Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  We both sat down. I looked across the table at him and said, “And so are you, darling.”

  He grinned at me. “You’re looking very nifty this evening, Viv. Very chic. Great suit. Who gave you the pin?”

  “I’ve had it for ages,” I said evasively, now regretting that I had not taken it off in the cab after all.

  “It looks very Sebastian to me,” he said, motioned to a waiter, and went on, “What would you like to drink?”

  “I’ll have a glass of champagne, Jack, please.”

  “Good idea, I’ll have that too. I’m really off the hard stuff these days.” He ordered a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, the waiter went away to fetch it, and Jack continued, “So, have you tracked her down?”

  “Who?” I asked, although I knew at once to whom he was referring. Ariel. She had been the subject of our last conversation at the Château d’Cose only a couple of weeks ago.

  “The mystery woman in Sebastian’s life. Ariel de Grenaille, of course,” he said.

  “No, I haven’t,” I replied. “And I don’t think I’m going to either.”

  “Why not? You were so gung-ho about her . . . about speaking to her.”

  “Well, I’ve spoken to her mother and Ariel is in Africa. I’m not planning to go there, Jack, I don’t think it’s worth it.”

  “That’s a change of tune! So what did you find out? From the mother, I mean?”

  “Not a great deal. Ariel lives in Africa. That’s where she was when Sebastian killed himself. So obviously she can’t shed any light on the matter. She doesn’t know any more than you or I do.”

  “Is she a doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “A scientist?”

  “Yes, Jack, she works with hot viruses, such as Ebola and Marburg. That’s what her mother told me.”

  “Jesus! That’s dangerous work.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The waiter came with the bucket of champagne and proceeded to open the bottle. This put a stop to Jack’s questions. But the moment we were alone again he continued to press me about Ariel de Grenaille.

  “Was she engaged to Sebastian?” he probed, his curiosity apparent.

  I answered, “From what I understand, yes. They were planning to get married at some point this spring. About now. As he had told me, Jack. And that’s it, there’s nothing more to say. Except that you were always right. We’ll never know why Sebastian killed himself. It’s still a mystery.”

  “So you’re not planning to interview her for the profile?”

  “No, I’m not. Cheers.” I touched my glass to his.

  “Cheers,” he said and went on, “Is it a work in progress? Or have you finished it?”

  I laughed. “No, I haven’t, not yet. But I’m going back to Lourmarin tomorrow, and I fully intend to add the final touches. All it needs is a good polish.”

  “I’d hoped you’d be staying in Paris for a few more days,” he grumbled, sounding petulant. “I thought you could keep me company. I’m here on wine business until the end of the week.”

  “I’d like to, but I really must get back. I’ve such a lot to do, and my book on the Brontë sisters is coming out in the summer. I’ll have to do a certain amount of promotion for it, travel a bit, and right now I need some time at Vieux Moulin. Quiet time. Alone.”

  “Are you going to Connecticut in August, as you usually do?” he asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “I might be there at that time. At Laurel Creek Farm.”

  “I can’t believe it! And I certainly can’t believe you’d leave Château d’Cose!”

  He began to laugh. “I’m thinking of spending a couple of weeks there, I’m not planning to move permanently to Cornwall, Vivienne.”

  I sat back in my chair and regarded him for a long moment. He looked well, thinner, and much better groomed than he usually was. I also realized he was in a good mood, almost benign, which was unusual for him. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Jack, I want to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love Catherine Smythe.”

  “Now you’ve gone and ruined the evening, Viv, and it’s only just begun.”

  “Do you love her?” I pressed. When he was silent I went on relentlessly, “It’s me, Viv, sitting here. Your oldest and dearest friend and you can’t fool me. Look me right in the eye, Jack Lyon Locke and tell me that you don’t love her.”

  “I do, but—”

  “No, no, no, Jack. No buts.”

  “Who gave you that fabulous pin?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Okay okay. I love her. So what?”

