Island of Secrets

by Karen Abbott

  Everyone except Luc was subdued at the breakfast table. Christi suspected that he was the only one who didn’t know of the cloud that hung over his family and their home. She toyed with her croissant, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to swallow it and nervously sipped her coffee, letting the hot liquid ease the dryness of her throat.

  When Jean-Claude stood up and announced his intention of starting work, Christi made to follow him, only to be forestalled by Georges asking her and Virginie to make a quick start on the stables today, as he would need them to exercise the horses later on.

  He rapped out an instruction to Virginie that made her scowl at Christi.

  “C’est bien?” he then asked Christi. “Is that all right?”

  She nodded, though she hadn’t been listening. Whatever it was, she was sure Virginie would delight in telling her.

  This meant that she had to postpone her talk to Jean-Claude. She decided to leave the letter on his desk and hope that he saw it later on. She knew she was ducking out of the confrontation but it was all she felt she could cope with.

  The two girls hardly spoke as they worked side by side. At the thought of leaving here, a hard lump seemed to be blocking Christi’s throat. She would so miss all of this.

  Virginie’s curt tones interrupted her thoughts. She had saddled up two horses. Neither was Etoile.

  “We’ll take these two first. Papa wants us to give them a good gallop.”

  Christi hesitated. “Oh, are you sure? I’ve only ridden Etoile so far.”

  “They’re all the same, once you’re on them,” Virginie snapped. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I’ll get Luc to come instead.”

  “N …No. It’s all right. I’m coming.”

  They led the horses into the yard. Christi saw Jean-Claude entering the house. Her heart started to beat loudly. Would he be going to the office? He would find her letter. Should she go after him?

  “Are you coming?” Virginie said impatiently.

  Torn between going after Jean-Claude and accompanying Virginie, Christi chose the latter. She would have to see Jean-Claude soon enough. She mounted the horse that Virginie indicated. He was taller than Etoile, but she managed to spring up well and didn’t disgrace herself. He was a bit skittish but calmed as she gripped his flanks with her knees and she successfully guided him through the opened gateway.

  Virginie followed her and swung the gate closed behind her—and then took the lead.

  Christi guided her mount to follow, her confidence growing as she trotted and then cantered behind Virginie. She kept a tight rein and held the horse in check. It was very pleasant. But for the ache in her heart, she would have felt the most fortunate girl alive.

  The steady gait helped Christi to settle her thoughts. If Jean-Claude got a lawyer for her, she would be able to settle everything in a couple of days. It would be quick and painless, she assured herself. Everyone would soon forget her—and she would get a job somewhere and forget them … eventually.

  If only it were that easy!

  The beach was deserted. The horses snorted appreciatively at the fresh breeze that blew from off the sea. Christi felt a tremor run through her mount. She leaned forwards to pat her horse’s neck. “Go easy, now,” she murmured.

  Virginie dug her heels into her horse’s flanks. “Let’s go!” she cried. “Follow me if you dare!” She urged her horse forwards, its hooves sending up a spray of sand.

  At that moment, Christi’s horse lowered its head, catching the full force of the spray of sand in its face. Startled, it tossed its head and back-stepped a few paces. Christi could feel her balance slipping. “Whoa! Whoa!” she urged.

  The horse reared slightly. Christi flung her weight forwards. Totally unsettled, the horse reared again.

  Christi didn’t know how she managed to stay in the saddle. It was more by luck than skill. She grabbed hold of the horse’s neck, letting go of the reins in her panic. They flapped loosely across the horse but she didn’t dare let go of her hold of the horse’s neck to pick them up again.

  Virginie was already pounding along the beach.

  Christi screamed her name in the same instant that her horse set off in wild pursuit. She was terrified. Her ears roared with the pounding sound of the horse’s hooves on the firm sand, as she flattened her body against the taut muscles of the horse’s straining back and neck muscles.

  Her horse was out of control and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She didn’t even dare try to raise her head in case she fell off, though was vaguely aware that she was overtaking Virginie.

  The pounding grew louder. She felt something … someone … riding at her side and a strong arm grasped around her waist, holding her tightly. The rider’s leg was crushing against hers—and a voice … Jean-Claude’s voice … was saying, “Hold on! Doucement, Beauté! Gently, now! Gently!”

  Relief surged through her, sweeping away her fear. The two horses blended their pace and, gradually, she sensed that they were slowing down.

  Finally, they stopped.

  Her mount pawed unhappily at the sand, tossing his head, yet responding to the restraining hand and quietening voice, as Jean-Claude leaned over him, taking command.

  When he was certain that Beauté had calmed, he slid off Capitaine. Christi half fell, half slid into his arms. Her legs collapsed underneath her and but for Jean-Claude’s firm hold, she would have crumpled onto the sand.

  But his arms felt right. So completely right. If he didn’t want her, at least she would have this moment to remember him by. She could feel the pounding of his heart beating against her, as he murmured her name. “Christi! Oh, Christi, ma cherie. I thought …”

  Christi’s muscles tensed. What did he say? … ma cherie? He called her darling! He did! She wriggled free of his grip and looked up at him, a hesitant smile forming on her lips. “Jean-Claude? You said … cherie? Does that mean …?

