by Sara Craven
‘Yes.’ Paige remembered the ramrod back and gimlet gaze. ‘I’m sure she has.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’d have been very brave.’
‘Yet you’ve just married a complete stranger,’ Nick said softly. ‘A lot of people would think that’s insanely courageous.’
She hunched a defensive shoulder. ‘Or just insane. And, after all, it isn’t a real marriage,’ she added hastily.
‘Thank you for reminding me,’ he said courteously. ‘But it wasn’t necessary. I’m not likely to forget.’
There was a silence, tense and tingling, as if an electric current had passed through the water between them, then Nick pulled himself out of the pool in one swift, lithe movement and reached for his towel. ‘It’s nearly time for lunch,’ he tossed casually over his shoulder. ‘We’d better not keep Hortense waiting.’
Paige had one mesmerising, mouth-drying glimpse of the lean muscularity of his body, barely concealed by the brief trunks he was wearing, then turned and began to swim slowly back to the other end, where she’d left her own things.
From now on, she thought, it might be safer to take her own swim when Nick was out of the way.
But as the hours began to measure themselves slowly in days Paige found she was becoming more relaxed. Even, if it were possible, beginning to enjoy herself.
True, Nick was away from the house for most of every day, but it wasn’t long before she found herself beginning to time his return, listening for his voice in the hall, the sound of his step on the flagged floors. She took care never to ask where he’d been, or comment if he was delayed, and he never offered an explanation for his absences.
And, instead of being something to avoid, the pre-lunch swim became part of the fabric of her existence—something to be anticipated, even relished.
So when, on the fifth day, Nick said he had business at the bank in the nearby town, and asked if she’d like to go with him to look round the market, she heard herself accept equally casually.
Nick parked on some waste ground near the church, and walked with her through a maze of narrow streets to the centre of the town.
The market square was crowded, with local people mingling with tourists as they clustered round the stalls.
‘The bank’s over there.’ Nick pointed. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Where shall I meet you?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ His tone was laconic. ‘I’ll find you.’
‘In this mass of people?’
His mouth twisted. He said softly, ‘Anywhere.’ His fingers brushed her cheek lightly, but she felt his touch shiver in her blood, and knew that what he said was true.
She watched him go, shouldering his way through the crowd. Waited until he was out of sight before she moved, plunging blindly into the horde of people, with no idea where she was heading.
I wish he hadn’t said that, she whispered silently, wrapping her arms across her body. Or done that.
The market seemed to sell everything from pots and pans to handmade jewellery, from brushes and shovels to curtains.
You could probably set up home in an hour, Paige thought as she wandered about aimlessly. She could feel the blaze of the sun on her head, and paused to buy herself a hat, broad-brimmed and floppy in unbleached linen.
But the main speciality was, naturally, food, and she guessed that all the holidaymakers staying in the vicinity had converged on the market to buy fresh meat and vegetables to take back to their gîtes.
That would be fun, she thought, pausing to stare at piles of gleaming tomatoes and bunches of tiny radishes, and noticing, with a sudden odd wistfulness, a young couple, hand in hand and smiling into each other’s eyes as they made their choice.
Fun to plan a meal and saunter round in the sunlight collecting the ingredients for it in leisurely contentment. To prepare it together, then share it with a bottle of wine as the moon rose. And, afterwards, make love…
She swallowed nervously and turned away. But the nagging thought persisted that if she and Nick had met on different terms—enjoyed a normal relationship—then she would undoubtedly have cooked him a meal or several by now. And drunk with him to their future.
And slept with him too…
She found her fingers straying to the cheek he had touched, and stopped with a stifled gasp, firmly burying her hands in the pockets of her sleeveless blue dress.
I must learn, she told herself grimly, not to let my imagination run away with me.
Her attention not entirely focused on where she was going, she suddenly cannoned into someone. Firm hands gripped her arms, steadying her as she instinctively recoiled.