  “I saw Catherine two days ago. When I was in London working with my publisher.”

  “You did!” He sat up straighter and stared at me intently. “How is she?”

  “She looks fantastic. She’s got a wonderful peachy bloom about her. I must say there are some women who really blossom during pregnancy, she’s one of them. And she’s in great spirits, happy about the baby, working hard on her book about Fulk Nerra, and planning to move into a new apartment.”

  “When?”

  “Well, she hasn’t actually found one yet, Jack, but she’s looking hard, and certainly she hopes to be settled in a new place before the baby’s born.” I stared at him, waiting for a comment or a question, but he said nothing. He gulped down his champagne and looked around for the waiter, who came in a flash to fill his glass.

  Once we were alone, I said, “Catherine loves you very much, Jack.”

  “Go and tell that to the Marines,” he muttered in a truculent voice.

  I answered softly, “I know she does, and I also know that she’d like to be with you, with or without the benefit of marriage. In any case, she’s very independent minded about matrimony, but then you know that.”

  “If she loves me as much as you say she does, then why did she betray me?” he asked in a sulky voice.

  “How did she do that, Jack?” I murmured, frowning.

  “She got pregnant when she knew I didn’t want children.”

  “I don’t believe that was on purpose. From what she said, it was an accident. Let me ask you something, just out of curiosity. Why are you so against children?”

  “I’m not against kids. I just don’t want any of my own.”

  “Catherine says you think you can’t love a child. Because you believe Sebastian didn’t love you.”

  He offered me a sardonic smile. “That was her parting shot to me, if I remember correctly. And she’s off her rocker. Of course I can love a child . . .”

  “Then why don’t you go to London and get her, bring her back to France? You could have a good life together, darling.”

  “No way, Viv. I’m better off alone.”

  “I don’t think you are. She also told me something else, Jack. She said that you confided things about Sebastian and she thinks he was suffering from something called disassociation.”

  “Yeah. She spouted all that to me too! A lot of psychiatric mumbo-jumbo!”

  “Not necessarily, Jack. There is such a condition, I’ve discussed it with a psychiatrist I know.” I paused, then slowly I continued, “I think she’s correct. Sebastian probably was afflicted with it.”

  “Well, well, well, so the worm turns.”

  “No, not at all. But I’ve thought a lot about him in the past few weeks, since I’ve been working on the profile of him for the Sunday Times, and I’ve come to see him differently.”

  “Tell me. I’m all ears.”

  “I believe Sebastian had a problem being intimate with us, loving us on a certain level. He just couldn’t do it, the emotion wasn’t there. Very simply, it was missing in him. And by us I mean you, me, and Luciana. My mother. And probably all the wives. You see, he never knew mother love, had never bonded with anyone during the first years of babyhood when that is essential. And yet, conversely, he was a caring human being, Jack. Look how concerned he was about
the world, how he wanted to help those in desperate need. It was possible for him to do enormous charity work, to ‘love’ the world en masse, so to speak, because he didn’t have to be intimate with all those people out there. He gave vast amounts of money, traveled the world making sure it was used properly. And gave the impression of being a ‘loving’ man.”

  Jack was listening to me, taking in my words, and I could see that I had reached him. I went on, “Sebastian tried so hard, he did the best he could for us and he did care about us, Jack. In fact he always showed the three of us how much he cared, demonstrated it in so many different ways. He gave you the château because you loved it so much. It wasn’t for tax benefits, as you’ve so often implied. He encouraged you to work with Olivier and learn the wine business. I know he expected you to run Locke Industries and the Locke Foundation one day, but he never said you couldn’t do it long distance, the way he had always done. And he never once said you had to give up the winery. He spent time with you, he encouraged you to do so many things when you were young. Sebastian helped to make you what you are today.”

  Jack was staring at me in astonishment. “What do you mean, spent time with me? He never did that! He was forever traveling, always lumbering me with Luciana. And you, missy.”

