by Sara Craven
‘As crystal,’ Allie flung back at her. ‘But it doesn’t change a thing. Tom is my child, and Remy’s his natural father. And, the way things are, I stand to lose him too. So I’m fighting for myself here, Grace. Not an inheritance to which my son isn’t entitled, and which doesn’t really matter a damn.’
She paused. ‘No doubt the lawyers will be able to come up with some long-forgotten distant cousin to take his place, and you’ll just have to bite the bullet and retire. You’ve played and lost, Grace, and you have to accept it. My only regret is that I ever let you do it. I must have been crazy.’
And she replaced the receiver and stood for a while, staring into space, her arms wrapped tightly round her body.
So, she thought, it’s all out in the open at last—and that has to be totally the right thing. So why am I feeling more scared now than I’ve ever been before?
And she shivered.
‘I’ve decided to go back to England, but not to Marchington Hall,’ Allie said quietly as she and Tante sat together that evening. ‘That’s quite impossible. There’s no point in turning to my mother either, so I’ll try and find somewhere cheap, look for a day nursery for Tom, and get a job before what money I have runs out.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’m sure Grace will already have taken steps to cancel my allowance from the estate.’
She added with difficulty, ‘If you could just make it clear to Remy that I’m—not running away or hiding. Just trying to get my life in order. And that as soon as I have a permanent address you’ll pass it on to him, so that things can be settled—one way or the other.’
‘No, Alys.’ Tante’s voice was anguished. ‘I cannot let you do this. Remy would never wish it, I know. You must stay here, so that you can meet with him and talk calmly. Decide what is best for your child. That is the only way.’
‘I don’t think Remy and I can do calm.’ Allie tried to speak lightly. ‘Too much has happened. But perhaps if I’m not around, and he has time to think—to weigh up everything involved—perhaps there could be—some kind of compromise.’
She shook her head. ‘Otherwise it means a court case, scandal and tabloid headlines. All the sordid details. And I don’t want that kind of stigma attached to my son. Because he won’t be a baby for ever, and one day he’ll know. And I—I couldn’t bear that.’
‘It will not come to that,’ Madame Colville said fiercely. ‘It cannot.’
‘That,’ Allie said sadly, ‘is what I’m trying very hard to believe.’
She was restless the next day, unable to settle to anything, her mind in turmoil. And Tom was in full grizzling mode over the new tooth, one reddened cheek advertising his discomfort.
Between us, we’re the pair from hell, Allie thought wryly.
‘I think I’ll drive into Ignac,’ she announced. ‘Go to the pharmacy before it closes, and see if they can recommend something for him.’
And maybe, she thought, give it one last shot with Remy before she departed for England.
It took all the nerve she possessed to walk into the medical centre and ask for him. But she was to be disappointed. The receptionist told her that Dr de Brizat had left for the day, and asked if she wished for an appointment for the following morning.
Allie thanked her, but refused.
I shall be packing tomorrow, she thought. And perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea anyway.
She applied some of the teething remedy to Tom’s sore gum, and gave him a spoonful of the pink medicine that had also been suggested, and he fell asleep halfway back to Les Sables.
About half a mile from the house, she saw a car parked on the verge, and realised that someone had stepped into the road and was waving frantically at her. To her astonishment, she saw it was Madame Drouac.
She pulled over and opened the window. ‘What’s the matter,’ she gasped in French. ‘Is it madame? Has something happened?’
‘Non, non,’ the other woman assured her. She pushed a folded sheet of paper into Allie’s hand. ‘Lisez, madame.”
It had begun, Allie saw, as a shopping list, then abruptly changed.
Do not come to the house. Your mother-in-law is here, with a woman she claims is a psychiatric nurse. She says you are suffering a breakdown caused by postnatal depression and grief for your late husband, and she is here to take charge of Thomas. I am afraid for you, my child, and for your little son. Go to the Hotel du Parc in Ignac and I will contact you there when it is safe.
