Cast a tender shadow

by Dix, Isabel

The gentleness of his tone brought the pain achingly back to her chest and she shook her head, unable to speak. His touch brushed the tumbled hair back from her cheek. 'Will you trust me? I'm asking you again.' A faint smile lingered about his mouth.

  `Trust you?' She spoke without understanding.

  `Yes. Look, cherie,' he reached into the rear seat and brought out a basket, 'you ate nothing at the wedding breakfast and I suppose at petit dejeuner you were too

  excited to have anything, so I'm going to insist that you have some food now.' Lifting the lid of the basket, he took two glasses which he balanced on the open flap of the glove compartment. Kate saw the lean brown fingers strip some gold foil from the top of a small bottle and begin to ease out the stopper. When the glasses were filled with the sparkling liquid he handed one to her.

  `Drink,' he commanded, and to make certain he held her lifeless fingers round the slender stem before reaching out for his own glass. 'To you.' His face was very serious. 'To you, my beautiful Kate.'

  Unexpectedly, for no reason, her eyes flooded with tears, but she turned quickly away, hoping that he hadn't noticed.

  `Drink, Kate.' Grateful that he made no remark about the tears, she raised the glass to her mouth and gulped, surprised and thankful when it surged fierily through her veins, seeming actually to disperse that other ache. And almost without noticing she put out her other hand to take from him the tiny pieces of bread, buttered and liberally spread with pâté, as they were handed to her.

  `That's better.' He took the empty glass from her and wiped her mouth with the napkin he had spread over her knee, responding to the almost imperceptible twitch of her lips with a laugh. Now I'm going to suggest that you go to sleep, cherie.' He got out of the car and going round to the passenger door he pulled her out and to her feet. For a moment, affected by the wine, she swayed towards him so that his hands came out to steady her, linking easily round her waist while the dark eyes looked down at her, no longer gentle, but

  rather cold, appraising.

  `I'm sorry.' Kate blushed and put up an unsteady hand to brush the hair back from her face.

  His eyes skimmed over her again before he released her and bending down inside the car he adjusted her seat so that it was transformed into a bed. He tossed down a cushion for a pillow, then turned to help her inside. Obediently she got in, grateful to be able to lay her head down, to try to seek a few hours' oblivion from the nightmare that life had so suddenly become

  She heard his door slam, felt the soft touch of a mohair rug as it was spread over her, the brief impersonal touch of his hand as he spoke.

  `Go to sleep, Kate. We have a long drive ahead of us. When we come to the end of our journey then you can have all of your questions answered.' He seemed to wait for a reply, but when none came Kate heard a faint sigh.

  Then the engine fired and she felt the smooth swift acceleration of the vehicle as they spun away from the quiet roadside parking place. Kate lay with her eyes firmly closed, and as she succumbed to the mesmeric swish of the tyres on the dry roads she knew that sleep and healing oblivion were stealing over her. Despair ebbed away. Her breathing became deep and regular and she slept.

  Darkness had almost fallen when she became aware of hands none too gently trying to shake her into wakefulness, while some deep instinct told her to keep her eyes closed to feign sleep, to avoid returning to a life where pain lurked so unexpectedly. But the man who was speaking her name so urgently would have none of her evasion and slapped her cheek gently, letting her

  know that his patience was not endless.

  `Come on, Kate! I know you're awake now.'

  `No.' She thrust his hands away and turned to bury her face in the pillow. 'No!'

  `But yes.' He grasped her hands and in one swift sure movement pulled her to her feet.

  Kate looked at him for a moment before she remembered everything that had happened, then her eyes flashed in sudden anger. 'You!' She spat the word at him, making it sound like an insult.

  To her annoyance her show of temper appeared only to amuse him, for he grinned at her. 'But yes. I have not been transformed into anyone more acceptable while you slept. Alas, I am your companion. And,' his voice hardened, his smile faded abruptly, 'and alas, you are mine. Shall we make the best of it?'

  `I didn't choose you!' she flared back. 'I had nothing to do with the situation we're now in.' It angered her to think that he was the first man who had ever expressed disappointment at being with her.