  I laughed in his face. “Oh God, Jack, you sound like a maungy little boy. And for what it’s worth, I’m the one who got lumbered with you and Luciana.” I leaned forward and grabbed hold of his hand resting on the table. “Listen to me! Sebastian did the very best he could for you! I know. I saw it. And he did spend time with you. He taught you how to ride a horse, play tennis, row a boat and swim, and many other things. You’ve just blocked it out because you hate him for some unknown reason. Why, I’ll never know. And I’ll never know why you can’t give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “You have always viewed him from a different angle. You see him differently than I, Viv!” he shot back.

  “That’s true to some extent, I agree. But I think I’m beginning to see him more realistically. I know I always idolized him. And idealized him, as well. I’ve suffered from a complaint called hero worship for years. But I’m getting over that. He wasn’t perfect, I realize this. He was moody and difficult, and one of the most agonized men in the world. That’s why he was morose and gloomy so much of the time. And I believe his agony sprang from his awful childhood. Being brought up by Cyrus Locke and some hideous nanny, and then acquiring a dreadful stepmother like Hildegarde Orbach must have been perfectly horrible. Foul. Poor little boy. When I think about his childhood my heart bleeds. Actually, in my opinion, he turned out very well under the circumstances.”

  Jack was looking at me intently, digesting my words. He had an odd look on his face when he said, “You seem to have worked out his psychology very well . . . do you really believe he suffered from disassociation then?”

  “Frankly, Jack, I do.”

  He nodded. “You said he couldn’t love on a intimate level. Are you now telling me he couldn’t love you?”

  “Yes, I am. I don’t think he loved me, not in the way you and I love people, Jack. Oh Sebastian said he loved me, gave me lip service. And I know he cared very deeply about me and my welfare, and that he was sexually involved with me. Very much so. But sexual passion can’t be construed as love.”

  “The worm has turned,” he said in such a soft voice he was barely audible.

  “I see him in a new light,” I replied, “I understand him better, that’s all. And I don’t love him any less than I ever did. My view of him has changed. Not my feelings for him. They’re still exactly the same.”

  “I see.”

  “Try to give him the benefit of the doubt, Jack, can’t you? I think you’d feel better if you did. You have no reason to hate him. He was a good father.”

  He said nothing. He sat there staring at me across the table, and suddenly I understood without him saying it that I had got through to him. And I realized he respected me more than ever for being so honest with him.

  I sipped my champagne. I, too, was silent.

  Unexpectedly Jack exclaimed, “But he always took what I wanted—”

  “What do you mean?” I asked with a frown.

  “My Special Lady, for one. Your mother. I loved Antoinette very much.”

  I was so taken aback I gaped at him and my jaw dropped. “Jack, my mother was a mother to you! She was a grown woman. They were heavily involved. She adored him. What on earth are you getting at?”

  “I don’t know . . . I always felt I was in some sort of competition with him . . . for her love and attention. And yours. I couldn’t believe it when he married you. He took you away from me.”

  “Oh Jack, I’m sorry. So very sorry you’ve been harboring these awful feelings of . . . frustration and anger. And quite obviously for years. But Sebastian wasn’t in competition with you, don’t you see that? You were only a little boy. He was a man and one who was lethally attractive to women.”

  Jack sighed heavily. “I guess the shoe was on the other foot . . . I suppose I was competing with him. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I think I am, Jack, yes.” I leaned closer to him. “I want you to do something for me. And for yourself, and this is vitally important, so please pay attention, don’t start looking around the restaurant in that way.”

  He brought his gaze back to mine. “I’m listening, Viv.”

  “I want you to go to London. Immediately. I don’t want you to waste any time. I want you to get Catherine and bring her back to Aix-en-Provence. I want you to marry her at once so that the baby is legitimate when it’s born.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to start your life all over again. I want a new beginning for you, a new beginning for the Locke dynasty. The baby Catherine is carrying is the future of the dynasty. And Catherine herself is your future, Jack. You’ll never meet anyone more suited to you than she. And she loves you so much.”

