by Sara Craven
‘Because it is true, and you know it.’ He paused. ‘And I would prefer you did not visit here again without an invitation.’
She stared at him wild-eyed, her mouth working soundlessly, then she whirled round and was gone, the big doors slamming behind her.
Remy leapt the last few stairs and came to Allie’s side, sliding his arms round her and drawing her protectively against him. She buried her face in his bare brown shoulder, her voice muffled. ‘That was—vile.’
‘I woke up and you were gone, which troubled me.’ His voice was uneven. ‘And then I heard talking, and thought that my father might have arrived, or Grandpapa, and that this could cause you embarrassment.’
‘I came down to make coffee,’ she said. ‘And she was suddenly—here. But why?’
‘It is entirely my fault,’ Remy said harshly. ‘She used to visit often, while the work was being done, in order to find fault with Gaston Levecq, and, I think, to persuade me to employ her cousin instead. Also to offer advice that I did not need. I should have realised—and stopped it when it first began.’
The kettle came cheerfully to the boil and switched itself off. Remy released her and went to fill the cafetière.
He said quietly, not looking at her, ‘Alys, tell me, je t’en prie, that she has not made you hate this house—or regret what has happened between us here.’
‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘No one—not even Solange—could ever do that.’
She saw the tension relax from his shoulders. He said softly, ‘Soit.’ And continued making the coffee.
He said, over his shoulder, ‘I am relieved that it was not Grandpapa who found you just now. Seeing you like that might have provoked une petite crise cardiaque.’
‘At least I’m wearing something,’ Allie returned with mock defensiveness. ‘And your shirt was the first thing I found on the floor,’ she added, not altogether truthfully.
‘Vraiment?’ The brilliant eyes were dancing with amusement. ‘Perhaps I should make you a present of it, chérie. I know it never looked so good on me.’
She said huskily, ‘Everything looks good on you, Remy.’ Adding silently, And off, too…
‘Ma bien-aimée.’ His voice was gentle. He was silent for a moment. ‘It was a bad moment for me, when I found you gone from our bed. I thought perhaps you were angry with me.’
‘Angry?’ She was startled. ‘How could I be?’
His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Then—disappointed. Because I wished to make it perfect for you—our first time together—to take away all the bad memories. But it was over far too soon.’ He added with a faint groan, ‘And then I fell asleep.’ He shook his head. ‘My only excuse, mon ange, is that I wanted you so very much.’
She went to him, sliding her arms round his waist and smiling up into his eyes. ‘That sounds more like a very good reason than an excuse,’ she told him softly, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. She added teasingly, ‘And may I remind you that we both went to sleep?’
She wanted to assure him, too, that the bad memories were all gone. But how could she when there was still the appalling problem of her marriage to be dealt with? she thought, conscious of a nervous tightening in the pit of her stomach. She pressed herself more closely against him, letting the warmth of his body dispel the sudden chill inside her.
He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face up towards him. ‘Yet there is something, I think, that troubles you.’
She forced a smile. ‘The aftermath of Solange, I expect. She did call me some pretty foul names.’
There was a pause, then he said laconically, ‘D’accord. That must be it.’
I can fix everything, Allie told herself fiercely, as she drank the coffee he’d poured for her. Somehow, I’ll make Hugo see that it was all a terrible mistake, which needs to be put right. After all, he’s had time to think too. He must know that it can’t go on. All it needs is a little goodwill on both sides.
She was sharply aware that Remy was watching her thoughtfully, and lowered her lashes with deliberate demureness. ‘Has no one told you, monsieur, that it’s rude to stare?’
‘It would be a greater insult to ignore you, ma belle.’ His tone was dry. ‘And I stare for a purpose, you understand.’
‘Which is?’ She replaced the empty beaker on the counter top.
‘I am making a picture of you in my head, Alys, to carry with me always.’
‘Dressed like this?’ Laughing, she posed, hand on hip.