  `That is true, Kate. And I apologise for my lack of gallantry. Shall we just say that for the moment we are stuck with each other and . . .'

  `Is that supposed to be an apology?'

  `That we are stuck with each other and should try to make the best of things. And I am tired after driving so long. And hungry. If I fall short of your expectations then perhaps you will remember that and excuse me. But now, shall we go inside? I'm sure that after a meal we shall both feel better. And I can positively guarantee that the cooking at La Chaumiere will please you.'

  For the first time Kate looked around her, seeing that they were in the parking place of a small restaurant.

  From the small square windows soft light spilled invitingly and through the screen of trees she could see tables set out on a terrace, heard the murmur of voices, the clink of glasses and cutlery. And mingling with the scents of the countryside she could discern mouth-watering smells of roasting meat, the delicious aroma of freshly roasted coffee, and she realised that what he said was only too true. She was starving and if she didn't eat soon she would faint from sheer hunger.

  Without waiting for her assent he put one hand on her elbow and guided her firmly in the direction of the door of the hotel. She found herself in the tiny foyer and hung back while her companion went forward to the desk where a man was absorbed in some account books.

  `Bon soir, Henri.' That much Kate recognised, but the rest of the conversation was much too rapid and voluble to mean anything. Only the pleasure of the proprietor when he looked up and recognised his client needed no explanation. They continued to talk for some time and Kate turned away from the man's searching interested eyes as he looked from her to the book that lay open on the desk in front of him. She stood gazing into a glass display case on the wall beside the door studying the array of local fossils with a quite misleading appearance of interest, but seeing in the reflection that the proprietor turned to fidget with the keys which were hanging on numbered hooks.

  But before she had time to reflect on the significance of that they were both standing beside her and she was being introduced, the owner of the hotel was holding her hand, bowing over it and was clearly offering his congratulations. Dismayed blue eyes sought the dark

  ones which responded with mocking amusement before, seeming to take pity on her at last, he came forward and touched her arm again.

  `Henri is a little surprised to know that I am married, but he says now that he has seen you he quite understands.' The fingers round her arm tightened warningly. 'It is a compliment to you.'

  `Oh . . .' It was an effort to force her stiff lips into a smile, as she tried to make some response. Merci, monsieur.'

  Henri smiled again, bowed, then turned in the direction of the restaurant, showed them to a seat in a corner, then with another murmur of congratulations to Kate, he picked up two large handwritten menus and handed one to each of them.

  `Eh bien, Monsieur Charles.' And he was gone.

  Kate stared at the long list of incomprehensible dishes without understanding a word of them and at last laid it down. 'At least now I know you have a name.'

  The dark eyes opposite flicked up at her for a moment before returning to the menu. 'You doubted it?' `You never told me what it was.'

  `But I thought you knew, my dear,' he drawled. 'My aunt used it often enough. The priest used it in our marriage service. It is Antoine Charles Savorey Morlet—almost but not quite the one you expected to have.'

  `I could never call you Antoine !' she
burst out passionately, ignoring the waiter who was hovering, pad and pencil at the ready, beside their table.

  `Then,' his tightened lips, the coldness of his eyes were warning her, 'it is as well there is no need. I have

  always been called Charles. I prefer it.' Dismissing her, he turned to signal the waiter and together the two men pored over the menu, leaving Kate to smoulder with angry frustration. There were only about eight tables in the room, but through the open doors other diners could be glimpsed on the terrace which she had noticed earlier. Inside it seemed an unpretentious little place with checked covers on the tables and matching red and white shades on the lamps. But the customers looked a fairly prosperous lot. Kate noticed that the women were all dressed up, with immaculate make-up and hair. Nervously she put up a hand to her own tumbled head, pushed her blouse down firmly inside her jeans and wished she had gone to the ladies' room before coming inside. At the very next table sat a woman dressed as if she were going to Glyndebourne, in soft pastel chiffon, and round her neck a slender silver chain with a dark red stone hanging against her smoothly powdered skin.

