The Right Bride?

by Sara Craven

  Oh, no, she thought, drawing a swift, painful breath. She’d forgotten nothing. How could you ignore the time when your life had changed for ever? Pretend it had never happened?

  Or even, she realised, as her heart suddenly missed a beat, make believe that she was still alone here. That every instinct she possessed was wrong, and no tall figure had emerged from the shelter of the stones behind her.

  She turned slowly and looked at him across the pool of sunlit grass.

  He seemed, she thought, to have been carved from granite himself, the lines of cheekbone and jaw sharply delineated, the mouth set bleakly. He was wearing khaki pants and a black shirt, open at the throat, the sleeves turned back over brown forearms.

  He was also, she realised, thinner, and a century older. She hadn’t realised that when she’d seen him in Ignac, because he’d been smiling as he dealt with old Madame Teglas. But he was not smiling now.

  The blue eyes glittered like chips of ice as he watched her, letting the silence stretch endlessly between them. Rigidly maintaining his distance.

  Allie tried to speak—to say his name—to say something—but her voice wouldn’t obey her. All she could do was wait helplessly for him to take the initiative.

  Which, at long last, he did.

  ‘I was told you had returned.’ His voice was expressionless. ‘But I did not think it could be true.’

  She squared her shoulders defensively. ‘Bad news clearly travels fast. But I didn’t know you were back in Brittany either. I thought—I understood that you were still in South America.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Or you would not have come back?’ he countered harshly.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I would not.’

  There was another silence. ‘I also hear that you are a widow now.’ The words seemed wrenched from him. ‘A rich widow—with a baby. So you managed to achieve some kind of rapport with the husband you professed not to love, hein? Tell me something. Did he know—about us?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, dry-mouthed. ‘He knew.’ Knew, but never acknowledged—never admitted the truth.

  ‘And, of course, he accepted your betrayal of him. Took you back again into your rich and comfortable life as if nothing had happened.

  She shrugged, trying to erase the scorn in his voice. ‘Why not? All life is a series of compromises. As I’m sure you’ve discovered for yourself,’ she added, her mind wincing away from the thought of Solange Geran.

  And she saw him move for the first time, suddenly, restlessly, taking a step forward. He said quietly, ‘What are you doing here, Alys?’

  ‘I had a letter from my great-aunt. It made me—concerned for her.’ She lifted her chin. ‘As you of all people should realise.’ After all, you‘re her doctor now, so you must know…

  ‘And Tante Madelon is very dear to me,’ she added curtly. ‘I don’t want to lose her.’

  Remy raised his brows. ‘You feel that is a possibility?’ He sounded almost curious.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘Although she sent for me, she seems—reluctant to discuss the situation.’

  ‘Well, that is hardly strange,’ he said. ‘Under the circumstances.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Allie bit her lip. ‘So, will you explain it all to me—please?’

  ‘I regret that is impossible.’ The hardness was back in his voice. ‘But give madame time, and she will tell you what you need to know.’

  She stared at him. ‘And that’s all you have to say?’

  ‘On that subject, yes.’ He nodded. ‘Madame does not wish me, or anyone, to speak for her.’ He paused. ‘But if you are so anxious about her, why are you not with her, at Les Sables, instead of here—in this place—at this time?’

  He took another step, narrowing the distance between them. ‘Did you come to count the stones, perhaps? To see if one more had been added—for you?’

  Allie threw back her head. ‘I hardly think your saint would interest himself in our little affaire.’ She paused. ‘If it comes to that, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I had to call at the Teglas farm, to attempt to resolve a problem.’

  ‘You mean you’re now expected to be a mediator as well as a doctor?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘How bizarre.’

  ‘On occasion. But I am not always successful.’ For a moment his face was rueful. ‘How can one reconcile two women who hate each other?’

  Her throat tightened. ‘You can’t—especially if they are fighting over a man. Eventually one will win. The other will lose. That’s—life.’

  ‘So,’ he said slowly. ‘Where is the compromise there?’

