The Night Of The Bulls

by Anne Mather

  Dionne wet her dry lips. ‘I’ve got to go, Manoel.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Back to England – to Jonathan!’ Manoel’s fingers tightened on her neck. ‘I won’t let you go.’

  Dionne caught her breath. ‘What will you do?’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Set me up here in Arles in the traditional way Frenchmen have with their mistresses?’

  Manoel’s fingers bit into her neck savagely for a moment and she could have cried with the pain, but then his hand dropped away. ‘I don’t deserve that,’ he muttered vehemently.

  ‘Don’t you?’ Dionne could not look at him. To look at him would be disaster. She could not bear the agony she knew she would see in his face.

  ‘Dionne, please, I’m asking you for the last time. This Jonathan: is he the reason you need the money?’

  Dionne hesitated and then she bent her head. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Yes, it’s for Jonathan.’

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ Manoel raked a rough hand through his hair.

  Dionne stiffened her shoulders. ‘Can I go now?’

  Manoel stifled a curse. ‘Yes. Go! Go, damn you!’ he muttered savagely, and without another word he strode past her out of the hotel.

  It was raining when the plane landed at London Airport and Dionne shivered as she crossed the tarmac to the airport buildings. She took the bus into the terminal and then caught another bus out to Brentford. Aunt Clarry’s house was one of a row of terraced houses and while the front was not very inspiring, the back had the advantage of overlooking the school playing field.

  Dionne dropped off the bus at the end of the street and made her way up to number fifty-three. As she walked along the street she saw the lace curtains at the windows twitch slightly and she thought rather wryly that no one would need to be told she was back. No doubt everyone was speculating on where she had been and why.

  She found her key and opened the door of her aunt’s house and immediately there was the scurry of footsteps and a door opened at the end of the passage. A small boy appeared looking sweet and adorable in pale blue pants and a blue and white jumper. He was so like Manoel it tore her heart; the same grey eyes, the same nose, the same mouth, and Manoel’s dark hair, except that Jonathan’s was inclined to curl.

  Jonathan shouted: ‘Mummy!’ in an excited squeak, and almost tripped over his feet to get down the hall to her side.

  Dionne’s lovely mouth curved in a smile and she went down on her haunches and swung him into her arms. ‘Hello, darling,’ she breathed huskily, cuddling him close, loving the feel of his small hands in her hair, around her neck, clinging to her with such warmth and confidence. ‘Have you been a good boy for Auntie Clarry?’

  Jonathan’s eyes widened importantly. ‘Auntie Clarry’s got a poorly leg,’ he pronounced carefully. ‘Come see!’

  He caught her hand and dragged her down the hall into the living-room where Clarry Meadows was seated on the couch, her leg encased in plaster, resting on a stool. Dionne looked at her with half-amused tolerance.

  ‘What have you been doing to yourself?’ she exclaimed, going forward to kiss her cheek warmly. ‘Honestly, I can’t leave you alone for five minutes!’

  Clarry managed a shamefaced grin. ‘I know. I’m a silly old woman, aren’t I, Jonathan?’

  Jonathan went to climb on to the couch beside his aunt, and Clarry went on: ‘How are you? That’s more to the point. I’m sorry if I had to drag you away sooner than you expected.’

  ‘No, you didn’t do that. I was leaving anyway,’ said Dionne, trying to quell the rising tide of despair that was growing inside her now that the momentary relief that her arrival had given her was vanishing.

  Clarry’s face darkened. ‘You don’t look so well, now I’ve got a chance to look at you. Did you see Manoel? Did you get the money?’

  Dionne heaved a sigh and flung off her coat, throwing it carelessly over a chair and flinging herself into another. Jonathan scrambled off the couch and came to sit on her knee instead, and she allowed him to climb over her willingly.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, at last. ‘Yes, I saw Manoel, and yes, I got the money.’

  Clarry compressed her lips. ‘But it was bad?’

  ‘Yes, it was bad,’ agreed Dionne, through tight lips.

