by Donna Ball
His mouth covered hers again, a deep and penetrating kiss that blotted out everything else, every thought, every memory, everything but wanting, everything but sensation. His hands were on her back, beneath her shirt against her bare skin, fingers strong and hot as they pressed her close, traced her spine and the curve of her shoulder blades and making her gasp as they cupped the crescent of her bare breasts where they were pressed so hard against his chest. He whispered, “I can do that for you, Sara.” His lips were against her ear, his whisper a brush of fire. “I can make the pain go away. I think we can do that for each other, tonight . . .”
He took her face in his hands then, and tilted it upward so that her eyes were filled with the darkness of his, the awful, wondrous combination of tenderness and barely leashed passion, of dark demand and desperate restraint. “If that’s what you want.” His breath was hot and hard and unsteady on her face and it tasted of her and of him and of the tentative, wanton intercourse in which they had already engaged. “If that’s all you want.”
She dropped her gaze because she couldn’t meet the fire of his any longer. Because she was ashamed and uncertain and because the only parts of her that really mattered still wanted him; wanted his hands on her, and his mouth, wanted him inside her, wanted the wild, hot ecstasy of release; wanted to be held by him, to be comforted by him, to lie in the shelter of his protection throughout the night. And she wanted not to be sorry in the morning.
She sank helplessly against his chest. “I don’t know what I want.”
Slowly, his arms came around her, gentle in their restraint, almost reluctant, but holding her. His heartbeat, so wild against her ear at first, gradually began to slow, his breathing to calm. He kissed her hair. “I know what I want,” he said softly. “I want to make love to you when your heart isn’t broken. When you’re not weeping in my arms. And when Daniel isn’t a ghost between us.”
She lifted her face to look at him, and what she saw in his eyes was still and deep and completely unreadable. And in the end his hands traveled to her shoulders, and he stepped away from her. “Good night, love,” he said softly.
“Don’t leave,” she said. There was pleading in her eyes, perhaps in her voice, and she thought for a moment she saw his resolve waver. “Please.”
But in the end he simply kissed her forehead, and he left.
FIFTEEN
Katherine Alexandra Lindeman arrived in the same sleek black limousine that had transported Sara to Rondelais, though with sixteen pieces of luggage and a great deal more confidence. She wore an elegant ivory pantsuit and oversized, white-rimmed Chanel sunglasses and she made a statement worthy of Katharine Hepburn as she stepped out of the limousine, tilted up the sunglasses, and surveyed her surroundings with a regal sweep of her chin.
The trash pile had been removed and the guest rooms that were not under renovation were immaculate, but there was little Sara could do—or cared to do—about the furniture and paint cans that were stored in the corridors, or about the disarray of her room and Alyssa’s. At least the toilets worked.
She had managed to get Alyssa bathed and dressed in clean clothes—as well as herself—before the arrival, and came to the front steps when she heard the car. Alyssa, with uncharacteristic shyness, hid behind Sara’s leg and chewed on her thumb.
Katherine pronounced, “Well, I see the old place is much the same as ever. Although it would appear someone has been keeping after those lazy gardeners. Well-done.” She approached Sara with a bold, confident stride and extended her hand. “I’m Katherine Lindeman, my dear. It’s good of you to have me.”
Sara smiled without conviction. “I’m Sara Graves. This is Alyssa.”
She tried to coax Alyssa forward but the little girl clung stubbornly to her leg. “Did you bring me a cat?” she inquired.
“Good heavens, no, child. Why on earth should I do that? And don’t suck your thumb, my dear. It will ruin the shape of your mouth.”
Alyssa glared at her defiantly and continued to suck her thumb, which Sara had never seen her do before. She stroked Alyssa’s curls and started to say something—she wasn’t sure exactly what—when Katherine unsnapped her purse and removed a small white paper bag. “I’ve often thought what a pity it is that one should be completely unable to suck one’s thumb and enjoy a treat at the same time. I suppose I shall just have to keep these sweets for myself.” She opened the bag and revealed the contents to Alyssa.