‘Pourquoi pas? But with a little adjustment, perhaps.’ He leaned across and undid two more buttons on the shirt, then gently pushed it from her shoulder, exposing one pink-tipped breast. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured in soft appreciation. ‘Perfection. If we have to be apart, I have only to remember how you look at this moment.’
Ludicrous to feel shy after the intimacies they’d shared, but her skin warmed just the same.
‘And what about me?’ she challenged with a touch of breathlessness. ‘May I have a picture to remember too?’
She reached for the zip on his jeans, but he captured her hands, laughing. ‘You may have any image you desire, mon amour—but in the bedroom, perhaps, in case more unwanted visitors arrive.’
He kissed her, his mouth hot and fierce on hers, and she laughed back and ran with him, aglow and willing, towards the stairs, and the waiting bed.
A long time later, she said drowsily, ‘I must go. Tante Madelon will be back by now, and wondering where I am.’
Remy trailed a lazy hand the length of her body. ‘I think she will know, chérie, don’t you?’
She moved pleasurably against the ingenious questing of his fingers. ‘Almost certainly, darling. But we don’t need to underline the fact.’
He rolled over suddenly, imprisoning her under his body. ‘I don’t want to let you go,’ he told her huskily. ‘I need you to stay here with me, mon coeur. To sleep in my arms tonight.’
‘How can I?’ Allie appealed ruefully. ‘Tante is obviously trying to be understanding, but she has her limits, especially as I’m her guest.’ She paused. ‘Besides, she’ll certainly expect us to be discreet.’
Remy sighed. ‘Tu as raison, ma mie. I am not thinking as I should—perhaps because I feel I am almost scared to let you out of my sight.’
She put up a hand, her fingers tender against the roughness of his chin, her voice teasing. ‘Haven’t you had enough of me, monsieur?’
He said quietly, ‘I have been waiting for you my whole life, Alys. I shall never have enough.’ He slid his hands under her flanks, raising her a little, so that, slowly and sweetly, he could enter once more her rapturously acceptant body.
Unlike the fierce, searing passion they’d shared earlier, when he’d taken her to some blind, mindless sphere where she’d thought she might die, this time it was a gentle almost meditative union, composed of sighs and murmurs, and subtle, exquisite pressures, so that the moment of climax rippled through her like a soft breeze across a lake. And her voice broke as she whispered his name.
Afterwards, Allie lay supine, her eyes closed, her body languid with fulfillment. But as she felt him leaving the bed, she lifted herself on to an elbow. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To take you back to Les Sables—after I have taken a shower.’
She smiled mischievously up at him. ‘You don’t want company?’
He gave her a wry look. ‘Oui, naturellement. But I am trying to learn to do without you, ma mie.’
She tutted reprovingly as she swung her legs to the floor and followed him into the bathroom. ‘That sounds like a very dull lesson. Now, I think, my darling, that you should make the most of me when I’m around,’ she added serenely as she joined him in the glass cubicle under the power spray. She poured some shower gel into her hands and began to lather his body, beginning with his shoulders, then moving downwards across his chest to his abdomen, and lower, her fingers working in small, enticing circles. ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘Dieu,’ he said hoarsely.
‘You are insatiable. You will kill me.’
She glanced down, and laughed softly. ‘Even though the evidence suggests otherwise, my love?’
‘But will the evidence be strong enough to prove your case, mon ange?’ He turned the shower full on, then reached for her, lifting her off the tiled floor, and locking her legs round his hips. ‘Eh bien, there is only one way to find out.’
She said tremulously, ‘Remy—oh, God—Remy…’
It was twilight when they eventually arrived at Les Sables, but there was no light in the house, and Tante’s car was missing from its usual parking place.
‘I seem to have beaten her to it,’ Allie said, as she opened the door. ‘Perhaps I can convince her that I spent the day here quietly on my own.’
‘I doubt it.’ Remy followed her in. ‘Madame is a woman who has loved. She will recognise the signs.’
‘And you,’ she said, ‘are altogether too pleased with yourself.’
