by Anne Mather
Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. ‘I think not, chérie,’ she declined dryly. ‘Oh, come on. We’re blocking the footpath. Let’s go along here. There are several department stores, and a new boutique called La Roue.’ She considered Ryan’s slender figure. ‘They cater for teenagers, I believe.’
Ryan let the barbed comment ride. She had the sense to realize that in any argument with Vivienne Couvrier, she was likely to emerge the loser. The older girl had age and experience on her side, and she had obviously not been brought up with Ryan’s inhibitions about being polite whatever the provocation.
And to some extent, as the morning progressed, Ryan’s anger abated. Vivienne knew the town well, and guessed instinctively which stores would interest her young charge. Once inside, much to her relief, Ryan was left to her own devices while Vivienne wandered off to talk to the salesgirls, many of whom, she explained, came from the village.
Ryan bought several things—cosmetics and perfume, personal toiletries, tights, even some after shaving lotion for Alain, which she told herself was to keep just in case he had bought anything for her. Her most expensive purchases were a cream cashmere sweater and a brown velvet caftan, embroidered with multi-coloured threads of silk at the wide cuffs and hem. Its soft folds hinted at the slender curves beneath, and she wondered, rather apprehensively, what Alain would think of it.
Her worst moment came in the small bistro where Vivienne decided they would have coffee. The bistro was full and crowded with shoppers, but somehow Vivienne managed to find an empty space in a corner. They had coffee and pastries, Ryan with her lap overflowing with bags, and watched the hectic scene outside the windows. A vendor was auctioning some geese, and the sound of their squawking filled the air. White feathers flew by the window and Ryan found herself remembering last Christmas in England with Aunt Maggie. It was not the first time she had thought about her aunt, but briefly she felt a wave of homesickness sweep over her. And yet for what? She had no home in England any longer.
Vivienne’s words, when they came, were doubly disturbing because of her sudden vulnerability. ‘I know why Alain married you, you know.’
Dragging her thoughts back to the present, Ryan blinked at her companion. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes. Alain told me, of course.’
Ryan wondered why ‘of course’, but she didn’t question it. ‘I see.’
‘And how long do you expect it to last?’ Vivienne went on, almost as though she was discussing the weather. She was completely oblivious of eavesdroppers, although Ryan supposed in the crowded café no one would overhear what she was saying.
‘How—long?’ She tried to sound composed. ‘I don’t think I understand, madame.’
‘You must. You’re female, aren’t you, even if you are hardly a woman! It’s a most unsatisfactory state of affairs. You know that sooner or later it will have to be annulled.’
‘Annulled?’ Ryan wished she could stop repeating everything Vivienne said, but her brain refused to function. ‘I—I don’t think it’s any of your business, madame.’
Vivienne glanced round, and then leant towards her confidingly. ‘I—er—I’m very fond of Alain, my dear. I’ve known him for more than nine years—ever since he came to Bellaise, in fact. Naturally, I care about his happiness.’
Ryan juggled with the parcels on her lap and managed to get her coffee to her lips. ‘I appreciate your concern, madame,’ she said stiffly, ‘but I don’t think I should discuss such things with you. I’m sure you would object were I to question you about your marriage.’
‘I’m a widow, chérie,’ replied Vivienne airily. ‘Gilles, my husband, died three years ago. He was considerably older than me, and developed a heart complaint within a year of our marriage.’ She paused. ‘You see, I know about these things. I married Gilles because he was a wealthy widower with a thriving business. Oh, our positions were not identical. Alain is only twenty years older than you, whereas Gilles was almost forty years older than me. But there are similarities. Gilles was already in his sixties, with a grown family, whereas I was a mere girl of twenty-three. Everyone knew the situation. Gilles got someone to share his last few years, and I became the owner of the Couvrier garage.’
Ryan was appalled at the callousness Vivienne displayed. She was not used to such plain speaking, particularly not about things which she had always regarded as private and personal. And she also knew, with an insight she had not previously possessed, that had Alain been a man in his sixties, she could not have married him whatever her father’s wishes might have been. It was a startling revelation. Why should it matter to her how old Alain was? If their marriage was to remain one of convenience, his age should not come into it. But it did.
