Desperate Measures (16 page)

towards her, and she recoiled violently, backing away up the stairs,

her hands flung rigidly out in front of her as if pushing him away. 'No!'

Her voice rose hysterically. 'Don't touch me—don't come near me...'

The words died into a deep silence. Alain halted, staring at her,

his brows drawn into a frown of utter incredulity, horror dawning in his eyes.

'Mon Dieu,
' he whispered at last. 'You're afraid of me. Do you truly find me so terrifying—so repulsive?'

She shivered. 'Just go—please.' Her voice broke.

'Very well.' His voice was quiet. 'If that is what you wish.' He

picked up his damp raincoat and shrugged it on, his eyes never

leaving her. Then he walked to the door.

At the doorway he turned. His lips were smiling, but his face was

as bleak as winter.

'It's ironic, isn't it,' he said. 'Of all the women in the world, my

wife is the one I cannot reach. Goodbye,
ma belle
, and good luck.'

Philippa watched the door close behind him. When she was

alone, she came downstairs, feeling her way across the room to a

chair as if she was blind.

Alain had gone. She had been strong enough— brave enough to

send him away. And now all she had to face was the lonely

consequences of that courage— every day that remained of her life.

CHAPTER NINE

SHE was still sitting, gazing into space, when the door was flung

roughly open again a few minutes later and Alain strode in, his face

like thunder.

Shocked, Philippa jumped to her feet, knocking the chair over

backwards with a clatter.

He faced her grimly across the table, eyes blazing, lifting a hand

to silence her as her lips parted to speak.

'Yes, I've come back, but not of my own will, I assure you, so

kindly spare me the recriminations that I'm certain are forming on that vitriolic little tongue of yours.'

'It—it isn't that.' Her voice quivered. 'But you can't blame me for

being surprised. I thought you were returning to Paris.'

'So did I. But it seems your would-be lover has other ideas.' He

paused. 'All four tyres on my car have been slashed. I shall be going nowhere tonight.'

'Fabrice did that?' Philippa bit her lip. 'But why?'

He shrugged curtly. 'Spite, I imagine. A futile act of revenge

because I'd found him out—spoiled his little game with you.' He gave

her an icy smile. 'Perhaps I've misjudged him,
ma femme
. Perhaps it wasn't simply the money my uncle was paying him. Maybe he really

wanted you for himself.'

'I hope you don't expect me to feel flattered,' Philippa flung back

at him. 'I'm sorry about your car, but it isn't the end of the world.

There's a garage in Montascaux. They'll supply you with more tyres.'

'I'm sure they will,' he said. 'Tomorrow.'

He let the word sink in, nodding sardonically at the transparent

look of dismay on her face. 'No, cherie, I do not propose to walk in this rain all the way to the village to a garage that will undoubtedly be

shut by now.'

'It may not be...' she began.

'But I am not prepared to prove it, one way or the other,

tonight,' Alain said silkily. 'Much as we may both regret the necessity, I am about to become your overnight guest.'

'Oh, but you can't!' Her hands twisted together in distress.

'Surely you could spend the night in your car—or there's an auberge

further up the valley.'

'I hope its business flourishes,' said Alain, too courteously. 'It will not, however, be receiving my custom. Nor will I be risking cramp and pneumonia in the car. You are not very hospitable, ma chere.'

She flushed. 'You can hardly expect it.'

'And neither,' Alain went on with a trace of acid, 'can you expect

me to force my attentions on a girl who has spent the last half-hour

cowering from me. I had enough of that on our wedding night, if you

remember. And since.' He paused deliberately, his brows lifting

sardonically as she flinched. 'So please stop looking at me as if you were a mouse, and I were a hungry cat, and let us try and behave like civilised human beings for what remains of the evening.'

'You could have slashed your own tyres,' Philippa said

mutinously.

He sighed. 'Yes, and I could also have arranged the rain, and the

lateness of the hour, all for the pleasure of a few more enforced hours in your company, my little shrew. However, I did none of these things.'