  As if aware that she was being studied, the woman suddenly looked up at Kate, the interested stare appearing to take in every detail of her slightly dishevelled appearance before moving on to Charles, who seemed an infinitely more intriguing spectacle. Then she leaned forward and without taking her eyes off Charles, murmured a few words to her companion. At once, with total lack of discretion, the man turned round in his seat, his eyes first encountering Kate's discouraging stare and then moving on swiftly. It took him just a moment to make up his mind, apparently, for he returned to his wife and gave a confirmatory nod. Again the woman looked at Kate, questioningly, disbelievingly, before returning again to Charles, who was still

  engaged with the waiter.

  At last their discussion came to an end, the waiter completed his scribbling, nodded once or twice as a final word was spoken, picked up the two menus which he held under one arm and moved away, threading his way between the tables towards the door which Kate had decided led to the kitchen.

  `Do you know the people at the next table?' Kate sounded aggressive, which was she decided as good a way as any of keeping the nightmares at bay.

  Charles looked coolly at her for a moment before turning in the direction she had indicated with an abrupt little movement of her hand. 'Do you mean the attractive woman in the saffron-coloured dress and the man in the pale grey suit?'

  `Yes.' Without looking round at them she was able to confirm what they were wearing.

  `No, I don't think so.' He paused. 'Why do you ask?' `They appeared to be talking about us . . . about you,' she amended quickly.

  He shrugged as if the matter held no interest for him. Then, 'I ordered for you as you appeared to have no interest in deciding for yourself. I hope you have no great likes and dislikes.'

  `I'm not interested in thinking about food at the moment,' she said not quite truthfully.

  `Ah well,' there was that faint annoying smile on his mouth again, 'then we should have no difficulty. I ordered for you snails to start, then squid cooked in ink and for the main course, I was sure you would be sorry to miss the area's speciality, day-old foal cooked with herbs in red wine.'

  Kate failed to notice the gleam in his eye and stared

  at him in dismay. 'But,' her voice was faint with disbelief, 'I can't possibly eat that! You had no right to order such things without asking me!'

  `But you showed no interest. And I simply wanted you to have a meal that you will remember.'

  `But I can't . .

  `You can. You must.' He glanced up and nodded at the man who was offering a bottle of wine for inspection, then waited while their glasses were filled with the golden sparkling liquid. 'You must, my dear Kate. If you do not eat his food Henri will be so insulted. Besides, you must try strange dishes before you know whether or not you will like them.' He raised his glass and looked deeply, intensely into her eyes. 'To you, Kate.'

  Without thinking she raised the glass and sipped, then sat back as the waiter appeared and put in front of each of them a small Ogen melon, wished them 'bon appetit' and withdrew. Kate looked at her plate, across at his, then into his face, for the first time recognising that gleam in his eyes for what it was.

  `You didn't mention melon.' Gravely she removed the serrated top and picked up her spoon.

  `No, the melon I forgot. This is quite innocuous, Kate—chilled melon with port.' Suddenly he laughed aloud and covered her hand which was lying on the cloth with one of his. 'Forgive me for teasing you, Kate.'

  To her annoyance she smiled. She hadn't meant to soften towards him, but there was something infectious about his amusement, something she couldn't resist. And perhaps the knowledge that the beautiful woman at the next table had looked across at him, her eyes go-

  ing towards their linked hands, had some effect on her. Or maybe it was just her natural response to a handsome man. Whatever it was she smiled and was rewarded by a softening of his expression, a faint comforting pressure of his hand before he released it.

  `Now,' his tone was almost caressing, 'I can understand why...'

  She interrupted him before he could say the words that would make her think 'I feel so conspicuous.' She shrugged and lifted up the long-handled spoon. `Dressed in jeans and a blouse when everyone else is done up to the nines.'

