by Dix, Isabel
She sighed as she stepped out of the stream of warm water and reached for a towel. A kiss—it sounded so simple, such an everyday occurrence, and yet it had shaken the very basis of her beliefs, her understanding of the male–female relationship. It had all been easy before, to fall in love, to marry and to live happily ever after. There should be none of this tearing, utterly exhausting emotion. And there should be no need for a girl idyllically in love with one man, with Antoine, to be so conscious of another.
Kate stood in front of the mirror and sprayed her hair with sun-filter oil, then brushing it fiercely into the least attractive style she could manage she secured it with an elastic band, adding a few kirbigrips above her
ears to contain the few wisps which had an annoying inclination to escape and to curl.
Dressed in her pants and bra, she walked over to the cupboards which now were fairly well filled with all the lovely clothes she had bought for her honeymoon. She sighed as she surveyed the colourful array of cotton and silk dresses. It seemed such a pity when the sun had been shining so gloriously since she had come, but .. . Resolutely she thrust her indecision from her and reached for the navy jeans and the mud-coloured blouse which she had bought in an underlit boutique in Chelsea.
There, Kate, she told herself when she was ready, that should subdue any interest Charles might have in your beautiful body. Then with a wry little smile she reminded herself that Charles had shown few signs of wanting to ravish her. Even that first night, when Madeau had prepared a delicious dinner to celebrate, he had shown no sign of having noticed his wife's passionate attachment to jeans and a blouse.
That faint raising of the eyebrows when he saw her come downstairs might have been imagination, not the fact that he disapproved of her slicked-down hair or her casual dress. He certainly didn't subscribe to her dressing-down ethic, for he was quite devastating in dark slacks and a plum-coloured velvet jacket with a snowy shirt front. But Kate suspected that Madeau was more disappointed in the lack of dress sense shown by the new Madame Savoney-Morlet than by Charles himself.
Only yesterday when she had come in to tidy up the already immaculate bedroom, she had lingered by the open door of the wardrobe, her fingers touching the
hem of a flame-coloured cotton admiringly.
`You like trousers, madame?'
`Yes.' There was a hint of defiance in Kate's manner as she answered. 'I find them much more practical.'
`Ah, practical. Oui.' Madeau shrugged and closed the door. `Mais pas jolis.'
Kate didn't answer, uncertain whether Madeau's comment referred to the trousers or to herself. Further pangs of regret struck her as she faced her own reflection, then she turned away and ran downstairs to the dining room before she could be tempted to change her mind.
Charles was as always sitting at the small table by the window, but obligingly, as if she were a stranger, he got up and pulled out a chair for her. Somehow the formality irritated Kate more than usual, but she tried to hide her impatience.
`You really ought not to do that, Charles.' She glanced across at him before reaching for the tall coffee pot on the small hot stand, trying to ignore the tremor of excitement that each sight of him seemed to bring.
`Do what?' he asked coldly, picking up the newspaper he had discarded when she came into the room, although she suspected he understood exactly what she meant.
`You shouldn't get up each time I come into the room. Especially when I know you've been reading.'
`Thank you.' He picked up the paper again and turned his attention to it again. 'I'll remember.'
Kate glared at the printed pages which he raised like a barricade between them, then concentrated on peeling one of the peaches from the basket in the centre of the table. She was about to spread a roll with butter and
refill her cup when there was a rustling from the seat opposite and Charles tossed the paper down on to the floor.
`More coffee?' She raised an eyebrow and held out her hand.
`Oui. Merci.' He handed his cup over, then as he thoughtfully stirred it he spoke again. 'I've been thinking, Kate, that really you ought to do something about learning the language. It's no good putting it off just because I and Madeau are able to speak English. It will help you to hold your own with my aunt if you have some command of French, and besides, Antoine will expect . .
`I'm glad you spoke of Antoine . . .' Her voice shook slightly and she replaced her cup in her saucer with care. 'I want to know just where he is, what is he doing . . .' her voice rose, showing her agitation, `. . . and why hasn't he been in contact with me?'
