by Sara Craven
‘When Dr Varaud left, there was some reassignment.’ Tante waved a hand. ‘I was happy to consult Remy instead.’ She gave a slight cough. ‘To reassure you, ma chère, I have always found him most kind—most understanding.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ Allie’s tone was wooden. Oh, God, she thought, her stomach churning. If she’s under some medical regime, then he may come here. What am I going to do? What can I do?
She leaned forward almost beseechingly. ‘Darling, why won’t you tell me what the problem is—and how serious? We could always get a second opinion.’
‘Because it would change nothing.’ There was a finality in Madelon Colville’s voice. ‘And, believe me, mon enfant, I am content for it to be so. In life, at my age, one can only expect the unexpected.’ She smiled. ‘So, chérie, let us simply enjoy this time we have together, hein?’
Allie stared at her. Her great-aunt seemed almost tranquil, she thought in unhappy bewilderment. More than that, she’d swear that Madelon even had an air of faint satisfaction. Was that how someone really prepared to relinquish their hold on a good life well lived? She could hardly believe it.
At the same time, it was clear that any expression of sorrow and regret on her own part would not be welcomed. So, in spite of everything, she would have to do her best to remain cheerful and positive.
But at least her concern over Tante might help distance the renewed anguish that hearing about Remy had inevitably evoked.
And the local grapevine worked like a charm, she reminded herself. News of Tante’s visitor from England would soon spread. She could only hope that Remy, too, would want no reminder of the betrayal and bitterness of two years before, and take his own avoiding action.
‘It’s over,’ she whispered feverishly to herself. ‘And I have to accept that, just as he’s done, and deal with it.’
And, at the same time, pray that it’s true…
She drew a trembling breath as she reached for Tom as he scurried past and lifted him on to her lap, holding him tightly.
It’s your future that matters now, my darling, she told him silently. Your future, and nothing else. And I’ll fight tooth and nail to protect it.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE rest of the day passed slowly. Allie felt constantly on edge, acutely aware of how many topics were necessarily taboo. She was thankful that Tom was there to provide a welcome focus for everyone’s attention. His earlier shyness all forgotten, he basked in the unbounded sunshine of approval from Tante and Madame Drouac.
Even so, there were odd pitfalls to be negotiated.
‘Amelie says that Thomas has very beautiful eyes,’ Tante reported smilingly as Allie came downstairs, slightly damp from an uproarious bath and bedtime session with her son. ‘She thinks such an unusual shade of blue.’
‘The Marchingtons are all blue-eyed,’ Allie returned, rather lamely.
‘She feels too that he is most advanced for so young a child,’ Madelon Colville added blandly. ‘She understood you to say that he has only just passed his first birthday.’
Allie’s face warmed. ‘I think that may have lost a little in translation,’ she said lightly. ‘I shall have to work on my French.’
And also watch my step from now on, she added silently. Madame Drouac is clearly nobody’s fool.
They spent a quiet evening, preferring to listen to music rather than watch television. But it was not long before Tante announced that she was tired and going to bed.
‘And I think you would benefit also from an early night, Alys.’
Allie nodded. ‘I’ll be up soon.’
But when the Chopin nocturne ended, she slid Debussy’s ‘Prelude à l’après midi d’un faune’ into the CD player, and settled back against the cushions to listen, allowing the music to recapture for her all the drowsy, languid warmth of a magical afternoon. A time when anything could happen.
Like that first afternoon with Remy, she thought, a fist clenching in her stomach. Never to be forgotten.
She’d sat tautly beside him in his Jeep, she remembered, her hands gripped together in her lap, staring through the windscreen without absorbing much. Conscious only of the man beside her.
‘Relax, Alys,’ he had commanded softly. ‘Or you will make me nervous too.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ she muttered.
‘No?’ There was amusement in his voice. ‘You would be surprised. But you will feel better, perhaps, when you have had something to eat.’
‘It’s not always a question of blood sugar levels, monsieur le docteur,’ she countered. She shook her head. ‘I still don’t know why I’m doing this.’