He

walked round the table and picked up the fallen chair. 'So please

be less nervous.' He nodded towards the stove. 'Are we going to eat

that food, or let it burn?'

Philippa shrugged defeatedly. 'I suppose we're going to have

supper.'

'Well, we have eaten together many times before. It won't be

such an ordeal,' he said drily. 'The difference is there'll be no Henriette to wait on us.'

'No,' she said. She was remembering what he'd "said—that for

the first time in their marriage they were together and completely

alone, and the prospect terrified her.

He thinks I'm afraid of him, she thought. But he's so wrong. I'm

frightened of myself—scared of betraying everything I feel for him.

Because if he knew, then I'd be in his power forever, and I couldn't

endure that. I'm not going to be a complaisant wife pretending that

every time he doesn't come home, he's working late at the office. I'd rather live apart from him than put up with that kind of lie.

She found place mats and cutlery, and laid the table. Alain cut up

the baguette which Madame Bethune had supplied in the box of

provisions, and opened a bottle of red wine.

The sheer easy domesticity of it caught her by the throat. She

found herself thinking, If only...and thrust the thought away before it could become concrete in her mind. This was what she'd dreaded, she

thought. The ordinary intimacy of preparing for a meal together. This was what real marriages were about. This was danger.

The cassoulet was thick and rich with preserved goose, just as

Philippa remembered. In spite of her inner turmoil, she ate well. Apart from a few appre-dative comments about the food, Alain made no attempt to

engage her in conversation, and she was grateful for that. They

finished the meal with cheese and fruit and the rest of the bread.

'Coffee?' Alain pushed back his chair and reached for the jug

and filter unit.

'Do you know how to make it?' Philippa couldn't keep the

astonishment out of her voice.

'Of course,' he said with asperity. 'It may also surprise you to

know,
ma femme
, that I can cook. When I was a boy I used to go on hunting trips with my father. He believed in being self-sufficient.'

'Goodness,' she said. 'Did your mother go along as well?'

He laughed. 'Oh, no. She was like you,
cherie
. She was

interested in painting—in watercolours. It was just a pastime with her, and I suspect her work had more charm than talent, but my father

thought it was wonderful. He had a whole collection of her work

framed and hung in our house at Fontainebleau.'

She nearly said, 'I wish I could seem them,' and stopped herself

just in time.

She'd wondered about the Fontainebleau estate, and Alain's

other homes too. He'd never suggested they should visit any of them,

she thought, which helped emphasise how very much on the margin

of his life she lived.

Instead, she said neutrally, 'Did your parents live at

Fontainebleau?'

He nodded. 'All their lives together. It was always our family

home.' There was a nostalgic, almost tender note in his voice as if he was recalling good memories she thought with a slight pang.

Philippa said stiltedly, 'It sounds as if they were very happy

together.'

'Yes, I think they were, in spite of everything.' He encountered

her questioning look, and shrugged. 'Theirs was an arranged marriage

too. In the early days they had problems, but then who does not?' he

added with irony.

'Yes,' she said, and pushed back her own chair. 'I—I don't think

I'll bother with coffee. It might keep me awake, and I have to start

work tomorrow.'

'Such industry,' Alain said softly. 'But you've forgotten one thing.

You've still to show me where I'm to sleep.'

'Oh—yes.' She bit her lip. 'There are two rooms, but I'm afraid

only one of them has been prepared. Madame Bethune brings the

sheets and things from the farm, you see and...'

'Only one room.' Alain's lips twisted.
lLe pauvre Fabrice
! I can understand his disappointment, his desire for revenge on me.'

'Well, he was making a big mistake, and so are you,' Philippa said

shortly. 'I never had the slightest intention of sleeping with him.'

'I think in this isolated spot, ma chere, it might have been wiser

to examine Fabrice's intentions.' Alain's voice bit. 'Didn't it occur to you that you might be getting into a situation you couldn't handle?'