Charles's lips tightened. 'These are questions I cannot answer, Kate. I rang his office yesterday and . .
`You rang? Then why didn't you tell me? It seems I'm the last person to be told ! If Antoine is in Hamburg he could at least . .
`Hamburg? Why should you think he's in Hamburg?' The thin dark eyebrows frowned over the watchful eyes.
`Because he told me so. When he rang me in London, the day before I left, he said he had been delayed in Hamburg and that he would be home late on the night before our wedding.' Appealingly Kate looked at the stern-faced man sitting opposite, longing for him to confirm what she had regarded as the truth.
`Antoine is not in Hamburg.' Abruptly he got up and
left the table, standing in the open french window so that his back was all that she could see. 'As far as I know he has not been there recently.'
`Then if he's not in Hamburg, where is he?'
`As far as I know, Kate,' his voice was as impassive as the back of his head, 'Antoine is in Australia.'
`Australia . . .?' The word was a mere whisper. `But . . .'
`Listen, Kate.' Suddenly Charles swung round, sat down where he had been before and reached across the table to clasp her hands. 'Antoine has gone there to study the wine-making areas in the Barossa valley. His mother has some plans for investing money there and that's her reason for sending him. It's supposed to be for three months, but . . .'
`Three months !' Kate pulled one of her hands from his and covered her face. 'How can I bear it? Three months !'
`Don't despair, cherie: When at last he spoke there was a bleakness about his voice that made her raise her eyes to search his face but it was as uninformative as ever, until a faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. `His plan was for him to come home in the interval, and when I say home I mean France, not the château, that he would take you off my hands,' his smile widened to show that he was teasing, 'and that you would walk hand in hand into the sunset.'
`And does he imagine,' passionately she threw the question at him, 'that what has happened won't have altered anything? That I'll still feel the same? That I'll be able to trust him?'
`Yes, I think he imagines just that. He told me that nothing could alter the way you felt for each other. And
think, Kate—what he is proposing to do for you is something quite special. He is preparing to defy his mother, to trick her, so that he can marry you.'
`But he shouldn't have had to,' Kate answered rather sadly. 'He should just have told her that he was going to be married, not tangle us all up in this web.'
`But I've told you, Kate, Antoine is a gentle person, too willing to think of other people's points of view. Too anxious to save people worry and anxiety . .
`All except me!' Her interruption was sharp.
`No. Truly he was desperately worried about you. And you mustn't blame him for not being more forceful with his mother. After all, you thought there was something romantic about being secretive, about marrying without your mother's knowledge. Some of the fault is yours.'
`I shouldn't have told you that.' Almost as soon as she had reached her own room the first night she regretted the confidences she had poured into his listening ear, all a result of that glass of cognac he had insisted she drink with her coffee. 'And you shouldn't be reminding me of it now.'
`No. Of course you're right, Kate.' He grinned at her with no sign of regret and got
up, releasing her hand from his warm comforting clasp. 'But now,' he glanced at the slim gold watch on his wrist, 'there are one or two things I must do in town. Would you like to come with me, or can you fill in an hour or two on your own?'
`I shall be all right,' she answered quickly, for she knew exactly what she meant to do the first time she had the house and garden to herself. 'I can write some letters. But,' she hesitated uncertain whether she was ready for any further revelations, 'you said you rang
Antoine's office . .
`Oui. And the reason why I said nothing is that I could find out no details of his whereabouts. He told me he'd leave details of his hotel and a number where he could be found, but according to his secretary, who incidentally is another of Madame's protégées, he is travelling around and she has no firm address. That might be true or it might not. But anyway, when he has some plans he knows this number well enough and there will be no problem. Forgive me if I rush now, cherie. I have an appointment with my solicitor and must go.'
