Tahitian Wedding

by Angela Devine

  A jag of pain shot through her bruised forehead and she thought of the shattered windscreen and smashed bonnet of the mangled vehicle.

  ‘Come to think of it, I don’t suppose anybody will be driving it again,’ she admitted unsteadily. ‘I really wrecked it, didn’t I? All Papa’s work down the drain!’

  ‘All your work down the drain, you mean,’ contradicted Alain. ‘You know damned well your father very rarely worked more than four hours a day, but from what Eve tells me you’ve been running yourself into the ground. What were you trying to do? Kill yourself?’

  Claire winced.

  ‘Don’t shout at me!’ she protested.

  With an effort Alain controlled himself. His right hand came out and gripped her knee briefly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a surly tone. ‘You damned near scared the life out of me with what you did. But don’t worry too much about the vehicle. Even if it is too badly wrecked to be repaired, the insurance will cover it.’

  Ahead of them the street-lights of Papeete gleamed luridly through the rain. Claire closed her eyes, listening to the hiss of the tyres on the wet road, the surge and rush of the windscreen wipers, the faint sound of Alain’s breathing. Absurdly, however much she hated him, it seemed amazingly comforting simply to drift and let him take care of everything. Her head slipped sideways and she dozed.

  ‘Are you all right, Claire?’

  She jolted awake to find herself still in the car in front of Alain’s house. The rain had stopped and the evening air was filled with the fragarance of a moist, tropical garden.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ she mumbled. ‘Why didn’t you take me home?’

  Alain seized her hand and hauled her ruthlessly out of the car.

  ‘In the first place because I want the hotel doctor to examine you,’ he explained. ‘And in the second place, because I think you should tidy up before you see your father. You’d probably scare him into a second heart attack at the moment.’

  Following Alain into the entrance hall, Claire caught sight of herself in a mirror and realised that he was right. Her hair was plastered to her scalp with rain and mud, her clothes were filthy, her face was deathly pale and there was a large lump on the left side of her forehead.

  ‘Go into my bedroom, take a shower and get into bed,’ ordered Alain. ‘There should be a towelling robe on the back of the door that you can put on. I’ll phone the doctor.’

  It was heavenly to strip off her filthy, sodden clothes and stand under the thunderous downpour of the shower. Her head still ached and there were some tender spots on her breasts and left shoulder where the seat belt had cut into her skin, but she felt better than she expected. In fact a giddy, almost drunken hilarity seemed to have overtaken her, so that she sang as she shampooed her hair. When she had towelled herself dry, she pulled on Alain’s bathrobe, tied another towel in a turban round her head and went into the bedroom. Apart from the fact that her legs trembled slightly, she felt fine.

  She had barely climbed into bed when there was a brisk knock at the door and the hotel doctor appeared. He was a small, balding man with twinkling grey eyes, spectacles and tufts of hair like steel wool over his ears.

  ‘Well, well, how are we feeling now?’ he asked cheerfully, setting down his bag, taking out his stethoscope and feeling Claire’s pulse without a moment’s pause.

  Five minutes later, he called Alain in to join them.

  ‘Fit as a flea,’ he announced with satisfaction. ‘Bit of a bump on the forehead and some minor bruises, but nothing serious. The only danger now would be if she suffers from delayed shock. Best thing you can do to avoid that is keep her warm and in bed, give her a light meal and see that she gets a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ promised Alain, as he escorted the doctor to the door.

  Claire lay back with her eyes closed, enjoying the luxurious feeling of crisp, lavender-scented sheets, a light thermal blanket and deep feather pillows. The fact that she hated Alain and never wanted to see him again seemed curiously remote as she drifted between sleeping and waking in the darkened room. Some time later there were firm masculine footsteps beside the bed and a lamp was switched on, bathing the room in a soft apricot glow.

  ‘Come in now, Paulette,’ ordered Alain.

  His beaming housekeeper tiptoed into the room with a tray. Claire sat up and found herself looking at a steaming ham and mushroom omelette, a tossed green salad, a crisp roll and butter and a bowl of crème caramel. Deftly Alain piled the pillows behind her and handed her a glass of apple juice.

