by Sara Craven
She shook her head. ‘It was not what we had ever expected, you understand. And there are many who would say we are too old. But love is good whenever it is found. And I am happy again in a way I did not dream was possible. But I am angry that Solange should have come here to make mischief,’ she added roundly. ‘She must know that I wished to tell you myself.’
‘I wish you had.’
‘I wish it also. But I too was waiting only for the right moment, and once again it has gone wrong.’ She sighed again. ‘It has not been—easy, you understand. For Georges or myself. Remy’s father took his departure very badly.’
Allie bit her lip. No one, she thought, had to tell her that. She said stiltedly, ‘You shouldn’t be blamed for my sins.’
‘Mine too,’ Tante said gently. ‘I could have spoken, chérie. But I did not.’
Tom interrupted at this point, demanding vociferously to get down from his chair, his eyes fixed on his toys, still on the table.
‘Here, darling.’ Allie put them on the floor. ‘But I don’t know what you’ve done with your horse—unless you’ve eaten it.’
It was good to watch him playing, see him look up and laugh. But while she smiled, and clapped her hands, Allie was thinking hard.
Somehow she was going to have to talk to Remy, she realised with disquiet. Try and make him see that this marriage deserved a chance, persuade him to do some kind of deal.
Even if he hates me, he must love his grandfather and want his happiness, she told herself.
And I must do this for Tante’s sake—no matter what the cost may be.
She shivered.
It was market day in Ignac, and Allie threaded the baby buggy carefully through the crowds thronging round the stalls as she crossed the square towards the medical centre.
She’d bought extra tee-shirts for Tom, which had been her excuse for the trip.
Now she had to fulfil the real purpose of the exercise.
She hoped she’d got her timing right. She’d found a leaflet with instructions about surgery hours, and figured that Remy would have dealt with his morning patients and be about to start on his visits. So she made her way to the small car park at the rear of the building and waited.
Ten minutes later he appeared, striding through the glass doors, his medical case in one hand, turning to call something over his shoulder as he emerged.
Swallowing, Allie moved forward to intercept him. ‘Remy—can we talk?’
He checked instantly, his brows snapping together as he looked down at Tom. ‘Is the baby sick?’
‘No, he’s fine. But there’s something I need to say—to ask you.’
‘And you chose here?’ He glanced around him, his mouth twisting. ‘You would not prefer to find somewhere more private, where your powers of persuasion might have—more scope?’
‘No,’ she said, steadily. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘A pity,’ Remy drawled insolently. ‘I enjoyed the reminder of how delightful you are naked.’
She felt her face warm. Had to force herself to stand her ground, as the blue eyes moved down her body, mentally stripping her, she realised, all over again. And quite deliberately.
She said, ‘I learned yesterday that Tante Madelon is to marry your grandfather.’
He shrugged. ‘It seems so,’ he countered brusquely. ‘What of it?’
‘This is a good time for them—a happy time. I wouldn’t want anything to spoil that.’
‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘I begin to see. You think to appeal to my sentimental side, ma belle. Pas de chance.’
He walked past her, using the remote control to unlock his car.
‘Remy—listen—please.’ She turned desperately. ‘They’ve—found each other. After all these years. They want to spend the time they have left together.’
‘And your point is?’
‘If there’s a court case over Tom it will force them to take sides. It could ruin their hopes for the future.’ She took a step nearer. ‘Isn’t punishing me enough for you? Do they have to suffer too? Please think about what you’re doing before it’s too late.’
His laugh was harsh. ‘Since when, madame, have you cared so much for the feelings—the happiness—of other people?’
Her chin lifted in challenge. ‘And since when have you cared so little—Dr de Brizat?’ She paused. ‘If you—leave Tom with me, I swear that you’ll still see him. As often as I can arrange. Once Tante and your grandfather are married, no one will think it strange if I visit Trehel.’
His brows lifted. ‘Occasional visits?’ he questioned jeeringly. ‘More pretence? I don’t think so. But there does not have to be a court case. You may, if you wish, voluntarily grant me custody of my son. A private matter between us, with no vulgar publicity. I might even allow you to visit him sometimes—if I am offered sufficient inducement,’ he added softly.
