Читать книгу By Request Collection April-June 2016 - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 55

‘I’M NOT so sure about wearing old clothes to our wedding, chérie.’

Shari scowled. Until this moment she’d been enjoying her breakfast. Until this moment croissants and toast had never tasted so good. She was doing her best to be gracious over the travesty of a wedding she was forced to settle for, but that didn’t mean she should have to discuss it when she had serious things on her mind.

Things like wilfully endangering her baby just to pander to some totally unfounded suspicions. Sure, it had been her suggestion, based on an insane and quixotic impulse, but the fact that Luc was going along with it even after he’d thoroughly read that pamphlet, interrogated the doctor to within an inch of the poor woman’s life and researched the whole question on the Internet ad infinitum spoke for itself.

He still didn’t one hundred per cent trust her.

And if he didn’t, how could he ever love her? She knew from her own bitter experience the end of trust meant the end of love.

In this case, love had never begun.

Despite all his affectionate words and gestures, his concern for her well-being, his apparent pride when he introduced her to people, he’d never once been tempted to say he loved her, when she, on so many occasions, had only just managed not to embarrass him with heartfelt outpourings of eternal love by severely restraining herself.

Oh, there’d been moments in the heat of passion when he’d come on pretty strong about how he adored her, she’d changed his life, et cetera, but she knew the difference, and so did a sophisticated guy like him.

He couldn’t even claim it was a cultural idiosyncrasy at work. Everyone knew the French were renowned for their passionate declarations. For heaven’s sake, hadn’t they invented the language of love?

Even in Australia, where men feared to string more than two words together at a time in case of being thought female, they managed to say deep and soulful things to their lovers in private. Behind closed doors. With the blinds down.

This whole amniocentesis thing was another symbol of her failure to inspire love in a man. It was shaming to think some women were forced to go through the procedure for very urgent and genuine reasons, while she’d signed on for little more than as a test to prove herself.

To prove she wasn’t a liar. How sad was that?

Paradoxically, she suspected Luc wasn’t comfortable with the idea himself. But it had become another of those things they didn’t talk about. Like love.

‘It occurs to me …’ he said, casually spooning double cream onto the jam he’d spread inside his croissant. How could the man stay so lean and fit? His abdomen was as flat as a washboard. ‘… That our witnesses are likely to use the occasion of our wedding as an excuse to strut their finery.’

‘Well, then, it’s a pity we can’t choose witnesses who aren’t prone to finery. Like perfect strangers walking along the street.’

Though his dark eyes shimmered, his face continued grave. ‘Yes, that is a shame. Strangers would have been perfect. Unfortunately, the law has spoken. Perhaps we can strike a compromise. Suppose tomorrow we take a stroll through the boutiques? There must be something in Paris you could enjoy wearing to your wedding. A suit. A dress.’

‘I doubt it.’

The truth was, any control she’d had over the event was fast slipping away. Already she’d been forced to give in on the witness question.

The law was stacked against her. During several visits to the mairie, her situation in regard to her Australian birth and the inadequacy of her visa had occasioned some terse comments from the conseiller municipal who was to perform the ceremony.

Could she prove her relationship with Luc was genuine and not just an attempt to marry a French citizen by devious means? Could she prove she had genuine links with France and deserved special consideration?

The doctor’s certification that she was pregnant, and had certainly been pregnant before she left Australia, possibly coinciding with Luc’s documented visit there, only went part of the way to assuage official doubts. Even the dozen or so Australian documents she’d sent home for, along with Luc’s documents, were held as doubtful.

Her relationship by marriage to Luc’s cousin Emilie was counted as helpful. Even more helpful would be the endorsement of other members of Luc’s immediate family.

Though Luc argued fiercely with the officials about the ridiculous red tape and bureaucracy that was strangling France and its citizens, he accepted the ruling.

Shari wasn’t sure how regretful he truly was when he announced they were forced to invite two members of his family to be their witnesses.

‘What can I say?’ he’d raged when he broke the news, striding up and down and flinging out his hands. ‘We live in a paranoid society in which citizens are considered guilty before being proven innocent. I’m so sorry, my darling, but our hands are tied. This is why I’m leaving it to you to decide who we should honour with the role.’

Shari frowned. ‘Two?’

‘Bien sûr, the law requires two.’

