Cast a tender shadow

by Dix, Isabel

  Her hand was closely linked in Antoine's. She stole a tiny sideways glance at him, her view made shadowy and mysterious by the folds of the heavy enveloping veil. She could just distinguish his dark profile against one of the high windows set into one of the thick medieval walls.

  How tall he was—taller even than she had remembered. And he was wearing a different cologne. With a burst of tender recollection she remembered teasing him about his scent when he was in London, for he had worn a very popular and fiendishly expensive fragrance which she told him he was the third of her boy-friends to use. He had been a little piqued at the information, but obviously he had not forgotten. This new cologne was subtle and sophisticated, faintly spicy with a hint of the Orient. Her grip on his fingers strengthened and the strong response made her catch her breath with an ecstasy of love and joy.

  A moment later they were walking away from the high altar towards the tiny vestry, she was signing her name, Kate Ellerdale, for the last time. Twice she signed, once for the priest and again to conform to the civil requirements, just as Antoine had told her. Then and only then did he bend towards her, lifting the folds of the veil from her face as he did so, smiling faintly as if he were amused by the performance he had just given. And Kate was searching that face which was so like Antoine's, the face that she had never seen before in her life. Only the swelling notes of the organ drowned the sobbing cry that burst from her lips as his mouth came towards hers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  `Be quiet, Kate.' The words, though softly spoken, were brusque, a compelling command at the same moment as his mouth came down to quash the cry that rose to her lips. Beyond them, the organ, magnificent and powerful for so small a church, continued to thunder majestically. 'If you want to do what is best for Antoine, don't say a word.' His manner was imperative enough to stifle the distraught protest that sprang to her pale lips. His hands tightened like any other bridegroom's and he smiled down at her, exerting his will by sheer magnetism as the gentle old priest came forward, peering short-sightedly, and he was followed by Madame whose eyes swept over Kate's colourless cheeks then looked into her eyes with the naked triumph she had been struggling to conceal.

  Kate heard the man she had married speak to the priest, her hand held securely while a few more words of blessing were murmured over them both. The floor and walls were spinning about her head and only his arm about her waist kept her from slipping to the ground. Then to the swell of organ music they were walking down the central aisle through the small groups of smiling guests and servants who clustered about laughing and shouting congratulations.

  Several times Kate heard the name Antoine Charles,

  but she stood without once glancing at the man by her side, and if she associated Madame Antoine Charles with herself, she gave no sign. They walked down the steps towards the car and his hand was beneath her elbow, just as powerful, just as dominating as Madame's had been on the ascent. At the foot of the slope the car was waiting for them, the chauffeur stood holding the door open and Kate climbed inside.

  Only when the vehicle began to pull smoothly away from the kerb was she able to shake herself from the sense of bewildered shock that had lain upon her since that moment in the vestry of the church. She turned to the man by her side, asking in a distracted tone beyond which there was a hint of wildness, 'What's happened?' Her voice broke in a sob. 'Where is Antoine?'

  `Hush! One moment.' His English was as fluent as Antoine's and his voice was similar, but deeper, with a disturbing mellow quality. Kate watched him lean forward to press a button which caused the glass panel to slide closed between the driver and themselves, and only then did he turn full to look at her, his face showing nothing of what he might have been feeling.

  That was when Kate realised for the first time just how closely he resembled Antoine. Indeed, he might almost have been him, just that the face was a little leaner, the features more hawk like, harder somehow, the eyes, although dark like Antoine's, were slightly slanting as if some Oriental gene had crept into his inheritance. And they were fierce with none of the melting tenderness she remembered. He was taller too; dully she remembered that even with the smothering veil she had known that. But now the dark eyes were assessing her as closely as she was him, the strongly

  marked eyebrows came together in an appraising way and the narrow lips smiled showing teeth that gleamed whitely against the dark skin.

  `And what are you thinking, Kate?' There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but whether she or he himself was the source of that amusement she could not discern. 'Are you thinking that indeed I might be Antoine?'