Alyssa’s thumb left her mouth and she looked questioningly at Sara. Sara said, “Just one.” She gave a brief grateful smile to the older woman. “And what do we say in English?”
“Thank you very much,” replied Alyssa solemnly and released her death grip on Sara’s leg to extract a piece of candy from the bag. “I have a cat.”
Sara saw the corner of a smile that was very familiar to her begin on Katherine’s face. “Do you indeed? Well, isn’t it fortunate that I didn’t bring you another?”
“I do have some other things for the child,” she added to Sara briskly as she straightened up. “Some frocks and stuffed toys and such as that. They’re in one of these cases somewhere. You can decide what’s appropriate, of course.”
Sara was a little taken aback. “That’s—very nice of you.”
Katherine said, “Well, then. Let’s not stand about in the sun, shall we? Jean-Phillipe, the cases, please.”
Sara felt like part of an entourage as she followed the very elegant Mrs. Lindeman—and Jean-Phillipe, with two suitcases under each arm—up the grand staircase. She was determined not to apologize, so that was of course the first thing she did. “I’ve been painting. I’m afraid things are a little bit disorganized. But I thought you’d want to stay in the Queen’s Chamber . . .”
“That overgrown Hollywood monstrosity? Nonsense, that will never do. Aside from which, I despise that bathtub. Almost broke my hip there once. No, my usual suite will do just fine.”
She turned down the corridor and slowed to a stop, taking in the accumulated clutter of ladders, paint cans, drop cloths, carpets, and furniture—not to mention the doll carriage, the plastic playhouse, the building blocks, the giant stuffed panda, and the tricycle that Alyssa immediately ran and jumped on, pedaling it down the corridor at top speed. She turned slowly to look at Sara. “My dear,” she advised gently. “I don’t mean to interfere, but whatever you’re paying your workers is far too much. I should sack the lot of them for leaving the place in such a disgrace.”
Sara quickly tried to kick some of the drop cloths out of the way while at the same time shoving a bucket filled with paintbrushes beneath a table. “Actually,” she said, raising her voice a little to be heard over the clatter of tricycle wheels and the ringing of a tricycle bell, “I’m doing this myself. I don’t have any workers.”
Katherine’s eyebrows shot up. “But why are you doing it at all?”
“Tante Sara! Look at me!” Alyssa had found the kitten and stuffed him into the basket of her tricycle, and Sara interrupted her conversation to rescue the very annoyed-looking kitten before he bolted under the wheels of the vehicle.
“I didn’t think it would be such a big project when I started,” she explained when she returned, trying not to sound defensive. “A castle isn’t a very comfortable place for a little girl, and I just wanted to make it a little more inviting.”
“She doesn’t appear to be suffering,” observed Katherine as Alyssa raced by on the tricycle again, squealing happily. And she added, “But why didn’t you simply move into the family apartment? It does seem to me that would be the most practical thing to do.”
Sara said uncomfortably, “Well—those rooms are private. They belonged to the family and I really didn’t feel right just moving in there . . .”
Katherine raised her eyebrows. “Did I misunderstand? Don’t you own this property now?”
“Well, yes, but . . .”
“Well, then really, I can’t see why there should be any discussion. The apartment is set up for family living.
It has a kitchen and sitting rooms and even a nursery, if I recall, that’s more than large enough for the little one to ride that dreadful contraption around to her heart’s content. All in all, a far more serviceable arrangement than you have now. Jean-Phillipe,” she commanded briskly, turning to the chauffeur who still waited patiently with two arms filled with luggage. “As soon as you’ve unpacked the car, dash down to the village and bring back four reliable laborers, won’t you? Tell them I’m paying top wages for two days’ work.” Even as Sara drew a breath for protest Alyssa raced by again and Katherine stepped back quickly to avoid losing the polish on her sleek Ferragamo pumps. “And,” she added, “put out the word that we’ll be interviewing English-speaking nannies beginning at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Hold on,” Sara interjected firmly as Katherine turned to proceed to her suite—wherever that might be. “I told Ash I didn’t want a nanny. I can take care of Alyssa myself. That’s what I’m here for.”
