Читать книгу The Right Bride? - Сара Крейвен, Jessica Steele - Страница 12

SHE knelt on the bed, resting her arms on the window ledge, staring down at the bay where it had all begun.

Not very wise…

That was what Madelon had told her in warning, she thought, and it was probably the understatement of the decade. But how could I know where it would lead? After all, I only wanted some time to myself—to think, and make some decisions. And I didn’t wish to be cross-examined, however kindly, over where my husband was, or why he wasn’t with me.

I just—needed some peace.

I never meant there to be more to it than that. And I certainly never intended to deceive anyone, or cause any hurt.

Plus, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

But then no one actually asked me to do so—or not until it was so much too late.

She stopped herself right there. She could play with words and motives for ever, but nothing could actually justify what she’d done. She’d desperately needed to be honest, and instead she’d crashed in flames. And she could blame nothing and no one but herself.

Yet here she was, two years on, knowing that she could not afford to be completely frank. That there were still things that could not be said.

A widow with a child, she thought. That was all anyone needed to know.

And although Remy might be back in Ignac, that did not necessarily imply they would meet.

On the contrary, she told herself with resolution, she would go out of her way to ensure they didn’t.

I dare not risk it, she thought. For all kinds of reasons…

Sighing, she swung herself off the bed, pulling on shorts, a vest top and sandals, then went over to the cot. Tom was still fast asleep, chubby arms tossed wide, and her heart lurched as she looked down at him.

When Tante was gone, he would be all she had left to love. But he made all the agony of the past seem somehow worthwhile. She smoothed the damp, dark curls with a gentle finger, but he did not stir, so she tiptoed from the room and went slowly downstairs. The living room was empty, so presumably Madame Drouac had returned to her own abode for the afternoon, and the sun was streaming in through the open door at the rear.

Allie, drawing a deep, unsteady breath, walked out into the walled garden beyond.

The wind had dropped, and there were just a few faint streaks of high cloud, motionless against the baking blue of the sky.

She sat down on the grass, her back against the solitary ancient apple tree, and stared upwards, shading her eyes with her hand. So many days like this, she thought, breathing in the scent of earth and sun-warmed grass. So many memories jarring her mind again. Splintering her inner calm. Waiting inexorably to be dealt with.

Closing her eyes, Allie, slowly and reluctantly, allowed herself to surrender to the pull of the past.

In the days following her ruthless and spectacular rescue by Remy de Brizat, she’d made a conscious decision to keep well away from the beach, even though Tante had supplied her with a tide table and told her to learn it by heart.

But, in her heart, Allie knew that the rise and fall of the sea wasn’t the principal danger to be encountered.

The weather had turned intensely hot, giving her a good excuse to remain quietly in the seclusion of the garden, sunbathing and reading, as she felt her inner tensions begin to slip gently away. Or most of them, anyway.

One morning, over breakfast, Tante had mentioned that she was driving to Quimper later, to visit her accountant. ‘Some papers to do with tax, chérie, and so boring. But you are welcome to come with me, if you wish.’

Allie had decided she did not wish. She’d waved goodbye to Madelon, then taken her rug and cushion into the garden and stretched out face downward, unclipping her bikini top with a languid hand as she did so. But the hum of insects, the whisper of the leaves, and the distant murmur of the sea had failed for once to have their usual soporific effect. She’d felt oddly restless, and even the thriller she’d been reading had palled, its plot descending, she had decided, into sheer absurdity.

She’d tossed it aside, pillowed her head on her arms, and closed her eyes, making a deliberate effort to relax her whole body, commencing with her toes, then working slowly upward. Any moment now, she’d promised herself, she would feel completely calm.

‘Bonjour, Alys.’

For a shocked second, she thought she’d dozed off and was actually dreaming, but one startled sideways glance revealed battered espadrilles and, rising out of them, a pair of long, tanned and totally masculine legs.

‘You?’ She almost sat up, remembering just in time her loosened top. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wished to make sure that the events of the other morning had left no lasting trauma.’ He grinned down at her, totally at his ease, casual in shorts and a cotton shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist.