  ‘I didn’t say it worked in every case.’ She shrugged. ‘I was just—fortunate.’

  ‘And now fortune has brought you back here,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  She bit her lip. ‘Tante Madelon sent me out for an hour or two. I was on the way home, but I took the wrong road, and found myself passing this place. That’s all.’

  ‘Vraiment?’ The blue eyes met hers—held them mockingly. ‘Now, I have another theory. I think that, like myself, you have been drawn back here because you are unable to keep away.’

  ‘That’s absurd.’

  ‘Is it? Then why have I always been so sure that one day, if I waited long enough, I would find you here?’ His smile was like a scar. ‘It is—almost amusing, n’est-ce pas?’

  She made herself look away, aware that her heartbeat had quickened. ‘My sense of humour seems to have deserted me. And, whatever your own motivation, I’m here solely because I made a silly mistake.’

  ‘You were passing,’ he said. ‘You could have driven on. But you did not.’

  ‘An impulse,’ Allie said shortly. ‘Which I now seriously regret.’

  ‘At last the truth,’ Remy said softly. ‘Or as close to it as I can expect from you, my cheating witch. And you will have more cause for repentance when I have done with you, believe me.’

  Allie felt suddenly as if the stones were closing in on her—caging her with him in this isolated place.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said with difficulty. ‘Please…’

  ‘You seem nervous, ma belle,’ he gibed. Suddenly he was within touching distance, and her pulses were quickening—threatening to run out of control—and not simply because she was scared.

  ‘Yet what can I possibly do to you that I have not done many times before, hmm? That you have not welcomed, begged for more,’ he added with hurtful insolence.

  I have to get away from here. I have to get away now…

  Allie moved backwards, only to find her retreat blocked by the bulk of one of the great stones, directly behind her. She leaned back against it, suddenly needing its support, because her legs were shaking. She stared up at him, her eyes pleading, her voice uneven. ‘That’s not how it was. You make it sound—crude. And cruel.’

  ‘Ah, je m’excuse, madame.’ His tone jeered at her. ‘L’adultère—c’est si spirituel, n’est-ce pas? Et si gentil.’

  He rested his hands each side of her on the sun-warmed rock, so that she was in his arms, but not held there.

  ‘So,’ he said quietly. ‘Give me one good reason, Alys, why I should not treat you like the whore you are.’

  ‘Because it’s all in the past, Remy,’ she whispered desperately. ‘It has to be. We both have—different lives now. And I—I think I’ve been punished enough.’

  ‘Punishment?’ His brows lifted. ‘What a hypocrite you are.’

  He bent his head, and his mouth took hers. Not gently. Almost brutally, in fact.

  But what else did she expect? asked a dying voice inside her head. There were two years of anger and bitterness tied up in that kiss, and an infinity of loneliness and guilt in her own aching surrender to it.

  He was out for revenge, and she knew it.

  Yet desire, for her, was instant, unthinking. The appeasement of an emptiness that went far beyond her physical being. Her hands tangled in his dark hair, holding him to her, while her lips parted for him. He pushed up her
top and she felt his hands on her bare breasts, her nipples lifting at his touch, aching with remembered sweetness.

  She felt the hard, heated pressure of his erection against her thighs, and moaned her need into his open mouth, as sky, earth and grey stone swung round her in a dizzying arc.

  She raised a bent knee, hooking it round his hip, pushing herself urgently against him. And if she was the beggar he’d called her, she didn’t care. Because she wanted him inside her so badly that nothing else mattered. Because she longed to be entered—to be filled. To be made complete again by the only man she would ever love.

  And, just before they spiralled out of control into mutual and rapturous oblivion, she wanted to hear him say that he loved her too…

  Only he hadn’t spoken of love. The thought rose from her reeling mind with sudden and terrible clarity. He’d spoken instead of sex, and satiation. Called her a cheat and a whore, who’d give him whatever he wanted.

  I despise myself for wanting you. Those chilling words of parting that had haunted her so often during the past long months. How could she have forgotten them?

  Because he’d meant them then. And all the evidence indicated that he still meant them now.

