With This Ring

by Jean Saunders

  Jean Saunders

  With this Ring

  Complete and Unabridged

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  A Note on the Author

  Love is

  a time of enchantment:

  in it all days are fair and all fields

  green. Youth is blest by it,

  old age made benign:

  the eyes of love see

  roses blooming in December,

  and sunshine through rain. Verily

  is the time of true-love

  a time of enchantment — and

  Oh! how eager is woman

  to be bewitched!

  Chapter 1

  The entire afternoon was more of an ordeal than Tania had anticipated. For one thing, she wasn’t used to making speeches, and the poignant thought that it really should have been James standing here in this impressive hall was one to be avoided. It was difficult enough to stop her knees from quaking, with all these young eyes watching her, and this was no time for becoming maudlin. Tears had no place here in her brother’s old college, where six months after his death they did him such a great honour.

  Tania’s chin lifted a little higher, and she strove to keep her voice steady as her blue eyes misted just a little.

  “In conclusion,” she said, in her soft West Country accent, “I would like to say how grateful I am to the governors of the college for conceiving the idea of the James Paget Sports Hall in memory of my brother, and my thanks to Sir Peter Forbes-Wilson for inviting me to open it today.”

  The granite-faced Head of Studies smiled graciously at the slim young woman who turned towards him in some relief. How like her brother she was at that moment, he thought, with the same straight back and sense of purpose about the set of her shoulders. Yet how delightfully feminine too … Sir Peter cleared his throat and indicated the cord Tania was to pull. When she did so, the small silk curtains swished back, revealing the brass plaque with James’s name emblazoned on it, and the legend that his sister, Tania Paget, had performed this ceremony on the final day of the summer term.

  A roar of appreciation in the way peculiar to the college reached Tania’s ears. She smiled briefly at the multitude of arms holding college caps aloft, before the eruption of a deafening applause. She would dearly have liked to slip away right now, but there was still the afternoon tea with Sir Peter and his colleagues to endure, served in the Head’s study by impeccably mannered, chosen pupils.

  Was James ever this stuffy? Tania marvelled. She couldn’t imagine so, although she had never actually seen him in college. She had been sent away to a finishing school in Paris while her parents had continued their own absorbing life, studying wildlife in the African jungle, only to die within a few days of each other from a tropical fever.

  She and James had grown somewhat closer after that, though each pursuing their own careers. Tania clinging to the more sedate life of a company linguist, while James had become a renowned mountaineer, with eventual tragic consequences …

  “This is a splendid, if emotional day for us, Miss Paget,” Sir Peter, who didn’t look as if he had an emotional nerve in his body, said pompously a little later, as the tea and thin cucumber sandwiches were ceremoniously handed round.

  “We remember your brother with great affection, and it will be a comfort to you to know that his memory lives on in our sports hall.”

  “Yes, indeed, Sir Peter,” Tania murmured.

  Despite the solemnity of the occasion, she felt an almost irrepressible urge to laugh. How many times had James mimicked this man’s stentorian voice, and the hands-linked-across-the-abdomen walk! How often he had made her laugh … and how much she missed him, she realised, with a rush of nostalgia.

  “I hope his companion has been similarly honoured,” one of the professors commented. “I trust the French will realise the importance of the climb the two men undertook in such hazardous conditions —”

  “Some called them foolhardy conditions.” Tania had spoken the words aloud before she had time to think.

  She could never quite rid herself of the bitterness she felt at the waste of a young life on a mountainside. Particularly when that life had been her brother’s, and his companion still lived to tell the tale, and had cashed in on it handsomely, though so far, Tania had been quite unable to read any of the French newspaper cuttings that Claude Girard had sent her.

  The photos in the cuttings, of the two tousled, smiling faces, with the snowcapped mountains behind them, had been enough to make Tania fling the newsprint away, her heart pounding. She knew it was completely illogical to feel such resentment towards Claude Girard because he was alive while her brother was dead, but it was a feeling that had seeped into her from the moment she had heard of the accident.

  She suddenly realised that the studious college gentlemen were looking slightly embarrassed at her comment, and she forced a smile to her lips.

  “I know how pleased James would have been about today’s ceremony,” she made an effort at warmth. “On his behalf, I thank you all most sincerely. But if you won’t think me terribly rude, I think it’s time I was leaving.”

  She was thankful they didn’t press her to stay any longer. In this all-male college she felt out of place, and some of the side-long glances from the older students on her arrival had sent the hot colour to Tania’s cheeks.

  As she was escorted to her car by Sir Peter himself, Tania swore she could hear a subdued whistle from the ancient, creeper-covered building, but if he heard it, Sir Peter made no comment as he bade her goodbye. Tania suspected he gave as big a sigh as her own as she eased her small white car away from the grandiose surroundings, and headed back along the motorway to her small town flat.

  For a nasty moment, Tania had thought the professors were going to ask for more information about James’s companion, the dashing Claude Girard, and those were questions she had no wish to answer. She had never met him, and had no wish to do so. She had made that plain in their brief correspondence after her brother’s death.