  Jean-Claude closed his eyes and groaned. “…that I love you? Yes, I love you.” His mouth sought hers and he pulled her back to him. His lips demanded a response and she gave it. It was heavenly! He loved her! He did!

  They drew apart and Jean-Claude drew his fingers slowly down her cheek. “I was so frightened for you! What on earth possessed you to ride that horse? He needs a skilled hand.” He shuddered. “You could have fallen off and …” He broke off. “Oh, Christi! I don’t know what I would have done!”

  Christi could see that Virginie had reined in a few yards away and was watching them. Her expression was partly hostile, partly fearful. “I ... I thought I could manage him,” she confessed to Jean-Claude. “I didn’t know he would react like that.”

  “Virginie should have known.” Jean-Claude rounded on his cousin, who visibly paled.

  “No. It was an accident,” Christi insisted. “Some sand sprayed up into his face. He reared. I couldn’t hold him.”

  Jean-Claude shook his head. “I am just so glad I came. When I read your letter, I had to come to find you. Christi, you cannot do this. I have shown your letter to Georges and he agrees. It is your inheritance, whatever it does to the rest of us.”

  “But you and your uncle and everyone else have worked the land over the years. You have made it what it is. I have done nothing. When Virginie said that you would have to sell it because you couldn’t afford to buy me out, I knew what I had to do.”

  “Virginie had no right to say anything!” He turned to scowl at her.

  “Maybe not—but I’m glad she did. I wouldn’t have known, otherwise.” Her legs still felt weak and she was glad to lean against Jean-Claude.

  Beauté was trembling, catching Jean-Claude’s attention. “Steady, boy! We need to get him back to the stable for a good rub down,” he advised. “Are you all right now? Can you walk?”

  Christi nodded.

  Jean-Claude gathered Beauté and Capitaine’s reins in his hand and they turned to lead their horses back towards the trees at the edge of the beach.

  Virginie trailed unhappily behind t
hem.

  Jean-Claude turned to her. “Here, Virginie. Lead Beauté back, s’il tu plait. Christi and I have … business to discuss.” He handed Beauté’s reins to his cousin.

  Without a word, she mounted her own horse and led the other at her side, setting off on through the trees to the track back to the farm.

  Jean-Claude and Christi continued along the grassy fore-shore. They walked slowly. Jean-Claude’s arm supported Christi around her waist. Every so often they turned towards each other to embrace and to reassure themselves that their love was in the open, acknowledged and returned by the other.

  “Why did you say you wouldn’t marry me?” Christi asked. “I felt utterly wretched.”

  Jean-Claude stopped walking and took hold of both her shoulders, looking down into her face. “I felt it would be disloyal to Georges’s family. Virginie had already said that all I wanted were your shares. By marrying you, I would be proving her right. Besides, I have my pride, too. I would not offer for you when I did not know whether or not you were genuine. How can I offer for you now, knowing that you are twice as rich as me?”

  Christi took a deep breath. “Do you really love me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Jean-Claude looked taken aback. Then he grinned. “Are you proposing to me?”

  Christi laughed. “Why not?”

  “All right then. But, no, that is not the French way. I must do this properly.” He dropped down on one knee on the grass in front of her. “Christi, ma cherie, I give to you all my love. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  Capitaine snorted and tossed his head up and down.

  “See! Capitaine agrees,” Christi laughed. “Now, before I promise to honour and obey you, you must agree to this. What if I give half of my shares to Marie, then we four adults will all have equal shares?”

  Jean-Claude stood up and considered for a moment. He shook his head. “No. It has to be born descendants, not married partners.”

  Christi thought hard and then brightened. “Right! I know! I can put half of my shares in trust for Virginie and Luc. They will inherit them, just as our children …” Her voice trailed away and she reddened in embarrassment.

  “… as our children will inherit ours,” Jean-Claude finished for her. He kissed her lips. “I do believe I am about to marry a most surprising woman,” he teased. “But, you may have the answer there. I will get our lawyers onto it right away, as long as you are certain that that is what you want to do?”

  Christi nodded. “I am certain. It will put the two halves of the family back on equal footing.”

  A further prolonged embrace sealed their agreement.

  Jean-Claude lifted Christi onto his horse and mounted behind her. Christi sighed in deep contentment. She knew she had come home to where she belonged.

  Whilst Christi was dressing for dinner, a chastened Virginie tapped on her bedroom door. Her pale face and reddened eyes showed that she had spent a very unhappy hour since they had last seen each other.

  Christi welcomed her in with a smile.

  Virginie screwed her handkerchief round and round in her fingers. “I … I wish to apologise,” she said in careful English. “I didn’t mean Beauté to bolt like that. I just thought he would give you a frisky ride. I’m sorry.”

  Christi made to reply, but Virginie hurried on. “Thank you for not saying that I chose the horses for our ride. Jean-Claude would have been very angry with me.” She hesitated and then rushed on again. “My father has told us what you intend to do. It is very kind of you. I am not sure I deserve it, but it will make a great difference to our lives.”

