by Dix, Isabel
Before Antoine could reach her Charles touched her arm, a chair was hooked close to her so that she could sit. Despairingly she looked up into the handsome, charming features, unresisting she allowed him to take her hands to his lips, heard a sob but couldn't understand whether it was her own or his.
`Kate!' There was a sparkle of tears in his eyes, his voice shook with emotion as he spoke her name. 'Kate, my darling!'
`Wasn't this a surprise!' Francoise's voice, less soothing even than usual, cut through Kate's thoughts. 'Last night I ran Emil back to his hotel. Then when I was driving back home I saw someone fiddling with a broken-down car by the roadside. Of course I recognised him at once and stopped. I . .
`Be quiet, Francoise!' Charles's voice encouraged no defiance. Grimly he faced his cousin. 'What do you want, Antoine?'
The blank look of incomprehension on Antoine's features might have been amusing in other circumstances, but no one showed any inclination to smile. Even Francoise appeared to have lost any such tendency, although she was clearly missing nothing.
`What do I want?' Antoine gave a slight laugh. 'What do you think I want, Charles? I want Kate. I want my wife.' And as he spoke, he leaned forward to pull her to her feet. Kate stared into his eyes, vaguely wondering how she had thought that he and Charles were so much alike. They were both dark, of course, but this was a weak, boyish face and she doubted that he would ever develop the strength and power of his elder cousin. Beside Charles he looked slight and immature. Kate tried to blot out from her mind what was happening,
and suddenly the earth began a crazy, swaying motion which made her feel giddy.
It was Charles's voice that she heard cry a warning whose words she could not understand. In that last moment before she lost any awareness of what was happening she sensed that Antoine was thrust aside, that it was Charles's strong arms that swept her off the ground. Just as they had last .. .
Kate had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but when she came to she was lying on her own bed, in her own room, and someone was pressing a cold damp cloth to her forehead. She opened her eyes, felt the room sway for a moment, then steady. Francoise's voice spoke, soothingly, insincerely.
`How are you, Kate?' A film of green floated, then materialised into the girl Kate disliked so much.
`All right now.' Strangely the lie did not stick in her throat, but she turned her head abruptly, trying to hide the tears that stung so painfully.
`Good.' There was a note of satisfaction in-Francoise's voice that made Kate grapple for control, then turn defiantly to face her.
`I'm afraid, Kate, you've allowed yourself to be used by Antoine and Charles. If only you had known, my dear!' She sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes moving away from the girl on the bed, searching the room, while Kate burned at the remembrance of Charles's clothes lying so casually on the chair.
`I don't think I've been used.' Kate forced herself to sit up in bed, feeling ridiculously at a disadvantage in her swimming suit. 'Do you mind?' She pointed to the wrap lying on the floor where it had fallen, at the same time feeling relieved that she had taken time to hang
away the dress, the beautiful pink dress she had worn last night. 'Thank you.' She pulled the light robe about her shoulders.
`Oh, these Savoney-Morlets, you do not know them, ma chêre.' Without asking for permission Francoise pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and lit up. 'Charming, I agree.' She pulled the smoke deep into her lungs. 'Too charming, perhaps. But they would use any means to get their own way.' She smiled insincerely at the girl on the bed.
`I have known Charles a long time, Kate. I have seen how he tried to control the bitterness . . . You do not know. My family befriended him when first he came. My father helped him, regarded him as a son in some ways. But all the time I was aware that deep inside he had never forgiven or forgotten. In these old families, the idea of inheritance is very deep. You know,' she studied the glowing end of her cigarette with great interest, 'you know, I believe Charles would do anything to get back at his aunt—the person whom he blames above all for the loss of what he thinks should be his.'
Without speaking Kate stared at the older woman. Now she was beginning to collect her thoughts and her most pressing problem was to find out just what Francoise knew about the present situation. Had Antoine explained exactly what had happened? Or had he been discreet, revealing only what he felt suited him at that moment? She tried to remember exactly what Antoine had said when first he had come forward to meet her.
`Kate, my darling!' She remembered that. And then she struggled with the fog that seemed to have invaded
her brain and it cleared when she heard Charles asking Antoine why he had come. 'I want Kate. I want my wife.' The words echoed in her head so that she knew for certain she was not imagining it. So . . . possibly . . . Francoise believed that she and Antoine were married. It was all becoming so confusing.