‘Oh, dear God,’ Allie whispered. She looked numbly at Madame Drouac. ‘Will you go back to madame? Make sure she’s safe.’
A warm, capable hand descended on her shoulder and patted it. ‘Allez, madame. Allez vite.’
Allie turned the car and set off. But after she’d gone about a mile she pulled into the side of the road and stopped. She was shaking and nauseous, her mind reeling.
She smoothed the crumpled paper and read it again.
Grace is mad, she thought. Completely mad. She has to be—to imagine she can get away with something like this.
Yet why shouldn’t she? said a voice in her head. You were ill after Tom was born, so the medical evidence is there. And she’s already discussed your ‘problems’ with Dr Lennard. Therefore, what’s to prevent you being whisked into some convenient nursing home and kept there, under sedation if necessary, while she does as she wishes with Tom?
And somehow she’ll make bloody sure that Remy never sees him again—even if she has to take him to the other side of the world.
While I—I’ll have just—disappeared.
She shook her head. Oh, come on, she adjured herself. This is conspiracy theory gone berserk. People don’t behave like this. Grace couldn’t. She wouldn’t…
She stopped. Forced herself to consider. To remember. Grace and Hugo, she thought. Hugo and Grace. Both single-minded, both suffering from tunnel vision where the Marchington name and inheritance were concerned. At what point, she wondered, did obsession tip over into something even darker? A place where ordinary rules no longer applied?
Had there always been some flaw—some genetic kink—that made them feel they were somehow immune from the demands of normal conduct? Had she secretly suspected this all along—which was why she’d originally decided not to marry Hugo? Because there was always—something?
Thank God Tom isn’t his child, she thought. Thank God he belongs to Remy, who may have a temper, but who’s also decent and dedicated, tough and vulnerable, passionate and gentle. And who once loved me so much more than I deserved.
And who would now love his son and protect him always. If he had the chance.
Allie raised her head, gazing sightlessly ahead of her through the windscreen.
Grace will find me, she thought. She only has to tell the police that I’m mentally incapable and I have a child with me, and they’re bound to start searching. I thought I could deal with her. But that was before I realised the lengths she might go to.
I don’t care what she does to me, but I have to stop her taking Tom. Destroying his innocence and his pleasure in life for her own twisted purpose. I have to find somewhere safe for him that she can’t reach.
And I know now where I must turn. Because I realise that there’s only ever been one place—one person.
What was it Tante had said? That a woman with a child had to do what was necessary, even if there had to be sacrifice?
The tears were hot and thick in her throat, but she choked them back. There was no time to cry now. She would weep afterwards. After she had done what she had to do. What was necessary.
She started the car and drove to Trehel.
Tom was still asleep when she got there, so she left the car quietly and walked to the door alone.
They said in Ignac that you’d gone home, she whispered silently. So be here. Please be here.
She knocked and waited. Then the door opened and he was standing there, the dark brows snapping into a frown.
‘Alys?’ There was a note of incredulity in his tone. ‘What are
you doing here?’
He was wearing close-fitting charcoal pants, and his white shirt hung open over them. His bare feet were thrust into espadrilles, and his hair was still damp from the shower. Her aching senses picked up the tormenting fragrance of soap and warm clean skin. Taunted her with them.
‘I—I had to see you.’ She hesitated. ‘But I seem to have picked a bad time. Are you going out?’
‘Later.’
‘With Solange?’ The question was uttered before she could stop herself.
Remy propped a shoulder against the door frame. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There is a card game tonight at the Café des Sports.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Does that satisfy your curiosity?’
Her face was burning. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘It—it’s none of my business.’
‘No,’ he said with a touch of bleakness. ‘It is not.’ He paused. ‘What do you want with me, Alys? Why are you here?’