‘And is this how you normally make house calls?’ It was difficult, she found, to glare at someone effectively when you were forced to lie prone, and all they could see was your profile. ‘Just—march in without knocking or asking permission?’ And half-dressed?

‘No,’ he said. ‘But this is not a professional visit, you understand. Also, I met with Madame Colville on the road, and she gave me leave to visit you.’

He looked her over with undisguised appreciation, his eyes lingering, she realised furiously, on the narrow band of jade fabric that scarcely masked the swell of her buttocks.

‘The sun is fierce today,’ he said softly. ‘And you should not risk burning such lovely skin.’ He knelt down beside her, reaching for the bottle of sun lotion. He tipped some into the palm of his hand and began to apply it to her shoulders, in smooth, delicate strokes.

For a moment she was rendered mute with shock, then hurriedly pulled herself together.

‘Thank you,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘But I’m quite capable of doing that for myself.’

‘Vraiment?’ His brows lifted in polite enquiry, but he made no attempt to bring his unwanted ministrations to an end. ‘You are, perhaps, a contorsionniste? No? Then be still, and allow me to do this for you.’

His light, assured touch on her skin sent alarm signals quivering along her nerve-endings.

I don’t want this, she thought almost frantically. I—really do not…

She would have given anything to be able to sit up and snatch the damned bottle from his hand, but she was anchored to the rug. If only—only—she hadn’t unfastened her top. And the fact that he must have seen hundreds of women with bare breasts in his career made not an atom of difference.

Because Remy de Brizat was not her doctor, and, for all his comments about trauma, she was not his patient and never would be.

He took all the time in the world, his hands lingering, while Allie, raging with the knowledge of her own temporary helplessness, lay with her eyes shut and her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she fought a losing battle over the slow, inevitable awakening of her senses.

This can’t be happening to me, she thought. It just can’t.

One of the reasons I ran away was because I didn’t want to be touched—because I couldn’t bear it any longer.

And this man—this stranger—has no right to make me feel like this—as if my skin was made of silk, and my bones were dissolving. He has no right at all.

At last he paused, running a light finger along the rim of her bikini briefs but venturing no further, and she released her held breath, thinking that her ordeal was over.

Only to find herself stifling a startled whimper when he began to anoint the backs of her thighs, moving gently down to reach the sensitive area in the bend of her knees.

‘Alors.’ With sudden briskness, he recapped the bottle and put it down beside her. ‘The rest I am sure you can manage for yourself.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with icy politeness. ‘But I think I’ve had enough sun for one day.’

‘Perhaps you are wise,’ he said, faint amusement in his voice. ‘Why take more risks with such a charming body?’

Her throat tightened. ‘Thank you for your concern,’ she said. ‘But I can look after myself.’

She fumbled for the edges of her bra top and tried to bring them together across her slippery skin, with fingers made clumsy through haste.

‘Of course—as you prove so constantly, ma belle.’ She could hear him smiling, damn him. ‘Permettez-moi.’ He took the strips of material from her, and deftly hooked them into place.

Too bloody deftly altogether…

She sat up, pushing her hair back from her flushed face with a defensive hand. ‘Does that fulfil your quota of good deeds for the day?’ she asked stiffly. ‘Or do you have other visits to make? Because I wouldn’t wish to delay you on your errands of mercy.’

He studied her for a moment. ‘Why do you speak to me as if I were your enemy, Alys?’

Her colour deepened. ‘I—don’t,’ she denied shortly.

‘No?’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Then I hope we do not meet when you wish to be hostile.’

She took a swift breath. ‘I would actually prefer it, monsieur, if we didn’t meet at all after this.’ She lifted her chin. ‘You got me out of a nasty situation the other day, and I shall always be grateful for that. But now I would really like to be left in peace to—to enjoy my vacation without any further intervention from you. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I think I begin to,’ Remy de Brizat said slowly. ‘Tell me, Alys, do all men make you so nervous, or is it just myself?’