Briefly he brushed his mouth against her cheek, but it was so fleeting that Kate knew it was merely a duty, that he had been unaware of the sudden flare of emotion that any contact between them was sure to arouse. And a moment later she was staring out into the courtyard, seeing the long sleek car being reversed out of the garage, then accelerating away from the house, under the arch and disappearing. Kate rushed to the sitting-room just in time to catch a glimpse of the roof of the car as it raced downhill.
Then, feeling curiously light-hearted, she ran upstairs, tore off all her clothes and quickly shampooed her hair under the shower. How pleasant it was to feel it shiny and clean again, to get rid of the unpleasant sticky texture caused by the suntan oil. When she went
to the shops she must buy some other oil that would be more suitable for her disguise.
Meantime, she struggled into one of the new bathing suits she had bought for the intended honeymoon in Greece, gave herself an approving little smile in the mirror and went downstairs.
`Madeau,' she poked her head into the kitchen first. `I'll do my room later, I want to do some sunbathing before the sun gets too hot. Then I'll have a quick swim before Monsieur Charles comes back.'
`Oui, madame.' Magda turned round from the sink where she was washing some vegetables, then looked again, her eyes widening in surprise and pleasure. 'Oh, madame, si jolier
`I'm glad you like it, Madeau. I'm quite pleased with it myself.'
Mais oui. You look so . . . different, madame.'
Kate blushed, knowing just how much of a transformation this was from her usual appearance in drab jeans and blouses, and she was well aware how this clinging material emphasised the natural contours of her figure, showing the smallness of her waist and the satisfactory curves. Besides, it was a very pretty style with its black and white checkerboard design and the single strap coming up from the inverted vee under her chin.
`But I am glad, madame,' Madeau was looking at her rather anxiously in a way that Kate knew had little to do with her swimsuit, 'to be talking to you.'
`Yes, Madeau?' Curiously Kate looked at the woman, noticing the faint colour in her cheeks and the way her fingers played with the corner of her white apron. She had a sudden urgent fear that Madeau might be thinking of giving notice, that she no longer wanted to go on working for Charles now that he had a wife to disrupt the smooth household arrangements. 'Yes, Madeau?' she prompted again.
`I am hoping that you will speak with Monsieur Charles, tell him '
Kate's heart sank farther.
. . You see, madame, we have been here so long and now . . . Now, madame, that I find myself enceinte . .
`You find yourself what?' Kate was bewildered.
`I am to have a baby, madame,' Madeau blushed. `So unexpected. After so many childless years we had ceased to hope and . .
`But that's wonderful news, Madeau!' Kate smiled in relief as much as in pleasure. 'I'm sure Georges must be delighted. And you, of course.'
Naturellement, madame.' A tiny frown on her face betrayed some continuing anxiety. 'But we are also concerned that Monsieur Charles will no longer want us here. It may be inconvenient with a child and . .
`Oh no, I'm sure you're wrong, Madeau. I can't imagine Charles . . .' Kate paused, suddenly aware that she might be taking too much on herself.
But Madeau noticed none of her hesitation, her expression showing a relief that explained the extent of her previous anxiety. 'Oh, madame, I told Georges it would be so. I said now that Monsieur Charles has Madame he can do with a little less of my time. You like the work, madame, already I can see that, the way you keep your room and help round the house. So will you explain to Monsieur Charles for me?'
`Of course I will, Madeau.' As Kate pulled the sunglasses down from the top of her head and went out to lie on a seat by the side of the pool there was a thoughtful expression on her face.
But the beauty, the sheer perfection of the day was enough to dispel any anxiety she felt about Charles's reception of the news. Soon the worries, her own even more than those concerned with Madeau, began to float
away as the sun's kiss began to ease the pain that had reached into her very bones. She stirred once, reaching up a languorous hand to adjust the position of the sun umbrella so that her face and shoulders were partly shaded and again to slide back the lounger and find a more comfortable position for her head on the pillow. Just for the moment such perfect comfort was all she asked of life.
