The Right Bride? (6 page)

‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not the word I’d have chosen.’ She swallowed. ‘How did you know that I wouldn’t meet you?’

He shrugged. ‘One minute you were spitting at me like a little cat. The next you were—honey. It was too much of a
volte face
to be entirely credible.’

‘And, of course, you wouldn’t just take the hint and stay away?’

‘I considered it.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘Because you intrigue me, Alys. Enough, certainly, to risk another rebuff.’ He added softly, ‘Also, I still wish to hear you call me Remy.’

He held out his hand. ‘It’s only lunch,
ma mie.
Shall we go?’

Is it? she thought, feeling the rapid thud of her heart. Is that really all it is?

Tell him, counselled the warning voice in her head. Tell him the truth now. Say that you misled him the other day because you were upset and didn’t know what you were saying. That it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to see each other again because you have a husband in England.

Then it will be over, and you won’t have to worry any more. You want peace of mind? Then take it. Because this could be your last chance.

And she found herself looking down at herself—at the thin blouse, the straight white skirt and the strappy sandals. Heard herself saying, ‘I—I’d better change. I’m not really dressed for a picnic.’

‘You look enchanting,’ he said. ‘But—just as you wish.’

Her glance was scornful. ‘Now, we both know that isn’t true.’

Inside the house, Tante looked at her, her forehead puckered in concern. ‘My dear child, are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘Yes,’ Allie said, and paused to kiss her cheek. ‘It’s fine, really,’ she whispered. ‘We’re just going to have lunch—one meal together. And that’s all.’

Then I’ll tell him I’m married, she thought as she ran upstairs. And it will finally be finished.

Madness, Allie thought, returning bleakly to the here and now as tears burned in the back of her eyes and choked her throat. Sweet, compelling, uncontrollable madness. That was what it had been—how it had been.

One man—
the man
—was all it had taken to breach the firewall around her. Just the touch of his hand had altered all her perceptions of herself, destroying once and for all the myth of her invulnerable reserve.

How could she have known that she’d simply been waiting—waiting for him? Remy…

His name was a scream in her heart.

She drew her knees up to her chin, bent her head, and
allowed herself to cry. The house was asleep, so thankfully there was no one to hear her agonised keening or the sobs that threatened to rip her apart.

For two years she’d had to suppress her emotions and rebuild her defences. Never allowing herself to reveal even for a moment the inner pain that was threatening to destroy her.

Now, at last, the dam had burst, and she yielded to the torrent of grief and guilt it had released, rocking backwards and forwards, her arms wrapped round her knees. Until, eventually, she could cry no more.

Then, when the shaking had stopped, she got slowly to her feet, brushing fronds of dried grass from her clothing, and went into the house.

She washed her face thoroughly, removing all traces of the recent storm, then carefully applied drops to her eyes, before returning to her room. Tom had not stirred, and she stretched herself on the bed, waiting with quiet patience for him to wake up, and for the rest of her life to begin.

She must have dozed, because she suddenly became aware, with a start, that he was standing, vigorously rattling the bars of his cot. As she swung herself off the bed and went to him, he gave his swift, entrancing grin, and held out his arms.

She picked him up, rubbing noses with him. ‘And hi there to you too. Want to play outside?’

Tante was there ahead of them this time, sitting placidly under a green and white striped parasol, her hands busy with her favourite embroidery, a jug of home-made lemonade on the wooden table at her elbow.

She looked up, smiling. ‘Did you rest well,
chérie
?’

‘It was good not to be moving,’ Allie evaded. She put Tom down on the blanket that had already been spread on the grass in anticipation, rolling his coloured ball across the grass for him to chase before sitting down and accepting the glass of lemonade that Tante poured for her.

And now it was high time to face a few issues. And with honesty, this time around, if that was possible.

‘I came across a little drama in Ignac today,’ she remarked, trying to sound casual. ‘A fierce old lady having some family battle in the middle of the road, and refusing to give way.’

Tante chose another length of silk from the box beside her. ‘That would be Madame Teglas,’ she said composedly.
‘Pauvre femme,
she hates her unfortunate daughter-in-law, and is convinced that her son wishes to put her in a home. Therefore she makes these scenes in public.’ She shook her head. ‘One day, she will be run over.’

‘She nearly was—by me.’ Allie was proud of the faint amusement in her voice. ‘Luckily, Remy de Brizat came along and calmed her down.’

She waited tensely for Tante’s response, but the older woman merely nodded, unfazed. ‘He is her doctor, and one of the few people who can deal with her tantrums.’