  “I am so desolate that I am unable to attend the funeral in England,” Claude had written in perfect English, when the news had been broken to her. “The doctors refuse to let me leave the hospital until the multiple breaks in my leg have mended, but my heart goes out to you, Miss Paget — Tania. We have both lost someone dear to us.”

  He had signed it flamboyantly, ‘Claude Girard’.

  The last sentence established a link between them that Tania resented deeply. She hated him. She had replied with a cold and distant letter in immaculate French, leaving him in no doubt that there was no further need for communication between them. She had loathed James’s fascination with mountains. Now that he was dead, all her hatred was transferred to the companion who had shared his love of danger and adventure. It was one way of expending her grief, by turning it into hate.

  There had been one appalling moment when Sir Peter Forbes-Wilson had approached her about today’s ceremony. Tania had been furious to learn he had also asked Claude Girard to be present, and had replied flatly that unless this was a solo engagement, she would simply not be available. Let him think it was an ego trip or whatever he liked. Whatever his excuses to Claude Girard, the Frenchman would not be there, Sir Peter had told her, and Tania had breathed more easily.

  Was there some small flicker of jealousy that this Frenchman had known her brother better than she did? That because of the lifestyle of their parents, Tania and James had led practically separate lives in their formative years, and on
ly now did she really feel the pangs of sadness that they had never really been close? Only in the latter years, when it was too late to make up for all the time they had spent apart in their different schools, did Tania turn to him as her only living relative, only to have him cruelly snatched away from her by the mountain.

  Yes, she thought illogically, as she sped back towards London. The mountain, and Claude Girard. But for them, James and herself might have created some kind of home life that their parents had never provided, loving though they were. She never admitted that James would never have succumbed to such a cosy, domestic set-up either. He was a true son of their parents, and it was Tania who was the cuckoo in the nest — only in her case she wanted stability in her life, while everyone else wanted excitement. She shivered. Look where it had got them! Her parents dying in some remote part of the world, and James on a French mountainside. Her way was best, Tania thought fervently. Safe, and best.

  It was early evening when she got back to her flat. The city was hot and sultry, and for a few moments Tania thought how wonderful it would be in the country right now. She and James had been born there, in a little village in the heart of Devon. It would be good to get away. She toyed with the idea, not sure if she was merely looking over her shoulder, trying to glean a little comfort out of the past. She was restless, understandably so. Today, at James’s old college, so many old memories had been evoked.

  Her head throbbed a little. Before she did anything else, she would have a long leisurely bath, Tania decided. David Lee, with whom she had a platonic relationship, might call round later, but she hoped not. She didn’t feel like company. It was good now and then, to shut her door and be enclosed within her own four walls. Guiltily, Tania knew that such sentiments were yet another throwback, rebelling against the outwardness of all her family. Sometimes she wondered if she was in danger of becoming a recluse. She had even voiced her fears to David one night.

  “You a recluse, darling?” David’s good-looking face had creased into a laugh. “I’d hardly say so, with all the VIPs you interpret for, here and overseas! What a waste it would be if you were!”

  She knew he’d like to change their platonic status, and only wanted her to say the word. His eyes admired her, drinking in the softness of her shoulder-length chestnut hair and the unusual amber eyes, the peachy complexion and the full, mobile mouth. His eyes had strayed further, to the slender shape of her with its feminine curves, and Tania had laughed a little self-consciously. Workwise, she was hardly ever alone, which was why she valued her privacy so much, and to his credit, David never pushed her too far.

  Now, watching the soap bubbles burst and disappear against her long limbs, Tania felt a renewed sadness for all the years she and her brother had spent apart. Nothing could change it now, but her memories of the small boy with whom she had run laughing and barefoot through the Devon meadows were suddenly strong in her head. She rose from her bath, pampering herself with her favourite talc, and swathed herself in towels, before pulling a cool Chinese dressing-robe around her. One of her parents’ more useful gifts from foreign parts, she thought ruefully, eyeing the carved elephant tusks above the mantelpiece, and the Indian footstool that was too uncomfortable to use.

  Tania was making some coffee in her tiny kitchen and thinking about preparing a salad, when the doorbell rang. David didn’t take the hint after all then. She shrugged. Maybe company wasn’t such a terrible idea though, and there were enough salad ingredients in the refrigerator to stretch for two. She opened the door of her flat, and immediately two high spots of colour stained her cheeks at the sight of the stranger standing there.

  He wasn’t really a stranger, of course. She had seen his face too many times for her to ever think of him as such. His healthy, rugged looks had smiled out at her from a dozen newspapers at various times. She had seen him standing beside James in snapshots, cool, self-composed, arrogantly confident. Claude Girard. She hadn’t known how tall he would be, nor thought he would be as broad-shouldered. Usually he was smothered in mountaineering gear in the photos, but this being summer, he wore a thin roll-neck shirt and a light sports jacket over dark slacks. He looked very French. His dark hair curled into his neck. His dark eyes looked down at her unsmilingly, and they moved more slowly downwards, to where the shock of his arrival had tensed her body against the Chinese silk. For a moment, Tania felt like throwing her hands across her breasts, and was angry at him for making her feel that way.

