'I have my own life to lead,' he said. 'And I want to lead it with you. For the moment we're both a bit damaged, perhaps we both need time. But when you said you loved me and then had to go and see to Helene, I thought I knew what was most important in my life. You were. I felt a great rush when you said it, as if everything had been made clear to me. You had to be the most important thing in my life. You are more important to me than Montreval. Lucy, nothing can keep us apart. We can work it all out.'
'I thought I'd been happy before,' Lucy said, 'but it was never like this.' And she knew she was truly happy. The tears were pouring down her cheeks. She leaned over to kiss him. 'I told you I loved you,' she pointed out, 'and what did you do then? You went to sleep.'
'So much for the great French lover. Look, you've got a lot of forgiving to do. But if you can forgive me... and if I can persuade you to...'
Another knock on the door. Marc looked at her. She took a book from her desk, walked over to the door and partially opened it, then thrust the book through the narrow gap.
'Here, June,' she said. 'It's a good read. I'm really tired now, going straight to bed.' A big artificial yawn. 'See you in the morning.'
'We won't be disturbed now,' she told Marc.
'You said you were going to bed.'
'So I did. And you were talking about forgiving. Well, I have. Now I'm going to bed and you're forgiven.'
'I'm glad about that.'
'Remember after I kissed you in the farmhouse, you went to sleep? Well, you've just kissed me. So I want to go to sleep. I want to go to bed anyway. Are you tired, too?'
'Not too tired,' he said. Then he reached inside the neck of her shirt, gently eased out the gold chain. There was the medallion. 'Love conquers all,' he said.
Epilogue
It had been a frantic, hard-working, supremely happy three months. Now Christmas would soon be on them.
'Good time for making an announcement,' said Marc. 'Shall we go and look at rings again?'
They had spent two or three very enjoyable mornings wandering through jewellers' shops. They'd compared the relative merits of antique rings, modern rings, gold, platinum, solitaire, cluster—and so far had come to no decision.
'Well, it always makes me feel pleased with life. But are we in a hurry?' she said.
'Your mother is. She keeps on telling me that if anyone should want to hire a big hall for any reason— not that she can think of any reason—they ought to remember it gets booked up quite quickly.'
'My mother is always the diplomat. She likes to put things nicely but get her meaning across. She'd like an engagement party.'
'So would I,' he said. 'And my mother feels the same. She thinks a lot of you. She wants to see you again, soon. And she wants an heir for the estate.'
'Making your mother a grandmother is not the most pressing of arguments,' Lucy said, 'but I suspect she'd be good as one.'
There was not much chance of either of them having much time off over Christmas. It was generally accepted that staff with children should be given priority, especially on Christmas Day. But they were both invited to the big Christmas supper at Lucy's parents'.
'We can take some time off in January if you like,' she said. 'You can take me to visit your mother. Get her used to the idea of us as a couple.'
'She likes the idea. She's been planning, working out our future.'
Lucy blinked. 'She has?'
'We're a five-hundred-year-old family. She likes you a lot. But more than that, she thinks you'll be a fine mother, producing fine heirs for the Montreval dynasty. She thinks you have the qualities we need.'
'Makes me feel like a brood mare,' said Lucy. But she was secretly pleased.
They had talked for hours about his feeling that he ought to go back to Montreval. Lucy had said that she was willing to go; they should share everything, the bad things as much as the good. He said he only wanted her to be happy and he didn't think that she'd be happy in a French village with hardly any young people. And so far they had come to no conclusion.
'We will cope,' she said gently. 'Just remember, all that really matters is that we have each other.'
He kissed her. 'That is all that matters.'
That conversation had been on a Monday night. On Wednesday she was working lates. Marc said he'd pick her up at the end of the shift. Perhaps for a while they could go to one of the many pre-Christmas parties at the Red Lion.
But when he arrived she could tell that he was excited about something. He kissed her, not caring who saw them. He wrapped his arms around her, hugged her and said, 'Never mind the Red Lion. Tonight is just for us. I've got something exciting to show you.'
'A ring?' she asked, half-hopefully. But she had wanted to help choose it herself.
'Not a ring. Something better than a ring. We're going back to my flat.'
He wouldn't tell her more. He drove them back to his flat where there was a bottle of very good champagne waiting in a bucket of ice. He popped the cork and filled two glasses.
'Here's to us and our happy future. A future that is now a lot more certain.'
'Marc, you're doing this on purpose! I want to know what's happened! I can see that you're happy—make me happy too. Why is our future now a lot more certain?'
He fetched a large envelope, took a map from it and spread it on the table.
'Look, here's the map showing Montreval. A dead end. A tiny village, cut off for much of the winter, little work, little amusement. No one much goes there.'
He took a red pen, scored a line along the valley bottom to Montreval and then inked in a series of red dots after that.
'I've just heard from my uncle, Jules Romilly—you know, the lawyer, Simone's father. The one who keeps an eye on our affairs. He says that the government has given money to build a spur off the motorway, take it along the valley and through Montreval, dig a tunnel at the far end and connect us to the main skiing area. Work will start in spring. Montreval will be the centre of operations. There'll be many people flooding in, lots of work. Prosperity for everyone.'
'Are you pleased? Won't this mean that the Comte de Montreval will no longer be needed?'
'I'm delighted. My mother can retire, take an interest but no longer run the place. My uncle has approached her, they're thinking of turning the castle into a hotel. And I...'
'You're not needed,' she said.
'I can choose! If I practise medicine there, I can build and open the clinic I've always wanted. Or I can have a career in obs and gynae. I love it! Or even both! Now, how can we celebrate?'
'Let's choose a ring,' she said.
Other Titles by Gill Sanderson
For more information about Gill Sanderson
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please visit
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Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2014
ISBN: 9781783753642
Copyright © Gill Sanderson 2014
The right of Gill Sanderson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Aberycnon,, CF45 4SN
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