There was a silence, then Allie said bitterly, ‘I would never have believed you could be so cruel.’
His smile was hard. ‘Everything I know, I learned from you, ma belle.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must go. Let me know if you wish to—negotiate terms.’ He walked across and bent over the buggy, kissing the top of Tom’s head. ‘Au revoir, mon brave.’ He straightened, his eyes meeting hers. ‘When you have a moment, you might teach him to say Papa,’ he told her mockingly. ‘A bientôt, Alys.’
She stood gripping the handle of the buggy, watching him drive away.
That did no good at all, she thought wretchedly. In fact I’ve probably made things a damned sight worse.
She began to make her way back to where her own car was parked, so lost in her unhappy thoughts that she never noticed the figure standing motionless in the shade of the building. Or realised that Solange Geran’s gaze was following her like a dark, malignant shadow in the sun.
‘Are you really returning to England at the weekend?’ Tante asked sadly. ‘Can I not persuade you to stay for a little longer? Thomas so loves it here,’ she added persuasively. ‘He is a different child since he came. He is walking well, and he talks all the time—although it is not always certain what he is saying, of course. And he laughs and plays, and is not shy with anyone.’
‘He’s been transformed,’ Allie admitted, her eyes travelling to her son, who was chasing a butterfly between intervals of falling over amid squeals of delight. ‘And it’s wonderful. But—the ferry’s all booked.’
She leaned back in her chair, a hand shading her eyes from the sun dappling through the leaves of the tree. ‘Besides, it would be better if I went as planned. I feel that, at the very least, I—I’m something of an embarrassment.’
‘But there is so much still to be resolved,’ her great-aunt protested. ‘How can you leave—feeling as you do for Remy—and not tell him?’
‘Because it wouldn’t be something he wants to hear,’ Allie said tonelessly. ‘Too much has happened that he can’t possibly forgive.’
Tante looked at her gravely. ‘But you have given him a child, Alys.’ She saw Allie’s eyes widen in shock, and nodded. ‘Let us now speak openly, ma mie, and forget this myth that Thomas is a child of the Marchingtons. One has only to look at him to know the truth. Ask Madame Drouac, if you do not believe me,’ she added drily. ‘And Remy has a right to know this.’
Allie bent her head. She said in a low voice, ‘He knows already. He came here unexpectedly a few days ago and—saw Tom.’
Tante gasped. ‘Remy was here?’ Her voice was incredulous. ‘But why?’
‘I don’t know. He simply—arrived.’
‘Mon Dieu. And you said nothing?’
‘I didn’t know how to tell you.’ Allie shuddered. ‘It was a nightmare. We—quarrelled terribly, because I’d kept the baby’s existence from him along with everything else, and now he hates me more than ever.’ She closed her eyes. ‘In fact he’s so angry he’s threatening to take Tom away from me. Assume sole custody.’
There was a horrified silence, then, ‘No—and no,’ Tante declared strong
ly. ‘I do not believe it. I cannot. To part a young child and his mother? Remy would not do such a thing.’
Allie’s smile was bitter. ‘Maybe he thinks I’m not fit to be Tom’s mother.’ She sighed. ‘He’s changed—and I’m afraid that’s my fault.’
‘Not in his heart, chérie.’ Madame’s voice gentled. ‘That is impossible.’ She paused. ‘Remy has the de Brizat temper, but, like a summer storm, it is soon over. Once he is over the shock of knowing he has a son, he will listen to reason. Agree to—some compromise. I am certain of it.’
Allie shrugged unhappily. ‘All the same, I’m just waiting to hear from his lawyer,’ she said. ‘Expecting the axe to fall, but not knowing exactly when.’ She bit her lip. ‘I thought that if I wasn’t around, if I went back to England, he might become a little less angry, perhaps.’
She took a deep breath. ‘And, of course, somehow I have to break the news to Lady Marchington. God knows what her reaction will be.’