Two of his family. It wasn’t that she disliked his family. They’d been very kind on every occasion. Since their announcement of the baby, both the Sophies had invited her to go shopping with them, Raoul and Lucette had invited her and Luc to dinner, and Laraine had called by to drink tea. During the visit the gracious woman had expressed her sincere condolences about all the yellow silk.

‘It doesn’t suit every complexion,’ she’d said sympathetically. ‘I’m not sure it even suited Manon. And it can be very wearing on the nerves. Probably on relationships, I wouldn’t be surprised. Make a couple a little irritable, hein? I know my son has always detested yellow. In your case, ma chérie, a warm white, pale cream, perhaps even a très, très watery shade of blue could be to your advantage.’

Laraine was right about one thing. Yellow was irritating.

In fact, ever since Luc had made the proposal, if anyone could call it that, things that hadn’t bothered Shari before bothered her now. That was one good reason why this so-called wedding didn’t deserve to be classed as a celebration.

She tried not to look at him, all crisp and fresh in his city suit, his handsome jaw cleanly shaven while she was still a classic frump in one of his old tee shirts and straggly hair. It wasn’t fair that a man should always be beautiful.

He was absorbed in reading his tablet, but every so often he remembered she was alive. ‘Have you thought any more about the witnesses, chérie?’ he said absently. ‘We will have to give them some warning.’

‘I’m not sure who in your family would have the time for such a banal formality. It’s hardly a social event. Merely the signing of a contract.

Behind their dark lashes his eyes glinted. ‘It shouldn’t be impossible to find two who are willing. I dare say everyone in my family would like to witness my wedding.’

She glanced at him, but his face was entirely innocent as he perused Le Figaro, making occasional stabbing gestures with his forefinger at articles that infuriated him.

‘Well …’ She studied her toast, which could have been improved by a very thin smear of Vegemite, if only the French knew it. ‘I suppose it would be nice to ask your mother.’

There was a moment of silence. Then, ‘You think?’

She said gloomily, ‘Though if we ask her, we can’t possibly not ask Tante Marise.’

He nodded. ‘Although Oncle Georges would be overjoyed to be included. Still, it’s difficult with only the two. But what can one do? Papa is in Venice, but even he might feel he has a claim …’

She could see the crack widening in the dam wall. ‘I suppose … one could invite some of them as guests.’

He glanced up, his face illuminated with a sudden devastating smile that wrung her heart. ‘Only if you would feel comfortable with that, of course.’

She shrugged, gracious in defeat. At least he could be happy. ‘Oh, sure, sure. Invite them all. And the children. And their dogs. But you know what that means, don’t you?’

He was smiling at his iPad. ‘What?’

‘Printed invitations. Flowers. Photos. Receptions. All that stuff. Stuff I know nothing about arranging.’

‘You can leave all that to me. What about Neil and Emilie?’

‘Are you kidding? The twins are barely three months old. Em won’t want to travel with them. And she’s breastfeeding so she can’t leave them behind, even if she wanted to. No, I’m doomed to go it alone.’

‘Tsk, tsk. So depressing. At least on Saturday we can see about your dress. That will be something beautiful to think of, n’est-ce pas?’

She heaved a bored sigh. ‘Whatever. Choose what you like. Just so long as it’s yellow.’

She could tell she’d made some impact with that. He looked at her long and hard.

But it gave her no real satisfaction. Did she want to disgruntle him and send him off to the office looking stern for another day of terrifying his employees? No, she wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to have everything in the world he wanted. Even if it wasn’t her, all that much.

Of course, once she had proved her case about his paternity, he might see her in a different light. If she didn’t throw herself off the Pont Neuf first.

After he’d kissed her goodbye, then strode off to catch his train, she drifted around for a while, half-heartedly tidying things like a nineteen fifties housewife and feeling miserable about the whole damned thing.

It was lowering to know that a man would never have dreamed of marrying you if you hadn’t been pregnant. And just to underline that fact couldn’t even be bothered to dress up his proposal with a few flowery words.

Lately, she’d even given up the effort to dress herself up. Most days she mooched around in shorts, shirts and sandals, her hair in a daggy ponytail. Occasionally she’d drag on a skirt for the shops, but that was her biggest concession.

She felt Luc’s gaze on her often, anxious, troubled, but she didn’t feel like explaining. If he couldn’t work out that a woman liked to feel at least equal to his ex in his regard, what was the point?