‘I see.’ Allie hesitated. ‘That—sounds as if he’s back for good?’ she ventured.

Madelon Colville threaded her needle with care. ‘His father hopes so, certainly. The other partner at the medical centre was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease a year ago, and wished to retire, so Remy returned to take his place.’ She looked at Allie over the top of her glasses. ‘You were surprised to see him,
peut-être
?’

‘A little, maybe.’ Allie hand-picked her words. ‘I guess I—assumed he would still be in Brazil, or wherever the charity had sent him next.’

Tante nodded. ‘And you feel, I think, that I should have told you he had come back?’

‘No,’ Allie said, then, ‘Well, maybe. I—I don’t know…’ She paused. ‘Does he know that—I’ve come back, too?’

‘I saw no reason to tell him.’ Tante shrugged, her face and voice calm. ‘Two years have passed since you parted,
ma chère,
and the world has moved on—as Remy himself has done. He has dismissed the past and come back to resume his life here, just as he should.

‘And you also made a decision—to lead your own life in England, with this beautiful child.’ Her eyes dwelled thought
fully on Tom. ‘He is the important one now, and that other time, here with Remy, is over and gone, and should be forgotten.’

She paused. ‘Besides, he may even be married himself when the summer ends.’ She added expressionlessly, ‘No doubt you will remember Solange Geran?’

No doubt…

The pain was suddenly back, slashing savagely at her, forcing Allie to stifle her involuntary gasp.

‘Yes,’ she returned steadily. ‘Yes, of course I do.’

How could I possibly forget her
—
the girl who finally brought my make-believe world crashing in ruins around me?

And now
—
dear God—Remy has come back
—
to her. I did not bargain for this…

And how can I bear it?

She drank some lemonade, letting the cold tartness trickle over the burning sandpaper that had once been her throat. She made herself sound politely interested. ‘Her
gîte
business—is it doing well?’

‘It seems that it is. She has converted another barn, and no longer has time to deliver eggs.’ Tante set a stitch with minute accuracy. ‘Although I had already ceased to buy from her,’ she added almost inconsequentially.

Tom was fast approaching again, clutching his ball to his chest. Allie persuaded him to relinquish it, and rolled it again for him to pursue.

She said quietly, ‘And now she’s going to be a doctor’s wife, just as she always wanted.’ She forced a smile. ‘It’s—good that things have worked out so well—for all of us.’ She sat up, swallowing the rest of her lemonade. ‘And now, maybe, we should talk about you.’

Tante shrugged again. ‘I am no longer young. What else is there to say?’

‘Quite a bit,’ Allie said crisply. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Why you’ve been seeing the doctor?’

‘The ailments of the elderly,’ Tante dismissed almost airily. ‘So boring to contemplate. So wearying to discuss.’

Allie stared at her. ‘It can’t be that simple,’ she objected.
She paused. ‘You do realise that your letter implied that you were practically at death’s door?’

Tante concentrated on her embroidery. ‘As I told you, I have good days and bad days,
ma mie.
I must have written to you on a bad one.’

Allie drew a sharp breath. ‘And when Madame Drouac came to look after you—I suppose that was just a bad day too?’

Madame Colville looked faintly mournful. ‘All these details—so difficult to remember.’

‘Then perhaps I should simply ask your doctor.’

‘Ask Remy?’ Tante mused. ‘I wonder if he would tell you. Or if it would indeed be ethical for him to do so without my permission.’

In the silence that followed, Allie heard herself swallow. She said, ‘I—I didn’t realise. I thought you were his father’s patient.’

‘When Dr Varaud left, there was some reassignment.’ Tante waved a hand. ‘I was happy to consult Remy instead.’ She gave a slight cough. ‘To reassure you,
ma chère,
I have always found him most kind—most understanding.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ Allie’s tone was wooden. Oh, God, she thought, her stomach churning. If she’s under some medical regime, then he may come here. What am I going to do? What can I do?

She leaned forward almost beseechingly. ‘Darling, why won’t you tell me what the problem is—and how serious? We could always get a second opinion.’

‘Because it would change nothing.’ There was a finality in Madelon Colville’s voice. ‘And, believe me,
mon enfant,
I am content for it to be so. In life, at my age, one can only expect the unexpected.’ She smiled. ‘So,
chérie,
let us simply enjoy this time we have together,
hein
?’

