The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience

‘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.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE 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.