There was an evening when Luc was taking her to a reception at the Turkish embassy. When she emerged from her boudoir in a shortish skirt and a vest top, Luc stood stock still, gorgeous in his evening suit, surveying her quite sternly. Then he steered her back into her dressing room, stripped off those clothes and pulled out her good black dress.

‘Put this on,’ he commanded, then added smoothly, ‘They will be going to some trouble for us. We have to consider their feelings too, mon amour.’ Though gentle, there was unmistakable steel in his demeanour.

She knew she was sulking like an angry, disappointed child, but that was because she was an angry, disappointed woman, with a child inside. While she capitulated in the matter of the dress, in a bold act of defiance she painted a fly on her cheek.

Luc simply smiled and said, ‘Enchanting.’ And to further destabilise her, he introduced her to all the dignitaries at the reception as his future bride with apparent glowing pride.

The rift stretched between them as wide and cold as a frozen sea.

Her blue mood persisted until the day of the amnio test. On the morning of the test she was jumpier than a cricket. Since her appointment at the clinic wasn’t until early afternoon, she killed time by going to the market.

In an effort to crush down the jagged rocks in her chest, she visited her favourite art-supply shop first, and purchased some gentian blue and vermilion. Then she wended her way through the market, collecting sundry fruits and vegetables for the household supply. Shopping was easier now she could ask for things in French.

She was just gazing wistfully into the window of a patisserie she knew she should avoid when a voice she vaguely recognised accosted her.

‘Shari, is it?’

She turned. Like an apparition from her worst nightmares, Manon was standing there, smiling a little uncertainly, an elegant tote bag hanging off her wrist.

‘Oh. Bonjour. How are you? I mean you … you look very well. Beautiful, as always.’

Manon laughed. ‘Beautiful. I feel like a whale. My back aches, my ankles are swelling, and I’m hot. I’ve only just arrived and already I need to sit down. Shall we go inside?’

Shari only just managed not to drop her jaw. But why not? Why refuse the elegant woman?

‘How close are you to your time?’ she enquired over the tiny sliver of gateau that she’d allowed herself. No added cream. Even on a horrible day some lines had to be drawn.

‘Three days past. My waters could break at any second. Does that give you an uncomfortable feeling?’ She grinned and Shari allowed herself to relax and laugh. ‘I’m not supposed to go out but I needed to escape. My partner would be cross with me if she could see me now.’

Shari pricked up her ears. Well, well, well. Here was an intriguing turn-up. She wondered if she should tell Luc that he and Jackson Kerr had been supplanted by a woman.

‘Was that her at the clinic that day?’

Manon nodded. ‘Oui, that was Jenny. And are you and Luc still living around the corner?’

‘Yep.’

‘I enjoyed living there. Such a wonderful part of the city.’ She smiled across her strawberry mousse.

Shari lowered her gaze. ‘Mmm. I love the views.’ And the man. So much. Too much.

‘Vraiment. So pretty. I still think of my peaches and lemons sometimes. It was Luc’s maman who whispered Luc’s favourite colours to me.’

Shari lifted her brows. ‘Really?’

‘Oui. I could never really grow used to it. And after all my effort I was never even sure he noticed. Men. What can we do about them?’ She gave a Gallic shrug, then winked. ‘I have found my own way.’

Shari looked searchingly at her. ‘And—you’re happy?’

‘Never happier.’ The glowing radiance of her smile was undeniable. ‘Life is too short not to be as happy as you can be.’

Shari agreed with that philosophy with all her heart. Though why did other people’s happiness always make the heart twinge? ‘Do you mind if I ask something?’

‘Mais non. Ask away.’

‘Did you have the—amniocentesis test?’

Manon nodded. ‘I needed to. We had some concerns at one stage about spina bifida, because it is in my family genetics. But … it seems there was no need to worry, after all. It’s good to know our baby escaped that terrible thing.’

‘How bad was it? Taking the test?’

She waggled her hand. ‘Comme ci, comme ça. A little scary. Everything is scary when you’ve never done it before. But in the end—not bad. It gave us peace of mind.’

‘Of course.’ If only she had peace of mind. She was beginning to doubt that a test would deliver it, when all was said and done. Feeling Manon’s curious gaze, she hastened to change the subject.

‘Is Jackson Kerr as gorgeous as he looks on the silver screen?’

