The Night Of The Bulls

by Anne Mather

  Dionne booked into the same hotel in Arles and she saw Monsieur Lyons’ eyes widen interestedly when he saw Jonathan. But he contained his curiosity and welcomed her back without question, assuring her that either he or his wife would be willing to take care of the child if she wished to go out in the evenings.

  Dionne thanked him. She might be glad of their assistance in that way. But first she had to find out where Manoel was and whether he was fit enough to have visitors. She hesitated about calling the mas, not wanting to draw attention to her presence in Arles, and phoned the hospitals instead.

  She drew a blank, but at the last she was told that Monsieur St. Salvador had been a patient there for a time but he was now back home. Home meant the Mas St. Salvador and Dionne cringed from the task ahead of her. Not only would she have to confront Manoel, but she had to confront his mother first.

  Although she asked for details of Manoel’s injuries, at the hospital, in this they would not help her. Possibly they thought she was a member of the press looking for a story, but whatever their reasons they refused to discuss their patient. So she was left knowing only that he was no longer at death’s door.

  She eventually decided to hire a car and drive out to the mas the following afternoon. She would take Jonathan with her, and pray that she was not letting herself in for heartbreak.

  It was rather an unnerving journey, following the uneven track, and Jonathan, drowsy in the back seat of the car, fell asleep long before they arrived. It was his usual time for a nap and the unaccustomed journey the day before had exhausted him. Dionne glanced round at him tenderly as his downy head nodded, and presently he tipped sideways to stretch on the back seat.

  At last she arrived at the mas, but the place seemed deserted. Dogs barked to herald their arrival, but there was no sign of human life. She supposed she ought to be feeling grateful that Yvonne was no longer there to harass her, but her racing pulses would not be stilled and her knees shook uncontrollably as she climbed out of the car.

  She decided to leave Jonathan asleep in the car. He would come to no harm here in the yard and it would be easier confronting Madame St. Salvador without the child.

  But although she knocked long and heavily at the door no one came to answer it, and eventually she tried the handle and when the door gave inwards she entered with some misgivings. She was in the passage she had been in with Manoel and to her left was the kitchen where he had taken her.

  On impulse she opened the kitchen door, but the room was deserted, and only a fire burning merrily in the grate bore witness that it was not too long since someone had tended it. She was emerging from the kitchen when a man’s angry voice called:

  ‘Qui est-ce? Ou êtes-vous? Dieu, répondez-moi!’

  It was Manoel’s voice, coming from a room further down the corridor, and Dionne tensed violently. On trembling legs she traversed the corridor until she reached the door of his room and then tapping gently she opened it and went slowly in.

  Manoel was in the process of getting out of bed, but at her entrance he flung the covers swiftly over his nakedness and stared at her as though he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  ‘Hello, Manoel,’ she murmured nervously. ‘How – how are you?’

  Manoel ran a hand over his tousled hair, grown thick now and longer since his illness so that it curled down the back of his neck. ‘God!’ he muttered disbelievingly. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Dionne closed the door and leaned back against it. ‘Is – is that any kind of a greeting?’ she inquired unevenly.

  Manoel uttered an angry epithet. ‘Look, Dionne, I didn’t ask you to come here. I don’t even know how you come to be here at all. For God’s sake, go away and leave me alone!’

  Dionne’s breathing quickened. ‘Don’t talk to me like that, Manoel. I – I’ve been so worried about you—’

  ‘Oh, spare me that, at least!’ Manoel flung himself back against the pillows.

  ‘I have.’ Dionne advanced a little way towards the bed, noticing what a bare room this was. ‘How are you? You – you had an accident, I know that much. I want to know how you are.’

  ‘Do you?’ His grey eyes were cold and angry. ‘Well, I’m fine. And if it wasn’t for the fact of those damn fool doctors filling me full of drugs I’d have been up and about by now.’

  Dionne shook her head. ‘But what happened? How did you do it?’

  Manoel’s jaw tightened. ‘I was gored, nothing more, nothing less!’

  ‘Oh, Manoel!’ Dionne felt sick. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘Do what? Get gored? I didn’t exactly choose my fate, you know.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ Dionne bent her head, then she looked up again, her eyes imploring. ‘Where is the scar?’

  ‘There!’

  With deliberate cruelty Manoel pushed down the covers below his waist so that Dionne could see the ugly row of stitches which showed white across his flat brown stomach.

  ‘Oh, Manoel!’ She stared at them in horror, imagining what it must have been like when it was first done, when the flesh hung tom and bleeding.

  Manoel regarded her expressionlessly for a long moment, taking in the attractive picture she made in pale blue cotton slacks and a low-necked ribbed sweater with long sleeves.