He slid a hand under the fall of still-damp hair, and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘But I am pleased with you, also, chérie. Does that excuse me?’
The sound of the telephone made them both jump.
‘Is that Madame de Marchington—the great-niece of Madame Colville?’ an elderly-sounding male voice enquired when Allie picked up the receiver. ‘Ah, bon. I am Emil Blanchard. I regret to tell you that Madelon slipped on the wet pavement outside our house as she was leaving her car, and fell.’
‘She fell?’ Allie echoed, dismayed. ‘Oh, God, is she badly hurt?’
‘No, no. Our doctor made a thorough examination. But she is shocked, and bruised, of course, and it would not be wise for her to drive. So we have persuaded her to remain with us for a few days until she has recovered.’ He added with faint peevishness, ‘I have attempted to telephone you several times before, madame, but could get no answer.’
‘No, I’ve also been out—visiting friends. I’m sorry.’ Allie hesitated. ‘Thank you for telling me, and please give Tante Madelon my love. I hope she’s fine—very soon—and tell her that I’ll take good care of the house.’
‘Pauvre madame,’ Remy said soberly, when Allie outlined exactly what had happened. ‘Such accidents can be serious at her age, but fortunately she seems to have escaped lasting damage.’ He paused, his expression quizzical. ‘But this means, ma belle, that you will be alone in this isolated place. Will you feel safe?’
‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine during the day,’ Allie assured him. She also paused. ‘But I might be nervous at night,’ she added pensively.
‘If you have problems with your nerves, ma belle,’ Remy said solemnly, ‘then you should always call a doctor.’
She said softly, ‘I think I just did.’ And walked happily into his arms.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALLIE came back to the present with a start, to the realisation that she was shivering violently. The night air had gone from cool to cold now, and the last thing she needed was pneumonia, she thought, her mouth twisting wryly as she closed the back door and locked it.
Or maybe the last thing she really wanted was to go upstairs and try to sleep in that room—in the bed she’d once shared with Remy.
She’d known from the first that that was, inevitably, where she’d be expected to spend her nights, but up to now she hadn’t allowed herself to think about that too closely, or examine how she would feel when she had to lie there alone.
When she would not feel the warmth of Remy’s arms, the murmur of his voice, or the beloved weight of him as, stunned and breathless, they lay wrapped together after climax. Or even the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her cheek as she drifted blissfully to sleep.
For a moment she leaned forward, leaning her forehead against the stout panels of the door as the pain of it lanced through her.
Oh, God, she thought. Knowing the truth as I did, how could I have allowed myself to be so happy? To keep silent, even though I was virtually living with him? When I was breathing and dreaming him through every passing hour?
She drew a deep breath, composing herself, then switched off the lights and made her way slowly upstairs.
Tom was sleeping peacefully, and did not stir as she trod over to the cot to check on him. She sank down on the rug beside him, her back to the wall, her arms clasping her knees in the darkness.
Moonlight had filled the room each time she’d slept there with Remy, she thought wistfully. The majority of their nights, however, had been spent at Trehel, because Remy had been concerned that Tante might regard his presence at Les Sables as an intrusion, and hadn’t wanted to risk the older woman’s disapproval.
The new house had occupied their time, too, when his work was done, as she’d helped him begin to turn its empty spaces into a home. Two massive sofas in pale leather had been delivered, and a hunt round the local antiques outlets had produced a substantial table and six elegant chairs.
He’d taken her shopping at the morning markets, and she had revelled in the fresh vegetables and the endless varieties of seafood on offer. Oysters were one of Remy’s passions, and he’d taught her to open them with a special knife, then eat them with a squeeze of lemon juice and a sprinkle of pepper.
Mealtimes had become a delicious adventure, from the preparation stage and the cooking, down to the last crumb of cheese.
Allie had bloomed under his tutelage, and she’d known it, as her life opened up in all kinds of ways. She had even learned to ride, with the surprisingly patient Roland enduring endless circuits of the paddock on a leading rein.