Manon laughed. ‘No. He looks hot, but that’s where it stops. He’s selfish, his breath smells like a drain, and he thinks about nothing except his beauty, his personal trainer, and football. Always football. And his mother.’ She shuddered. ‘Luc is a much sweeter, smarter guy.’ She added softly, ‘But not the one for me.’

Heartsore on that subject, Shari lowered her lashes.

Manon scraped the bottom of her glass with the spoon. ‘Someone has told me you are an author of children’s books?’

‘Oh, well …’ Shari certainly didn’t want to boast, but, under duress, she admitted it.

It was an illuminating conversation. Perhaps because they didn’t need to be rivals, Manon was warm and genuinely friendly. After they’d canvassed pregnancies, partners and partners’ mothers thoroughly, Shari saw her into a taxi and turned for home.

Somehow during that forty or so minutes she’d reached a decision. Cruel though it was to face the truth, she saw with clarity that clinging to a man in the hope some day her love would be returned in full measure was a fool’s game. Experience had shown her that pain would only escalate with time. And life was short. Take Rémy, for instance. Here one day, gone the next.

Luc, beautiful man that he was, had done his best to do the honourable thing. He deserved a chance to find a woman he could prize as he’d prized Manon.

Somehow she’d allowed her Rémy period to sabotage her confidence and her belief in herself. The damned fool test was a case in point. How an intelligent person could have tied herself up in knots over it was nothing short of amazing.

On the walk home, she phoned the clinic and cancelled her appointment. Back in the apartment, she booked her flight to Australia, then started to gather her things. She was in the kitchen unpinning her sketches from the fridge when she heard Luc’s key turn in the door, far earlier than expected.

‘Shari? Are you here?’

‘In the kitchen.’ She braced herself, her heart thumping like a big bass drum.

When he walked in, his dark eyes were serious and unexpectedly stern. Her heart skipped a beat. What was it?

‘Ça va,’ he said, kissing her. He continued to hold her arms firmly, his eyes intent on her face. ‘Shari, I can’t let you do it.’

She started. ‘What?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, my darling. I know you feel this is important for us, but nothing about us is as important as this little one in here.’ He patted her bump tenderly.

‘Oh, the test. Yes, I know, and that’s exactly—’

‘No, chérie. I need you to listen. I know you’ve been driving yourself crazy over this. Why are we doing it?’

She was winding up to explain her change of heart, but he went on regardless.

‘It isn’t necessary. I know you are not a liar. I’ve always known—what you are. Who. Who you are to me. And I won’t let you leave me.’

‘Comment?’ A guilty blush heated her cheeks. Had the guy inherited his mother’s terrible clairvoyance?

His face tautened. ‘I—I only agreed because I wanted you so much to stay, but as far as we know it’s not a medical necessity, is it? Some people need to go through this thing, but we’ve already decided to go ahead and have our baby, whatever the test uncovers. We said that, didn’t we?’

‘I know, we did. I only suggested having it in the first place because I’ve been feeling so insecure. Anxious.’ She flushed a little. ‘It was ridiculous. I couldn’t be certain you trusted me. But I decided today that you’ll just have to take my word for it, and if you can’t …’

His eyes sharpened. ‘But of course I take your word. And in the end,’ he added hoarsely, ‘who cares who our baby resembles or what selection of genes she has? Or he has? We’ll love her, or him, because he belongs to us.’

‘Oh, Luc. Oh, my darling, darling man, that’s so wonderful to hear.’ Tears sprang into her eyes. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, long and deep.

She could feel his hard body pressed against her, his big heart thumping with the force of his emotion. Her own was thundering fit to burst.

‘I don’t think you know how much I love you, Shari Lacey,’ he said gruffly when they at last surfaced. ‘And how I—need you.’

‘Honestly?’ she breathed, hardly able to believe her ears. Her heart swelled.

‘Bien sûr.’ He held her face between his hands, his brows earnestly drawn. ‘You have warmed my life.’

‘Oh.’ Thrilling with a tremulous, painful joy she blinked madly to hold back the tears. ‘Is that really true?’