  And if she let him take her like this, without tenderness or respect—use her to satisfy a physical need as if she were nothing more than a cup of water for a parched throat—then she would despise herself too.

  Shame had nearly destroyed her before. She could not let it happen again, not when there was Tom who needed her. Oh, God, Tom…

  She tore her mouth from his, pushing frantically at his chest, muttering the word ‘no’ over and over again, until her voice rose almost to a scream.

  ‘Tais toi. Sois tranquille.’ Remy captured her wrists, holding her clenched fists away from him. ‘What is the matter with you?’

  ‘It’s over—that’s the matter.’ Her voice was thick—uneven. ‘Now, let go of me, damn you.’

  He made no move to release her, so she wrenched herself free, taking a few shaky steps before she sank down on the grass, wrapping her arms round her body as she tried to recover her breath.

  When she could look at him, he was sitting on the grass a few feet away. He said quietly, ‘What is this?’

  ‘You can really ask that?’ She pushed her hair out of her eyes, glaring at him. ‘Well, it’s quite simple. I’m paying for no more bloody mistakes—do you hear me? This time I’m the one that’s walking away—for good.’

  ‘You did not give that impression,’ Remy said slowly. ‘A moment ago.’

  She shrugged. ‘You caught me off guard. And you were always terrific in bed,’ she added, with deliberate insouciance. ‘So for that moment I was tempted. But not any more.’

  He said icily, ‘Now you are the one who is crude.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. But you won’t be distressed by my coarseness for much longer.’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Because I’ve finally learned my lesson. Brittany is poison to me, and I’m going back to England just as soon as it can be arranged. What’s more, I’m going to persuade Tante Madelon to go too.’

  He’d wrenched up a handful of grass and was studying it as if it contained a clue to the universe, but his head lifted sharply at that.

  ‘You think she will do so?’ There was an odd note in his voice.

  ‘Why not?’ Allie demanded curtly. ‘She’ll have a better life with me. I’ll make sure she has every comfort—everything she wants.’ For whatever time she has left…

  ‘Of course,’ he said softly. ‘Your money. The great panacea, solving all problems, healing all wounds. But my family are not paupers either.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said. After all, Solange is a practical girl, looking for a better life. Would she have wanted you for your eyes—your smile alone, I wonder? Or even your skill as a lover? I doubt it.

  She shook herself mentally, hurrying into speech. ‘Not that it makes any difference. And from now on, until I leave, I’ll do my damnedest to stay out of your way. So perhaps you’ll extend the same courtesy to me.’

  ‘You really think it is that simple?’ His tone bit as he flung away the grass. ‘Alys, forget what has just happened here. It was—wrong.’

  She wondered if he had suddenly remembered Solange and his new obligations, and felt something freeze inside her.

  ‘But there are things that need to be said,’ he went on.

  ‘Perhaps.’ She kept her voice flat. ‘But not by us. Or to each other. The time for that is long past. I have a better idea. Why don’t we both just—stop? Once and for all, here and now?’

  There was a silence, then he said politely, ‘D’accord—if that is what you want. I hope you are not suggesting that we—part as friends.’

  ‘No,’ she said tautly. ‘That would hardly be appropriate. I’ll simply—return to my car, and let you go to yours.’ As he rose lithely to his feet, she got up too, smoothing her crumpled skirt with hands that were still unsteady. She could only hope he wouldn’t notice.

  Keep the conversation going. Make it all sound normal. As if you aren’t dying inside.

  She paused. ‘Or did you ride here?’ she asked with ghastly brightness. She glanced about her. ‘Although I don’t see Roland.’

  ‘Roland went to a new owner in the Auvergne,’ he said harshly. ‘I too had no plans to return, tu comprends.’

  ‘Remy—no.’ She was startled into open distress. ‘But you loved him…’ Her voice faded awkwardly as she realised what she was saying.

  ‘Please do not disturb yourself.’ His voice was cold. ‘I have survived greater losses, believe me, and even their memory fades in time.’ He stepped back, making her a slight ironic bow. ‘I wish you well, madame. Adieu.’

