by Anne Mather
Clarry shook her head. ‘I don’t feel you’re telling me the whole truth, Dionne. What happened when he saw you in France? Was he pleased to see you? Did he ask a lot of questions?’
‘Yes, he asked a lot of questions and no, he wasn’t pleased to see me.’
‘Dionne!’ Clarry looked imploringly at her. ‘Do you really know what you’re doing?’
‘Of course I do. What do you mean?’
Clarry shook her head. ‘It seems to me there’s more to this than meets the eye. If he wasn’t pleased to see you, why did he give you the money? To get rid of you?’
Dionne flushed. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose so.’
‘Then why is he here now? Wanting to see you? That doesn’t quite add up.’
Dionne pressed the palms of her hands together. ‘It’s a long story, Clarry. Can’t we leave it? Just for now?’
‘We’ve left it for five weeks, Dionne. Don’t you think that’s long enough?’
Dionne sighed. ‘Oh, all right, I suppose so.’
‘So why don’t you sit down and tell me exactly what happened?’
Dionne hesitated and then with a heavy shake of her head she dropped down into the chair opposite. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘All right, I’ll tell you exactly what happened. I saw Manoel, I told him I needed two hundred pounds, and he immediately jumped to the conclusion that either I needed it because I was pregnant or because of some man!’
‘That wasn’t exactly an unreasonable assumption,’ Clarry pointed out.
‘Maybe not. Anyway, I wouldn’t tell him why I wanted it and in the end he agreed to give me the money if I would go to the mas to see Gemma.’
‘His grandmother?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But I thought she lived in a caravan.’
‘She did. But she seems to have had some kind of stroke and the doctors, and Manoel, have insisted that she lives at the mas. Anyway, I went to see her and I saw his mother – and Yvonne.’
‘You say Yvonne had an accident. What sort of accident?’
‘A bull gored her.’ Dionne’s young voice was almost as expressionless as Louise’s had been when first she told her about the affair.
‘My God!’ Clarry was shocked. ‘How terrible!’
‘Yes, wasn’t it?’ Dionne studied the pale ovals of her nails. ‘Well, anyway, that’s about it. I got the money, as you know, and here I am.’
Clarry bit her lip. ‘And Manoel didn’t mention – what happened before?’
Dionne rose abruptly to her feet. Her face was strained. ‘What do you want me to say?’ she demanded chokingly. ‘Yes, of course he mentioned what happened, but it’s all in the past now, and there’s no point in raking it all up.’
Clarry touched her arm tentatively. ‘Go and make the tea,’ she suggested gently. ‘I’m just an inquisitive old woman!’
Dionne hesitated a moment longer and then she left the room. It was no good. She couldn’t discuss her feelings for Manoel even with Clarry. There was no way of saying in prosaic terms the kind of mental and physical torture she suffered every time she allowed thoughts of him to invade her mind.
A persistent knocking at the door at about twelve o’clock that night awoke Dionne from an uneasy slumber. Blinking, she leaned over and tried to make sense of the luminous dial of her alarm clock, but as the knocking continued she slid hastily out of bed, pulling on a dark blue quilted dressing-gown. Whoever was at the door was determined to be heard and she didn’t want Jonathan to be awoken at this hour.
Aunt Clarry was unaware of the commotion. Dionne could hear her heavy breathing as she passed her door and she ran down the stairs shivering in the chill of this unearthly time of night.
Reaching the door, she lifted the latch and allowed it to open to the length of its chain. This was a security measure Aunt Clarry had adopted.
The dark shadow of a man was outside and for a moment Dionne was tempted to shut the door again, but Manoel stepped into the shaft of light shed by the gap and she gasped in amazement. His face was dark and grim and he looked impatiently at the chain.
‘May I come in?’ he inquired harshly, but Dionne knew that his request was merely a formality. She felt sure that if she refused he was quite likely to break the chain, or the door, or both.
Deciding not to antagonize him further, she nodded silently and pressing the door forward again she released the chain and drew the door wide. Manoel stepped forward abruptly, and taking the handle from her unresisting fingers closed the door securely behind him.
‘Now,’ he began angrily, but she shook her head, raising her finger to her lips.