  Then Dionne could stand it no longer and with a helpless shrug of her shoulders she ran the few steps to the bed and dropped to her knees beside it, burying her face against his brown shoulder. She felt him stiffen and his hands go up to push her away. But the low-necked sweater allowed his hands to touch her skin and his flesh lingered against hers for a moment before he uttered a strangled exclamation and dragging her up on to the bed he pulled her down on top of him, his mouth against her throat.

  ‘Why have you come?’ he groaned shakenly, and then he rolled over, pressing her back against the covers and parting her mouth with his.

  For several minutes she couldn’t reply, she just clung to him as though she could never bear to let him go again, and Manoel felt his self-control slipping dangerously low. It was so intimate here in this sun-shadowed room, and he had wanted her too long not to be aware of his own needs. His mouth lingered on hers, his hands hard against her soft skin, the urgency of his own desire mounting within him.

  With a supreme effort he propped himself up and looked down at her, but she made no move to slide from the bed and he said rather thickly: ‘We’ve got to talk.’

  ‘Mmn.’ Dionne traced the line of his scar with her finger and he caught her hand and held it aside firmly.

  ‘Dionne, listen to me, be sensible. God, do you think I want to be? But do you know what you’re doing?’ His eyes darkened. ‘Hadn’t you better tell me why you’re here?’

  Dionne gave a deep sigh and then with an effort she slid from the bed and he lay back on the pillows feeling a tremendous sense of loss at her going.

  She smoothed her hair and then said quietly: ‘Answer me one thing, Manoel: why did you come to see me in London?’

  Manoel’s expression grew harder. ‘Surely you know why.’

  ‘No, I don’t know why. I thought – I mean – for three years I thought you had abandoned me—’

  ‘Yes, I know. Yvonne told me.’ Manoel sat upright, hunching his shoulders. ‘And of course I would have told you that night – if – if we hadn’t been interrupted.’

  ‘I know that now. Yvonne told me two days ago that you had finished with her. That’s why I’m here.’

  Manoel’s eyes were remote. ‘Why? To take up where we left off? You forget – you have other commitments now.’

  ‘And you don’t want me with those other commitments. Is that it?’ Dionne stared at him steadily.

  Manoel raked a hand through his hair. ‘Oh, God, I don’t know what I want any more. I thought I couldn’t bear it when I found out about the child, but now, with you here, I’m wondering if I can bear it if I let you go!’ His lips twisted. ‘What an admission, isn’t it? Particularly as you’ve never before made any attempt to see m
e. Until you wanted something, that is.’

  Dionne hesitated a moment, and then she said: ‘Will you wait a moment? I – I have something to show you.’

  Manoel frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  Manoel bent his head. ‘Very well. I’ll wait.’

  Dionne gave him one last look and then slipped out of the door. The corridor was still deserted and she gave a thought to wonder where Madame St. Salvador might be but then her own emotions overcame all other considerations.

  Jonathan was still in the back of the car where she had left him, but he was already awake and beginning to whimper a little. His face brightened, however, when he saw Dionne and she lifted him into her arms tenderly.

  She carried him into the house. He still walked rather slowly and she was eager now to show Manoel his son. When she pushed open Manoel’s door he was out of bed and had put on a pair of dark blue suede pants, and was in the process of fastening the laces of a white silk shirt.

  He swung round as she entered and when he saw the child in her arms he said hoarsely: ‘For God’s sake, Dionne, what do you take me for?’

  But Dionne put Jonathan down on the floor and he stood looking about him with adorable speculation. Then she said: ‘Look at him, Manoel. Look at him, please. Does he remind you of anyone?’

  Manoel turned slowly and looked down from his great height at the child. He stared at him for a long moment, and then he looked at Dionne. Dionne felt her nerves stretch to screaming pitch at the penetration of that stare, and then Manoel was down on his haunches beside Jonathan, producing a silver case from his pocket, attracting the little boy’s attention with the shiny article.

  For several minutes he held Jonathan’s attention, bringing a smile to his small face, allowing him to show the row of small white even teeth, the cleft in his cheek, the dancing mischief to his eyes.

  Then he straightened and when he looked at Dionne she felt as though her heart was being squeezed tightly and painfully. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded fiercely, one hand curving round the back of her neck, drawing her towards him.

  I wanted to,’ she breathed huskily, still not sure that everything was going to be all right. ‘You do know who he is, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, goddamn you, my son!’ swore Manoel passionately, against her neck. ‘I once said I could kill you, and right now I believe it. Dionne, Dionne! Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘How could I?’ Dionne touched his cheek with gentle fingers while Jonathan toddled curiously about the room, content so long as Dionne was within calling distance. ‘You were so remote, and besides, I thought you were ashamed of what you had allowed to happen, remember?’

  ‘Oh, yes, my mother has a lot to answer for.’ Manoel trembled slightly against her and she said quickly:

  ‘You shouldn’t be out of bed!’

