Never Leave Me (43 page)

Greg shrugged. ‘Not really. Adenauer is in favour at the moment. He's seen as being responsible. Cautious.'

‘Responsible and cautious, my foot,' Luke said disparagingly. ‘He's a wily old devil who wants to make quite sure that America will defend West Germany for him in the event of a Russian invasion.'

Greg didn't reply. Luke's nearness, only feet away from him, was almost unbearable. For years he had fooled himself into thinking that Luke had meant nothing to Lisette. Now he was no longer sure.

‘He's a brilliant politician,' Henri said grudgingly, ‘and his ant-Nazi record is faultless.'

‘Wasn't he mayor of Cologne before the Nazis came to power?' Annabel asked.

Greg didn't listen to Henri's reply. He was thinking of Lisette. Of his need for her. His love for her.

‘Would you like some cheese, Greg?' Heloise repeated, her eyes concerned and curious. It was the third time that she had asked him.

‘No, thank you, Heloise.' He forced a smile, making a superhuman effort at civility, doing his best to ignore the hungry speculation in Luke's electric-blue eyes as with painful slowness raspberry sorbet followed the local cheese; coffee the sorbet.

‘How about a glass of good French brandy?' Henri said to him as the meal at last drew to a close. ‘I'm not allowed to drink as much of it as I would like these days, but a small glass won't do me any harm.'

‘Not tonight, Henri,' Greg said, trying to keep the strain he was feeling from showing in his voice. ‘Lisette may be wanting a warm drink or some more aspirin. I'll join you in a brandy tomorrow night.'

‘Je comprends,'
Henri said understandingly, knowing that he would still be able to enjoy a glass of brandy with Luke. ‘Goodnight,
mon fils.'

Greg escaped the room with relief. Pretence came hard to him, which was why the hideous scene between himself and Lisette had taken place. He had been unable to sustain the pretence that everything was all right between them any longer. They had to find a new basis for their marriage. One that was founded on truth.

She was asleep when he returned to their room. It was a sign of how distressed she had been that her suit and vanilla silk blouse lay strewn over the back of a chair and had not been carefully put away. He undressed quietly and slid into bed beside her, lying on his back, his hands behind his head, staring wakefully up at the darkened ceiling, wondering where all the happiness they had known, all the laughter, had gone.

When he woke she was sitting at the dressing table, dressed in dark grey slacks and a black sweater, brushing her hair away from her face. Through the mirror her eyes flew to his. Neither of them spoke. At last he said, ‘You were asleep when I came to bed. I hope I didn't disturb you.'

‘No.' She didn't turn to face him, every line of her body was tense, almost as if she expected a physical blow. ‘Where did you go?'

He pushed himself up against the pillow. ‘To the headland.'

There was another silence and then she said, her fingers twisting around the filigree handle of the hairbrush, ‘Do you want a divorce?'

Shock reverberated through him. He felt as if he had been physically kicked in the chest. ‘No!' he said explosively, swinging his legs from the bed, his eyes holding hers through the mirror. She was deathly pale, her accent heavy as it always was when she was distressed. ‘But I thought…'

‘No divorce.' His voice was hard.

She turned slowly on the dressing-table stool until she was facing him. ‘Are you sure?' she asked, her eyes huge in the whitened mask of her face.

‘I'm quite sure,' he replied tersely. ‘We've been married for eight years. I would like us to stay married.'

‘Yes.' Her hands were trembling slightly and she curled her fingers over the edge of the stool. Of course he didn't want a divorce. A divorce would distress his mother, devastate the children. He was a mere three feet away from her. He was naked, the morning sunlight bronzing his powerful chest and shoulder muscles, his hips lean, his legs strong. His arms were resting on his knees, clasped lightly. She could see the dark curling mass of his pubic hair, the full, luscious weight of his sex, and quickly averted her eyes, confounded by desire. Desire that guilt would not allow her to assuage.

She rose to her feet unsteadily. ‘I promised I would take the children shrimping this morning.'

‘Yes.' His eyes held hers, their gold-flecked depths revealing nothing of his inner agony. ‘About last night, Lisette. The sex. It won't happen again. I promise.'