  `No.' Not that. Never that, she thought. Her heart was palpitating beneath the thin material of her dress. She was conscious of its violence but unaware that her face was as parchment-white as the wedding gown itself. With what strength she could summon she spoke as firmly as she could. 'Please, would you explain this fiasco? And tell me, please,' she was unable to keep the note of appeal from her voice, 'please tell me what's happened to Antoine!'

  `Will you trust me?' One slightly sinister eyebrow shot up enquiringly. 'Trust me to explain everything later?'

  `Trust you?' Not very successfully she tried to inject into the words the scorn she felt for him. Instead in her voice she heard wildness and hysteria. 'Why should I trust you?' She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  `Because I fear,' and his face now had grown sombre, the dark penetrating eyes surveyed her fiercely, 'I very much fear that there is no one else you can trust.'

  `I shall tell the very first person that I meet that you're not the man I meant to marry!'

  He laughed briefly. 'Then why did you not say so in church? You allowed me to kiss you in there, you walked out on my arm. Do you think it would be credible to make such a statement now? What would the

  guests think?' He was blatantly mocking now. 'Merely that the bride was showing maidenly reticence such as is seldom seen these days. That the bride needed her mother's reassurance and that it was a pity she was alone. But they would trust that the bridegroom's gentleness would make her forget such understandable female vapourings.'

  `I hate you!' Impulsively Kate raised her fists and beat him on the chest, but at once her hands were captured in one of his and held against the gleaming white shirt. 'I hate you!' she repeated, but now was conscious of his heart beating strongly beneath her fingers and the comforting warmth of his clasp. Her sobs died away, and at last he released her and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her cheeks.

  `Forgive me, ma petite.' Now there was so much tenderness that she had to cast a quick glance at him simply to confirm that indeed he was not Antoine. `Forgive me for being unkind to you. Especially when I promised Antoine that I would be especially tender towards you, his darling Kate.'

  `Antoine?' It was a mere whisper as the violet eyes searched his face.

  `Oui—Antoine is my cousin. And for his sake I agreed to this foolish escapade.'

  `Antoine asked you to do this . . .?'

  `Yes.'

  `I don't believe you!' She turned away from him, staring through the glass at the passing countryside without seeing it, hardly aware when they swept past the wide gates, past the stone greyhounds as uncaring as she, along towards the sweeping front entrance of the château.

  `Well, what is it to be?' His voice was warm and persuasive, tempting her gaze from the pale gravel of the drive back to his face. 'Will you trust me?' he asked after a pause.

  `No. No!' In an effort to harden her resolve she shook her head desperately. 'Of course I shan't trust you. Damn you!' She spat the words at him, scarcely noticed the way his mouth tightened. 'Where is Antoine? Why should he ask you to look after me when all he wants is to marry me himself?' She had raised her fists for another attack on the immaculate darkness of his suit when the car glided to a halt.

  `Be quiet!' The cold whip of his words made her hesitate and his eyes as he looked down at her were as dark as mountain tarns. 'Be quiet, I tell you.' T
he hands that caught hers were cruel and ruthless. `If you wish to help Antoine, then you must do as I say. That is better.' With a contemptuous little gesture he thrust her hands away from him. 'And now be careful. Gerard!' He made a warning movement towards the chauffeur who was coming round to open the door for them. 'Everything will be reported to Madame ma tante later. Let us give her no more satisfaction than we can help.'

  `Help Antoine?' That was almost the only phrase that had lodged itself into Kate's troubled thoughts. `What do you mean? Is he in danger?'

  `No, of course he is not.' He smiled down at her with a bewildering change of manner. 'He is perfectly fit and well.' The car door opened and he raised one of her hands to his mouth. 'I cannot explain now. But I can only tell you that with me you are safe. Let us get this farce of a wedding over as soon as possible, and then I

  shall tell you everything. Simply trust me.'