Tante looked austere. ‘It can hardly be any surprise to her. She must have known the truth would emerge one day.’
‘No,’ Allie said. ‘I—don’t think she ever did. She wanted Hugo’s son to carry on the Marchington name—and together they invented this fantasy that Tom was Hugo’s child. Only for Grace it’s become a reality, and she’ll fight to keep it. In fact, I dread to think what she might do.’
She sighed again. ‘Oh, God, what a mess I’ve made of everything.’
Tante patted her hand. ‘It has not been completely of your making, chérie. That marriage of yours—a disaster. If your father had lived, he would never have permitted it. Never! But your mother—all she could see was the title, the money, and the grand estate. Nothing else concerned her.’
And all I could see, Allie thought sadly, was a man in a wheelchair who said he needed me. Whose very survival seemed to be somehow my responsibility. So I put on my idealist’s hat and walked into the trap.
‘I should have stood up to them when I knew I was pregnant,’ she said slowly. ‘Instead of going along with this—madness. I should have walked out there and then. Made my own life.’
‘Perhaps. Yet it is not so easy when there is a child to consider. It is a woman’s instinct to protect, I think. To do what is necessary for the well-being of her baby, even if there has to be sacrifice.’
Sacrifice, Allie thought with a shudder. That’s a terrible word.
Tom came trotting over to present her with a handful of grass and a pebble. She admired them and thanked him for them with due solemnity, and was rewarded by his father’s slanting smile before he toddled off.
She watched him go, her heart twisting uncontrollably.
I’ve lost the only man I ever loved, she thought. If I lose my baby as well, what will I do? How can I live if I have nothing? Nothing?
And prayed that she would never have to find out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A DAY passed, and then another, but there was still no word from Remy. No communication from a lawyer. No request for Tom to be subjected to any form of test.
This is what it must be like to be standing in the dock, thought Allie. Waiting for the judge to pass sentence. Knowing that no plea of mitigation—no appeal—is going to make the slightest difference.
‘I feel as if I’m living on a knife-edge,’ she told Tante restlessly. ‘I can only suppose he’s biding his time. Waiting until I get back to England. I don’t know what the legal procedure is in cases like this.’
She paused. ‘Does anyone at Trehel know what he’s planning? Has—has anything been said?’
‘Not one word.’ Tante shook her head. ‘And if Georges knew, he would have told me.’ Her face was strained. ‘After all, Thomas is his great-grandson. He could not have kept such a thing to himself.’
Allie bit her lip. ‘When he finds out—will it make trouble between you? Because that’s the last thing I want.’
Tante sighed. ‘That, mon enfant, is in the lap of the gods. But life must go on,’ she added briskly. ‘And I have business in Ignac. Do you wish to come with me?’
Allie shook her head. ‘Tom’s in a scratchy mood. I think he’s cutting another tooth.’ Or maybe he’s picking up on my tensions, she thought. If I just knew what I was up against. If only something—anything would happen…
But there was nothing like coping with a fractious toddler for taking your mind off your problems, she thought a couple of hours later, when Tom had finally fallen asleep on her lap after a heavy-duty session with his favourite nursery rhyme book.
She’d sung the old verses to him over and over again until she was practically hoarse, letting her voice sink lower as his eyelids drooped.
She eased him gently into the corner of the sofa and got up, stretching, to make herself some coffee. She was waiting for the kettle to boil when the telephone sounded shrilly.
‘Wake Tom, whoever you are, and I’ll kill you,’ she muttered under her breath as she flew to answer it.
‘Alice, is that you?’
She’d almost forgotten how icily autocratic Grace Marchington could sound—even at a distance. And this was a reminder she certainly hadn’t bargained for.
She said slowly, ‘Lady Marchington—this is a surprise. Is there something I can do for you?’
‘Yes,’ Grace Marchington said. ‘I’d like you to bring my grandson home where he belongs. At once.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not prepared to do that,’ Allie returned. ‘We’ll be returning at the weekend, as arranged.’
‘But it should be perfectly possible to book an earlier crossing—this evening or early tomorrow—and I require you to do that.’
