by Dix, Isabel
`But why . . .?' The word was a whisper.
`Why? Because he cannot stand up to his mother. She has dominated him all his life—and before Antoine, his father and her stepdaughter. You see, Kate, the story goes back a long way. Our fathers, Antoine's and mine, were identical twins, and mine was the younger by about half an hour. They grew up inseparable even to the extent that they married cousins, Bernice's mother and mine. My mother died when I was three and Tante Jeanne when I was eight. In those days both families lived in the château, and it was understood that the estate would be shared between the two brothers who were so close in every way.
`But then my uncle remarried and everything changed. Although I was still too young to have the thing explained to me at that time I knew that there was some terrible tension in the house and the family solicitor appeared to spend all his time with us. I realised that it was involved with the new little cousin who had arrived, but I didn't understand in what way.
`Of course now it is clear enough that my uncle's second wife was very ambitious for her own child and wished to see me excluded. If my father had not died
suddenly from a heart attack things might have been sorted out, but . . .' he shrugged, his face hard and impassive, 'as it was the field was left clear for whatever plans she wished to make. And of course they did not include me. Only when I reached the age of twenty-one did I learn that what I had thought of as my inheritance didn't belong to me at all. It was all Antoine's. My uncle had died the previous year, and although he always treated me kindly, there's no doubt that he allowed himself to be dominated by his wife. As he allowed his daughter, his whole household to be dominated.'
`I'm sorry, Charles.' Helplessly she looked at him. `But don't you resent it? I mean, that Antoine is . .
`I used to.' His smile was brief and bitter. 'Oh, not that I blame Antoine—in fact I've always loved him. He was the young brother I might have had if my mother had lived. No, it wasn't his fault. His mother is, as you know, a very . . . powerful woman, and he has not the nature to stand up to her.'
`And so you were forced to leave your old home . .
`Not forced.' Again the cynical smile twisted his mouth. 'Madame ma tante kindly said that I could always have a job on the estate. In other words she invited me to go on running things. But only on the understanding that I was the manager. Of course I refused, and in spite of the various olive branches she has held out I've kept myself apart from her pretty much since then. I have felt freer since I escaped the baleful influence of the château.'
`Until now . .
`Oui. As you say.' For the moment he appeared disinclined to say any more.
But I still can't understand.'
`Ah, forgive me. My mind was becoming involved with old scores. The first I knew of you, my dear, was when Antoine rang me to say that he had met you and meant to marry you whatever his mother said. I was delighted that at last he was standing up for himself and told him to go ahead. Then a few days later I had another message to say that his mother was pressing him to be patient, and I could sense that he was weakening, thinking that perhaps his mother was right. I told him to stick to his original plans, for I've always thought that a wife and family would be the best chance he had of escape.' Suddenly, disarmingly, he grinned at her. 'I don't know what it will do for you, Kate. You'll have to be prepared to stand up for yourself.'
At the thought of it a sudden chill struck into her bones and she shivered.
`Anyway, the next unexpected thing to happen was a telephone call from Antoine's mother. She reminded me that I had promised my uncle always to care for Antoine and she thought that the time to put my promise into action had arrived. She has cool impudence, hasn't she?' He looked at her, noting the paleness of her face, then went on with his story.
`I was quite polite, so I'm sure she thought that I had forgiven and forgotten, and when I had listened to her story I laughed before asking her what she wanted me to do. Surely, I said, you don't expect me to marry the girl myself?
`There was a long pause and it suddenly occurred to me that it was the sort of crazy thing that she might even consider. And then later, when I sat down and began to think about it, I saw the possibilities of the
position. Her fears would be completely assuaged and when the time came Antoine would come back and take you away.'
`But,' Kate's lips were stiff and she had to force the words from her lips, 'what reason did you give Antoine's mother? Surely she couldn't possibly imagine that you would do this thing simply to please her?'
`Ah no. Let us just say that I agreed to go ahead in her interests, for a consideration.'
Kate felt as if the life was being squeezed out of her body as he spoke the last words and as she was unable to look at him all her attention was concentrated on the small pile of paper on the table. 'And it doesn't seem to have occurred to either of you . . . Oh,' suddenly passionate she looked up at him, her eyes dark as midnight behind the smoked lenses, 'Oh, I'm not really blaming you. But Antoine is supposed to love me. How could he?'
`Cherie!' Reaching across the table, Charles took her chin in his hands, holding her head so that she had no chance of moving away from him. 'He does love you. I can think of no one for whom he would have risked so much. Be assured that when the time comes, he will come to me and demand that I return to him his wife.' A smile touched his mouth, more gentle than she had seen since he had begun the explanation. 'And then you and he will have the rest of your lives together. This will be simply an interval which you can tell your children about.' He released her then, coming round to stand beside her, he pulled her to her feet. 'And now we must be on our way.' He put out a hand and touched the stains on her blouse. 'You said that you wanted to
change.' He seemed not to have seen the swift flush that his touch had brought nor the increased beat of her heart beneath the thin cotton. 'If you go and find what you want in your case, I'll tidy up here.'