  His laugh made a tiny tingle run down the length of her spine so that she looked at him in dismay. 'Yes, Kate. But you must know that even in those, even with your hair uncombed, you're enough to make most men look twice. You know,' he leaned forward so that the woman who was looking at them must have thought they were discussing some intimate matter, 'when you came down today wearing that outfit, seeing the look on my aunt's face almost made the whole thing worthwhile. Such a disgrace, a Savoney-Morlet having so little savoir faire—even an Antoine Charles Savoney Morlet. It will be a long time before she forgives the slur on the family honour.'

  `You speak,' as she spoke she raised a piece of the delectably ripe melon to her mouth. 'You speak as if you dislike your aunt:' She waited, her head held interrogatively to one side, until he looked up, his eyes searching hers closely.

  `Does that surprise you?' Then when she didn't answer he persisted. 'You found her so easy to like?' `No.' Kate looked down, wondering why she found

  the thought of melon so distasteful. 'I think I've never

  met a woman whom I dislike more. I can't,' her voice

  trembled, 'I can't believe that she's Antoine's mother.'

  `Well, assuredly she is. And perhaps it is because she is the woman she is that she has made her son into the man he is.'

  `How dare you!' She hissed the words at him, not noticing the interested glance from the next table. 'I shan't listen to a word against him! He's the best and kindest . .

  `Hush, child !' Charles paused in the act of taking a spoonful of melon to his mouth and smiled tolerantly at her. 'You have no need to convince me of his virtues. I swear.' His face became so serious that she had no cause to doubt him. 'I swear that I love him as much as you do. What I said is quite simply the truth. And I think you will have little reason for denying the baleful influence she has upon him. No one more.' The dark eyes continued to bore steadily into hers. 'Now come on, eat your melon. The snails will be along soon.' He grinned at her. 'And let me fill your glass, it would be a pity to allow this champagne to spoil.'

  `You ought not to have been so extravagant.' Almost unwillingly her hand went out, taking the glass to her mouth again. 'I thought champagne was only for celebrations. What have we to celebrate?'

  `Our marriage.' His mocking voice taunted her. 'In spite of everything we were married today. Although,' he put down his glass and leaned back in his chair, `no one would take you for a bride—more like a student on a hitch-hiking tour of France.' He leaned forward, lowering his voice so that they could speak more intimately. 'Do you think the elegant lady at the next table

 
is thinking such a thing? That I have given you a lift and now I am trying to persuade you to . . .' He smiled as he watched the colour come up under her skin, but turned round when the waiter arrived to clear their plates and then put plates of small grilled trout in front of them.

  `I cancelled the snails.' He smiled at her. 'I hope you will like that.'

  And Kate thought that she had never tasted quite such delicious fish, cooked in butter with just a flavouring of garlic. And when she had the next course, which turned out to be escalope of veal with green salad, she decided that Charles's claims about the cooking in La Chaumiere had not been exaggerated.

  `Now,' Charles sat smiling at her as she chased the last sliver of meat round her plate, 'you will have some cheese?'

  `No.' Kate sat back with a sigh. 'That was the most marvellous meal and I couldn't eat another thing.'

  `No?' The wicked eyebrow arched in disbelief. 'But you must try one of Henri's desserts. He would be offended if you were to refuse. I can recommend the bavarois.'

  Kate tried not to be tempted. In spite of everything the words Beverley Ann had spoken that day came back to her mind to taunt her. But still, she had always had a very sweet tooth and there was no denying that the way he had allowed the word to roll round his tongue made it sound irresistible. She tried to ignore the little warning voice telling her she had had too much to drink, that she wasn't used to champagne with her meals. She tried all those things and failed miserably.

  `All right.' Her eyes gleamed in amusement. 'I shall

  do as you say and try the bavarois.'

  `Good girl !' His eyes commended her. Then, still smiling at her, he summoned the waiter and ordered cheese for himself and the pudding for her.

  His amusement continued as he watched her clean her plate, the tip of her tongue coming out to lick the last spot of vanilla cream from her lips. Then after seeking her permission he leaned back in his chair and lit a long thin cheroot, the dark eyes surveying her with a curiosity that made her cheeks burn, caused her fingers to fidget restlessly with the stem of her glass.