She flushed defensively. 'But I'd made the position clear to him.

And he'd always seemed so—decent,' she added lamely.

'A paid seducer who slashes tyres.' Alain's smile was grim. 'You

wouldn't have had a prayer, you little fool.'

She lifted her chin. 'I was desperate,' she said. 'And when I get

desperate I tend to do foolish things—as you should know.'

'Our marriage being an example of prime idiocy on the part of

us both.' The sudden bitterness in his voice shocked her. 'Well, show me this room,
madame
. There's a rug in the car. I can manage for one night.'

She nodded silently and led the way upstairs. The door of her

own room was standing open, and she saw Alain's glance flick

sideways, absorbing the big snowy bed, but he made no comment.

She found herself wondering suddenly, crazily, how she would

act, what she would do if Alain took her into his arms, drew her into that room, down on to the yielding softness of that bed...

She said with a little gasp, as she threw open the door of the

smaller room, 'Well, this is where you'll sleep, and the bathroom is at the end of the passage. I—I hope you'll be comfortable.'

'That,' he said cuttingly, 'is hardly likely.
Bonsoir
, Philippa.'

She muttered her own hasty goodnight and fled into her room.

She was tempted to turn the key in the lock, but it was clearly rusty, and, anyway, she didn't want to overreact.

She heard Alain go downstairs, and return a short while later,

presumably with his overnight things and the rug. She heard his

footsteps descend the stairs again, and then everything went quiet.

She undressed hurriedly, used the bathroom, and crept under the

duvet.

But sleep eluded her. It was not going to be easy, she thought,

staring into the darkness, to go on pretending that she didn't care—

that their marriage

was a mistake she was eager to put behind her. Yet somehow it

had to be done.

Because the last thing she wanted was to give herself away

somehow, and let Alain see that she loved him.

A clean break, she thought. That was what she needed.

Something that would heal—eventually.

Only a few more hours, she thought. Only a few more. She kept

repeating the words in her head over and over again like some private litany of pain, until at last she fell asleep.

The sun was filtering through the curtains when she opened her

eyes the next morning. She glanced at her watch and sat up with a

start. It was nearly ten o'clock.

She flung on her clothes and headed for the stairs, pausing to

glance into Alain's room. There was no sign of him. Perhaps he'd

already left, she thought, her step faltering slightly.

The room downstairs was empty too, but there was a lingering

fragrance of coffee in the air, and a bowl and plate washed neatly by the sink, so presumably he'd breakfasted.

She was just making her own coffee when she heard the roar of

an engine. Peering through the window above the sink, she saw a

large breakdown vehicle edging its way out of the yard, with Alain's

car on the back of it.

And a moment later Alain himself came into view, walking

slowly, his head bent.

'What's happened?' Philippa swung round to confront him as he

came through the door. 'Why have they taken your car away? Haven't

they got any tyres for that model?'

'Plenty,' he said. 'That isn't the problem. Your friend Fabrice has

also tampered with the engine in some way. They think it will need a

new part, and that could take a day or two.'

'Oh, no!' Philippa beat her fist on the draining board in

frustration. 'This can't be happening!'

'I assure you it is,' Alain said acidly. 'You are not the only one to be inconvenienced, believe me.'

'But you don't have to wait for the repair. You could hire a car...'

'The car I am driving is valuable to me,' he said curtly. 'I prefer

to remain on the spot, where I can keep an eye on what they are

doing to it.'

'But you said you'd go. You can't stay here!' She heard the panic

in her voice, and tried to laugh. 'I mean—I need to be on my own to

work. I told you that.'

'Yet total solitude wasn't your original plan.' Alain's face was

cold. 'Do you think you'd have dismissed Fabrice de Thiery so easily?'

'Perhaps not,' she admitted, with a grimace. 'But he could have

been useful.' She saw the derisive look he flung her, and flushed