Allie stared at her. Her great-aunt seemed almost tranquil, she thought in unhappy bewilderment. More than that, she’d swear that Madelon even had an air of faint satisfaction. Was that how someone really prepared to relinquish their hold on a good life well lived? She could hardly believe it.

At the same time, it was clear that any expression of sorrow and regret on her own part would not be welcomed. So, in spite of everything, she would have to do her best to remain cheerful and positive.

But at least her concern over Tante might help distance the renewed anguish that hearing about Remy had inevitably evoked.

And the local grapevine worked like a charm, she reminded herself. News of Tante’s visitor from England would soon spread. She could only hope that Remy, too, would want no reminder of the betrayal and bitterness of two years before, and take his own avoiding action.

‘It’s over,’ she whispered feverishly to herself. ‘And I have to accept that, just as he’s done, and deal with it.’

And, at the same time, pray that it’s true…

She drew a trembling breath as she reached for Tom as he scurried past and lifted him on to her lap, holding him tightly.

It’s your future that matters now, my darling, she told him silently. Your future, and nothing else. And I’ll fight tooth and nail to protect it.

T
HE
rest of the day passed slowly. Allie felt constantly on edge, acutely aware of how many topics were necessarily taboo. She was thankful that Tom was there to provide a welcome focus for everyone’s attention. His earlier shyness all forgotten, he basked in the unbounded sunshine of approval from Tante and Madame Drouac.

Even so, there were odd pitfalls to be negotiated.

‘Amelie says that Thomas has very beautiful eyes,’ Tante reported smilingly as Allie came downstairs, slightly damp from an uproarious bath and bedtime session with her son. ‘She thinks such an unusual shade of blue.’

‘The Marchingtons are all blue-eyed,’ Allie returned, rather lamely.

‘She feels too that he is most advanced for so young a child,’ Madelon Colville added blandly. ‘She understood you to say that he has only just passed his first birthday.’

Allie’s face warmed. ‘I think that may have lost a little in translation,’ she said lightly. ‘I shall have to work on my French.’

And also watch my step from now on, she added silently. Madame Drouac is clearly nobody’s fool.

They spent a quiet evening, preferring to listen to music rather than watch television. But it was not long before Tante announced that she was tired and going to bed.

‘And I think you would benefit also from an early night, Alys.’

Allie nodded. ‘I’ll be up soon.’

But when the Chopin
nocturne
ended, she slid Debussy’s
‘Prelude à l’après midi d’un faune’
into the CD player, and settled back against the cushions to listen, allowing the music to recapture for her all the drowsy, languid warmth of a magical afternoon. A time when anything could happen.

Like that first afternoon with Remy, she thought, a fist clenching in her stomach. Never to be forgotten.

She’d sat tautly beside him in his Jeep, she remembered, her hands gripped together in her lap, staring through the windscreen without absorbing much. Conscious only of the man beside her.

‘Relax, Alys,’ he had commanded softly. ‘Or you will make me nervous too.’

‘Not much chance of that,’ she muttered.

‘No?’ There was amusement in his voice. ‘You would be surprised. But you will feel better, perhaps, when you have had something to eat.’

‘It’s not always a question of blood sugar levels,
monsieur le docteur
,’ she countered. She shook her head. ‘I still don’t know why I’m doing this.’

‘I hi-jacked you,
chérie
,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I like to look at something beautiful during my mealtimes.’

Her brows lifted. ‘Really? I thought most Frenchmen preferred to look at what was on their plates.’

‘Then you know very little about Frenchmen.’

‘And,’ she said, ‘believe it or not, I was perfectly happy in my ignorance.’

He burst out laughing. ‘One day,
ma mie
,’ he said, ‘I shall remind you of that.’ He turned the Jeep off the narrow coast road they’d been following, and drove inland along a rough track towards a circle of standing stones silhouetted against the horizon.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Allie commented brightly as he brought the vehicle to a halt. ‘This used to be a place for human sacrifice, and I’m the main course.’

Remy grinned at her. ‘Legend says that they were all bad
girls from nearby villages, lured here by a local saint in the guise of a handsome young man, who turned them to stone when they refused to repent their wicked ways.’ He took a rug from the back of the Jeep and tossed it to her. ‘Maybe a sacrifice would have been kinder.’

‘And the
men
who weren’t saints?’ she enquired tartly, as he lifted out a hamper. ‘Who’d contributed to the girls’ downfall? I suppose they got off scot-free?’

‘That might depend,
ma belle,
on whether or not they were found out by their wives.’

Allie gave him a cold look and followed him, holding the rug against her as if it provided some kind of defence.