Alice took a deep breath. ‘Lady Marchington, you seem to have forgotten I came to spend some time with my great-aunt.’
‘Ah, yes.’ There was sudden venom in the other woman’s tone. ‘The famous sick woman who has, in fact, nothing wrong with her at all. Quite the contrary, I’m told. I suppose this was a scheme you cooked up together—to get Thomas away from me? Well, it won’t work. You are to bring him back immediately, Alice. After which I shall consider your position very carefully. So be warned. The child belongs here—with me.’
Allie stiffened. The point of no return, she thought, had finally been reached.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘He doesn’t. And you know that as well as I do. I should also warn you that his real father knows it too, and intends to sue for custody.’
There was a silence. Then, ‘My dear Alice,’ said Grace Marchington. She sounded almost amused. ‘You have either been drinking or had too much sun, because you are clearly delusional. My beloved Hugo was Thomas’s father. And that is the end of the matter.’
‘No,’ Alice said strongly. ‘It’s just the beginning. And all this pretending has to stop. You have to see that. Remy wants his child, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get him.’
‘Remy?’ the older woman said slowly. ‘I suppose you’re referring to that wild-eyed young Frenchman who appeared here one morning after your last ill-advised trip to Brittany, demanding to see you. Claiming he wished you to accompany him to—Brazil, perhaps? I did not pay much attention.’
‘Remy came to Marchington Hall?’ For a moment Allie felt as if her heart had stopped beating. ‘And you sent him away—without letting him speak to me?’
‘Naturally. You were my son’s wife. I told him that you were not there. That you had confessed everything to Hugo and been forgiven, and that you had both gone away for a few days. A second honeymoon to enable you to put an—essentially trivial piece of foolishness behind you.’
She paused. ‘I may even have hinted that it was not the first time you had—strayed, but that in the end you would never seriously jeopardise your comfortable lifestyle in England. That you would always know which side your bread was buttered.’
She gave a light laugh. ‘A vulgarity, but he seemed to understand what I meant, and left without further protest.’
‘Oh, dear God.’ Allie’s voice was
hushed with shock. ‘He came for me, and you told him—all that?’
‘I would have done more,’ said Lady Marchington. ‘To prevent our family name being tarnished by a slut like you. And you have not changed. Because now, it seems, you are using my grandchild in a pathetic attempt to get your former lover back. Using any lie, any subterfuge, to rekindle your affaire with him—just as she said.’
‘She said?’ Allie repeated. ‘What are you talking about? Who is she?’
‘I had a hysterical phone call from a young woman—a Mademoiselle Geran. It appears she once read some magazine article about your wedding to Hugo, and remembered our name. Traced me because of it,’ she added with distaste.
‘Solange?’ Allie found she was fighting for breath. ‘Oh, God—I don’t believe it.’
‘I suppose I should be grateful to her. She said you were pursuing this man—throwing yourself at him—although she was on the point of getting engaged to him herself. She told me that she had seen you together, and she was convinced you were trying to make him believe Thomas might be his by pretending that some—superficial resemblance meant more than it did. She thinks you should be stopped. And I, my dear Alice, tend to agree with her.’
Alice felt sick. She said curtly, ‘I can’t speak for Mademoiselle Geran’s relationship with Remy, but there’s no question of my being reconciled with him. Quite the opposite, in fact. And he saw Tom completely by accident and drew his own conclusions, so she’s wrong about that too.’
‘But you—you stupid little bitch—you told him the truth?’ Grace’s voice was a menacing snarl.
‘Grace—modern science will provide him with all the proof he needs.’ Allie spoke wearily. ‘Denial was totally pointless. And, anyway, I wasn’t prepared to lie to him. Not now, or in the future when—if—it goes to court.’
‘Thomas is my grandson.’ The older woman’s voice rose furiously. ‘A Marchington, and the last of his name. I will admit nothing different, and I will not allow this Frenchman to have him. Now, you will bring the boy back to England within twenty-four hours. Do I make myself clear?’