‘Come into the living-room,’ she whispered, and with an impatient exclamation he followed her down the passage into the room at the end.
It was a comfortable room, a lived-in room, and Dionne’s eyes darted about desperately, searching for evidence of Jonathan’s existence. But then Manoel had her by the shoulders, swinging her round to face him roughly.
‘Well?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Why didn’t you come?’
Dionne backed away from him. ‘If you mean the summons you sent this afternoon I should have thought it was obvious,’ she replied, in rather uneven tones.
‘Why? Why is it obvious?’
Dionne gasped. ‘You’re in London with Yvonne. Your chauffeur told me that. What do you think I am? Some kind of temporary replacement?’
‘Why, you—’ He bit off an epithet, raking a hand through his thick hair. In a dark lounge suit and a blue shirt and matching tie he looked more attractive than ever and her heart plunged sickeningly at the realization that soon Yvonne would be his wife, able to see him at all times of the day and night, having the right to his name and his bed. ‘Do you realize I’ve spent the last four hours at a business dinner chafing with the desire to get away and see you simply because you refused to come and see me for the only free hour I had—’ He broke off, unbuttoning his jacket and running a hand round the back of his neck, tautening his silk shirt against the broad muscles of his chest.
Dionne made a helpless gesture. ‘I don’t see that it matters. Your affairs are nothing to do with me.’
‘I’m beginning to believe that,’ he muttered huskily. ‘Oh God, Dionne, you’ve no conception of the agony I’ve suffered these last weeks since you went away—’
Dionne trembled violently and sank down weakly into a low chair, her blue housecoat parting to reveal the slender length of leg beneath. She drew the gown together swiftly at the deepening penetration of his eyes, and said quickly: ‘I – I don’t think you should talk to me like this.’
‘Why not? It’s the truth.’ Manoel came to stand before her, legs slightly apart, disturbing sensuality in every movement of his body.
‘Manoel, please!’ Dionne bent her head. ‘Why – why have you come here at this time of night? It’s madness!’
Manoel bent forward, putting one hand on either of the arms of her chair, so that she had to lean right back to keep away from him. ‘Yes, it’s madness,’ he agreed, his eyes probing the length of her with almost insolent appraisal. ‘But it was always like that – between us. Wasn’t it?’
Dionne was finding breathing difficult. ‘What do you want of me?’
Suddenly, in the uneasy awareness that had fallen between them, Jonathan began to cry. It was a plaintive, penetrating sound, the kind of sound he made when he was frightened, and obviously their voices, hushed though they had been, had disturbed him.
Manoel straightened abruptly, an incredulous expression on his lean dark face. Dionne rose to her feet, ready to go to the child, and he turned to look at her with impassioned eyes.
‘Who is that?’ he demanded fiercely. ‘Who is crying?’
Dionne hesitated only a moment, and then she said quietly: ‘Jonathan.’
‘Jonathan!’ Manoel raked his hair violently. ‘God Almighty, that cry – that baby – it’s yours?’
Dionne nodded slowly, and Manoel’s lips twisted tortuously. ‘You mean t
o tell me you have a child – a baby?’
Dionne took a shaking breath and nodded again, and Manoel uttered a stifled curse. ‘You – you bitch!’ he muttered chokingly, and without another word, he stumbled from the room and she heard the sound of the front door slamming behind him echoing chillingly round the house.
CHAPTER NINE
IN the days that followed Dionne went about in a nightmarelike state of unreality, scarcely aware of what she was doing. It was as though all hope for the future was gone and no amount of bracing advice from Clarry could dispel the despair that enveloped her. Manoel was gone, and this time he would not come back.
But gradually, as the days went by, Dionne began slowly to recover her spirit. After all, there was still Jonathan, and it was not his fault that his parents had made such an unholy mess of their lives.
About three weeks after the disastrous night of Manoel’s visit, Dionne had an unexpected caller. Clarry had had the plaster taken off her leg two days before and as it was a nice afternoon she had taken Jonathan with her to visit a friend who lived a short bus ride away. Dionne herself was clearing out some cupboards upstairs and sighed impatiently when there was a knock at the front door. But she went to answer it unsuspectingly and stepped back aghast when she found Yvonne Demaris on the threshold.