Kate found a clean blouse in one of the large cases which had been stowed in the boot of his car and using the open door as a screen she slipped out of the soiled blouse and bent to pick up the fresh one from the seat just as Charles, his hands full of the remnants of their food, came round to stow them in the car. She was dressed in her jeans and a very brief revealing bra and saw his eyes rake her face, then her bare shoulders and swelling breast before turning abruptly from her. Kate's hands were shaking as she did up the buttons on the silky blue blouse.
`Ready?' His voice was impassive as he leaned inside the car, tossing his sunglasses casually on the dashboard as he did so.
`Yes.' Her manner was quiet, muted.
In the instant before he held the door for her their eyes met and she knew that he was thinking of that earlier moment, remembering her half-clad body. And the look in his eyes startled her. For Kate had been out with too many men who had wanted to make love to her to make any mistake about the signs.
But what from her point of view was infinitely more disturbing was her own reaction. For she longed to feel his mouth on hers—oh, not the brief formal embrace she had experienced in church yesterday but something more searching and intimate, a kiss which she suspected would set her blood on fire. Of course it was all because he looked so much like Antoine. And she was feeling the frustration of her married yet un—
married situation. But she hoped, how she hoped, that the man she loved would not postpone their meeting for too long.
CHAPTER FOUR
LA PIGEONNIERE was not at all as she had expected it. For the rest of the afternoon as they drove at a leisurely pace along the valleys Charles had spoken easily, teasingly about the old pigeon loft he had bought when he had been forced to leave the chateau after his row with his aunt, how he had worked hard to convert it into a cottage which now had some of the comforts of modern living.
`How long ago was that, Charles?' asked Kate.
`That was ten—no, eleven years ago. You see, things are difficult when you suddenly find you have no money.
I even had to find a career, some means of supporting myself.'
`And what did you do?'
`Oh, when I was unpacking my belongings I found a camera. I decided that perhaps I could keep the wolf from the door by taking family photographs and so on.'
`And did you?'
`What, did I take photographs? Or did I keep the wolf from the door?'
`Both.'
`Yes.' He laughed. 'I suppose I did.'
`And made enough to convert the pigeon shed?' `Yes, for that too.'
`Good.' Although she said no more Kate decided
that he must have done fairly well, that was if his car and the obviously expensive clothes he wore were the result of his own efforts.
`Perhaps,' Charles spoke tentatively as if uncertain of her reaction, 'you will let me take your photograph. It might be the turning point in my career.' But there was a note in his voice that told her his suggestion was not entirely serious, that he was in some way testing her. She was considering how to reply when quite unexpectedly he swung the car off the narrow valley road, taking one which was even more restricted although just as beautiful with its overhead canopy of high lime trees.
`Look,' as they reached a gap in the trees one long dark finger pointed, 'La Pigeonnière. Home.' Kate noticed a small square tower peeping over the hill in the instant before they were swallowed again by the leafy tunnel. She slid round in her seat to steal a glance at the dark uncompromising profile, then was at once disturbed by the lightness of the expression that met hers.
`You sound relieved,' she said. Colour mounted in her cheeks and she stared forward through the windscreen. 'To be home, I mean.'
`I am.' He said no more, but Kate was conscious of an easing of the tension in him as they drove out of the trees, turned right along a wide gravel drive, through an arch in a high stone wall and stopped in a courtyard.
Only then did Kate understand how deceptive that first glimpse of the tower had been; that narrow square that edged over the hillside had betrayed little of the size and elegance of the property. The pigeon loft sat on top of a larger block, and buildings stretching out
from it at right angles formed two sides of a courtyard. The third side was the wall with the archway which gave access to the road and the fourth was open to the descending hill.
The old stone of which the buildings were composed was the colour of dark honey, soft and warm so that even on the dullest day it would persuade one that somewhere the sun still shone. Kate swung her legs through the door which Charles held open for her, looking about her with eyes that made no attempt to hide her pleasure.
`This is what you call a pigeon loft?'
`Yes. And there they are, Kate.' Even before he answered she had heard the soft cooing, had felt her eyes drawn to the square tower where a few plump white doves stretched their wings and scratched lazily. One of them fluttered down to land on the paving stones by their feet, his tail fanning out behind him in a beautiful crescent as he pecked half-heartedly at the crevices in the hope of finding some food.
`Aren't they beautiful? It all is.' Kate walked away from Charles towards the open side, looking down into the valley far below where she could see the rich fields, the silver glint of water as it appeared and disappeared.
`That is the Vézère river. It joins the Dordogne not far from here.' He lingered with her, but it was her expression rather than the view which absorbed his attention. 'Now come inside, I want you to meet Madeau.' There was still a hint of tension about him as he took her arm and led her back to the front door where he had stopped the car.
`Madeau?' It was the first time she had heard the name and she looked at him in surprise.
`Yes. She lives with her husband in the flat over the garage.' He pointed to the large double doors in the adjoining wall and following his finger Kate could see light net curtains fluttering at the open windows on the second storey. 'Georges goes into Sarlat each day. He works in a garage and he does the garden in his spare time, Madeau looks after the house and does the cooking.'
