?’ he asked. ‘Oh, simply that you really are exactly the way I thought you were. Heartless, deceitful and a compulsive seductress. Well, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve no wish to be added to your list of conquests. So I’ll see you at the wedding and, after that, I hope to God I never see you again!’

  ‘Wait!’ cried Claire, as he made for the door.

  He turned back, but his face was so full of antagonism that she hardly knew where to begin. A maelstrom of feelings seethed inside her. Confusion, resentment, yearning, hurt pride. And yet she could not put any of them into words, because she felt as if an abyss were opening up between them. Staring blindly down at the floor with her breast heaving and her eyes stinging with tears, she noted dimly that there was a huge bouquet of red roses sitting on one of the cartons.

  ‘What about the flowers?’ she choked. ‘Are they for Marie Rose too?’

  ‘No,’ said Alain abruptly. ‘I brought them for you.’

  And he was gone.

  Claire did not see him again until the day of Marie Rose’s wedding. By then she had brought her turbulent feelings under control, by the simple expedient of ignoring them. And she was determined that Marie Rose’s big day should not be spoilt by any prima donna tantrums on her part. All the same, she could not suppress a stab of pure misery when she first saw Alain at the Town Hall.

  Like all French weddings, this one had to be celebrated at a civil ceremony before the optional church service, but there was an air of pomp even about this part of the proceedings. The building itself was an imposing replica of an earlier royal palace, painted pink, with white balustrades and a clock tower on the roof. And Marie Rose was firm in her insistence that she wanted every moment captured forever on video. Consequently, when Claire arrived, she had to endure seeing Alain come forward, open the car door and help her out, while both of them smiled hypocritically at the camera. Alain looked remarkably handsome in a morning coat and striped trousers with a red carnation in his buttonhole and his even white teeth gleaming, but Claire was not deceived. She saw the signs of tension in his narrowed eyes and the pulse that beat visibly at his temple. It was a relief when the rest of the wedding party arrived and they all went inside.

  When the civil ceremony was over, they climbed into the waiting cars and drove to a pastel-pink church which stood tranquilly overlooking the harbour. But, as they were milling around in front of the pink building with its white gingerbread trim, misfortune struck.

  ‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Claire’s cousin Pierre, who was operating the video camera. ‘The stupid battery’s gone dead.’

  ‘Don’t you have a spare?’ asked Claire.

  He felt in his pocket, grimaced and shook his head. Marie Rose looked ready to burst into tears, but Claire was quick to suggest a solution.

  ‘Danny!’ she cried. ‘Danny’s staying in a hotel just along the waterfront. I’m sure he’d bring his video equipment and help us out.’

  A quick phone to call to the pastor’s house settled the matter. After a ten-minute delay Danny arrived, festooned with equipment, and the service began. To Claire it was a deeply moving experience, part enchantment and part ordeal. She knew that she would carry thoughts of this day with her for the rest of her life. The thrilling tones of the organ, the sunlight that burnished Marie Rose’s white-clad figure, the beaming pride in Paul’s face as he watched his bride’s approach were all memories that she would cherish forever. And yet there were also darker images and more painful emotions to deal with.

  She could not suppress a pang of envy that her little sister was grown up and marrying when she herself had found happiness so elusive. Nor could she turn aside the stab of pure pain that pierced her as Alain moved forward with the ring. Claire herself was just stepping back with Marie Rose’s bouquet and their eyes met. The entire church and all its occupants seemed to spin away into oblivion and there was nothing but herself and Alain. She was dimly conscious of the scent of flowers, the golden, filtered light, the hushed, expectant silence of the onlookers as the ceremony reached its climax. With a suffocating sense of panic and excitement, she wondered how it would feel if she and Alain were the ones exchanging vows. Memories of their fiery encounter on Moorea came flooding back to her and for an instant she longed passionately to end their feud. Then she saw the smouldering dislike in Alain’s eyes, the faint, contemptuous curl of his lip as he returned her gaze and she yearned for nothing but the chance to escape from him.

