The Very Thought of You (37 page)

He was right. When they walked into the hall, she came out of a door at the far end with a shout of joy.

‘Monsieur Robert,' she crooned. ‘At last. You haven't been here for weeks. And' – she grabbed Catherine's hand – ‘with the beautiful Madame Fletcher. What could be better?'

Catherine shook hands and smiled. Agathe looked as wild as ever, her long black hair uncombed but with a pencil holding some of it in an uncertain twist on top of her head. Her bright red smock was decorated with splashes of paint, and there was even a dab of it on her cheek, and another streaked along her wiry forearm. She was quite the most unusual person Catherine had ever met, but she found her impossible not to like.

Agathe clung on to Robert's arm. ‘Since your phone call,' she said, ‘I have made up the beds, and there is a fire in the salon. There is fresh bread, wine and a rabbit stew in the oven, but if you don't mind, I must go to the village. My mother is ill' – she shrugged her thin shoulders – ‘and because of this she has consented to my helping in her care. She forgets that she would never speak to me again. It is good.'

‘Go, Agathe,' said Robert. ‘Build a bridge while you can. We will be fine.'

‘Thank you, dear boy.' She picked up a small canvas bag and swung a green waterproof cape from a hook by the door. ‘I will come in the morning with bread and milk.'

‘I'll give you a lift,' said Robert. ‘The weather's too bad for your bike.' And turning to Catherine, he said, ‘I'll be five minutes. Go and warm yourself by the fire.'

By the time he'd returned, she'd stripped off her uniform jacket and was sitting on the thick, brightly coloured rug, toasting her stockinged feet in front of the log fire. She felt strangely at peace with herself, as though something that had worried her for months had simply faded away. Whatever happens now, she thought, is fine. Christopher has gone and I'm ready to love again.

Robert knelt down beside her. ‘Your cheeks are glowing,' he said.

‘It must be the heat from the fire,' she murmured, putting a hand up to feel them.

‘I'm not sure,' he whispered. ‘Perhaps it's because you know what's going to happen next.'

And when his mouth lowered onto hers, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. Whatever happened next, she was ready for it.

They made love there, on the rug in front of the fire. Outside, the wind howled and rain beat sharply against the shutters and rattled the shingles on the roof, but they didn't notice it. He paused once, as he was unbuttoning her blouse. ‘Are you sure?' he asked, his voice breathless, and she opened her eyes and looked him fully in the face.

‘Yes, Robert. I'm sure.'

Afterwards, they lay together, spent by lovemaking and each reliving the passion. She had been startled by his power, by the almost ruthless way he'd taken her, but she'd been equally excited and without shame explored his muscled, willing body.

‘I love you,' he said, rolling over and looking at her. ‘I think I have for months, even though …'

‘Even though what?'

‘Even though you didn't feel the same.'

Catherine reached over and pushed a lock of Robert's hair off his face. ‘I didn't feel the same,' she said slowly. ‘I was attracted to you, but it wasn't love.'

‘And now?'

‘Now? Now I think I do.' She sat up and stared at the flames and listened to the logs splitting – bursting apart with little showers of golden sparks. ‘No,' she said, and alarmed, he sat up too. ‘No,' she repeated. ‘Not think. I know. I love you, Robert.'

He held her then, each revelling in the intimacy until the feelings became too much and they made love again.

Catherine cried afterwards and Robert, worried, tried to comfort her.

‘What is it?' he asked, his voice full of concern. ‘Did I hurt you? Are you sorry we did this?'

‘No,' she laughed through her tears. ‘I'm just so happy, that's all. I couldn't hold back the emotion.'

‘Never hold back, my darling,' Robert said. ‘I want to experience everything with you. Everything.'

They lay in each other's arms barely noticing that it was getting darker and that the light from the fire was beginning to fade, until with a groan, Robert sat up and looked at the flickering embers in the grate. ‘It's going out,' he said, ‘or it will be if I don't attend to it. D'you mind if I get up?'

‘No, you idiot. And I should go and look at the casserole that Agathe left. For some reason,' she grinned, ‘I feel suddenly hungry.'