  “You’re welcome,” Christi smiled. “I know it is the right thing to do.”

  Virginie held out her hand. “You asked me once if we could be friends but I refused. Is it too late to change my mind?”

  Christi ignored the hand but gathered the girl into her arms. “No. It’s not too late, Virginie. I’ll be happy to be your friend.”

  Virginie managed a tearful smile.

  “Antoine has asked me to be his girl-friend again—and I have agreed. I know now that Jean-Claude would never have loved me—not like he loves you. I … hope you will be very happy together.”

  Christi knew what it cost her say those words. “Thank you, Virginie.” She thought of Jean-Claude and the love they now shared.

  She smiled broadly. “We will. I intend us to have a very long and very happy life!”

  The End

  A Matter of Trust

  (Book 2 in The Domaine St. Clare series)

  by

  Karen Abbott

  Originally published 2001 by D.C. Thomson & Co., Ltd.,

  185 Fleet Street, London EC4A 2HS

  First Linford Edition published 2003 by F. A. Thorpe (Publishing)

  Anstey, Leicestershire. LE7 7FU

  Copyright © 2001and 2003 by Karen Abbott

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Published by Karen Abbott 2012

  Chapter 1

  It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brilliantly and the intense blue of the sky was reflected in the calm water of the sea as it sparkled in the sun. Beyond the narrow stretch of water lay Ile d’Olèron ... and beyond the island, about seven kilometres away from her present position, the Atlantic waves met the almost-white sandy beaches of the island’s western shore.

  Gini St. Clare sighed in satisfaction. She was almost home.

  “High tide!” she murmured, as she drove her rather dilapidated open-top two-seater car onto the viaduct that spanned the three kilometres of rocks, shallow water and sandy flatlands. Her dark hair was blown back off her face, streaming out behind her in the breeze created by the speed of her driving. She loved arriving home at high tide. It made the island more special; more their own; set apart from the mainland.

  As she crested the highest point of the viaduct, she slowed down and drank in the panoramic scene ahead. To her right was the town of Le Chateau, whose ancient ramparts rose out of the sea, defending the island from marauders of earlier centuries. Modern invaders, the hordes of tourists who came to Ile d’Olèron year after year, were made more welcome.

  Her gaze was drawn to her left, where the small town of St. Trojan lay near the southernmost tip of the island. From there, and all along the seaward side of the island, as far as the north western rocky Pointe de Chassiron, where the light-house stood, the region was known as le côte sauvage—the ‘savage coast’. Even now, in contrast to the tranquil scene before her, the breeze would be sending ripples of waves to lap upon the beaches of the opposite shore, before the tide began its twice-daily retreat.

  The surfers, whose greatest thrill was to ride the waves of the incoming tide, would be heading home, reminiscing of the waves they had ‘caught’.

  Home! The renewed thought put a ready smile on her lips.

  La Domaine de St. Clare, lay to the right of the far end of the viaduct, past Le Chateau and part way up the inland side of the island. Until eight years ago it had been a farm of vineyards and oyster-beds but was now converted to a Summer Holiday Complex of mobile homes, specialising in horse-riding and water sports. As her three-year Course at a Parisian Art College drew to its close she had counted the days to her return. Her parents, brother Luc, cousin Jean-Claude and his English wife, Christi, would be there to welcome her, she knew.

  The smile faded slightly as
she glanced down at the clock. It was almost 15.00 hours. The town would soon be waking up from its mid-day slumber. She had timed it just right.

  But, she wasn’t going home.

  Not yet.

  She had important business to see to. Business so important that she had been unable to sleep the past two nights with the excitement of thinking about it. She breathed a deep sigh of expectation. It would work! She knew it would! She had the skills and the enthusiasm … and she had found the right place. A small shop just off the Market Square in the town of Le Chateau,

  It was towards this town that she turned as she came to the end of the viaduct, driving between some oyster beds and cabins where fresh oysters and other shell-fish were sold, past the entrance to the port, through the arched gateway to the town, along the boulevard dedicated to Victor Hugo, to the almost deserted Market Square.

  A few visitors were slowly strolling along the hot pavements or sitting under bright parasols outside the many pavement cafés which were, reluctantly, it seemed, coming back to life after their noontime sleep. She smiled. You could always recognise the visitors by their clinging to northern European hours, soaking up the sun as though it were to be going out of fashion the next day.

  The visitors, the female ones, would be her main customers, drawn into her shop by the elegant display of clothes in the window. Clothes that would stand out as individual. She was full of ideas. Eye-catching fabrics, eye-catching styles, eye-catching prints. Accessories to match—hand-bags, shoulder-bags, shoes, hats, scarves. All would be there. She had plenty of contacts and prospective suppliers, built up during her student days and summer jobs with some of the lesser-known Fashion Houses and, by the end of today, she would have her own shop—or almost, she conceded. There would be the contract to be drawn up—but that would be no problem once she had the bank loan sorted out. Her father’s bank-manager had been very obliging when she had telephoned to make the appointment and had readily granted her the first appointment of the afternoon.