And she’d soon found that Remy’s work could affect him profoundly—as when he’d come back to Trehel, grey-faced and numb, having lost a five-year-old whose parents had not recognised the symptoms to viral meningitis, after an allnight battle at the local hospital. She had learned, too, that at such times he would turn to her body for his own healing, letting their mutual passion assuage in some way his anger and sense of failure.
Tante had remained in Vannes with her friends. She’d explained that she had twisted her ankle in the fall, and that the swelling was taking longer than expected to go down, but Allie had wondered wryly if her absence was prompted more by tact than actual infirmity, and if her great-aunt was hoping their attraction to each other would have burned itself out by the time she returned.
She’d spoken to Tante on the phone every day, but by tacit agreement there had been no reference between them to her relationship with Remy, or the increasingly vexed question of her marital status and its resolution.
With each day that had passed, the right moment for such a confession had seemed to became more and more difficult to find. And the longer she’d left it, the worse it had become.
She’d begun to feel as if her happiness with Remy was the equivalent of holding thistledown cupped in her hand, knowing that one strong blast of reality could destroy it for ever.
On the plus side, Solange, since the afternoon when she’d slammed out of the house, had kept her distance, although once or twice in Ignac Allie had gained the impression that she was being watched, and with no friendly eye either. But she’d spotted nothing, so maybe, she’d told herself, she was just being paranoid.
Yet the vague feeling of unease had persisted, as if she’d sensed that somewhere a thunderstorm was hovering that would bring the bright golden days of sunshine to an end.
And I was right, Allie thought, wearily raking a hand through her hair and staring ahead of her with eyes that saw nothing. Ah, dear God, I was so right…
The day had begun calmly enough, she recalled. It had been a Saturday, and Remy had had no surgery, so, after visiting the market, they’d driven to Carnac and spent the morning on the beach there, quitting the sands when they’d begun to get crowded in order to enjoy a late and leisurely lunch.
‘I’d better go to Les Sables,’ Allie mused as they drove back. ‘I haven’t set foot there for two days, and it might have burned down.’
Remy raised an eyebrow. ‘I think word might have reached
us by now, ma chère,’ he drawled.
She sighed. ‘I know, but I’d still better check it out. Besides, I need some more clothes.’
‘D’accord.’ As he pulled up outside the house, his arm went round her shoulders, scooping her close, his lips meeting hers in a frankly sensuous caress. ‘I shall see you later, then, at Trehel,’ he told her, adding huskily, ‘And don’t keep me waiting too long, chérie, because tonight is going to be a very special meal.’
Her heartbeat jolted a little in sudden excitement, mixed with a touch of panic as her instinct warned her where the evening might lead.
Swallowing, she touched his cheek. ‘I won’t be late.’
She paused at the door to wave, and saw his hand lift in a smiling salute as he drove away.
So the moment had come, she thought, as she turned slowly and went indoors. Remy planned to talk about their future together. She knew it. Therefore she could afford no more evasion—no more prevarication.
And she would have to speak first. Lay all her cards on the table. Explain to him that she’d dreaded saying anything that could detract from their happiness in each other, and ask for his understanding.
The first real test for both of us, she thought wryly. But if he really loves me…
She shook herself out of her reverie. Her best course was to get over to Trehel as quickly as possible and tell him everything. And, as he’d made it clear this was going to be an occasion, she would dress for that too. Soften his justifiable wrath by making herself look as enticing as possible—by appealing directly to his senses. And she knew how.
There was a dress that he’d never seen, a black silky slip of a thing, with narrow straps and a neckline that dipped far more daringly than usual, making it discreetly obvious that it required only the minimum of underclothing. She’d put it into her case on sheer impulse, but she realised now there would never be a better time to wear it.
She went up to her room, stripping off shorts and tee-shirt, and the bikini she was wearing beneath them, then showered, shampooing her hair at the same time, to get rid of all traces of salt and sand.