  Clarry sighed. ‘Well, never mind now. You’re back home again. You can tell me all about it when it’s not so painful. Go and put the kettle on. Mrs. Reynolds was here until a few moments ago, but when she saw you coming up the street she slipped out the back way. I think she thought we’d prefer to be alone for a little while. I think she’s left everything ready for tea, though.’

  Dionne nodded, and with an effort got herself up out of the chair. Clarry was right. She was home now, and there was no point in indulging herself to the point of desperation. Far better to do the everyday things that had to be done and allow time and her mind’s natural processes to breach the wounds she felt were almost too great to bear at this moment.

  During the next few days Dionne made a determined effort to behave naturally. The fact of Aunt Clarry’s disablement helped somewhat in that it gave her so much to do that she had little time to mope about and she fell into bed each night exhausted.

  She had contacted the school and spoken to the headmaster, explaining that as her aunt was ill she would have to take care of Jonathan herself. He was most understanding and agreed to appoint a temporary replacement capable of being removed when she was ready to return to work. Naturally the loss of income presented difficulties, but Dionne was determined not to spend any of the money Manoel had given her on anything other than its real purpose. When Clarry was better they might all get away for a while. Two hundred pounds was quite a lot of money, and with their savings …

  But for the moment it was sufficient to exist from day to day, praying that sooner or later she would be able to put those agonizing days in Provence to the back of her mind.

  Jonathan himself seemed a little better. He still had the racking cough, but as warmer days presented themselves he began to improve. He seemed to be growing so quickly, and Dionne realized with a sense of loss that he wouldn’t be a baby much longer. Soon he would be able to walk everywhere they went instead of using the pushchair and soon he would start asking why, when all the other children had daddies, he did not.

  Clarry’s leg healed slowly. She could manage to get about on crutches after a while and although she was unable to help with Jonathan she insisted on sitting in the kitchen, peeling vegetables on a stool or drying dishes.

  It was quite a novelty for Dionne being at home all the time, preparing the meals, doing the housework, looking after Jonathan herself. Apart from school holidays, and even then her aunt had always played her part, she had never had complete charge of the child, and taking him about with her, going shopping or to the park, was quite a satisfying experience. She knew that Jonathan attracted the admiring attention of other mothers and she hugged this knowledge to her. It helped to make up for so many of the things they would never have.

  One afternoon they had been further than usual, to a park some distance away, and were walking home, Jonathan relaxed and sleepy in his pushchair, when the bonnet of a car cruising slowly along beside her attracted her startled attention. It was rather a grand car, a sleek Mercedes limousine, its glittering paint and chromework eloquent of its elegance.

  Dionne walked a little faster, trying to ignore the car, but the car cruised a little faster, keeping abreast of her. She glanced round swiftly and discovered to her relief that there were plenty of people about. Probably she was imagining that it should be following her. She cast a curious glance into the interior of the car, but apart from the chauffeur there seemed no other occupant and she gave the man a hard look before turning between two rows of houses and successfully evading its pursuit as this was only a footway. All the same, the experience had unnerved her a little and for several days she went no further than the shops. From time to time, she pondered the supposition that Manoel might have found out about Jonathan and
was possibly considering kidnapping the child, but this was in her more imaginative moments and she determinedly thrust such thoughts aside, putting them down to too much television.

  Gradually she forgot the incident in the normal problems of everyday living, and only the thoughts of Manoel himself remained to torment her mind.

  The weather was getting much warmer and one afternoon Dionne took Jonathan to the Zoo. He loved seeing the animals and he was getting to an age when he could appreciate such things. He ran about excitedly, exclaiming over the various species, eating ice-cream, and generally behaving like any other toddler on an outing. It was only when they were in the bus going home that he started to cough, his small face contorted with breathlessness. Dionne wished desperately that she could suffer these attacks for him, they left him so weak and helpless somehow.

  She was so absorbed with her own anxieties over Jonathan as she pushed his chair up Beldrum Terrace that she did not notice the grey limousine parked outside number fifty-three until she was almost there. And then her heart began to pound with heavy thuds and an awful sense of inadequacy overwhelmed her. Who could it be but Manoel? How had he found her? Why was he here?