‘I hi-jacked you, chérie,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I like to look at something beautiful during my mealtimes.’
Her brows lifted. ‘Really? I thought most Frenchmen preferred to look at what was on their plates.’
‘Then you know very little about Frenchmen.’
‘And,’ she said, ‘believe it or not, I was perfectly happy in my ignorance.’
He burst out laughing. ‘One day, ma mie,’ he said, ‘I shall remind you of that.’ He turned the Jeep off the narrow coast road they’d been following, and drove inland along a rough track towards a circle of standing stones silhouetted against the horizon.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Allie commented brightly as he brought the vehicle to a halt. ‘This used to be a place for human sacrifice, and I’m the main course.’
Remy grinned at her. ‘Legend says that they were all bad girls from nearby villages, lured here by a local saint in the guise of a handsome young man, who turned them to stone when they refused to repent their wicked ways.’ He took a rug from the back of the Jeep and tossed it to her. ‘Maybe a sacrifice would have been kinder.’
‘And the men who weren’t saints?’ she enquired tartly, as he lifted out a hamper. ‘Who’d contributed to the girls’ downfall? I suppose they got off scot-free?’
‘That might depend, ma belle, on whether or not they were found out by their wives.’
Allie gave him a cold look and followed him, holding the rug against her as if it provided some kind of defence.
They walked through the stones and down into a small sheltered hollow, where Remy spread the rug on the short grass and began to unpack the basket. Allie stationed herself at a distance and watched. It was, she reflected, quite a sophisticated performance, with covered pottery dishes, gleaming silverware, a white linen cloth, and crystal glasses wrapped in matching napkins. Not a plastic spoon or limp sandwich in sight. And a means to an end if ever she’d seen one.
Seduction-by-Sea, she told herself wryly. And I wonder how many other girls he’s brought to this same secluded spot?
On the other hand, what could it possibly matter? He was here with her for the first time and the last, and whatever plans he might have for post-prandial entertainment were doomed to disappointment.
Unless, of course, he decided to use force…
For a brief moment something cold and dead lodged like a stone within her, and was immediately dismissed.
No, she thought, he would never do that. Because he would never have to. There would be no lack of willing women in his life. Enough, probably, to embellish the whole of Finistere with stone circles if truth be told.
‘You look very fierce, Alys,’ he commented. ‘Calm yourself with some pâté. It has come from the Intermarche, so it is quite safe.’
Allie, remembering what Tante had said about the cooking at Trehel, was betrayed into a giggle.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see poor Liliane’s fame has reached Les Sables. And yet as a housekeeper she is—formidable. No speck of grime is allowed to exist. Mais, malheureusement, the food is also massacred.’ He shook his head. ‘We try—my grandfather, my father and I—to keep her from the stove, but at the same time we do not wish to hurt her feelings. She is a kind soul.’
The pâté was good, she discovered, as were the thick slices of ham, the chunks of smoked sausage, and the sliced duck
breast that followed. To accompany the crusty baguette there was a slab of butter in a refrigerated dish, and a creamy local cheese, wrapped in a checked cloth.
The wine Remy poured for them both was pale and crisp, but she was told there was also mineral water, if she preferred.
She decided to risk the wine, sipping circumspectly, and if he noticed her restraint he made no comment.
To complete the meal there were strawberries, in a bowl lined with green leaves.
Allie pushed her plate away with a little sigh of repletion. ‘That was—delicious.’
‘And I am forgiven for having kidnapped you?’
‘I’ll overlook it,’ she said. ‘This once.’
He smiled at her lazily. ‘I hope it will never again be necessary.’ He paused. ‘I regret there is no coffee, but I think it should be made and drunk while it is fresh. Although, being English, you drink only tea, perhaps?’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Besides, my grandmother was French, don’t forget.’
‘The Vaillac sisters.’ He began to put the used things back in the hamper. ‘My grandfather knew them as young girls, and says they were both beauties.’ He paused. ‘He was surprised, I think, when Madame Colville decided to return. And pleased, too. He says it is good to come back to the place where you were born. So many—just leave.’