‘Yes,' she said, her voice strangled in her throat, escaping from the room before he could see the anguished tears scalding her eyes.

She took the children shrimping in the rock pools at Vierville and by the time they returned for lunch she was able to present a facade of normality. In the afternoon they all piled into Henri's ancient Citroen and visited Falaise where William the Conqueror had been born.

‘Who was William the Conqueror?' Dominic asked as they climbed up the hill towards the castle.

Melanie's eyes widened. ‘Don't you know about William the Conqueror?' she asked, astonished. She had thought Dominic knew everything. ‘William the Conqueror conquered England!'

Dominic shrugged dismissively. ‘That's
English
history,' he said contemptuously. ‘Why should I know about
English
history?'

Melanie was non-plussed. She thought everyone knew about English history. She struggled to keep pace with him as he strode on ahead of their parents and Lucy. ‘Because he was a Frenchman,' she said at last.

Dominic grinned at her. She was the first girl he had ever liked. ‘He was a Norman, you silly,' he said affectionately. ‘Let's run on and see if there are any murder holes. Do you know what a murder hole is, Mel?'

‘No,' Melanie panted, red in the face with effort as she struggled to keep pace with him. ‘But I'd like to learn, Dominic. Will you show me?'

‘My goodness, why did they always have to build everything on a hill?' Annabel gasped with a laugh, ‘I'm suddenly not as interested in medieval architecture as I thought I was. I think I'll stay down here and browse around the village square.'

‘I'll stay with you,' Lisette said considerately.

Annabel shook her head. ‘No, don't do that, Lisette. I'm depending on you to be able to tell Melanie the history of the castle. I'll meet you all back at the car. Who knows, if I'm lucky I may be able to get an ice-cool Pernod at the cafe.'

With an amiable smile, she waved them on ahead of her and set off back in search of shade and a cooling drink.

‘What
is
the history of the castle?' Luke asked, indifferent to her retreat.

‘In 1027 Duke Robert of Normandy, returning to this castle, fell in love with a young girl who was doing her washing in the street,' Lisette explained, aware of how near to her Greg was. Of how his hand had not once reached out for hers as it would normally have done. ‘Her name was Arlette and he fell in love with her and it was here, at Falaise, that their son, William, was born.'

‘How come the Duke was so sure that the child was his?' Luke asked conversationally, his eyes on the great keep rearing above them.

Lisette stumbled and Greg's hand shot out to steady her and then, almost immediately, released her.

‘I suppose because … because he trusted her,' Lisette said, her heart slamming against her chest.

Luke turned towards her, his smile dazzling. ‘Of course,' he said, ‘that's all men can ever do, isn't it? Trust that the children they rear are their children by blood. If Robert was deceived, he wouldn't be the first poor devil to be so, would he?'

The sun was brilliant. It bounced off the white stone of the castle walls, searing the eyes. Lisette paused, her black sweater emphasising the paleness of her face and the haunted depths of her eyes. ‘I think perhaps Annabel was right,' she said unsteadily. ‘It would be far more sensible to sit in the shade with a Pernod than struggle around castle ruins in this heat.'

‘Nonsense,' Luke said remorselessly. ‘Melanie is dying to hear the story of the Duke and Arlette. You can't turn back now.'

Greg had been walking slightly ahead of them. He stopped suddenly, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. ‘Where are Dominic and Melanie?' he asked sharply. ‘I can't see them anywhere.'

They halted, staring around them. Lucy was placidly picking wild flowers, but there was no sign of Dominic or Melanie.

‘Is the inside of the castle safe?' Greg asked, wheeling round on her.

‘I don't know. I should think so. I haven't been here for years and …'

‘There they are!' Luke said. ‘How the devil did they get up there?'

Greg swore under his breath. A nonchalant Dominic was executing a perilous circuit round the top of the castle walls, a triumphant and perspiring Melanie in his wake. He broke into a run. He wasn't worried about Dominic's safety. His son was sure-footed and agile, but he doubted that Melanie was as nimble.

Luke made no effort to follow him. He turned his back on the castle, on his daughter and Greg, and said abruptly, ‘What the devil's the matter?'

‘Nothing,' she said, trying to walk past him.