  She looked down at the drowsy child. Had Manoel come for his son? She had the impulse to turn and run and never come back, but Jonathan was drowsy after his bout of coughing and what he needed more than anything else right now was his supper and bed. She could not possibly subject him to any more exhausting experiences today no matter how scared she might be.

  She entered the house reluctantly. She could hear voices in the living-room and she was in the process of taking off Jonathan’s outer garments when Aunt Clarry came out of the living-room and closed the door behind her. Dionne looked up at her with agonized eyes, and Clarry shook her head, leaning heavily on her crutches.

  ‘It’s not Manoel. I guessed you’d think it was,’ she said. ‘But Manoel is here, in London, and he wants to see you.’

  Dionne rose from attending to Jonathan, holding him in her arms protectively. ‘Who is here, then?’

  ‘A man. I think he’s Monsieur St. Salvador’s chauffeur.’

  ‘A chauffeur!’ Immediately Dionne recalled the incident with the limousine in the high street and her nerves tautened. If the man had seen her with Jonathan what had he told Manoel? And why was Manoel in London anyway?

  Wetting her dry lips, she looked down at the sleepy child in her arms. ‘Clarry,’ she began, ‘he’s tired. He should be in bed. Do you think if I take him upstairs you could cope tonight?’

  ‘Of course.’ Clarry nodded. ‘I understand. Come along, take him up now. You can bring him a drink later. From the looks of him I don’t think he needs anything else. Has he been coughing?’

  ‘Yes, but not too badly. He’s just tired. He’s had a wonderful afternoon. We both have!’ Her voice trailed away a trifle apprehensively, and Clarry reached out and squeezed her arm.

  ‘Stop worrying so!’ she admonished gently.

  ‘But suppose Manoel has found out about Jonathan …’ Dionne began, and then broke off abruptly at the look in Clarry’s eyes.

  ‘Do you mean he doesn’t know?’ Clarry was flabbergasted.

  Dionne’s cheeks burned. ‘No.’

  ‘Dionne! But – but all these weeks you’ve been back and you’ve never mentioned it. I thought it was too unbearable to talk about.’

  ‘It is – at least – Clarry, try to understand! If I’d told Manoel about Jonathan he might have wanted the child. Had you thought of that?’

  Clarry hesitated, obviously still absorbed with what she had just learned. ‘But why should he want the child? Would his wife want another woman’s baby?’

  ‘He’s not married!’

  Dionne gave a helpless sigh. ‘Clarry, I haven’t talked about it because – I – I couldn’t! Now – now it might be too late.’

  Clarry shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say, Dionne. I thought – you knew I thought you were going to tell him about the child.’ She frowned. ‘And wait – how did you get the money unless … unless …’

  Dionne began to climb the stairs, carrying Jonathan, who was almost asleep now. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said tautly, and Clarry stood for a few moments at the bottom of the stairs, just looking up after her, before attempting to negotiate the stairs herself.

  In Dionne’s bedroom where Jonathan slept, she laid the child on her bed and then confronted Clarry’s slightly accusing stare.

  ‘We can’t talk now. Surely you can see that,’ she pleaded.

  Clarry made an expressive gesture. ‘Dionne, I know it’s none of my business, but it seems to me you’ve a lot of explaining to do. If you asked Manoel for money without telling him about the child, what on earth did he think you wanted the money for?’

  ‘Oh, Clarry! Not now!’ Dionne ran worried fingers through the silky darkness of her hair.

  Clarry looked down at the sleeping child. ‘I’m not at all convinced he shouldn’t be told anyway,’ she said.

  ‘What? After what happened?’ Dionne was horrified. ‘Have you forgotten how he let me come back here without so much as an inquiry to find out whether I was okay? Surely I have the right to keep Jonathan’s existence to myself!’

  ‘And what about Jonathan? What rights does he have?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dionne was trembling a little now.