Katherine regarded her for a moment, her expression unreadable, and then invited, “Come along, my dear. Help me get settled. And mind the little one near the stairs.”
Sara got Alyssa off of the tricycle and interested in her playhouse, and followed Katherine and the chauffeur, a little suspiciously, into the room that she had chosen. It was, of course, the same room that Ash had used, which only made sense, as it was one of the nicest en suite accommodations in the castle, and was always kept ready for visitors. Katherine placed her sunglasses and her purse on the stately mahogany lowboy and instructed Jean-Phillipe to lift one of the matched burgundy leather suitcases to the luggage rack, and line up the others beneath the window. “Now, my dear,” she said to Sara, “you may certainly do as you wish, but it seems to me a peculiar characteristic of American women is that they tend to undervalue themselves. Perhaps it has something to do with all those years of building log cabins in the woods, or some such nonsense. I really can’t imagine.”
Sara was about to object, but found herself smothering a laugh instead. As much as she wanted to resent her uninvited houseguest, she could definitely see where Ash had gotten his charm. “Maybe,” she agreed. “I guess self-reliance isn’t always a virtue.”
“Precisely.” Katherine removed her jacket, shook out the folds with one crisp snap, and hung it inside the tall, intricately carved wardrobe. “I raised four children with the assistance of a nanny, and they all turned out rather well, if I do say so. One of them I believe you know.” She gave Sara a glance that was too subtle to read, and continued, “Another is a professor of mathematics at the University of Edinburgh, with three little ones of her own and another on the way. A third manages a hugely successful business in Sydney, and my youngest is presently serving with Doctors without Borders in Africa.” She walked over to the suitcase and unsnapped the locks. “I think mothers serve best by building character and imparting values, not by wiping noses and bottoms. Further, I can assure you that my husband would never have achieved the measure of success he enjoyed had I not been there to support him every step of the way, which I surely could not have done had I been exhausted from chasing about after four children all day.” She held up a small pink dress with an elaborately ruffled chiffon petticoat for Sara’s examination. “What do you think of this, my dear? I’m sure it’s quite impractical, but I was simply taken by it.”
Sara couldn’t help smiling. “It’s incredibly impractical. Alyssa will love it.”
Katherine regarded her kindly. “You are doing a noble thing,” she said. “But there’s no reason in this world why you have to do it by yourself.”
Sara hesitated. “She is a handful,” she admitted reluctantly. “Especially in a place as big as this. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have someone for part of the day.”
She gave a satisfied nod. “My thoughts precisely. Now, give me a moment to change, won’t you, and let’s have a look at what can be done with those rooms.”
Katherine emerged from her room ten minutes later wearing jeans, a work shirt, sturdy gardening gloves, and a paisley silk turban over her beautiful platinum hair. She waded into the Orsay apartment without hesitance or trepidation and began flinging off dust covers, ripping down draperies, shaking out carpets, and giving orders to the day laborers like a general organizing a battle. Somehow she even managed to get Alyssa interested in the project, and had her self-importantly collecting all the knickknacks and placing them in a box to be hand-washed later. By five o’clock, a sitting room and a bedroom had been cleared out, windows had been washed, floors and walls had been scrubbed, carpets had been vacuumed, furniture had been brushed and polished and fireplaces cleaned.
“All in all,” Katherine declared with her hands on her hips as she dismissed the workers, “not a bad day’s work. But now it is time for little girls to retire to their suppers, and for big girls to find a good stiff drink. Upon such was the greatness of the British empire built.” She caught Alyssa’s willing hand and swung it lightly to her own easy gait as she led the way out of the rooms. “Sara, will you join us?”