He put the hamper to one side and refilled their glasses. ‘He says also that this is not your first visit. That you came here with your father while I was working abroad.’
‘Yes, I did,’ she said. ‘More than once.’ She paused. ‘Which makes my idiotic behaviour on the beach the other morning even more unforgivable. I—should have known better.’
‘And I,’ he said, ‘could have been kinder.’
He had moved closer, she realised suddenly, and his hand was only a couple of inches from hers. She looked down at the long fingers with their short, well-kept nails, and remembered how they’d felt, touching her skin. A tiny flame of forbidden excitement sprang into life deep within her, and had to be suppressed.
She hurried to fill the silence. ‘You speak marvellous English.’ Oh, God, I sound all eager and—girly.
He shrugged. ‘When I qualified, I worked in Britain for a while. Also America. And when I was employed by the charity English was the common language too. So now, of course, I am given the tourists to deal with at the medical centre.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll—try to lessen your workload and not get sick.’
His mouth quirked. ‘You are all consideration, ma mie, but you seem to be in good health. You are still pale, of course.’ His hand closed round her wrist. ‘And your pulse is too rapid,’ he added softly. ‘But I do not think the symptoms are dangerous.’
Oh, but you’re wrong—so wrong, she thought wildly. Because I’ve never been in such danger before. Never…
She glanced down, realising that his fingers were entwined with hers now, and that somehow his other arm was encircling her shoulders. She felt his cheek against her hair. Became aware that he was lifting her hand, brushing her knuckles gently with his lips, then turning it to press a kiss into the centre of her palm. It was the briefest of caresses. Yet she felt it jolt through her entire body like an electric charge.
And heard herself whisper desperately, ‘No—please. No.’
He released her instantly, but he did not move away from her. She could feel the warmth of him through her thin shirt. He said quietly, ‘No to a kiss, ma belle? Or—no, I may not undress you, as I so much wish to do, and make love to you here in the sunlight?’
‘No to any of it. All of it.’ She stumbled over the words. ‘You mustn’t…I can’t…’ She added desperately, ‘Please take me home.’
There was a silence, thoughtful rather than laced with the anger she’d expected.
He stroked her cheek, then smoothed her hair back behind her ear, his thumb gently brushing the lobe. He said softly, ‘Are you a virgin, Alys?’
She stared wildly in front of her, not daring to turn her head and meet his gaze. She said huskily, ‘You have no right to ask me that.’
‘You think not? But between lovers it is a matter of some importance.’
‘We are—not lovers.’ Her tone had become a croak.
‘Not yet, perhaps. But one day—one night soon—it will happen.’ He added levelly, ‘As you know well, Alys. So do not let us pretend any longer, or play games with words. It follows that I need to know if you are truly as inexperienced as you seem.’
She still could not look at him. She spoke reluctantly, stumbling a little. ‘Then—no. I’ve had sex—before.’
‘Ah,’ he said meditatively. ‘You do not appear to recall it with pleasure.’
She bit her lip. ‘It was at a college party,’ she said at last. ‘In an empty bedroom with someone who’d never paid me much attention before. And nothing really changed, because it was awkward, uncomfortable, and thankfully over very quickly.’ She tried to smile. ‘Afterwards, I wanted to die of embarrassment. My only excuse, and I’m not proud of it, is that I’d had too much to drink.’
And I’ve never told anyone before—so why now? Oh, God, why you…?
‘What a terrible confession,’ Remy said, after a pause. He reached for the bottle and held it out to her. ‘Have some more wine.’
She gasped indignantly, turning on him, then halted. How could she have ever thought his eyes were cold? she asked herself dazedly. They were so alive and brilliant with laughter, mingled with something that might almost have been tenderness.
She mumbled, ‘It’s not funny.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not.’ He poured the rest of the wine on to the grass, and returned the empty bottle to the basket.