  And incredibly, that was what she did. Afterwards she could never explain why. Was it merely that there was no one else in that chateau whom she could trust? Certainly not Madame ! And Bernice? All along she must have known what was going to happen. Or was Kate's decision to trust this tall dominating man an instinctive response to an overwhelming personality? Whatever the reason, only the fact that he was by her side kept her going through that dreamlike ritual.

  It might have been rather charming with the right man, she thought dully. One long table, elegantly perfect with snowy damask and gleaming crystal, accommodated the twenty guests who had come from the church to the wedding breakfast. Vaguely Kate recognised the two couples who had dined with them last night, but she knew none of the others present. Madame, who had arranged the delicious meal, smiled and nodded as she was complimented, but her eyes hardly ever left Kate's face and the triumph in them penetrated even into the girl's distracted thoughts.

  If the guests thought that the bride was singularly quiet and that she showed little interest in the food then no doubt it was considered only natural, especially in a bride so young, 'Si ravissante', and so unlucky to be without her mother on this special day in her life. But on the other hand she was fortunate to have a husband so attentive as Monsieur Antoine Charles.

  Kate sat and listened to the speech by the man whom she was supposed to have married, vaguely she was aware that the guests were amused by what he was saying, and once or twice she noticed that one or two of the younger women glanced meaningfully from her to the

  bridegroom, perhaps with a hint of envy in their eyes. But most of the time she sat looking impassively in front of her as if none of what was happening concerned Kate Ellerdale.

  Only once was she in danger of losing control of herself, and that was when Madame Savoney-Morlet, who was sitting laughing with her guests, allowed her contemptuous smile to linger over the bride's features.

  `Perhaps it is time for you to go up to change, mademoiselle. Oh,' in mocking apology she put her hand to her lips, 'but of course it is no longer mademoiselle, it is madame.'

  Kate felt the colour rise in her cheeks as anger swept like a torrent through her, but before she could spit out the angry words she felt a hand touch hers.

  `It is time to change, cherie.' The words were as tender as any of the guests could have wished. She stared into his eyes for a moment, surprising in their depths something that might have been admiration, before she turned again to the woman opposite.

  `Of course.' She was aware that Bernice had risen from her seat at the end of the table, that she was coming forward asking if the bride required any help.

  `No, thank you, Bernice.' Summoning up all her energies, Kate was able to speak in a cool controlled voice. 'Only if you would please take the pins out of the headdress.' She waited for a moment until the securing pins had been handed to her. 'Thank you, Bernice.' With a vague smile at the assembled guests she walked over to the door behind her which led to a side staircase.

  It was a capricious little breeze that caught her veil, pulling the coronet from her head as she passed a pink

  rose which climbed and tumbled against the wall. And in her hurry the fine material caught on a hundred piercing briars, tearing, and she pulled at it in a vain attempt to save it.

  Behind her she heard an anguished cry from Madame Savoney-Morlet, who sprang from her seat and came hurrying over. Kate turned with well-disguised enquiry to a face distorted with fury as the woman tried to extricate the filmy material from the barbarous thorns. Her low voice was venomous in a way that transcended language barriers, and Kate, with a feeling of barren triumph, turned and walked swiftly upstairs to her bedroom.

  Just for a moment she stood looking at herself in the long spotted glass, seeing the smooth lines of the dress matching the curves of her figure. Then her fingers were scrabbling for the zip, she was dragging it over her head, discarding all the fine underwear which had been such a blissful extravagance, replacing them with an old pair of jeans and a simple checked blouse.

  When she had changed, she pushed the pretty cream suit she had intended wearing into one of her cases along with the defiled wedding-dress, unaware that the sound of her sobbing breaths echoed through the room and along the corridor. She was pressing down the lid when she heard the door open and without turning round she knew that Madame was standing there, watching. The strength of the older woman's feelings was so compulsive that-Kate had to force herself to continue what she was doing.