She looked nervously at the clock on the wall of the bistro. ‘It’s after twelve,’ she pointed out, with some relief. ‘Oughtn’t we to be making our way back to the hotel in the square? Alain said he would meet us there at twelve-thirty, didn’t he?’
Vivienne lighted a long cigarette, ignoring Ryan’s suggestion. ‘Tell me,’ she said, inhaling deeply and allowing the smoke to drift out through her nostrils. ‘Tell me—don’t you find life at Bellaise a little dull? I mean, after your life in England? A girl of your age—and appearance—must have had lots of boy-friends, lots of outings to look forward to.’
Ryan resigned herself to another few minutes. ‘No, madame,’ she replied. ‘I don’t find Bellaise at all dull. I never was particularly keen on going out a lot. I lived with my aunt, and although she didn’t discourage me from having friends, I was quite content to spend my time with her. I read a lot, and I used to watch television—’
‘Yes, yes.’ Vivienne was plainly not interested in her activities except in so far as they reflected upon her life in France. ‘But you must have had some boy-friends, chérie.’
Ryan sighed. ‘One or two. They bored me mostly. They were only interested in girls and pop music and making money—not necessarily in that order.’
Vivienne tapped ash into the overflowing tray with obvious impatience. ‘You came to France when your aunt died, I believe.’
‘That’s right. Four days before my father died too.’
Vivienne’s lips twisted. ‘Yes. That was most unfortunate.’
But Ryan had the feeling she was meaning unfortunate for herself, rather than for Pierre Ferrier.
‘I think we really ought to be going,’ she said again. ‘The town is so busy. We should give ourselves plenty of time—’
‘Oh, very well.’ Vivienne squashed out the half-smoked cigarette with ill-concealed impatience. ‘Alain will wait, chérie. I can assure you of that.’
When they reached the hotel there was no sign of Alain, but at Vivienne’s insistence they went inside and found him seated on a stool by the bar, drinking something long and cool. He got to his feet when he saw them, and glanced pointedly at his watch.
‘I know, I know, we’re late,’ exclaimed Vivienne, before Ryan could say anything. ‘But this child insisted on buying up the whole store! Look at her—loaded down with parcels! I don’t know what on earth she’s been buying.’
Alain came towards them and divested Ryan of her larger packages. ‘We should have arranged to meet at the car,’ he remarked. ‘Then we could have got rid of these.’
‘It’s all right. I can manage,’ replied Ryan, still stung by Vivienne’s deliberate attempt to discredit her, but Alain ignored her protests and a word with the receptionist had the parcels piled safely behind her desk to be retrieved on their departure.
‘Now—’ he said, leading Ryan back into the bar. ‘What will you drink?’
Ryan didn’t enjoy lunch, but then she hadn’t expected to do so. Vivienne dominated the conversation, talking mainly with Alain, and in that intimate confidential manner which excluded all outsiders. Ryan had to concede that Alain did his best from time to time to draw her into the conversation, but as she mostly answered in monosyllables anything that was said to her, it discouraged his efforts.
At last the meal was
over, and it was time for them to leave. Vivienne rose to her feet with evident reluctance, her cheeks flushed from the amount of wine she had consumed. Ryan thought the cognac she had had with her coffee must have made her reckless, because her fingers curled round Alain’s arm, and looking up at him provocatively, she said: ‘Will I see you later, chéri?’
Ryan turned away, putting on her coat with nobody’s assistance, going towards the receptionist’s desk to collect her belongings. But Alain released himself from Vivienne and forestalled her, collecting the packages himself and preventing Ryan’s attempts to take them from him with a cold hard stare.
Outside, the air was cooling perceptibly as the afternoon wore on. Vivienne shivered and looked irritably at Alain. ‘Au revoir, chéri,’ she murmured. ‘Au revoir, Ryan. You must come and have tea with me one afternoon. That is what the English like to do, is it not? We could—talk over—experiences.’