Sara returned a grin as she stripped off her work gloves and hat. “I’m right behind you.” And that was when she knew for certain that Ash was right.
She really liked his mother.
In three weeks, Sara’s life had been transformed, as had the five-bedroom Orsay apartment in the center of the castle, as had Alyssa’s and, she supposed in a way, Katherine’s. A beautiful home had been carved out of the cold stone of the castle that included a warm and modern family room/sitting room hung with bright gold and black drapes and rich moss green carpets on the floor and cushiony, comfortable, child-and-kitten-friendly sofas and chairs. Pietro’s cousin Marco had come to paint Alyssa’s new nursery/playroom with an amazing fairy wonderland mural. Her bed was draped with a princess canopy and her cupboards were filled with treasured toys. She adored her new nanny, Martine, who came at noon and stayed to put Alyssa to bed three or sometimes four times a week, and who took her on outings with other children in the village.
Katherine took Sara on a shopping spree to Lyon, where they purchased comfortable modern pieces to intermix with the antiques the Orsays had collected, and chose fabrics to be made into bed coverings and curtains and upholstered pieces that turned the cold, echoing castle into a home. The bizarre red kitchen actually became pretty when outfitted with a bright yellow country table and chairs, and Marie seemed much more comfortable preparing their easy, casual meals there.
Katherine and Sara began restoring the gardens, hiring workers from the village to rebuild the walls and cut back the undergrowth, and in the evenings they often enjoyed cocktails on the terrace. When they went to the village, the two women and the bouncy-haired, rouge-cheeked child, the merchants knew them by name and smiled to see them coming. The baker saved treats for Alyssa and the fishmonger sent home delicacies for the kitten, who was now known, for rather obvious reasons, as Monsieur Le Chat.
Sara’s boxes arrived from America: the contents of her dresser drawers, her shoes, her summer clothes—long after she had already bought replacements. Seeing her familiar belongings in these unfamiliar surroundings was strange at first, and then she decided she liked it. The place was slowly becoming her own.
And then, at the bottom of a box, she found the book of Daniel’s poetry that she had always kept on her bedside table. It was the volume he had inscribed to her in French on the night of his book signing at Books and Nooks, and he had always teased her that one day, when he knew her better, he would translate it for her. Then, of course, they had gotten to know each other very well, and translation no longer seemed necessary. Now, for the first time, she knew enough French to read it for herself.
Sara, he had scrawled in his big, elegant handwriting across the page, tu fais chanter mon coeur—Daniel.
You make my heart sing.
She touched the page, smiling softly, waiting for the essence of him to spring from the ink into her fingers, as it had done so many times before. Waiting for the
memories, the pain, the tears, the longing. But the picture that came to her mind was not of Daniel, but of Ash on that day they had picnicked in the chapel ruins, holding up his mobile phone for her to read the e-mail he had saved. She makes my heart sing.
It was true, she had never had a chance to really know Daniel, and even now she wasn’t sure who he had been, or who he might yet be proven to be. But for a brief shining moment in time, he had loved her. He had made her heart sing, too. And whatever had happened since, or might happen in the future, that was worth treasuring. Ash had understood that.
And for a single, fleeting moment she understood something, else, too: what it was like to love two men, separately and equally at the same time. One for who he had been, and another for who he was.
She did not put the book on her bedside table. Instead she took it downstairs to the vast, empty library that once had stored the great collection of Orsay treasures. She positioned it on a shelf in a place of honor, where it belonged. Where, perhaps, it would begin a new collection of treasures.
The weather in North Carolina was foul, which seemed somehow appropriate. There was some kind of tropical storm moving up the coast, which had grounded every flight after the one Ash had taken. Now the sky was blue black and rain came in alternate slashing spurts and steady downpours, bending trees to the ground one moment and deadly still the next. Goddamn it, Daniel, Ash had thought wearily as the car made its way to the cemetery, it’s still all about drama with you.