She stared at him across the abyss of her own making. The great pit of misunderstanding and bitterness that seemed to be widening—deepening between them with every moment that passed. Somehow she had to reach out to him. Not for her own sake—she had already forfeited all chance of that. But for Tom, who was precious to them both. For Tom…
Her voice was a stranger’s, small and strained. ‘I came to say that I—I’m giving you the baby.’
Once the impossible, the agonising words had been spoken, others came, in an urgent, stumbling rush.
‘I’ve brought him to you. Our child—our little son. I want you to take him for me. To love him and keep him safe. Because I realise that you’re the only one who can.’
‘In the name of God,’ he said. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m telling you I’ve changed my mind. Because we can’t fight over him, Remy. It’s—wrong. He’s part of you—part of me. We’d just be tearing ourselves in pieces.’
‘Alys,’ he said. ‘Listen…’
‘No, you listen—please. He’ll have a good life with you. I know that. This is a wonderful place to grow up in. He won’t be imprisoned here—or warped—or any of the things I dread might happen to him if I’m not around to protect him.’
She swallowed, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, her nails scoring her palms. ‘If you—take him, I—I won’t interfere. I promise. I won’t be a nuisance, or make any demands. He’ll be yours. But you said—once—that you’d let me see him sometimes.’
She spread her hands in a gesture of supplication. Of surrender. ‘So you can impose any conditions you like. I—I’ll do whatever you want—be whatever you want—if—if that’s how it must be…But please—dear God—please let me come here occasionally—so he doesn’t forget me.’
Her voice cracked, and with it the last remnants of her control. The tears she’d tried to dam back were suddenly smothering her. Crushing her. And she sank under their weight down to the ground at his feet and knelt there, her whole body shaking under the force of her sobbing.
Dimly, she heard him swear, softly and succinctly. Then she found herself being raised, lifted into his arms, and carried into the house.
A sofa received her, and she shrank into its softness, an arm hiding her blurred and swollen eyes. She was aware of him moving about. The chink of glass. Then a bunch of tissues being pushed into her hand and a tumbler held to her lips.
She winced away from the smell of spirits. ‘What is it?’ Her voice was drowned and shaking.
‘Whisky,’ he said. ‘Drink it.’
She obeyed, choking a little. Felt warmth begin to penetrate the Arctic night within her.
Eventually, she dared to look at him. He was seated at the other end of the sofa, his own glass clasped between his hands as he gazed down at the floor.
He said quietly, ‘You say you have—brought our child to me? Without warning—or discussion? But how could you do such a thing. And why?’
Mutely, she fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and passed him Tante’s warning note. She saw him read it, then go back to the beginning and examine it again, his sudden frown deepening thunderously.
‘How did you get this?’
She said tonelessly, ‘Madame Drouac was waiting for me on the road. Tante Madelon must have pretended she was sending her shopping.’
She swallowed. ‘My mother-in-law is a very plausible, very powerful woman. The family doctor in England is totally under her thumb, and I know she’s already put the idea into his head that I need therapy. I—I didn’t take it seriously at the time, but I do now. I also realise I’d have a problem protecting Tom from her in England. That she wouldn’t hesitate to use him as leverage against me if necessary.
‘So, I—turned around and came here. You see, I was desperate. I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Ah,’ Remy said quietly. ‘Oui, je comprends.’ He downed his whisky in one swift movement and rose to his feet. ‘You have left Thomas in the car?’
She nodded. ‘He’s asleep. He’s been teething. I bought some stuff from the pharmacy. But I thought, as you’re a doctor, you’ll know what’s best to do for him.’
‘Will I?’ His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘I hope you are right.’ He walked to the door and disappeared outside.
As Allie turned to put her glass on a table beside the sofa, her hand brushed something that moved, and she realised she was holding a little red and white horse on wheels. She stared at it for a long moment, then gently put it back where she’d found it.
It was some time before Remy returned, and he was alone.
Allie reared up in alarm. ‘Where is he? Oh, God—has something happened?’