Ryan forced a smile. ‘Thank you, madame.’
Vivienne shrugged and looked again at Alain. ‘So—I will go.’
Alain nodded. ‘Au revoir, Vivienne. Drive carefully.’
‘You, too.’
Vivienne left them, walking away across the square, her hips swinging, and Ryan deliberately glanced round. ‘Where’s the car?’ she asked, in a cold little voice.
‘This way.’
Alain went ahead, threading his way between the lingering groups of shoppers that thronged those stalls which had not already packed up. The mews where they had left the station wagon was tightly packed with cars, and for a moment Ryan thought they would not be able to get out. Alain opened the car and tossed her packages carelessly on to the back seat before swinging the door wider for her to get in. She was tempted to tell him that there were breakable articles amongst the parcels he had thrown in so carelessly, but his face deterred any protest. He slammed her door shut behind her and then walked round the bonnet to get in beside her, his leg brushing hers as he adjusted his clothes for comfort.
It soon became apparent that he had parked the vehicle in such a way that he could not have been blocked by other cars, and with effortless expertise he negotiated the narrow passageway between two vehicles and emerged at the entrance to the mews. Ryan breathed a sigh of relief as the narrow streets which led to the market square were left behind for the wider thoroughfare of the embankment. Lights had been lit along the river, strips of coloured bulbs strung from trees, that gave the place a fairylike appearance.
Alain made no comment on the decorations, but his silence had given Ryan time to regret her earlier annoyance. The unpleasantness in the hotel had been magnified by the morning she had spent in Vivienne’s company, and although he had been responsible for that, too, she began to appreciate the dilemma Vivienne had placed him in. After all, it had not been so bad. She had bought some delightful things, and that was what she had come for, wasn’t it?
With this in mind, therefore, she made a determined effort to behave as though nothing untoward had happened. ‘Did you manage to do what you came to do?’ she inquired politely.
There was silence for so long that she almost began to believe that he had not heard her. But then, in harsh tones which shook her assumed composure, he demanded: ‘Did you have to make your dislike of Madame Couvrier so apparent?’
Ryan’s momentary softening towards him was shattered. His words shocked her into instinctive defence. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Your behaviour towards Vivienne Couvrier.’ Alain shook his head. ‘Must you constantly demonstrate your lack of maturity by acting like a petulant brat?’
Ryan gasped. ‘How—how dare you?’
‘I dare because it’s the truth. Gilles Couvrier was a friend of your father’s. Do you not have the decency to behave politely to his widow?’
‘Who is a friend of yours, I suppose?’ Ryan countered spitefully.
Alain’s lips tightened. ‘Vivienne is a friend, yes.’
‘A very close friend, I should imagine.’ Ryan stared mutinously through the windows, aware that she was trembling.
‘Why do you say that?’
Ryan made a helpless gesture. She had spoken impulsively the words which had sprung to her lips, but now she had to clarify her statement and she didn’t know how. ‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ she declared tremulously.
‘Is that why you treated us to that display of childish ill manners?’ he asked, coldly, flicking a glance in her direction. ‘Because you were no longer the centre of attraction?’
Ryan gasped. ‘Of course not.’ She tugged at the fur on her cuffs. ‘Why should I care how you conduct yourself with other women?’
‘You have no idea how I conduct myself with other women!’ he retorted.
‘Perhaps it’s just as well.’
‘Why? Ours is not a normal marriage. You cannot both have your cake and eat it. Is not that what they say in your country?’
‘I am half French,’ she reminded him.
‘Nevertheless, you still think as an English girl thinks. I think you would like to direct my actions, control my behaviour as an English wife would.’
Ryan stared at him furiously. ‘Oh, do you? Well, you’re very much mistaken. I don’t care what you and Vivienne Couvrier do together!’
But she did! No matter how she might deny it, she was beginning to feel a certain amount of possessiveness towards Alain, and although this was motivated as much by selfishness as anything, it still troubled her.