They ate rabbit stew and drank red wine that evening, barely talking, but gazing at each other, in a sort of wonder. ‘Did that really happen?' asked Robert, looking at the curve of Catherine's cheek and at the tiny ringlets that danced on her hairline above her ears.

‘Well, I think I felt someone interfering with me,' Catherine teased. ‘Was that you?'

‘Let's go to bed.' He put down his glass and grabbed her hand.

Later, they slept, both exhausted by overwhelming emotion. She woke once in the night and for a moment she was back in her little house with Christopher lying beside her. But only for a moment. Robert turned and, muttering in his sleep, put his arms around her and she drifted back.

When she woke, it was morning and pale grey light was streaming through the shutters. Robert wasn't beside her and she looked at the dip in the mattress that his body had made and smiled to herself. What a night, she thought, and then got up to find the bathroom.

‘Agathe's here,' he said, walking into the room with two cups of coffee. She was standing by the windows looking out on a restless sea. Gulls swooped and dived over the headland, their presence forecasting the approach of another storm.

Catherine bit her lip. ‘What will she think?' she asked, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Will she think I'm a terrible slut?'

‘God, no,' Robert laughed. ‘That's not Agathe. Besides, wasn't she a terrible slut herself? Here, get back into bed and drink your coffee. Make room for me.'

When they finally went downstairs, they found that Agathe had made a breakfast for them with fresh warm rolls and apricot jam. She'd put slices of ham and cheese on the table and hard-boiled eggs.

‘I won't ask where you got the ham,' said Robert, ‘because it's probably black market.'

Agathe wagged her finger at him. ‘Still the cheeky boy,' she said.

‘How is your mother?' asked Catherine.

‘She is no better and no worse. Not as bad as she thinks she is, but prepared to let me in her house as long as I wash her linen and make a few meals. The neighbours were surprised to see me,' she laughed. ‘The priest's mouth fell so wide open when he saw me that if it had been summer, he would have swallowed a quantity of flies!'

They left soon after, with hugs for Robert and a kiss on both cheeks for Catherine. ‘Come back, very soon,' Agathe told them. ‘I can see that it has done you good. Oh' – she looked beyond the veranda to the sea, smiling – ‘I remember so many wonderful nights in this house. The days were good, but the nights, magnificent.'

Catherine laughed all the way to Bayeux. ‘I do like Agathe,' she said.

‘I'm glad,' Robert nodded. ‘My wife hated her. She thought she was a trollop.'

It was the first time he'd talked about his wife since all those weeks ago, when she'd asked him whether he was married. Now the mention of her was like a little stone dropping into her stomach and her laugh faded away. He'd said that they'd been drifting apart before she'd gone to Berlin and she guessed that he would divorce her, if she was still alive. But there is a child, Catherine thought. And I have a child too. Darling Lili who needs a father.

‘What was she called?' Catherine hoped the question sounded casual.

‘Ulrike,' he said. ‘She was the daughter of the professor who taught me languages in Berlin. We were happy at first, but she loathed England. Couldn't settle at all, and in the end she went home. She said it was for a holiday, but I think I knew she wasn't coming back.'

‘Did you miss her?'

‘Not really. No, not at all. We'd argued constantly in those last two years. But' – his face dropped into sadness – ‘I miss my son. I wonder about him all the time. He would be about eight now, if he's still alive.'

Catherine put her hand on his shoulder. ‘There's no reason why he shouldn't be,' she said softly.

‘We've bombed the hell out of Berlin. Thousands have been killed.'

‘And thousands haven't,' she argued. ‘They've got shelters like we have.'

He drove on for a while and then took his hand off the steering wheel and put it on hers. ‘Thank you,' he said.

‘Robert, can I ask you something else?'

‘Of course. Anything.'

‘Why won't you get rid of Eric Baxter?'

There was silence and Catherine thought that for some reason she'd overstepped a mark, that she'd strayed into territory that was somehow denied to her. But then how could it be? she thought angrily. The Bennett Players were all as important as each other, and if one of them was upsetting the others and hadn't been sacked, then she needed to know why.

She was just about to say all this when he said, ‘I can't. Baxter has to stay. I can only tell you this, Catherine. He is useful to us.'