She looked up and met Nick’s amused gaze. ‘I told you I’d find you,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ She freed herself swiftly, struggling for composure. ‘I—I didn’t see you.’
‘Or hear me either,’ he said drily. ‘I called to you twice.’
‘I—I was miles away. Daydreaming.’
‘So I gathered.’ He paused, his eyes dwelling thoughtfully on her flushed face. ‘I hope it was a nice dream.’
No, she thought. Not nice at all. Dangerous.
She forced a smile. ‘Rather culinary and domestic, actually.’
His brows lifted. ‘That’s the right kind of dream for a Frenchman’s wife to have.’
‘You’re hardly French.’
‘You don’t think so?’ His swift shrug was totally Gallic. ‘Well, never say that to Grandmère. She wouldn’t agree.’ He paused. ‘I like the hat. But I hope it’s waterproof because there’s rain on the way.’
Paige looked up at the cloudless sky, relieved at the change to an impersonal topic. ‘Surely not.’
‘Alas, yes. This is Normandy, remember, not the Riviera.’ He gave her a considering look. ‘Why don’t we have some lunch, and go to the coast before the weather breaks? After all, you haven’t seen any of the countryside yet.’ He paused. ‘Or would you rather go back to the house?’
‘No.’ Paige met his gaze steadily. ‘I’d like to see the coast. But, instead of going to a restaurant, why don’t we buy our lunch and take it with us?’
‘Thrifty too,’ Nick murmured, his eyes glinting wickedly. ‘Take care, Mrs Destry, or you could turn into the perfect wife.’
She flushed and turned away.
They bought baguettes and sliced ham, smoked sausage, some mild yellow cheese, and a bag of the tomatoes she’d admired earlier, adding two large bottles of mineral water to their haul.
‘Are we going to one of the famous beaches from the D-Day landings?’ Paige asked as she sat beside him in the car.
‘Not this time.’ He shot her a swift glance. ‘They’re incredible, but they can be overwhelming too. And tragic. So I thought today we’d simply relax and enjoy ourselves instead, and save the sightseeing for another time.’
‘Fine,’ she assented quietly. So, there was going to be another time. And should she be pleased—or wary?
She was still pondering this dilemma when Nick brought the car to a halt under the shade of a tree.
‘From here we walk,’ he said.
The grass was short and crisp under their feet, and ahead of them was the Channel, blue and serene today.
‘The path’s over here,’ Nick directed. ‘It’s a bit steep in places, so I’ll go first.’
He wasn’t joking, Paige realised breathlessly as she picked her way gingerly down the rocky slope. She slid the last couple of feet, landing in soft sand, laughing with delight as she dusted herself down.
It was only a small cove, guarded on each side by high rocks, but it breathed tranquillity. They didn’t have it to themselves either. Several windbreaks had been set up along the beach, and there were small children playing at the water’s edge.
Nick had brought a rug from the car, and spread it in the shelter of a large boulder.
Paige sat down, looking enviously at the gentle ripple of the water. ‘I wish I’d brought my swimsuit.’
‘You’re better
off sticking to the pool.’ Nick was unpacking the food. ‘The sea never gets that warm here, and there are quite nasty currents further out.’
‘You clearly know it well.’
‘I spent most of my holidays in Normandy when I was a child. I used to come here with my parents—and Grandmère too. It was our favourite place.’
She felt startled, yet oddly gratified that he’d chosen to bring her to it. She covered her momentary confusion by saying quickly, ‘Your grandmother came down that path?’
‘She used to come down it in the dark years ago,’ he said quietly. ‘When boats were being landed here.’
‘I suppose so.’ Paige hunched a shoulder. ‘It’s not as peaceful here as I thought,’ she added wryly. ‘It has its own ghosts.’
Nick grinned and passed her a chunk of bread and some ham. ‘You’re just hungry.’
He was right, she discovered to her surprise. She was ravenous. And it was a wonderful meal—sticky and messy, with crumbs and sand everywhere. And with Nick, she acknowledged wonderingly, easier company than she’d ever known him.