`You know what I mean, don't you, Kate?'
`What?' She looked up into Francoise's speculative face, trying to remember what she had been saying. `I'm sorry . . .' She didn't entirely trust the friendly expression on the other girl's face.
`I was saying . . Francoise hesitated and a faint colour stained her cheeks, . . that Charles is not the man to miss the opportunity of righting what he thinks of as the wrong that he thinks was done to him.'
Kate stared, trying to understand what this conversation was leading up to, but she didn't speak.
`And you must not blame yourself, Kate. We all know just how irresistible he can be when he tries.'
`Blame myself?'
`Yes. And Antoine need never know. If Charles's scheme did work,' there was a momentary return of her old acid manner, but it was almost instantly disguised by a vague sympathetic smile, `if by chance you are enceinte, then it will still be a Savoney-Morlet who inherits the estate. And,' now there was no disguising her animosity. 'I've no doubt you will have the memory of a few idyllic days here with Charles.' Her laugh made Kate shudder.
`Would you mind going downstairs?' It was with difficulty Kate controlled herself. 'Would you tell them that I'll be down in a few minutes?'
`Of course, chérie.' Francoise bent to pick up her
handbag. 'Take your time. I shall keep them busy till you come down. It has all been something . .
`Please,' the coldness of her voice shocked Kate, `would you go.'
And without another word Francoise flounced round and went out, closing the door behind her with exaggerated consideration.
Kate slid her feet on to the floor without getting up from the bed. Her head was bowed in a gesture of despondency that only partially reflected the despair which possessed her. No matter what she had endured in the past days surely this was a blow from which she would never recover.
Dully she turned her face to look at the pillows where last night they had lain together. Even that had all been part of the plan. She could see it all now. Charles with his experience had carefully brought her to a pitch where she was putty in his hands, ready, anxious even, to jump into bed with him. And if questioned he could even say that she had encouraged him. Kate raised her clenched fists and pressed them to her closed eyelids. Was there no end to her foolishness? How could she?
She was trembling when at last she got up from the bed, but a determination to finish the episode as quickly as possible gave her the strength to pull off her swimsuit and dress in a black and white cotton voile dress which she snatched from a hanger without looking at it. She stood in front of the mirror, pulling in the wide belt about her slender waist, pushed back the tumbled hair from her face, then slipped her bare feet into high heelless cork soles.
There was a murmur of voices from the sitting room as she crossed the hall and she stood with her hand on
the door knob, irrationally reluctant to go inside until she had to force herself. The sound of her feet tapping on the wood seemed to be coming from a great distance, her eyes had difficulty focusing on the group s
itting round the coffee table. The two men stood up, Antoine came towards her, but it was Charles whom her eyes sought.
He was watching her, a close brooding expression on his face as if he were displeased with her. Kate felt her hands caught in Antoine's, evaded his mouth, but could not escape the pressure of his cheek on hers. At once she was taken back to London by the familiar scent of his cologne.
`Kate—darling!' The dark eyes searched her face suspiciously as he held her at arm's length. 'Come and sit down.' He led her over to a settee and sat beside her, still clinging to one of her hands.
`When did you come back from Australia?' She had to force her lips to move.
`Last night, Kate. I should have arrived in the afternoon, but the plane was delayed and it was late before we touched down in Limoges. Then the car broke down.' He sighed and smiled at her, another reminder of those Alice in Wonderland days when they had first met. 'It was meant to be such a surprise, chérie. And if it hadn't been for Francoise coming along the road . . He cast a grateful glance across the table. 'Even then I was anxious to come straight up here. But she insisted that it would be best to go and spend the night in her flat and she would bring me up tomorrow. I suppose she was right, it was a bit late and you would be in
bed...'
`Besides, you were exhausted, Antoine,' Francoise
interrupted smoothly. 'Travelling all the way from Sydney, then a private flight from Paris . .
`Yes, we're all very grateful to you, Francoise.' It was the first time that Charles had spoken, his voice was flat and unemotional. 'It was kind of you to go to so much trouble. Now I imagine you're anxious to go back home and . .
`There's no hurry, Charles . . .' For once the sharpness included him.
. . And besides, there's a great deal to discuss. It will take a long time.' He rose, leaving her no choice but to follow his suggestion, which she did with a great deal of self-possession.