They walked through the stones and down into a small sheltered hollow, where Remy spread the rug on the short grass and began to unpack the basket. Allie stationed herself at a distance and watched. It was, she reflected, quite a sophisticated performance, with covered pottery dishes, gleaming silverware, a white linen cloth, and crystal glasses wrapped in matching napkins. Not a plastic spoon or limp sandwich in sight. And a means to an end if ever she’d seen one.

Seduction-by-Sea, she told herself wryly. And I wonder how many other girls he’s brought to this same secluded spot?

On the other hand, what could it possibly matter? He was here with her for the first time and the last, and whatever plans he might have for post-prandial entertainment were doomed to disappointment.

Unless, of course, he decided to use force…

For a brief moment something cold and dead lodged like a stone within her, and was immediately dismissed.

No, she thought, he would never do that. Because he would never have to. There would be no lack of willing women in his life. Enough, probably, to embellish the whole of Finistere with stone circles if truth be told.

‘You look very fierce, Alys,’ he commented. ‘Calm yourself with some pâté. It has come from the Intermarche, so it is quite safe.’

Allie, remembering what Tante had said about the cooking at Trehel, was betrayed into a giggle.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see poor Liliane’s fame has reached Les Sables. And yet as a housekeeper she is—
formidable.
No speck of grime is allowed to exist.
Mais, malheureusement,
the food is also massacred.’ He shook his head. ‘We try—my grandfather, my father and I—to keep her from the stove, but at the same time we do not wish to hurt her feelings. She is a kind soul.’

The pâté
was
good, she discovered, as were the thick slices of ham, the chunks of smoked sausage, and the sliced duck breast that followed. To accompany the crusty
baguette
there was a slab of butter in a refrigerated dish, and a creamy local cheese, wrapped in a checked cloth.

The wine Remy poured for them both was pale and crisp, but she was told there was also mineral water, if she preferred.

She decided to risk the wine, sipping circumspectly, and if he noticed her restraint he made no comment.

To complete the meal there were strawberries, in a bowl lined with green leaves.

Allie pushed her plate away with a little sigh of repletion. ‘That was—delicious.’

‘And I am forgiven for having kidnapped you?’

‘I’ll overlook it,’ she said. ‘This once.’

He smiled at her lazily. ‘I hope it will never again be necessary.’ He paused. ‘I regret there is no coffee, but I think it should be made and drunk while it is fresh. Although, being English, you drink only tea, perhaps?’

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Besides, my grandmother was French, don’t forget.’

‘The Vaillac sisters.’ He began to put the used things back in the hamper. ‘My grandfather knew them as young girls, and says they were both beauties.’ He paused. ‘He was surprised, I think, when Madame Colville decided to return. And pleased, too. He says it is good to come back to the place where you were born. So many—just leave.’

He put the hamper to one side and refilled their glasses.
‘He says also that this is not your first visit. That you came here with your father while I was working abroad.’

‘Yes, I did,’ she said. ‘More than once.’ She paused. ‘Which makes my idiotic behaviour on the beach the other morning even more unforgivable. I—should have known better.’

‘And I,’ he said, ‘could have been kinder.’

He had moved closer, she realised suddenly, and his hand was only a couple of inches from hers. She looked down at the long fingers with their short, well-kept nails, and remembered how they’d felt, touching her skin. A tiny flame of forbidden excitement sprang into life deep within her, and had to be suppressed.

She hurried to fill the silence. ‘You speak marvellous English.’
Oh, God, I sound all eager and
—
girly.

He shrugged. ‘When I qualified, I worked in Britain for a while. Also America. And when I was employed by the charity English was the common language too. So now, of course, I am given the tourists to deal with at the medical centre.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll—try to lessen your workload and not get sick.’

His mouth quirked. ‘You are all consideration,
ma mie,
but you seem to be in good health. You are still pale, of course.’ His hand closed round her wrist. ‘And your pulse is too rapid,’ he added softly. ‘But I do not think the symptoms are dangerous.’

Oh, but you’re wrong—so wrong, she thought wildly. Because I’ve never been in such danger before. Never…

She glanced down, realising that his fingers were entwined with hers now, and that somehow his other arm was encircling her shoulders. She felt his cheek against her hair. Became aware that he was lifting her hand, brushing her knuckles gently with his lips, then turning it to press a kiss into the centre of her palm. It was the briefest of caresses. Yet she felt it jolt through her entire body like an electric charge.

And heard herself whisper desperately, ‘No—please. No.’