For the first time she was able to drop her guard. To find again the person she’d ceased to be the evening her father had told her falteringly what was expected of her.
Perhaps, in some strange way, she and Nick might even become friends, she told herself, trying and failing to raise some enthusiasm at the prospect.
When they’d finished their picnic Paige went to rinse her hands in the sea. On her return she found Nick had stripped off his shirt and stretched out on the rug, his eyes closed.
Cautiously she sat down on the opposite side of the rug. She undid the top two buttons on her dress and slid down the straps, baring her shoulders, then folded back her skirt to a decorous mid-thigh level.
Of course she wouldn’t go to sleep, she told herself as she lay down. There were too many thoughts chasing themselves round in her head for that. Too many unlooked for emotions seething inside her.
She was bewildered at her own frank enjoyment of the day’s simple pleasures. And concerned at how dangerously easy it had been to respond to Nick’s companionship. They’d talked like ordinary people, and laughed too. He’d teased her, and she’d tossed a retort back at him.
She turned her head warily, and looked at him from under her lashes. There was no questioning the force of his attraction. Every pulse, every nerve-ending was registering it with pathetic eagerness.
She felt as if, quite unaware, she’d taken a step into the unknown—and there was no turning back.
And it occurred to her, too, that even if Nick were to offer friendship that would no longer be enough.
She knew that was absurd, as well as seriously perilous, and that she should be fighting it with all the intellectual weapons at her disposal, but the sun was so warm on her skin, and the lap of the waves on the shore so soothing. She could hear, in some far distance, the cry of gulls and the laughter of the children. And then that also faded.
She was eventually awoken by something thudding against her ankle. She sat up groggily and stared around her. Her assailant, she saw at once, was a large coloured ball, and tottering to retrieve it was a very small girl in a sunbonnet and frilled knickers. The mite paused at a safe distance and offered an ingratiating smile.
‘Tu veux, petite?’ Gently, Paige rolled it back to her.
The smile widened, revealing an array of small pearly teeth. Then the ball was kicked towards her again with real vigour.
‘Hey.’ Laughing, Paige stopped it from crashing into the remains of the picnic. ‘Pick on someone your own size.’
She batted it back and the baby caught it, clumsily but gleefully trapping it against her rounded tummy.
‘Oh, well done.’ Paige clapped the feat. ‘Bravo.’
‘Simone.’ It was Maman, coming in search of her errant offspring. ‘Qu’est ce que tu fais ici, mignonne? Mille pardons M’sieu—’dame.’
Paige looked round quickly and saw that Nick was propped up on one elbow, staring at her. There was an odd, almost frozen expression on his face, and his mouth had thinned to a hard line.
He looked, she thought, almost angry. But why?
‘Oh, did we wake you? I’m sorry.’ She smiled at him eagerly, placatingly. ‘But she was so adorable.’
‘I was awake already.’ He didn’t return her smile, but sat up, reaching for his shirt. ‘I think we should be going. That change in the weather is on its way.’
Looking where he indicated, Paige saw a bank of dark cloud building ominously.
‘Oh.’ She felt ludicrously disappointed at the curtailment of her day. ‘What a shame.’
‘Why, Paige,’ he said mockingly, ‘aren’t you desperate to get back to sanctuary?’
The camaraderie of the past hours might never have existed, she realised with a pang.
She lifted her chin. ‘On the contrary, I feel as if my “Get out of Jail” card has just expired.’ And saw his eyes flash angrily as he turned away.
They packed up the debris of the meal they’d shared so light-heartedly, and walked up the beach. Paige scrambled barefoot up the path, ignoring Nick’s extended hand.
They didn’t exchange a word on the drive back. When they reached the house Paige went straight up to her room. She found Hortense in the passage, with armfuls of clean bedding for the linen room.
‘I shan’t want any dinner tonight, Hortense.’ She bit her lip. ‘I—I’ve got a headache. I think there must be a storm coming.’