‘Who's us?' she replied crossly. ‘Certainly not anyone in the company. And, Robert, admit it. He's blackmailing Beau; we all know that. We've seen what he's doing, and God knows he'd probably blackmail the lot of us if he could.' She stopped speaking then, realising what she'd just said. He could have easily blackmailed Della over her mother's moonshine business, and what if he'd got wind of Frances's little boy? And then there were the others, Tommy and Colin and Godfrey. Why hadn't he had a go at them? Or had he?

‘He won't touch you,' Robert said. ‘I promise you that. He won't blackmail you or any of the rest of the company.'

‘How d'you know?'

‘I know. Leave it, Catherine.' His voice was hard and clipped. He was back in Major Lennox mode and she knew that it would be useless to argue. And that was a pity, because she wanted to know about Davey Jones and his mysterious death. The more she thought about it, the more strange it seemed. He turned up, out of the blue, did a couple of shows and then he was killed. She shot a sideways glance at Robert. Did she dare mention that?

‘You're quiet,' he said suddenly.

‘What d'you expect?' she sighed. ‘I have a lot to think about.'

‘Good thoughts, I hope?'

‘About last night?' she smiled. ‘Of course. It was wonderful. It'll show all over my face and everyone will know and I don't care.' She laughed. ‘Such a slut.'

‘You are,' he agreed cheerfully. ‘But you're my slut.' Then his smile faded and he turned his head to look at her. ‘You are mine, Catherine, aren't you?'

‘Yes,' she said simply. ‘I love you.'

When Robert dropped her back to the chateau with a swift kiss and a promise to see her soon, Della greeted her with joy. ‘Thank God you're back,' she grinned. ‘I'm bored to death.'

‘Where is everybody?' asked Catherine, taking off her coat and going into the salon to warm herself by the fire.

‘The boys are off with old man Farcy,' grumbled Della. ‘They've gone to some bloody local horse race. I ask you, a horse race in the middle of the war. They've only gone for the betting.'

‘Well, where's Frances?'

‘Don't talk to me about her.' Della was really furious. ‘She and Guy are messing about in the fields.'

‘Messing about?' Catherine was astonished. ‘Surely you can't mean …'

‘No, I don't.' She shot an amused look at Catherine. ‘I think you're the one who's been messing about, and don't deny it. It's written all over you.'

‘Alright, I won't deny it. But where's Frances?'

‘Yesterday, she and Guy were pulling out old fruit trees with chains and the tractor. Frances was driving that tractor like she'd been born at the wheel. And early this morning, they went to buy some cattle. They're in the field with them now.'

Catherine laughed. ‘We knew she was a farmer. She told us.'

‘That's at home,' Della growled. ‘She's a performer here.'

‘Well, I'm back now, and when I've said hello to Grandmère, we can have a good chat.' Catherine grinned as she left the room. ‘And no. I won't tell you the details.'

They were a jolly group that evening. The boys had returned from the races flush with money and in high spirits.

‘It was a local thing,' explained Tommy, ‘but we enjoyed it, didn't we, lads?'

‘We liked the free drinks,' Colin said, ‘especially Godfrey.' It seemed that after the point-to-point finished, the participants had retired to a hotel, where Tommy played the piano in exchange for a few beers. Godfrey, who'd been dozing on his chair, woke up and said, ‘Did I hear someone offering a beer?'

Frances was happy too. She'd been doing something she loved and her face had an outdoors glow that suited her. ‘I wish my father had money like Guy,' she confided to Catherine and Della. ‘I could really boost up the stock and make the place into a going concern. But he hasn't, so we can't.'

‘Oh, something will turn up,' said Catherine. ‘It always does.'

‘Oh, isn't she the happy one,' Della whispered so that the boys wouldn't hear. ‘There's nothing like a bit of “how's your father” to buck you up. Come on, Catherine, tell us. Was he any good?'

She didn't answer. Her smile told them all they wanted to know.

Two days later, she had a visitor. They were in the salon, rehearsing, when Madame Farcy came to tell her that there was a man waiting for her in the hall. ‘I thought he had come for Monsieur le Compte,' she said. ‘He looks like an official. But I told him that Monsieur is in Paris for a few days. He asked for you. Take him to the small salon. I'll bring some coffee.'