  She turned, walking out of the circle, trying not to look as if she was in a hurry, or anything but fully in control of herself and the situation.

  Aware, with every step she took, that he was watching, but not daring to look back.

  Telling herself, as the distance between them lengthened, that she’d done the right thing at last. Absolutely the right thing—for everyone.

  And trying desperately to believe it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ALLIE drove back to Les Sables, trying to use the same steely care she would have accorded to the presence of thick fog or black ice. She had to appear calm and composed, she told herself. As if that final encounter with Remy had never happened.

  Because it would only distress Tante Madelon if she discovered even an atom of the truth—especially when the older woman had tried so hard to warn her that she had nothing to hope for.

  What a fool I’ve been, Allie castigated herself bitterly. What a pathetic abysmal fool.

  Did I ever—in my wildest dreams—think that Remy’s attitude to me might have mellowed over the past months and several thousand miles? Did I believe in some empty corner of my heart that he would really be able to forgive me for betraying him like that?

  Well, the answer to that was—yes. She’d probably done exactly that. But, then, she’d been able to indulge any sad fantasy she liked when she’d existed in the absolute certainty that she was never going to see him again.

  But now she’d walked headlong into hard reality, and it had left her broken and reeling.

  So much so that she took the next corner faster and wider than she’d intended, and received a bad-tempered blare on the horn from a vehicle travelling rapidly in the other direction.

  However, it was only when she glanced in the mirror, berating herself for her stupid lapse in concentration, that she realised it was a blue pick-up.

  Not that she should read anything into that, she thought. There must be dozens of the things around, and they couldn’t all belong to Solange Geran. That glancing impression of a flash of silver-blonde hair as the truck had erupted past her was probably just a figment of her imagination. And so was the fleeting sense of something hostile and malignant aimed at her from the other vehicle, like a stone thrown through her window.
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  At least she hoped so. Because even the briefest glimpse of the girl who’d destroyed her life would be altogether too much to bear.

  Although she was being unfair, and she knew it. She’d laid the charges for her own destruction. Solange had merely lit the fuse.

  It was the thought of her wearing Remy’s ring, queening it over her little domain at Trehel, that was piercing Allie’s soul like an open wound.

  He has to marry someone, she acknowledged wretchedly. The celibate lifestyle would have no attraction for Remy, and that enormous bed was intended for sharing. But—dear God—does it have to be Solange? Does she have to triumph quite so completely?

  The road ahead of her blurred suddenly, and she pulled over on to the verge, putting her head down on the steering wheel as she fought the misery of loss that was tearing her apart.

  But there’s nothing I can do, she told herself, choking back a sob. Remy has gone, and it’s all my own fault. I have no one to blame but myself. If I’d trusted him, been honest, Solange could have done nothing.

  When she finally arrived back at Les Sables, she’d regained a measure of self-command. She sat for a long moment, arranging her face into a controlled and smiling mask. Trying to look like someone who’d enjoyed a relaxed and pleasant afternoon.

  But when she walked into the living room and Tom greeted her with a toothy grin and an exultant word that was undoubtedly ‘Maman’, while Tante and Madame Drouac beamed with pride in the background, she was rocked to her foundations.

  What will he learn next? she wondered, with sudden shock. To say Papa? And she felt her throat thicken with swift tears as she hung on to her self-control like grim death.

  But she managed it with the help of the new toys, which her son accepted with wide-eyed delight, and supper was a determinedly cheerful affair, as she coaxed him to repeat the ‘M’ word, praising his latest accomplishment with suitable extravagance.

  Although she might be overdoing the hilarity, she realised, suddenly encountering a shrewdly questioning look from Tante.

  When the meal was over, and she’d mopped the bathroom floor after Tom’s boisterous bedtime romp in the tub, Allie came slowly downstairs. Tante was on the sofa, knitting a Tom-sized sweater in thick blue wool, her fingers rapid, her hands held low in her lap in the Continental manner that Allie had never mastered.