Kate had no idea how long she slept or what it was that woke her. It might have been the enticing clink of ice against glass, possibly the shadow, soundless though it was, passing between her reclining body and the life-giving sun. Whatever it was her eyes shot open suddenly, her heart palpitated as she gazed up at the tall dark shape.
`Sorry, cherie,' as she watched him, Charles pulled at the tie round the neck of his cream silk shirt and began to undo the buttons, 'I moved the shade in case the sun should be too much for you. I didn't mean to disturb you. You looked so . . . tranquille lying there.'
Finding the combination of his intense gaze and the exposure of tanned skin too disturbing to conceal, Kate swung her legs on to the ground, reaching at once for the sunglasses she had thrown on to the table before lying down.
`No, I had no intention of sleeping.' She stood up, taller than usual in her cork-soled sandals with the thong ties round her ankles. 'I thought you would be away for hours.' There was a note of accusation in her voice which might have been the reason for the wry smile that twisted his lips.
`I think we may have had the same idea, Kate. I found the prospect of a swim in the pool very appeal-
ing. Not,' he pulled his shirt free from his slacks as he spoke but never took his mocking eyes from her face, `not that I imagined I would be lucky enough to have the company of my beautiful wife. Sit down, Kate.' He nodded towards the seat she had just vacated. 'I persuaded Madeau to make us a jug of fresh orange juice. Let me pour a glass for you.'
`No, really, I've been out too long already.' She wondered if he heard the note of panic in her voice. 'I promised I would help inside. Besides . . .' she touched the skin of her shoulders gently, `. . . I don't want to get too much sun at once or I might begin to peel.'
`Mmm.' He followed the direction of her fingers, then put out his hand to touch her, slowly tracing the line of the deeply cut armholes. 'I don't think there's any danger.' He spoke so impassively that she could only conclude that he had felt nothing of the tingling excited throb his touch had brought to her. 'Sit down, Kate,' he said again, and now her knees felt so weak that she had little choice but to subside into her chair.
`Drink this.' The glass he handed to her was cool, the shiver of ice inviting, and she was grateful for the thirst-quenching sharpness of the fruit. Charles pulled a chair close to hers, so that they were sitting almost touching, facing each other. Kate tried to think of something noncommittal to say.
`You finished your business?'
`Yes, I got through i
t much quicker than I thought I would. And as I said, I couldn't get back to you fast enough, Kate.' His eyes travelled in a leisurely, appreciative way over her lightly clad figure. 'I must say I much prefer this outfit to the one you usually wear. And your hair ' He looked at the silky golden-brown
cloud that touched her shoulders.
Kate ignored his comments, although it was impossible for her to control the colour that stained her cheeks, a phenomenon which he noticed with a sardonic smile. A rapid change of subject was in order, so she said the first thing she could think of. 'Did Madeau say anything to you?'
`Madeau?' He shook his head. 'What about?'
Kate fixed her eyes on his face, wishing she could exclude from her vision that dark smooth chest with the spray of dark hair, wishing it didn't force itself into her consciousness with such blatant sexuality. 'She didn't say anything about the baby?'
`The baby?' His eyes came together in a sudden angry frown and his feet which he had casually stretched out on to a cane stool hit the ground in an expression of his barely controlled fury.
`Baby!' He snapped the word at her, at the same time sweeping her figure with a penetrating glance. 'For God's sake, why didn't you tell me?'
`Tell you?' The colour drained from her cheeks, leaving her white and shaken. There was no doubt in her mind that he had totally misunderstood, and she felt indignation and a quite unreasonable hurt although she tried to answer calmly. 'Why on earth should I tell you that Madeau is pregnant?'
`Madeau?' For a moment he stared at her before visibly relaxing and then grinning with a relief that he didn't trouble to hide. 'Oh, for a moment I thought . .
`I'm perfectly well aware of the way your mind works.' Carefully Kate replaced her empty glass on the table, at the same time swinging her legs to the ground and standing. 'But now I'm going inside