  It was a long time coming. First there was the fuss of signing the register and then the chaotic milling about on the church steps for photos. A family group with the Beaumont and Halévy parents. The bride and groom in a dozen different poses. Then Marie Rose, Paul, Alain and Claire from several angles. And then worst of all, a portrait of Alain and Claire alone together. Even on her wedding day, it seemed that Marie Rose couldn’t resist matchmaking for others.

  ‘Now I’d like some shots of the best man and the bridesmaid,’ she told the photographer. ‘Nice, informal ones, with their arms around each other. And smiling.’

  I’ll murder you, little sister, thought Claire furiously. I’ll jolly well murder you. Yet she had no choice but to let herself to be pushed into position and to smile radiantly up at Alain. The warmth of his hard, muscular arm seemed to scorch through her coral chiffon dress and she was aware that his smile was as forced and unnatural as her own. But they held their poses obediently until Marie Rose relented.

  ‘All right, that’ll do,’ she said pertly. ‘Now let’s go to the reception and have some fun!’

  The reception was being held at Alain’s hotel on the cliff near Point Cupid and here, at last, Claire was able to melt thankfully into the crowd. While the bride and groom and their parents stood in a reception line shaking hands, Claire plunged into the thick of the arriving guests and tried to make herself useful. She chatted to guests from France, helped an old and rather feeble great-aunt to refreshments, thwarted a couple of enterprising little boys who were sneaking champagne from the buffet and reunited a crying child with her mother. Now and then she caught a glimpse of Alain threading his way through the crowd and realised that he was performing similar errands of mercy. But it was only when the party was in full swing and Claire herself felt justified in sitting down that she encountered him directly. And then only for a moment.

  Sinking into a luxuriously cushioned cane chair behind some potted plants, she took a sip of champagne with a grateful sigh and then picked up a cheese and bacon savoury. But as she bit into the delicious flaky pastry, a stra
y remark from the other side of the pot plants caught her attention.

  ‘I don’t understand why Alain’s sister Louise didn’t come to the wedding. She and Paul were so close as children; it seems rather odd. Do you know why—?’

  Claire froze. Up until that moment she hadn’t given a thought to Louise’s absence, but now a hideous suspicion rose in her mind about why Alain’s sister hadn’t wanted to come. Could Alain possibly have told Louise how he had found Claire with her husband? If he did, she certainly wouldn’t want to confront me face to face, thought Claire miserably, and who could blame her? She was still sitting with her half-eaten savoury forgotten on her plate when she became aware that Alain was staring down at her.

  ‘Oh, Alain!’ exclaimed the imperious voice from behind the plants. ‘There you are! Tell me, why didn’t dear Louise come to the wedding?’

  Alain’s blue eyes met Claire’s in a brief, hostile encounter, then he looked away.

  ‘I really don’t know, I’m sorry,’ he replied. ‘She was certainly sent an invitation, but she wrote back and said she wasn’t feeling fit to travel.’

  The way his dark eyebrows drew together made Claire wonder agonisingly if he shared her view of Louise’s motives. Yet however much he might scowl, at least he had the decency not to voice his suspicions aloud.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be sorry to have missed the wedding,’ he said evenly. ‘But next time I speak to her, I’ll give her your regards, shall I, Great-Aunt Catherine?’

  ‘Yes, yes, dear boy. And, by the way, I hope you can join the rest of us for a family dinner at the Belvedere on Monday evening. I want to hear all about your life here in Tahiti.’

  Alain shrugged charmingly.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t accept,’ he replied. ‘I’ve arranged to go to Bora Bora with Nadine Hugo on Monday morning.’

  Claire felt a cold chill strike through her. So it wasn’t any fantasy on the part of Denise Halévy! Alain and the French girl really were going to one of the outer islands together. Suddenly, feeling unable to listen to another word, she rose to her feet. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but with such a crowd in the room, it had been impossible to do anything else. Now she was conscious only of an urgent need to escape.