  ‘I’ve phoned your parents and told them you’re well, but that you’re staying here tonight in case of delayed shock,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, but that’s absurd,’ protested Claire. ‘I can perfectly well—’

  ‘How on earth do you think your mother will cope if you’re taken ill during the night?’ he cut in. ‘Don’t you think she’s been through enough lately?’

  Claire bit her lip and subsided.

  ‘Now eat your supper,’ said Alain in a kinder tone. ‘There’s no need to wait for the tray, Paulette. I’ll collect it when Claire has finished and you can clean up properly when you come in the morning.’

  ‘Whatever you say sir,’ agreed Paulette. ‘I hope you’re better soon, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Thank you,’ murmured Claire with a smile.

  Left alone, she made a good meal. The omelette was crisp and savoury, the salad dressing had a tang of lemon and basil and the crème caramel slid smoothly and sweetly down her throat. When she had finished, she leaned over the edge of the bed and set down the tray. Then she decided that she might as well carry it out to the kitchen herself. It was ridiculous to have Alain waiting on her when she was perfectly fit herself. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up and bent over to lift the tray. But she was unprepared for the sudden ringing in her ears and the way the floor seemed to rush up to meet her. The tray dropped from her fingers with a crash and she sat hastily down on the bed, burying her head in her lap and wondering why the room seemed to be whirling around her. She hardly heard the door burst open.

  ‘What the hell are you doing now?’ roared Alain from a great distance.

  ‘Don’t shout at me!’ she wailed, lifting her head.

  Then she burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t, Claire!’ he begged, seizing her by the legs and bundling her back into bed. ‘Don’t. Don’t cry, my love, please.’

  She was dimly aware that he was holding her against him, stroking her tumbled hair and murmuring words of endearment to her. And aware too of something else. The room steadied around her and her sobs faded to a series of shuddering gulps. Drying her eyes on the sheet, she stared at him miserably.

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ she begged.

  ‘Call you what?’ he asked in perplexity.

  ‘“My love”,’ she said unsteadily.

  ‘Why not?’ he murmured. ‘You are, you know.’

  Her eyes filled with tears again and she had to bite on her lower lip to still its trembling. ‘That’s not true,’ she choked. ‘You hate me. You always have done.’

  Alain’s fingers gripped her damp hair, pinning it behind her ears. Gazing intently into her eyes, he shook his head.

  ‘Wrong, Claire,’ he replied. ‘I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘W-WHAT do you mean?’ she faltered.

  His eyes took on a distant look and a faint smile twisted the edges of his mouth.

  ‘Six years ago I walked into a very modest little restaurant at Acajou Beach,’ he murmured in the tone of someone thinking aloud. ‘The smells from the kitchen were good and the proprietor was a big burly Tahitian called Roland Beaumont. He offered me a drink as casually as if I were a friend calling at his home and then he said he’d get his daughter to bring me a menu. You were outside waiting at the tables on the terrace and he shouted to you to come in. Do you remember? I looked up and there you were,
standing in the doorway and laughing. The blue water of the lagoon was behind you and you were wearing a red pareu and flowers in your hair. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my life. I think I fell in love with you right then.’

  Claire stared at him in disbelief. His words shocked her to the core and she suddenly found the events of the last six years hurtling through her mind like a blurred video as she tried to grasp the significance of what he was saying. But it was too unexpected, too unsettling. Her first instinctive joy gave way to a wary impulse to avoid being hurt.

  ‘You’re joking,’ she said uncertainly.

  Alain’s grip on her hair tightened for an instant. Then suddenly he released her and clasped his hands moodily round his knee instead.

  ‘No, I’m not joking,’ he growled. ‘I wish to God I were. But surely you must have guessed, Claire? Why did you think I came to your father’s restaurant every day for lunch?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Claire blankly. ‘I thought you liked the pancakes, I suppose.’

  Alain’s lips twisted into a crooked smile.