  Clarry sighed. ‘I don’t know, Dionne. I don’t know. I’m an old woman and I see things differently from you, I suppose. But I sometimes think it’s hard on a man, being blamed for a child’s conception when he doesn’t even know the child exists!’

  Dionne turned away. ‘Are you going to tell him, then?’

  Clarry uttered an exclamation. ‘Oh, Dionne! Do you have so little confidence in me that you could think I would do such a thing without your permission?’ Her lined face was creased with concern and Dionne felt contrite as she turned to face her.

  ‘No! No, of course not,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m sorry, I guess I’m just upset and tired. I didn’t mean to sound unkind.’

  Clarry gave a slight smile. ‘It seems to me we’re both tired,’ she said. ‘And you mustn’t waste any more time here talking to me. We can talk later. Go down and see this chauffeur. He’ll be getting impatient.’

  ‘And what should I do?’

  ‘What about? Going to see Manoel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, do you want him to come here?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then you have your answer.’ Clarry raised her eyebrows. ‘The child will sleep now. Go – if that’s what he wants.’

  ‘But I can’t go like this. I need to change—’

  ‘Well, go and see the chauffeur first, and ask him to wait.’

  ‘All right.’ Dionne went slowly downstairs again and went along the passage to the living-room. The man who rose to his feet at her entrance was older than she had expected, but it was the man she had seen once before in the limousine.

  ‘Good evening, mademoiselle,’ he said politely. ‘You must be Mademoiselle King, oui?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Dionne swallowed hard. ‘I understand Monsieur St. Salvador – wishes to see me.’

  ‘That is correct, mademoiselle. He is staying at the Savoy Hotel and wishes me to transport you there.’

  ‘I see.’ Dionne hesitated a moment and then went on: ‘Do you happen to know why Monsieur St. Salvador is in London?’

  ‘Why, of course, mademoiselle. He is here with Mademoiselle Demaris.’

  With Yvonne!

  Dionne almost shouted the words in choking incredulity. But she managed to control herself and turned away, endeavouring to gather her scattered senses. That Manoel should be here, in London, with Yvonne, and yet still expected to make contact with her was both humiliating and unacceptable. What did he think she was? After what had happened surely he knew it was an impossible situation.

  Turning back to the man she said quietly: ‘Perhaps you could give your employer a messag
e for me.’

  The chauffeur frowned. ‘You are not going to see le patron, mademoiselle?’ he exclaimed in disbelief.

  Dionne shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘But Monsieur St. Salvador was most insistent, mademoiselle.’

  Dionne took a deep breath, forgetting for a moment what she had said earlier. ‘Then why isn’t he here, then?’ she demanded.

  The chauffeur moved uncomfortably, twisting his peaked hat in his hands. ‘He is at the hospital, mademoiselle. With Mademoiselle Damaris.’

  ‘At the hospital? Of course!’ Dionne allowed her breath to expel slowly. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Yvonne was here for treatment. But that didn’t alter anything.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, realizing the man would bear the brunt of this. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s impossible.’

  The chauffeur moved to the door. ‘If you say so, mademoiselle,’ he accepted quietly. ‘I had better go. Au revoir, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Good-bye.’ Dionne saw him to the door and watched as he turned the huge car in the narrow street and drove away. Then she went inside again and closed the door, leaning back against it weakly.

  As she straightened she saw Clarry coming slowly down the stairs and went forward to help her. There was a puzzled frown in Clarry’s eyes and Dionne sighed.

  ‘I’m not going to see Manoel,’ she explained before Clarry could voice the question. ‘He’s here with Yvonne, the woman he was going to marry. She – she had an accident a couple of years ago and injured her spine. But hopefully she’s soon going to be able to walk again.’

  Clarry leaned heavily on Dionne as they walked down the hall. ‘That’s why they’re not married, I suppose?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Dionne helped her into a chair in the living-room. ‘Shall we have some tea? I’m rather thirsty.’

  Clarry looked up at her doubtfully. ‘You don’t think Manoel will come here, then?’

  ‘Heavens, no. He’s here with Yvonne, haven’t I just said? He probably thought of me as a diversion for a boring afternoon.’