  `You realise . . .' the grating tones of the voice arrested Kate's hand as she struggled with the lock of her case, `. . . you have ruined something quite irre-

  placeable with your carelessness.'

  `Ruined? What?' Kate looked up as if genuinely puzzled, only the whiteness of her knuckles as her fingers closed round the handle of the suitcase betraying her emotion. Her eyes moved to the cloud of veiling in the woman's hands. 'Oh, you mean that old veil.' She busied herself with the keys, but her tension showed when next she spoke. 'But it served its purpose, did it not, madame? To hide the truth from me.' Her voice shook, but she struggled with the words. 'What have you done, madame? To me, to Antoine?'

  Madame's laugh, unpleasant and with a hint of wildness, brought Kate's eyes up to look into the slightly deranged brilliant eyes. 'As to you, mademoiselle, I do not give that.' There was a world of contempt in the viciously snapped fingers. 'But Antoine—mon fils.' Her voice softened. `Mon cher fils. My poor foolish boy! For him,' a smile played about the red carmined mouth, 'for my child I would risk everything, to protect him from himself.'

  There was something so unattractive about the strange mixture of venom and weakness on the woman's face that Kate experienced a frisson of horror at the base of her spine.

  `But why, madame?' She forced the words through lips that were stiff as panic threatened to overwhelm her. 'Why? Forcing me to go through that awful, awful . . .' She bit her lip furiously, then searched the face opposite her, that cold dark face with the frightening gleaming eyes, for some clue, some explanation of what had happened. 'Where is Antoine? Is he ill? Has something . .

  `Antoine is perfectly well. He has come to his senses

  in time, that is all.' There was no mistaking the sneering satisfaction on the other woman's face. 'Did you think that a girl like you, little better than a shop-girl, could be allowed to marry the owner of the Savoney-Morlet estates? Our family is one of the most ancient in France and for three centuries there has been no foreign blood in our veins. Do you think that I would ever allow my son to be the one who committed such folly?' She laughed with careful scorn. 'How could you presume? You, who have no understanding of us, une anglaise! I am surprised at your foolish impertinence.' Her theatrical intensity was chilling.

  `Then why didn't you simply tell me?' At last Kate's fragile self-control collapsed and there was no halting the tears that welled from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. 'Why didn't someone tell me? Why didn't Antoine tell me?' She fought against rising hysteria. `Why go through all this show, all this sordid pretence of marriage?'

  T
here was a long silence while the coal black eyes glittered in genuine amusement. 'Antoine. Cher Antoine,' she spoke slowly as if savouring the words, 'he has always been so kind-hearted. I've no doubt that he saw how it was with you and wished not to disappoint. When he reached home he realised how inappropriate such an alliance would be, he changed his mind, but could not bring himself to admit it to you. And he was content to allow his mother to arrange things for him. But as to that other matter, mademoiselle,' she used the word with deliberate malice and offence, 'the one you called pretence—there was no pretence, of course. There is not the faintest doubt that you are legally married to my nephew Antoine Charles,' suddenly she

  snapped her fingers again in a last gesture of demonic triumph, 'and I wish you joy of each other!' A mad look blazed eerily in the hooded eyes as she closed the door behind her.

  In spite of the anguish tearing at her, Kate felt as they drove through the high stone gates of the château a faint lightening of her spirits, as if she were leaving some malign influence. She lay back in her seat, her mind utterly empty, exhausted from the emotional strain, weary of attempting to understand or even to consider what had happened to her that day.

  And when she felt the car slide to a stop by the roadside the eyes she turned to the man she had just married were cloudy with bewilderment. She felt his finger touch her cheek, saw his lips move. Antoine's lips and eyes—and yet not. His voice—and yet .. .

  `Kate.' Flaring eyebrows were drawn together in a frown of concern. 'You are suffering from shock. And who can be surprised, ma petite? A stay at the château must be that and more, much more for someone unprepared. And I suspect,' the dark eyes searched her features with an intensity that scored her, 'I suspect that Antoine gave you no preparation?'