She gasped. ‘I’m not the slightest bit nervous—of you, or anyone.’

‘Then prove it,’ he said, ‘together with this gratitude you say you feel, and have lunch with me tomorrow.’

‘Lunch?’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘But why should I do any such thing?’

He shrugged. ‘I have already given you two good reasons,’ he said. ‘Besides, everyone needs to eat, and midday is considered a convenient time by most people.’ The blue eyes considered her again, more thoroughly. ‘And you are a little underweight, you know.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Is that in your medical opinion, or for your personal taste?’ she queried coldly.

He grinned at her. ‘I think—both.’

Well, she’d asked for that, but it didn’t improve her temper or weaken her resolve to keep him at bay.

He had a proud face, she thought, stealing a lightning glance at him from under her lashes. There was even a hint of arrogance in the high cheekbones and the cool lines of his mouth.

This was a man who was almost certainly unused to rejection, and equally unlikely to take it well.

I don’t suppose, Allie mused, he’s ever been stood up in his life. And—who knows?—it might teach him a muchneeded lesson. And, more importantly, it will demonstrate that I’m not available. Let’s hope he takes the hint.

She shrugged a bare shoulder, half smiling, as if resigned to her fate.

‘Very well, then. Lunch it is. As you say, we all need to eat.’ She paused. ‘What do you propose?’

There was a brief silence, then he said slowly, ‘There is a good restaurant on the road towards Benodet—Chez Lucette. You think you can find it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Bon. Then, shall we say—twelve-thirty?’

‘Perfect.’ Allie looked down demurely. ‘I—look forward to it, monsieur.’

His brows lifted. ‘Still not Remy?’

‘After lunch,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Perhaps.’

He said softly, ‘I shall live in hope. A bientôt.’ And went.

Left alone, Allie realised she was as breathless as if she’d been running in some marathon. It was a reaction she was not accustomed to, and it scared her.

All I had to do, she thought, swallowing, was tell him, ‘I’m married.’ And he would never have troubled me again. It was that simple. So why didn’t I say it? Why let him go on thinking I’m single? Available?

Oh, stop beating yourself up, she adjured herself impatiently. As long as you brush him off, why worry about the method? And after tomorrow he certainly won’t be coming round again.

She would change her brand of sun oil, too, she decided broodingly. Find an alternative with a different scent—one that wouldn’t remind her of the play of his hands as he massaged it into her warm skin each time she smelt it.

She said aloud, ‘Whatever it takes, I will be left in peace. And to hell with Remy de Brizat.’

‘Are you quite well, chérie?’ Tante studied her anxiously. ‘You seem tense—restless—this morning.’

‘I’m fine,’ Allie assured her, wandering out into the garden to sneak a look at her watch. Twenty-five past twelve, she thought. Excellent. He should be at Chez Lucette by now, and ordering his aperitif. Probably looking at his watch too, gauging my arrival.

I wonder how long he’ll wait before it dawns on him that he’s struck out for once? That I’ve not simply been delayed, but that I shan’t be joining him at all?

And what will he do then? Eat alone at his table for two? Or pretend he has an urgent case to go to before the egg hardens on his face?

Whatever—it serves him right, she told herself defensively, although she was totally unable to rationalise this conviction.

And she was sure there were plenty of ladies in the locality who would be happy to help soothe his bruised ego, she added, ramming her clenched hands into the pockets of her skirt.

‘Alys?’ Tante was calling from the back door, surprise in her voice. ‘Alys, you have a visitor.’

She swung round just in time to see Remy de Brizat walk out into the garden. He was dressed much as he had been the day before, with emphasis on the casual, his sunglasses pushed up on his forehead.

For a moment, Allie could only gape at him. When she spoke, her voice was husky with shock. ‘What are you doing here? I—I don’t understand…’

His smile was sardonic. ‘I decided against the restaurant after all, ma belle. It occurred to me that you would have difficulties in getting there. So I put food and wine in the car so that we can picnic instead.’ He added solicitously, ‘I hope you are not too disappointed?’

‘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 thoughtfully 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.