He said softly, ‘Let me tell you something, chérie. A man who chooses to make love to a girl when her senses are dulled with alcohol is a fool. When you come to me, Alys, I promise you will know exactly what you are doing at every moment.’
Her heart was battering her ribcage. She said thickly, ‘It will never happen.’
His brows lifted. ‘You doubt my resolve, Alys? Eh, bien…’
He reached for her almost casually, pulling her against him so that she was lying across his body. Then he bent his head, and his mouth took hers—slowly, but very surely.
She knew she should resist. The need to do so was imperative. Absolute. But she had no defence against the warm, mesmerising power of his kiss. And the complete absence of any kind of pressure was her undoing. His lips moved on hers with a tantalising gentleness wholly outside her experience. The tip of his tongue probed softly, coaxing her to open to him. To allow the caressing mouth to take her to a new and more sensuous level.
Almost imperceptibly Allie found her body relaxing against his, her breathing quickening unevenly as she yielded to the intimate exploration of the inner contours of her mouth, the delicate, provocative play of his tongue against hers.
And when at last he raised his head and looked down at her, the blue eyes grave and questioning, she breathed, ‘Remy,’ on a little sigh, and her arms went round his neck to draw him back to her again.
At once his kiss deepened, hardening into a new dimension of heated possession, and Allie responded passionately to his demands, her own mouth as eager—as seeking.
The blood seared her veins as she clung to him, her fingers gripping the strength of bone and muscles in his shoulders through the thin shirt as she tasted—breathed with desire—the erotic male scent of him.
His hand lifted to cup her breast, his thumb stroking its tender peak slowly and rhythmically, teasing it to quivering arousal until she moaned softly into his mouth, her body arching towards him.
Hunger was burning her now—melting her with the first real discovery of her own female physicality. Making her aware of the scalding rush between her thighs. Rendering her defenceless against whatever he might ask of her.
Slowly, almost lingeringly Remy took his mouth from hers, his hand from her body. E
ven moved back a little, pushing his hair from his face.
She looked up at him, her eyes half closed, drowsy with need as she began one by one to unfasten the buttons on her shirt. To offer herself.
Only to find his hand closing round hers, halting her.
He said huskily, his breathing ragged, ‘You taste of strawberries and wine, Alys.’ He paused, shaking his head almost dazedly. ‘But now I think—I know—that I should take you home.’
‘But I thought…’ The stumbling words were out before she could prevent them, their bewildered message unmistakable.
Oh, God, she thought, shamed to the bone. I’m pleading with him for sex when he’s already turned me down. Please—this can’t be happening to me.
Words slunk from the past to haunt her. Useless—stupid—frigid… All the taunts, the accusations, coming home to roost. Branding her for ever with their terrible truth.
Shocked blood rushed to her face as she realised, too, what she must look like, dazed with desire, her hardened nipples thrusting against the cling of her dishevelled blouse. Stunned, she scrambled away from him, clumsy in her haste. ‘Yes—yes, of course. I—I’m sorry. We should go. Tante will wonder…’
And then the words ran out on a little gasp, and she could only put her hands over her face, unable to bear the renewed humiliation of seeing the pity in his eyes when he looked at her.
Remy said something half under his breath, and his hands clamped firmly round her wrists, tugging them away.
‘You think, maybe, that I do not want you?’ The question was almost harsh. ‘But you are so wrong, Alys. I hesitate only because I do not wish you to think I am like that other man. That I ask only for the pleasure of the moment. For us, that can never be the choice, and we both know it. There must be more between us than just a meeting of bodies.’
‘Then—what?’ Somehow, Allie forced the question from trembling lips.
He sighed. ‘I think that I need you to trust me, mon ange.’
‘I do.’ Her protest was swift.
‘But not enough. Believe me.’ His tone was quiet but forceful. He cupped her face between his hands, the blue eyes intense. ‘How can you, when you hardly know me? When we hardly know each other?’ He shrugged, his smile crooked. ‘So—that must change. And I—I will have to learn patience.’