‘He is at the house,’ he said. ‘Being worshipped by my father and grandfather. Also by Madame Lastaine.’ His mouth twisted. ‘He will need to be rescued before she attempts to feed him.’
She sank back against the cushions. ‘I thought for one awful moment that Grace might have found him.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m still scared that she’ll find a way of taking Tom from me and keeping him.’
‘But Thomas is with me now,’ he said. ‘So that cannot happen.’ He paused. ‘It does not concern you that I might do the same?’
‘Yes.’ She did not look at him. ‘But I have to risk that. Because Tom’s safety and happiness are all that matters.’
His head lifted sharply. ‘All?’
‘All that can be allowed to matter, anyway.’ She got to her feet, still clutching the damp ball of tissues. ‘And now I’d better go back to Les Sables and face her. Convince her to give it all up as a bad job.’
‘An excellent notion. But not yet,’ Remy said. ‘Now we need to talk. So sit down, Alys.’
She complied reluctantly. ‘My great-aunt…’
‘My grandfather has telephoned Madame Madelon, and all is well. But she has agreed to spend the night here at Trehel, and bring your clothes and those of Thomas.’
‘Oh?’ she said. ‘And—Lady Marchington?’
‘Your mother-in-law was at last persuaded to leave, on the grounds that guests were expected, but she intends to return tomorrow at ten o’clock. At which time we shall confront her together, you and I. Mother and father.’ He paused. ‘And husband and wife.’
She said swiftly, ‘But we’re not—husband and wife.’
‘There is the matter of a ceremony,’ Remy agreed. ‘But that is no great obstacle. And a child should have two parents, don’t you think?’
‘And so he will,’ she said. ‘But we certainly don’t have to—live under the same roof.’ She added hastily, ‘If that’s what you’re suggesting.’
‘You asked me if I would let you see Thomas.’ He shrugged. ‘If you stay, you can see him every day, and probably several times during the night also.’
She bit her lip. ‘I—can’t do that.’ I can’t live in this house where we were so happy together. Not without love—or passion or tenderness. I can’t lie beside you at night and know that I’m just—a convenient body. Because it would kill me.
&nbs
p; I’m not just Tom’s mother—I’m the woman who adores and needs you—and I won’t settle for some sterile limbo of an existence. It would turn me into some kind of shadow person, and that’s no good for Tom either.
I don’t want him to grow up knowing that I’m simply—tolerated for his sake.
‘No?’ He did not sound particularly concerned. ‘You have some other plan?’
‘Naturally.’ She forced an insanely bright note into her voice. ‘I have to go back to England and look for a job, somewhere to live. Start to make a—a new life for myself. That—was the original deal, I think.’
‘But circumstances change.’ Remy paused. ‘The Marchington woman—you are not afraid she will seek to be revenged on you in some way?’
‘She’s going to have her own troubles,’ she said. ‘Anyway, knowing that I’m homeless and penniless will probably be enough to satisfy her.’
‘And that is the life you would choose rather than be married to me?’ He sounded politely interested.
‘Yes,’ Allie said baldly. Because it won’t be as hard or as lonely as living here on sufferance. Wanting you, but having to guard every word—every look.
‘A pity,’ he said. ‘It means I will have to find a nanny for Thomas. Do you wish to help with the choice of a suitable candidate?’
‘No,’ she said, smarting under the pain of his careless words. ‘Thank you. I’m sure you’ll choose the right person.’
‘So,’ Remy said softly. ‘You trust me in something at last.’
Anguish clawed at her. She said with difficulty, ‘Don’t—please. For Tom’s sake we have to put everything that happened behind us. Try to forget.’
‘And you can do this?’ Remy’s voice was suddenly raw. ‘I congratulate you, madame. Because I am not so fortunate. I, tu comprends, I cannot forget. It is not possible.’ He drew a harsh breath. ‘When I opened the door earlier, and saw you, for one moment I allowed myself to hope that you had come to me. That you wanted me. But I was wrong. You spoke only of Thomas.’