‘I think you have behaved rather foolishly,’ he concluded. ‘I can only hope that Vivienne did not notice your feline irritability was directed towards her. I assume a certain amount of ill humour was aroused by her innocent explanation of the reasons you were late for lunch. I can assure you, I didn’t object—’
Ryan couldn’t let that go. ‘It wasn’t my fault that we were late!’ she declared hotly.
‘Wasn’t it?’ He spoke in the resigned tone of a parent.
‘No, it wasn’t. If you must know, your precious Madame Couvrier took me into a bistro and proceeded to subject me to a third degree!’
‘A third degree?’ He frowned, obviously perplexed.
‘Oh, you know! An inquisition—questions.’ She sighed. ‘As a matter of fact she asked me how long our marriage was expected to last.’
She delivered this statement with a certain amount of satisfaction, and then felt abominably spiteful as his brows drew together even closer. ‘She asked you how long our marriage was expected to last?’ he repeated. ‘And what did you answer?’
Ryan flushed. ‘I don’t think I did.’ She linked her fingers together. ‘She asked me lots of things. I didn’t say much at all.’
Alain shook his head. ‘Women! How can any mere male hope to understand them?’
Ryan looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. She wondered what he would say if she told him Vivienne had also implied the relationship between them which she had later endeavoured to demonstrate. She had the feeling that while he might choose to live his life to his own satisfaction, he would not care for the woman of his choice to spread their affair too widely.
Ryan turned in her lips and pressed them together. Why was it that this information was so hard for her to accept? She had known for some time that somewhere there must be a woman with whom he could share a physical relationship. But until now it had seemed nebulous, insubstantial. There had been no face to put against his on a white pillow, no body beneath the strength of his powerful thighs. But suddenly there was a face, and a provocative, voluptuous body, and the dream had become harsh reality. How harsh she would never have believed possible.
‘I would suggest,’ he said at length, when the silence between them had become charged and strained. ‘I would suggest that you tell anyone who has recourse to question you to address their inquiries to me in future. And I’m sorry if Vivienne upset you by her tactlessness.’
The unexpectedness of his apology was an upsetting influence after the tension of the last few minutes and Ryan f
elt the foolish tears pricking her eyes again. When she did not reply to his suggestion, Alain glanced at her once more.
‘Now what is wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ Ryan brushed a hand carelessly across her eyes.
‘I cannot agree.’ He sighed. ‘There are bound to be teething pains in this marriage of ours, Ryan. There are bound to be occasions when you find it impossible to feel any sense of optimism towards the future. But what you have to understand is that everyone feels this way from time to time. Even the most successful marriages have their unsteady beginnings.’
‘Yes. But ours isn’t a—marriage, is it?’ she muttered.
‘What are you trying to say?’ His voice hardened. ‘Do you wish it were?’
‘No.’ Ryan’s cheeks flamed. ‘No, of course not.’ She made a nervous gesture. ‘I just meant that—that our—our relationship is bound to be—more difficult than most, isn’t it?’
‘I see.’ Alain’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Tell me—was there something more Vivienne said? Something you have not told me?’
‘What could there be?’ Ryan moved her shoulders defensively.
He frowned deeply. ‘I do not know.’ He stared out at the darkening skies. ‘There was a time…’ His voice trailed away. ‘It is not important. Now, did you enjoy spending your money?’
Ryan tried to summon up enthusiasm to tell him what she had bought, but it would not come. She related her purchases like a child saying its catechism withholding only the knowledge of the brown velvet caftan. Some foolish whim made her wish for him to see her wearing it without that foreknowledge, although in the circumstances it was totally illogical.
CHAPTER FIVE
WITH Marie’s help, Ryan determinedly made some paper streamers and decorated the kitchen and the front parlour. She didn’t really know whether there was any likelihood of either Alain or herself using the parlour over the festive season, but it seemed the only logical choice. It was still a cold and austere room, and even with a fire blazing in the hearth had little to commend it. She wondered whether after Christmas she might persuade Alain to have the place redecorated, with perhaps a couple of comfortable chairs instead of the stiff-backed ones that presently occupied either side of the fireplace.