He released her instantly, but he did not move away from her. She could feel the warmth of him through her thin shirt. He said quietly, ‘No to a kiss,
ma belle
? Or—no, I may not
undress you, as I so much wish to do, and make love to you here in the sunlight?’

‘No to any of it. All of it.’ She stumbled over the words. ‘You mustn’t…I can’t…’ She added desperately, ‘Please take me home.’

There was a silence, thoughtful rather than laced with the anger she’d expected.

He stroked her cheek, then smoothed her hair back behind her ear, his thumb gently brushing the lobe. He said softly, ‘Are you a virgin, Alys?’

She stared wildly in front of her, not daring to turn her head and meet his gaze. She said huskily, ‘You have no right to ask me that.’

‘You think not? But between lovers it is a matter of some importance.’

‘We are—not lovers.’ Her tone had become a croak.

‘Not yet, perhaps. But one day—one night soon—it will happen.’ He added levelly, ‘As you know well, Alys. So do not let us pretend any longer, or play games with words. It follows that I need to know if you are truly as inexperienced as you seem.’

She still could not look at him. She spoke reluctantly, stumbling a little. ‘Then—no. I’ve had sex—before.’

‘Ah,’ he said meditatively. ‘You do not appear to recall it with pleasure.’

She bit her lip. ‘It was at a college party,’ she said at last. ‘In an empty bedroom with someone who’d never paid me much attention before. And nothing really changed, because it was awkward, uncomfortable, and thankfully over very quickly.’ She tried to smile. ‘Afterwards, I wanted to die of embarrassment. My only excuse, and I’m not proud of it, is that I’d had too much to drink.’

And I’ve never told anyone before
—
so why now? Oh, God, why you…?

‘What a terrible confession,’ Remy said, after a pause. He reached for the bottle and held it out to her. ‘Have some more wine.’

She gasped indignantly, turning on him, then halted. How could she have ever thought his eyes were cold? she asked herself dazedly. They were so alive and brilliant with laughter, mingled with something that might almost have been tenderness.

She mumbled, ‘It’s not funny.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not.’ He poured the rest of the wine on to the grass, and returned the empty bottle to the basket.

He said softly, ‘Let me tell you something,
chérie.
A man who chooses to make love to a girl when her senses are dulled with alcohol is a fool. When you come to me, Alys, I promise you will know exactly what you are doing at every moment.’

Her heart was battering her ribcage. She said thickly, ‘It will never happen.’

His brows lifted. ‘You doubt my resolve, Alys?
Eh, bien…
’

He reached for her almost casually, pulling her against him so that she was lying across his body. Then he bent his head, and his mouth took hers—slowly, but very surely.

She knew she should resist. The need to do so was imperative. Absolute. But she had no defence against the warm, mesmerising power of his kiss. And the complete absence of any kind of pressure was her undoing. His lips moved on hers with a tantalising gentleness wholly outside her experience. The tip of his tongue probed softly, coaxing her to open to him. To allow the caressing mouth to take her to a new and more sensuous level.

Almost imperceptibly Allie found her body relaxing against his, her breathing quickening unevenly as she yielded to the intimate exploration of the inner contours of her mouth, the delicate, provocative play of his tongue against hers.

And when at last he raised his head and looked down at her, the blue eyes grave and questioning, she breathed, ‘Remy,’ on a little sigh, and her arms went round his neck to draw him back to her again.

At once his kiss deepened, hardening into a new dimension of heated possession, and Allie responded passionately to his demands, her own mouth as eager—as seeking.

The blood seared her veins as she clung to him, her fingers
gripping the strength of bone and muscles in his shoulders through the thin shirt as she tasted—breathed with desire—the erotic male scent of him.

His hand lifted to cup her breast, his thumb stroking its tender peak slowly and rhythmically, teasing it to quivering arousal until she moaned softly into his mouth, her body arching towards him.

Hunger was burning her now—melting her with the first real discovery of her own female physicality. Making her aware of the scalding rush between her thighs. Rendering her defenceless against whatever he might ask of her.

Slowly, almost lingeringly Remy took his mouth from hers, his hand from her body. Even moved back a little, pushing his hair from his face.

She looked up at him, her eyes half closed, drowsy with need as she began one by one to unfasten the buttons on her shirt. To offer herself.

Only to find his hand closing round hers, halting her.

He said huskily, his breathing ragged, ‘You taste of strawberries and wine, Alys.’ He paused, shaking his head almost dazedly. ‘But now I think—I know—that I should take you home.’