  ‘And you never once guessed that you were the central attraction?’ he demanded caustically. ‘You never once thought of me as a man instead of just a customer?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ admitted Claire. ‘You seemed so much older, so stern and forbidding somehow. Almost as if you belonged to a different generation.’

  ‘I was twenty-seven,’ said Alain with grim humour. ‘I suppose to a nineteen-year-old that seems totally senile.’

  A mischievous smile played around her lips as she saw Alain’s discomfiture.

  ‘I’ll tell you something though,’ she conceded. ‘Even though you were so stern and forbidding, I had a dreadful crush on you. As a matter of fact, I practically worshipped the ground you walked on.’

  Alain snorted.

  ‘There’s no need for you to invent these comforting little fantasies to soothe my pride,’ he said drily.

  ‘It’s true!’ insisted Claire. ‘Anyway, if you were keen on me too, why didn’t you invite me out? It would have made things so much simpler.’

  A brooding look crossed Alain’s face.

  ‘Oddly enough,’ he ground out, ‘I didn’t want to take advantage of your youth and innocence. Of course, Marcel had no such scruples.’

  Claire flinched at the mention of that name.

  ‘Don’t,’ she begged, her eyes clouding. ‘Please don’t. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘You can’t bear it?’ growled Alain. ‘How the hell do you think I felt when I found out what you were doing? I could have murdered the man and you’re damned lucky I didn’t. Believe me, punching him in the nose and bullying you into leaving Tahiti was mild in comparison to what I wanted to do. I was so much on fire with jealousy I felt like going berserk.’

  He very nearly had, Claire remembered. She thought of Marcel, groping his way out of the house with one hand clutched to his bleeding nose, of Alain shouting at her while she sobbed incoherently and wrapped her red pareu around her with shaking fingers.

  ‘Is that why you were so hateful to me?’ she asked unsteadily. ‘Because you were jealous?’

  He rose to his feet and paced moodily across the room, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

  ‘Yes,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Oh, I tried to pretend to myself that it was righteous fury on my sister’s behalf, but the truth is that Louise hardly came into it. I would have felt like that about any man I found you in bed with. Hurt, betrayed, angry. Ridiculous, isn’t it? Especially when you consider that I had never even told you how I felt about you. I thought that would be the end of it then. And yet, even once you had left, I never could stop loving you.’

  ‘Never?’ echoed Claire shakily.

  Alain swung round.

  ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Damn it, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? The fact that I’m as much in love with you as I ever was, no matter how badly you’ve treated me.’

  ‘No matter how badly I’ve treated you?’ spluttered Claire. ‘You’ve got a nerve, Alain Charpentier! After you went off to Bora Bora for a passionate romp with your precious Nadine!’

  ‘You really believe that, do you?’ demanded Alain.

  ‘What else can I believe?’ retorted Claire with spirit. ‘You were busy planning it the minute you hopped out of bed with me. I heard you discussing it with Nadine right in this very house, so don’t bother denying it!’

  Alain sighed.

  ‘My only intention was for Nadine to come to Bora Bora with me to do some preliminary sketches for a new hotel,’ he said in injured tones. ‘Going to bed with her was not meant to be part of the package.’

  ‘Really?’ taunted Claire. ‘But you still did it, didn’t you?’

  There was a moment’s silence, fraught with tension. Even in that instant with her heart thudding unevenly and her nails dug into her palms, Claire was conscious of an overwhelming desire to hear Alain deny it. Her brown eyes met his in mute appeal and she saw a muscle twitch at his temple. He opened his mouth.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ he challenged.

  She could not believe the pain that throbbed through her at these words. A raw, scalding torment that made her catch her breath and wrap her arms protectively around her body.

  ‘I hate you,’ she whispered and buried her face in her huddled knees.

  Alain crossed the floor with halting steps.

  ‘Anyone would think you really cared,’ he said hoarsely, sitting beside her and laying his hand on her head.

  She jerked away from his touch as if it had burnt her.

  ‘Of course I care!’ she spat at him. ‘Why else do you think I told you that I loved you that day we made love?’