He caught her arm, spinning her round to face him. ‘Don't lie to me, Lisette! I know you too well. Now what the hell is wrong?'

There was concern as well as curiosity in his eyes. She said bleakly, ‘Greg doesn't love me, Luke. He hasn't done so for a long time.'

He stared at her in incredulity. ‘What do you mean, he doesn't love you? Of course he loves you! He's crazy about you!'

She shook her head, every line of her body tired and defeated. ‘Things aren't what they seem, Luke. At home we have separate bedrooms. We rarely make love and when we do …' She couldn't continue. She shrugged her shoulders expressively. ‘If you wished me to be unhappy with Greg, you've had your wish granted, Luke.'

It was what he had wished. What he had prayed for. But now that it had happened, now that she was standing before him, her eyes pools of misery, he knew that he wasn't glad. He said gently, ‘I'm sorry, Lisette. Truly I am.'

‘Thank you.' She put her hand in his, a sad smile touching her mouth. ‘Things never are what you expect them to be, are they?'

In the distance, he could see Annabel sitting outside a cafe, sipping Pernod beneath the shade of a large, striped sunshade. ‘No,' he said ruefully. ‘They aren't.'

They stood together for a moment, not speaking, and Lisette was filled with a rare sense of closeness. Luke understood her. There was a verbal shorthand between them that she shared with no one else. She knew that he knew she was thinking of Dieter. Of the plans they had made to live in Switzerland. And she knew he was thinking of his wartime return to Valmy. Of his confidence that she would accept his proposal of marriage; of his certainty that they would live their lives together.

‘Greg has reached the children,' she said looking past him and up to the castle. ‘Isn't it strange that it is Dominic and Melanie who are inseparable, and not Melanie and Lucy?'

‘Melanie is like Dominic, an adventurous spirit,' Luke said, aware that Greg could now see them clearly. He dropped her hand, turning and continuing to walk towards the castle's entrance. ‘Lucy is far more timid. Not at all like Dominic. Isn't it ever commented on?'

‘No,' she said, aware of sheer relief at being able to talk honestly. ‘Everyone says how very alike they are, even though it is patently obvious that they aren't.'

‘And Greg?'

He saw the pain touch her eyes and then she said quietly, ‘I don't think it has occurred to him to look for similarities between them. He simply loves them as they are. And they love him.'

As they neared the castle entrance they could see Greg waiting for them, an animated Dominic holding on to one hand as he begged to be allowed to climb to the top of the thirteenth-century tower, Melanie clasping the other. Luke felt a flare of jealousy. Melanie never held his hand with such adoration. He wondered what it was about Greg that drew people to him so unerringly. And he wondered if Lisette could possibly be right in her belief that he no longer loved her. It seemed incredible, but if it
were
true, then surely it meant she would, in time, turn for love elsewhere? Feeling more optimistic than he had done for a long time, he grinned broadly at Greg as he strode up the last few yards of the path and stepped into the castle's shade.

‘Right,' he said buoyantly. ‘What happened to Duke Robert and his beggarmaid? Did they live happily ever after, or did she leave him for another?'

‘After the birth of William, Robert married her off to a Norman aristocrat and she had two further sons,' Lisette said, avoiding his eyes.

‘That's sad,' Melanie said, disappointed. ‘She should have lived with the Duke for ever and ever and then the story would have had a happy ending.'

‘It did have a happy ending,' Luke said, and as he began to walk towards the massive keep he was smiling, ‘… for the aristocrat.'

The days took on pattern and regularity. In the mornings the children played in and around Valmy. In the afternoons they set out with a picnic, and with Greg at the wheel of the Citroen, visited abbeys and castles and market towns. Annabel had no interest in history or architecture, but she was like a contented cat, happy to accompany them and to sit in the shade sipping a cooling drink while they went sightseeing with the children. They visited Chateau Gaillard, which had been the fortress of Richard, Coeur de Lion of England, and they visited the market place in Rouen where Joan of Arc had been burned at the stake. They walked through the beech woods and visited Madame Pichon and Madame Chamot. They stood long and silently in the American war cemetery above Omaha, and the British war cemetery at Bayeux.