But this was not the wheelchair-ridden young woman of her visit to Provence; this was Yvonne walking again, slim and elegant, her clothes an open advertisement for some expensive couturier.
Yvonne’s lips curved contemptuously when she saw Dionne’s dust-daubed slacks and shabby smock, and then said: ‘I want to talk to you, Dionne. Can I come in?’
Dionne stood her ground. ‘I don’t think we have anything to say to one another, Yvonne,’ she asserted, more calmly than she felt.
Yvonne narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh, I think we have. I’m sure you’ll be interested in what I have to say.’
Dionne shook her head. ‘I have work to do—’
‘It can wait.’ Yvonne put one elegantly-clad shoe in the doorway. ‘Aren’t you interested in the fact that Manoel is very ill – possibly dying?’
Dionne’s face whitened as though Yvonne had struck her. ‘You’re lying!’ she gasped.
‘Am I?’ Yvonne raised her eyebrows mockingly. ‘Are you sure?’
Dionne swallowed hard. ‘If Manoel is – is almost dying – why are you here? Why aren’t you with him?’
Yvonne sniffed delicately. ‘I do not intend to stand here on the doorstep, Dionne. Are you going to ask me in, or are you not?’
Dionne hesitated and then she stood aside abruptly and with a slight, triumphant smile Yvonne stepped past her and walked down the hall. Dionne noticed that she walked rather slowly, but there was no trace of a limp. Obviously the surgeons had done their job well.
In the living-room, Yvonne looked about her with distaste. ‘Do you live here?’ she inquired insolently.
Dionne’s young face was taut and anxious. ‘Please!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you here for? What has happened to Manoel?’
Yvonne seemed in no hurry now to go on. She looked around the room with scornful appraisal and her eyes alighted on Jonathan’s toys heaped in one comer. She stared at them disbelievingly for a moment and then turned to Dionne in amazement.
‘Those toys? There is a child in this house?’
Dionne wondered whether she should answer her, but she knew Yvonne’s character well enough to know that she was unlikely to go on unless Dionne answered her questions. So she said: ‘Yes,’ in a rather taut voice.
Yvonne’s eyes grew speculative. ‘I understood you lived alone – with your aunt.’
‘I did –I do – that is—’
Yvonne ran her tongue over her lips and a sudden smile tilted the corners of her mouth, but it was not a pleasant smile. ‘So it’s you! You have a child!’ she exclaimed.
Dionne’s colour burned her cheeks. ‘That’s right.’
Yvonne shook her head in amused incredulity, and then she laughed scornfully. ‘So that’s it!’ she pronounced triumphantly. ‘That’s what Manoel found out that night! That’s what sent him straight back to France to practically kill himself in the arena! The fact that after all that has happened – you have a child! Oh, that’s irony, Dionne, don’t you think so?’
Dionne was trembling in the grip of emotions she didn’t know she possessed, emotions that made her want to grasp Yvonne by her elegantly coiffured head and scratch her eyes out for the mockery she was exhibiting.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about—’ she began huskily, but Yvonne shook her head.
‘Do not try to draw the wool over my eyes, Dionne! I know Manoel only too well. He is an idealist, the kind of intolerant male who can accept nothing less than perfection in his women! What a terrible shock it must have been for him when he found that the woman he was prepared to give so much up for should turn out to have feet of clay!’
Dionne was confused. ‘What do you mean? Where is Manoel? You say he has injured himself – in the arena?’
Yvonne raised arched eyebrows. ‘Yes. That is what I said.’
‘But how? I mean – Manoel knows the bulls – how could he take such risks?’
Yvonne shrugged indifferently. ‘I am not particularly bothered about Manoel.’
‘But I am!’ Dionne was almost frantic with anxiety. ‘How can you be so cold? I thought you were in love with Manoel—’
Yvonne’s lips tightened. ‘So did I – once. I know better now. Besides, who would want to marry a man who might be crippled for life?’
Dionne’s eyes were agonized. ‘Oh, God!’ she breathed faintly.