As he spoke he led her up the few steps to the front door. It was set into the corner, recessed with heavy outer doors linked back on either side against the wall. Through the clear glass of the inner door set in a surround of rich mahogany Kate could see heavy old-fashioned wooden chests against plain white stone walls with many pieces of brass and copper catching the sunlight.
As he unlocked the door with the key Charles rang the doorbell, then ushered Kate in ahead of him. She had a moment to admire the clean simple lines of the large hall, the imposing sweep of the staircase in dark polished wood that branched out under a tall window and swept round to right and left.
`Madeau!' As he called her name and walked towards a closed door to the right of the hall, the door opened and a woman came through. She was younger than Kate had for some reason expected, about thirty-five, small and plump with rosy cheeks and her fair hair coiled up at the back of her head.
`Monsieur Charles!' Her face lit up at the sight of him, then she hesitated as she caught sight of Kate and she began to wipe her hands on the large white apron which enveloped her.
`This, Madeau,' Kate knew that he was anxious to
have the awkward moment over, 'this is my wife.'
For a moment there was a frown of incomprehension on the woman's face as she looked from her employer to the girl standing on the large Tabriz carpet which covered the floor. 'Your wife, Monsieur Charles?' The uncertainty of her manner told them that she was convinced she had misunderstood, and Kate felt herself grow warm with embarrassment.
`Yes, Madeau.' Charles laughed and came over to Kate and putting his arm round her drew her forward. `I know it is a surprise to you, but this is my wife Kate. We were married only yesterday.'
`But, monsieur, such shocks !' The woman put her hand up to her mouth, pulling at her lip for a moment before she smiled and held out her hand to the newcomer. 'But such good shocks, monsieur. And madame.' All at once she seemed delighted with the situation and her grip on Kate's hand was warm and reassuring.
`Yes, and now you know why you spent that time with Madame Malvaud in London all those years ago. It was so you could learn English and make things easier for my wife when I found her.'
`Oh, monsieur!' Madeau smiled, obviously used to his teasing. 'But so sudden, monsieur. And so romantic, madame!'
`Thank you.' Kate felt a relaxation within herself and for the first time realised how great her own nervousness had been.
`Now, Madeau, would you take Madame Charles upstairs to the garden bedroom and I shall bring her cases.'
Mais certainement, monsieur. Madame, venez.' Quickly removing her overall, rolling it up and putting
it on a chair that stood at the foot of the stairs, Madeau turned indicating that Kate should follow. She paused at the small landing below the window to look out before continuing, her hands sliding smoothly over the polished banister.
`It's a beautiful house.' Kate tried to cover the awkwardness of the situation by the inconsequential remark. `When Charles spoke of La Pigeonnière I had no idea it would be so large and so elegant.'
`Ah, Monsieur Charles . . Madeau shrugged as she led the way along the corridor and then paused before a closed door. 'He always jokes, n'est-ce pas, madame?'
`Yes,' Kate agreed without conviction, deciding that although her own view did not accord with Madeau's it was best to go along with it at the moment.
`Et voila, madame!' With the air of producing a rabbit from a hat Madeau threw the door open, and when she saw it Kate could understand the woman's pride.
The room was fairly large and two high arched windows in the wall opposite the door made it light and airy, although the net curtains hanging across them sheltered the room from excessive heat in summer. One wall was lined with cupboards, all in a pale golden wood which complemented the period of the house and the other wall, indeed the whole room was dominated by the bed which stood against it. It had four slender posts rising to the ceiling
and was draped with the same filmy net embroidered with pink rosebuds which hung at the windows. The carpet was a soft unobtrusive pink and the colour was picked up again in the deep rose-coloured satin cover that lay beneath the heavy lace bedspread.
Kate became aware that Madeau was looking at her face with an air of satisfaction but that clearly too she was expecting some comment.
`I've never seen such a lovely room, Madeau.' Although it was completely true the words were exactly those which might have been calculated to please the other woman.
Oui, madame.' She walked over to the window and tweaked one of the folds of the curtain which had been displeasing her. 'And it has only just been completed. Monsieur Charles must have known,' she turned to smile admiringly at Kate, 'he must have known, although he told me nothing. Allowing me to believe . . .' She did-not finish the sentence but went over to throw open a door which Kate had not noticed previously as it was painted the same soft rose colour as the walls of the room. 'And here, madame, is your bathroom.'
Kate smiled her pleasure as she looked round at the shining white bath, at the gold taps and at the rose-strewn white tiles. 'You know, Madeau, Monsieur Charles told me that he had some mod cons in the pigeon house and . .
`Pardon, madame?' Clearly Madeau had not understood, but before there was a chance to explain they heard the sound of Charles coming into the bedroom and moved through to join him.
`It's a beautiful room, Charles.' For once Kate kept nothing back as she stood watching him place the cases on the bench at the foot of her bed. 'Quite perfect.'
`I'm glad.' His reply was laconic, but she sensed that he too was pleased with her enthusiasm.
Madeau, her head to one side, looked at them know-
ingly. 'Pardon, madame, perhaps you would like some tea.'