He searched her face. ‘How can you not know?’ He spread his hands in rueful amazement. ‘You won’t believe it, but I used to consider myself a hard guy. Cynical, even. With you I’ve turned into a—a putty. I don’t recognise myself. I’ve become dependent on the sound of your voice. Your—face in the morning.’ His voice cracked slightly. ‘At work I—I find myself thinking of you, worrying you won’t be here when I come home. Even today I …’ He shook his head, then looked firmly at her. ‘Listen to me …’ He was breathing rather hard, and his eyes grew stern and serious. ‘Don’t dream of walking out that door. I won’t let you. I’ll hunt you down, if necessary. I’ll chase the plane you leave on. I’ll pursue you to the ends of the earth.’

While she contemplated this exciting scenario, he muttered to himself, ‘All along I’ve been so scared of losing you, I’ve been agreeing to crazy things like a—a madman.’

She had a fleeting vision of the time he’d raced to the Ritz at midnight to pick up some buttery scrambled eggs, but dismissed that as an example. Any man would have done the same.

She gave a gurgle of laughter through her tears. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say madman.’

‘Oui, oui. It’s true. Every time we’ve disagreed over anything I’ve held my breath for fear you would run for the airport.’

‘Oh, my poor darling.’ Her heart ached with love and remorse, and a degree of guilt. ‘My poor Luc. Why would you think that?’

‘Why?’ His handsome face softened. ‘Shari, chérie, I’ve heard it in your voice. Seen it in your eyes. How you miss Neil … How you long for Australia. I understand how cold it feels in a strange country with only me to cling to.’

She gazed at the gorgeous hunk of man through her tears. ‘Well, you are something worth clinging to, you know,’ she said shakily. ‘You don’t need to worry about Neil. Of course I miss him and Em, but you … I’m in love with you. Isn’t it obvious? You’re all I’ve ever wanted. You’re the kindest, the most sexy, the hottest, the most …’

His voice thickened. ‘While you are the most desirable, the most confusing, clever, adorable, darling woman …’

Joy was such a powerful aphrodisiac. This was a precious moment, a solemn, soulful moment when hearts were open and truth was on the table. The most thrilling words she would ever hear in her life were being spoken to her by the most gorgeous man in the world, yet in her delirious state of sunshine and supreme happiness she was feeling aroused.

So inappropriate. And so fantastically promising.

‘I know I’ve been difficult,’ she breathed. ‘So emotional. Even now I’m feeling far too passionate. Is there any way I can make it up to you?’

‘Yes,’ he said fiercely. He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

Afterwards, when passion was for the moment in abeyance and she was lying with her head on his chest, contemplating the incredible fact that she’d misinterpreted so much about him, she said, ‘I should have told you sooner how I felt. But I was afraid you were still in love with Manon.’

‘No. Though I admit I felt—hurt, or something. We were over long before we split. I didn’t really even understand that until the day in the café when you asked me about her. That day I brought you home and you nearly ran away as well.’

She squeezed his bicep. It didn’t even leave a dent. ‘Were you surprised when she took off with Jackson Kerr?’

He grimaced. ‘Hardly. The guy’s a stud. Isn’t that what you women think?’

‘He might well be for all I know. He is cute. Nice abs.’ She laughed. ‘Sorry. Just teasing. No, actually …’ She took a deep breath. ‘You may get a bit of a shock at what I’m about to tell you.’

She related the story Manon had told her in the patisserie, about falling in love and knowing it was the right thing for her.

Luc sat bolt upright as if electrified. ‘What? Are you serious? She told you this?’

Shari nodded. ‘She did. She told me things you wouldn’t believe.’

‘What things? Things about me?’

‘No, no. Other things.’ Realising she’d come close to saying too much for any macho guy to take on board at one time, she gave him a womanly glance to warn him off sacred ground. ‘What we call in Australia secret women’s business.’

‘Comment?’ His brows bristled with intrigue.

‘Put it this way.’ She hesitated, casting about for words. ‘Her affair with Jackson Kerr was just a flash in the pan. Doomed to extinguish itself while she was working herself out.’

‘Ah.’ Luc’s brows zoomed high and he looked keenly at her, his eyes glittering with an intense light as he tried to conceal his excitement. ‘So … Are we saying …? Does this mean that er … sooner or later Manon would have left me regardless of how much of an insensitive voyou I am?’

Shari could hardly restrain a grin. He looked so chuffed to be off the hook.

‘I dare say. Although she deserves a medal for how long she hung in there with all this ghastly yellow.’

He gave her a playful punch. ‘She wanted it.’

She smiled. ‘Yeah?’

Maybe she did. And maybe she didn’t.