  He sat very still, listening attentively to every word.

  I smiled faintly. “It’s odd, you know,” I continued. “I’ve just suddenly realized that Catherine loves you in exactly the same way I loved Sebastian.”

  He lolled back in the chair, gave me a questioning look. And I couldn’t help thinking that he looked so very much like his father at this moment. Leveling his blue eyes at me, he lifted a dark brow. “And how is that?” he asked finally.

  “With all her heart and soul and mind,” I answered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The quietness of the old mill at Lourmarin had been restorative, just as I had known it would be. That was one of the reasons I loved to come back to Provence, to bask in the stillness of my house, to rediscover its beauty and the beauty of my gardens, to be at peace.

  In the past two weeks the tranquility had been a godsend. I had sifted through my troubled thoughts, brought order to the chaos in my mind.

  And now at last it was all so very clear to me. I understood everything and I had finally come to terms with myself.

  I had changed.

  I would never be the same again.

  And I would never see the world in quite the same way, either.

  Elements beyond my control had wrought these changes in me—Sebastian’s suicide, Countess Zoë’s confessions, Catherine’s insights, my new-found knowledge of those I thought I knew, but had not known at all. And my new understanding of myself. I realized that at this moment in time I wanted to walk alone. For one thing, it had now become clear to me that I could not make a commitment to Kit Tremain. But I think I had always known that.

  Jack and I had become closer than ever, perhaps because I had been so forthright about Sebastian and my revised perception of him. And somehow I had helped Jack to see the future more clearly than before.

  Jack was at peace with himself at long last. He had resolved his hatred of his father; the turmoil in his heart had been vanquished. Jack had taken the advice I had given him in Paris. He had gone to see Catherine in Londo
n and brought her back with him to Aix-en-Provence. Between the two of us we had convinced her to become his wife.

  They were married yesterday at the Château d’Cose.

  It was an intimate wedding. We had all agreed this was the way it should be. Olivier Marchand and his wife Claudette were present, along with Madame Clothilde and her husband Maurice, and a few of the other old-timers from the estate, whom Jack, Luciana, and I had grown up with.

  Luciana and Gerald had flown in from London, and Luciana was so cordial with me that I was amazed. She seemed happier and healthier. The change in her was so remarkable that I wondered if she were pregnant.

  Afterward we had been served lunch in the garden. It had been such a lovely May day with the lilacs in full bloom and Catherine had made a beautiful bride in a pale pink dress and coat which set off her red hair. Jack had never been smarter in his life. He wore a dark blue suit, white shirt, and gray silk tie and looked more like Sebastian than ever. I had never seen him so happy. I was thrilled for him, thrilled for them both. They were going to be all right, those two. I had no fears.

  Rising, I left my desk and walked across the library to the French doors overlooking the gardens. I stood for a moment staring out, thinking what a lovely evening it was. Then, pushing open the doors, I stepped onto the terrace.

  My eyes turned toward the distant horizon.

  The sky was changing as the sun sank low in the west. The colors along the rim of the horizon took my breath away: vermillion and orange running into peach and gold, violet bleeding into amethyst, and lilac striated with the palest pink. It was the most glorious sunset I had seen in a long time.

  The radiant light streaming out from behind the darkening clouds looked supernatural, as if it were emanating from some hidden source below the line of somber hills.

  Only the shrill ringing of the phone forced me to tear my eyes away from that extraordinary sky.

  I stepped into the library and reached for the receiver. “Vieux Moulin. Hello?”

  “Madame Trent, s’il vous plait.”

  “This is she speaking. Hubert, is that you?”

  “C’est moi, Madame. Bon soir—” He broke off, his voice trembling as he strived hard for control.