  “I apologise for arriving so unexpectedly on your doorstep, Miss Paget.” The English in his letter had been perfect, but he spoke it with a richly attractive accent. “Or may I call you Tania? I do hope so, since I always think of you that way. It was impossible not to, whenever James spoke of you.”

  It was hitting below the belt, she thought angrily, dredging up James’s memory between them as a way of introduction.

  “Why are you here?” There was no point in being pseudo-polite. He knew she wanted nothing to do with him. Her own letter, and then the rebuff she’d given him over the college ceremony, had made sure of that. “I thought I’d made it plain that we have nothing to discuss —”

  “You did. Very plain, Tania. What I want to know, is why?”

  She stared at him. “Don’t tell me you came all the way from France to ask me that!” she said incredulously.

  “Not entirely,” Claude said calmly. “But I don’t intend to leave here until you give me an explanation why you continue to be so uncivil to me. I was James’s closest friend. I’d like to be yours too.”

  The momentary silence was so charged with electricity that Tania almost flinched. This was the man she hated most in all the world. This man, standing on her doorstep and looking her over in a way she could only describe as — as sensual. Assessing her as if he had X-ray eyes and could see right through the luxurious silk robe to where her flesh suddenly tingled. Not one of David’s looks had ever made her feel like this. Never had David given her this heart-pounding sensation of suddenly being vulnerable …

  Tania didn’t like the feeling. She had always been very much in control of her destiny, despite the fact that it would never attain the dizzy excitement of her brother’s or her parents’ lives. She knew exactly what she wanted out of life, and it wasn’t being made to feel gauche and unsure of herself by a stranger.

  The young couple from the flat above passed her door, glancing her way. Seconds later, she heard them mutter something and laugh. Her face flamed.

  “You’d better come in.” She knew she was being ungracious and didn’t care. She hadn’t asked him to come here. For James’s sake, though, she couldn’t be totally rude to Claude Girard. For James’s sake only, she vowed. She stood aside to let him enter the flat, knotting her silk robe a little tighter around her waist, and hoping he wouldn’t notice. She was aware of his slight limp, and remembered the multiple injuries to his leg when he’d tried desperately to save James from hurtling to his death on the mountain. He had suffered physically too, Tania conceded, but her brief sympathy was quickly smothered. She had resented him for too long to forget it in a single moment. She guessed, too, that Claude Girard wasn’t the kind of man to want sympathy from anyone. James had once told her that after a previous fall, Claude couldn’t wait to get back to the mountainside again. Her brother’s voice had been filled with a pride that Tania didn’t begin to try and understand.

  “Won’t you sit down?” She could hardly expect him to remain standing, but her voice was distant. She felt better when he was seated. He had seemed to dominate the small living-room. Uneasily, the fleeting thought swept through Tania’s head that he still dominated it. He was that kind of man. His long legs seemed to extend halfway across the room. She took a grip on herself, forcing herself to be charitable if not welcoming.

  “I was about to make some coffee.

  Would you like some?”

  “Thank you, yes.” Claude’s faint smile told her he knew exactly how much she wished him out of here. She walked stiffly to the
kitchen, plugged in the kettle and put two mugs on a tray. Her stomach suddenly gnawed. One cucumber sandwich and a cup of tea at the college hadn’t been enough to see her through the day, and she’d been far too nervous to eat any lunch.

  She glanced back to where Claude Girard sat on one of her armchairs. She had never expected to see him here, nor wanted him. At that moment, she seemed to hear James’s protesting voice when they had run wild in the sweet Devon meadows, telling her not to be so grouchy. Tania bit her lip, remembering that this was James’s friend, and poked her head into the living-room.

  “Have you eaten — Claude?” she said abruptly. “I was about to have a salad and cold meat. If you’d like some —”

  “Yes please. Anything would be fine. I was going to ask you out for a meal —”

  “It’s all right. The salad’s ready.” She didn’t want to be obligated to him by going to a restaurant with him. And she couldn’t wait that long anyway. She was too ravenous. She should get some clothes on … but that would take time too, and Tania was beginning to feel decidedly light-headed. Maybe it was only partly lack of food. That, and the emotional day, and now the appearance of Claude Girard, was turning her world upside down. The sooner they ate and she got rid of him, the better.

  Avoiding the thought that they looked a very cosy twosome, eating a meal together and with Tania wearing only the Chinese robe, she thought grimly that the situation was anything but comfortable. She realised that Claude was a little embarrassed at being here too, despite his masculine air of self-confidence. Serves him right, she thought. She hadn’t asked him to come.

  “You must have known that we had to talk,” Claude said suddenly. They had eaten the salad, and she had brought cheese and biscuits to the table and topped up their coffee mugs.

  “I don’t see why. James and I never interfered in each others’ lives. He thought what I do is tame, and I could never sanction the kind of life he led.”