  Manoel half-smiled, and it was the most wonderful smile she had ever seen on his lips. ‘I agree,’ he murmured huskily, causing the hot colour to sweep up her throat.

  ‘Where are Louise and your mother anyway?’ asked Dionne softly. ‘I saw no one when I arrived.’

  ‘Louise is out and my mother’s not here. She’s gone to stay with a cousin in Cannes. I – I couldn’t stand her around after I got back.’

  ‘Oh, Manoel!’ Dionne pressed herself close to him and he said huskily:

  ‘She’ll improve, you’ll see. But why couldn’t you have told me about the boy when I came to your aunt’s house?’

  Dionne bit her lip. ‘I didn’t know you’d finished with Yvonne. I – I was afraid if you knew about Jonathan you’d want to take him away from me.’

  Manoel shook his head heavily. ‘Instead of which, I’ve lost the first two years of my son’s life,’ he murmured quietly.

  Dionne pressed her lips to his throat.’ We could have other sons,’ she suggested gently, and Manoel caught a handful of her hair in his fingers.

  ‘Undoubtedly we will,’ he said, his touch urgent. ‘But first I want to know everything about this particular St. Salvador.’ He bent down to the child again, obviously finding him absolutely fascinating. ‘But why did you need money for him?’ he asked suddenly, looking up at her. ‘He’s all right, isn’t he?’

  Dionne smiled at the anxiety in his voice. Kneeling down beside him, she said: ‘Jonathan had a bad attack of bronchitis a couple of months ago and it left him with some congestion. Oh, it’s nothing too serious!’ she exclaimed, as Manoel’s eyes darkened at this news. ‘But the doctor thought he would benefit from some time in a warmer, drier climate. I was going to take him away as soon as I got back. But Clarry, my aunt, had broken her leg, and it was impossible.’

  ‘I see.’ Manoel held the small boy between his hands and Jonathan regarded him curiously, obviously wondering who this stranger might be. But he didn’t struggle to be free and seemed to find the broad gold watch on Manoel’s wrist more than adequate compensation for this enforced captivity.

  Manoel got to his feet, swinging the child up into his arms, holding him with somehow ease of possession. Then he looked again at Dionne.

  ‘I hate to talk of prosaic things,’ he said softly, ‘but you’ve got to marry me in church now, you realize that?’

  Dionne watched them, feeling the prick of tears behind her eyes. ‘I have no objections,’ she murmured quietly, and Manoel tugged a strand of her hair.

  ‘And soon,’ he continued, his voice thickening a little. ‘I want my wife – and my son.’

  Jonathan was tugging at the slender chain about Manoel’s neck and Manoel managed to lift the chain and take it off, dropping it securely about Dionne’s throat.

  Dionne turned away. It had all been too much for her to cope with and she felt an awful presentiment that she was going to cry. Manoel seemed to sense her tension, for he swung the child to the ground and while Jonathan toddled off he caught her shoulders, drawing her back against him.

  ‘Je t’adore,’ he murmured huskily against her ear. ‘I love you. I always have, and I guess I always will.’

  Dionne rested back against him for a moment, loving the feeling of his hard body against hers. ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened between us now,’ she breathed chokily.

  Manoel touched the side of her neck with his mouth. ‘Nothing will part us now, I promise you,’ he replied compellingly.

  ‘But Yvonne—’

  ‘What about Yvonne?’

  ‘Will she come back to the Camargue?’

  ‘Probably, why? You’re not jealous of her, surely?’

  Dionne half smiled, shaking her head. ‘Oh, no. Actually, I suppose I should be thanking her. Without her intervention I probably wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Manoel turned her to face him and with faltering sentences Dionne explained about Yvonne’s visit to her aunt’s house. ‘Poor Yvonne!’ he said at last. ‘If only she had known what she was giving me!’

  Dionne touched his mouth with her fingers and his lips turned into her palm. ‘Is Gemma still here?’ she asked softly.

  Manoel smiled gently and nodded. ‘I imagine she is having her afternoon nap. She’ll be so pleased to see you. She was determined that we should be together again. She tried to keep you here before, you know that.’

  ‘I know so many things now,’ said Dionne, with a sigh, and then looked down at Jonathan who was tugging her skirt. ‘Do you think Louise could find somewhere for Jonathan to sleep tonight if we decided not to go back to the hotel?’

  Manoel’s lips curved rather possessively. ‘I feel she will have to,’ he said, his eyes on her mouth. ‘Because I certainly don’t intend to let you go …’

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  IMPRINT: Sexy

  ISBN: 9781488743184

  TITLE: THE NIGHT OF THE BULLS

  First Australian Publication 2014

  Copyright © 2014 Anne Mather

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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