Yvonne’s eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘Do not look so distraught, Dionne. Manoel does not want us either. I fear he demands more than either of us have to offer.’
Dionne put a bewildered hand to her head. ‘Why did you come here, Yvonne? Why did you want to tell me that Manoel had been injured? What possible pleasure can you gain from such a situation?’
Yvonne made an eloquent gesture. ‘My dear Dionne, I didn’t come just to tell you about Manoel, although your anxiety comes rather sweetly to my ears. No – I came here to find out what had gone wrong – what had destroyed the romantic idyll that began three years ago. Now – now, I know.’
‘You know nothing!’ Dionne could barely get the words out. ‘You – you’re evil! You don’t give a damn for anybody but yourself. When you were confined to a wheelchair Manoel didn’t abandon you!’
‘Didn’t he?’ Yvonne looked venomous. ‘My dear girl, Manoel abandoned me most effectively the day I had the accident, but of course you wouldn’t know that, would you? You probably only know what Louise could tell you – that Manoel and I had a row and I attempted to get even with him by beating his precious bulls!’
‘You – you mean you were arguing because Manoel was threatening to leave you?’ Dionne could scarcely contain her curiosity, but Yvonne seemed not to notice.
‘Of course,’ she said now, preening herself before the mirror above the fireplace. ‘Manoel is part gitano after all, and his grandmother, the old witch, always played on that. She made him believe that he couldn’t marry anyone else even if he wanted to, because he was already married to you! He didn’t know about his mother getting that cheque and disposing of you. He still had ideas of coming to England to find you and bring you back. He was almost out of his mind with jealousy when you disappeared!’
‘What?’ Dionne couldn’t take it in. ‘But – but that day after the ceremony – he – he didn’t come back. Only his mother came. Why didn’t he stop her if that’s how he felt?’
‘How could he? He was in hospital with a broken thigh. I should have thought Louise would have told you that.’
‘The accident?’ Dionne swallowed hard. ‘You mean – the accident happened that day?’
Yvonne was beginning to look bored. ‘Of course. He came back to the mas to tell his parents what had happened and I was there, too. They were furious, of course.
Afterwards he was thrown from his horse only a few hundred yards from the house. One of the gardiens said the saddle fastening was loose.’ Her lips curved into a reminiscent smile, and Dionne had the distinct impression that Yvonne had had something to do with that.
But that was in the past. It was the present now, and Dionne knew that Yvonne had unwittingly changed the course of her life.
On her way to the door Yvonne turned and said: ‘So there you are, then, Dionne. The whole sordid little melodrama. What a pity there isn’t to be a happy ending. But having a baby rather precludes that, doesn’t it?’
Dionne clenched her fists into balls. ‘It rather depends whose baby it is, don’t you think, Yvonne?’ she said carefully.
Yvonne halted. ‘What do you mean?’
Dionne shook her head. ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said. ‘Are you leaving?’
Yvonne hesitated, obviously struck by the unexpected light behind Dionne’s eyes, but at last she walked to the front door. Dionne opened it politely and Yvonne went through. Her hired car was parked at the gate, but Dionne didn’t wait to see her get into it. She closed the door and pressed herself back against it shakily. If what Yvonne had said was true then there were so many possibilities opening up before her incredulous eyes.
But then she remembered what Yvonne had said about Manoel’s accident and her immediate excitement gave way to apprehension. What if Yvonne had not been exaggerating? What if Manoel really was at death’s door? Could his careless actions in the arena have been the result of finding out that Dionne had a child, a child he thought was some other man’s? It was all incredibly, wonderfully possible, but first she must find out how he was.
Her brain raced as she walked back to the living-room, unconsciously planning ahead. She would go to Provence. Even if Yvonne was wrong, even if Manoel no longer cared about her, even if the knowledge of his own son meant nothing to him, she must still go. She must tell the truth now or live with her doubts for the rest of her life.
By the time Clarry returned with Jonathan she had rung the airport and booked a seat for herself on the next day’s flight to Marignane, and was busy packing some of hers and Jonathan’s clothes into a suitcase. This time Jonathan would go with her. This time there must be no mistakes.