  Alain was silent, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths.

  ‘I didn’t realise you meant it,’ he muttered at last. ‘And I couldn’t bear to think that you were just saying it as meaningless babble. If you were going to tell me you loved me, I wanted it to be real. The kind of blazing, indestructible need that I felt for you. Not merely the sort of thing you’d say as a pleasantry to every man you slept with.

  ‘What do you mean “Every man I slept with”?’ demanded Claire indignantly. ‘I don’t just go around having casual affairs, I’ll have you know!’

  Alain’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘Well, there’s been that cameraman Danny just in the short time since you’ve been home,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t sleep with Danny!’ protested Claire.

  ‘Didn’t you?’ countered Alain bitterly. ‘Well, that may be true, although I have my doubts. And you certainly went out of your way to make me believe it.’

  ‘I only did that because I was jealous of you and Nadine!’ muttered Claire.

  Alain ran his fingers through his hair with a baffled sigh.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said sceptically. ‘But you can’t tell me you don’t have plenty of opportunities for torrid affairs in the television industry.’

  ‘Opportunities, yes. Involvements, no! After what happened to me with Marcel, I’ve a damned good idea of the amount of pain a reckless affair can let loose and I’ve never fancied being burnt again.’

  Alain stared at her in astonishment.

  ‘Do you mean to tell me you’ve never slept with another man since you and Marcel had your little reunion in Sydney five years ago?’ he demanded.

  ‘Reunion?’ echoed Claire in horror. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ snapped Alain. ‘About a year after you left here, Louise wrote to me from Sydney saying Marcel was cheating on her and she was going to file for a divorce. Naturally I assumed you were the girl in question.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t!’ cried Claire hotly. ‘I haven’t seen Marcel since the day I left Tahiti and I hope I never do. If I learnt one thing from him, it was to be very, very wary about ever falling in love again. Not that that helped me much when it came to you.’

  ‘Are you tel
ling me that you were genuinely in love with me?’ asked Alain slowly.

  ‘I was,’ replied Claire resentfully. ‘Until you wrecked everything by going off with Nadine.’

  A choking sob escaped her and she snatched the corner of the sheet and buried her face in it.

  ‘Oh, Claire,’ said Alain, sweeping her into his arms. ‘I can see I’ll have to tell you the truth about that. I didn’t really intend to, but it seems cruel to go on deceiving you. The fact is that I didn’t sleep with Nadine on Bora Bora.’

  Claire’s mouth fell open.

  ‘But Marie Rose went there to check!’ she protested indignantly. ‘She saw the unit you were staying in and there was only one bed.’

  Alain’s lips curved in sardonic amusement.

  ‘I had a feeling Marie Rose was there as your spy,’ he murmured. ‘And she saw exactly what I wanted her to see. Don’t forget, Claire, that you had just sent me off to Bora Bora with the glad tidings that you were planning to sleep with Danny Abbott. Can you blame me for wanting to hit back? Once I knew that Marie Rose was coming to Bora Bora, I deliberately set things up to make her believe I was sleeping with Nadine. But it was sheer farce. The truth is that I was sleeping on the foldout sofabed in the living-room.’

  ‘Truly?’ asked Claire suspiciously.

  ‘Truly,’ insisted Alain. His mouth was hard and his blue eyes were narrowed in a way that was almost resentful. ‘Once I’d made love to you, I found that it seemed like sacrilege to think of touching another woman, however willing she might be.’

  Claire gave him a swift, tormented look.

  ‘Th-then Nadine was willing?’ she whispered.

  Alain’s lips twisted into a smile that was closer to a sneer.

  ‘Oh, yes. Willing to jump into bed with me, willing to let Marie Rose believe that I was her lover, willing even to marry me. But I wasn’t tempted, Claire.’

  ‘Why not?’ croaked Claire. ‘She’s very attractive.’

  ‘Because I don’t love her, Claire, and she doesn’t love me,’ he replied simply. ‘And, when I finally got over my rage and my hurt pride about you and Danny, I told Nadine the only sensible thing I could possibly say to her.’