‘Mais oui, madame. I feel it too.’ Hortense gave her a compassionate look. ‘May I bring you one of my special tisanes, perhaps?’
‘Thanks, but I don’t need a thing.’ As she closed her bedroom door behind her Paige was aware that her headache wasn’t complete fiction. But not brought on by the weather, she thought furiously. Oh, no. The real cause was the sheer stress of refraining from slapping Nick hard, and bursting into tears for an encore.
The air in the room felt chill suddenly. She closed her window and fastened the shutter, noting, with a grimace, that the sky looked like ink.
She looked in her bag and found the little foil sheet of painkillers, taking two of them. If nothing else, they should knock her out for the duration.
She had a cool bath, then slipped on a fresh nightgown and got into bed.
She’d half expected Nick to come hammering on the door, demanding that she present herself at the dinner table, but there was no sign of him.
Presumably a few hours of her undiluted company was as much as he could take, she thought, feeling the threatened tears pricking absurdly at her eyelids.
Well, that suited her just fine. And maybe she could arrange with Hortense to have all her meals in her room while she remained in this benighted place.
She closed her eyes with determination, but it was some time before the painkillers worked their usual magic and she drifted restlessly into sleep.
It was a strange sleep, too, where she dreamed she was running through the house, going down unrecognisable passages and discovering rooms she had never seen before. And all of them empty. Empty…
She sat up with a sudden start. In the distance there was the sour grumble of thunder, but she was looking into darkness, pitch-black and stifling. For a moment the dream still possessed her, with its labyrinth of emptiness, leaving her shaking—totally disorientated. Her hand reached out, groping for the switch on the bedside lamp in her own room back home and finding—nothing.
Where am I? she thought wildly. What’s happening to me?
The darkness pressed on her, filling her mouth, squeezing down into her lungs so she could scarcely breathe.
It was the worst nightmare—a kind of death—and she screamed out loud in panic and protest, her voice high and terrified.
The thunder growled again, and this time there was another noise accompanying it, but closer at hand. The sound of a door opening. And then there was light splintering the darkness, putting it to flight, making her sob in sheer relief.<
br />
‘Paige?’ Nick’s voice was sharp with concern. ‘In God’s name, what is it?’
He switched on the elusive bedside light and sat down beside her, drawing her trembling body into his arms.
‘It was dark,’ she managed at last, through chattering teeth. ‘So dark, and I couldn’t find the lamp. And I hate it. I hate finding myself in darkness—not knowing where I am. I—I always have.’
‘Well, there’s light now,’ he said. ‘And you’re safe.’
Her head was resting against his shoulder and he was stroking her hair with a gentle hand. His skin was cool through the silk of his robe, and fragrant with the fresh, clean scent of soap. There was no darkness where he was, or suffocation, she thought. She could have breathed him for ever.
‘Though I can’t do much about the storm,’ he went on. ‘But we’ve had the worst of it, I think.’ He poured her some mineral water from the carafe beside the bed. ‘Here, drink this.’ He paused while she complied, her dry throat grateful for the coolness. ‘Can I get you anything else? A cup of tea, maybe?’
‘No.’ Her hand clutched his sleeve. ‘Don’t leave me—please.’
Their eyes met—held. There was a silence, then he said quietly, ‘Paige, you know that I must. I can’t stay here.’
‘But I don’t want to be alone. I had this awful dream—all these empty rooms—and then the darkness.’
‘The rooms aren’t empty,’ he said. ‘Because I’m in the one next to you, and if the darkness comes back all you have to do is call me. Now try to rest.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’ She took his hand and carried it to her breast. Held it there. ‘My heart’s still racing.’
‘I feel it.’ In the lamplight his face was taut, all planes and angles.
‘Then how can you leave me?’
‘Because,’ he said, ‘of a promise I made.’
She was suddenly trembling, but not with fear. That had been replaced by an excitement bordering on exultation.