`Of course—I should have thought!' Francoise picked up her handbag from the chair and stood for a moment looking down at the younger couple. 'I hope I shall see you both before you leave. Goodbye, Antoine. Goodbye, Kate.'
`Goodbye, Francoise. And thank you.' Antoine stood up, looking awkwardly from his cousin to the girl by his side. Kate made no reply and didn't look up as she heard Charles and the visitor go towards the door.
`Darling!' Antoine sat down again, putting his arms about her, pulling her against his chest. Kate lay quite still. Can this be the man, she thought, whom I loved quite madly just a few weeks ago? Or, she amended, I thought I loved madly. For at the time she had known very little about that insidious emotion.
Charles came back into the room, paused on the threshold when he saw the embrace, then walked forward purposefully. Hands on hips, he stood looking down at them till Antoine, with a rueful little laugh, put Kate away from him and rose to his feet.
`I can only thank you, Charles—once again.' He held out his hand and when his cousin made no move to take it he let it fall to his side. 'I seem to have spent my life thanking you for getting me out of trouble.'
Kate, aware of Charles's eyes on her, refused to look at him as, apart from that first appealing glance, she had done since coming into the room. She was aware that he turned away and went over to the side-table where she heard the clink of glasses, and a moment later she felt a glass being pressed into her hand.
`Drink that, Kate.' His voice was beguilingly tender. `You have suffered a shock.' He tried to raise her chin with his finger, but she resisted and he moved away with a sigh. Kate sat looking down into the warm gold liquid and quite deliberately put the glass down on the table by her side.
`Well,' Antoine gulped at the cognac, then looked rather bewildered from one of them to the other, 'if you would like to get your things, Kate . . .'
`What?' She leaned back in her seat, looking up at him but still avoiding that other more penetrating face.
`I've arranged to hire another car. So we can take your things . . .'
`Where,' she asked calmly, 'where are you taking me, Antoine?'
He coloured. 'Well, we can go to a hotel first. Till we get the legal things sorted out, and then . . .'
Kate laughed and stood up. 'And then you'll take me to the château. And we'll live happily ever after. You, me and your mother. Is that what you have in mind, Antoine?'
`Something like that, Kate. I don't blame you for
being angry, chérie .
`Angry?' Kate gave a light mocking laugh. 'You underestimate the power you had, Antoine. Angry scarcely describes the feeling I had when I found out what had happened. Wicked is how I would describe what you did to me.' Her voice trembled and she bit her lip fiercely. 'You, who had said you loved me, who should have wanted to protect me . .
`But Charles was there to look after you.' Antoine turned to look appealingly at his cousin. 'I knew that I could trust Charles. I've always relied on him. And you can't say that he hasn't cared for you, protected you.'
`It was you I wanted, Antoine.' Kate stared into the bewildered young face, refusing to look beyond him to that other dark figure.
`But now, Kate, we can surely forget?' Appealingly his hand came out to touch hers. 'We've got the rest of our lives.'
`No, Antoine,' now Kate was completely steady and confident, 'that's just what we don't have. You see, what you did was something I can never forget, or forgive. You shouldn't expect it.'
`Charles . . .' It was an appeal for help to an older brother.
`Kate's right, Antoine. Besides, there are other considerations now.' Charles's eyes were on Kate as he spoke and she had to struggle to resist her inclination to look at him.
`Other considerations?'
`Yes—you see, Antoine, for you I was prepared to do this absurd thing, to try to make you resist the domination of your mother. As Kate has said, we were both wrong and cruel to her. But I did it, and if there are any
consequences I am prepared to face them. But what I'm trying to tell you, Antoine, is that although I was prepared to marry Kate for you, I'm not prepared to give her up for you.'
Kate hardly heard what he said. All she knew was that if she didn't escape from this room soon she would be forced to look at Charles, and that she knew she could not bear.
`Goodbye, Antoine.' She stared up into his face. `Please don't try to see me again. Believe me, it will do no good.'
`Kate !' It was an anguished despairing cry.
`I don't want to see you again,' her self-control was rapidly disintegrating, 'nor ever to hear your name.' She put her hands over her ears and ran out of the room. 'It's a name I loathe !'
But strangely, when she reached her bedroom, a terrible calm enveloped her. She went along to the lumber room at the end of the corridor where her suitcases had been stacked and began, methodically, carefully, to take the clothes from her wardrobe and fold them. Her mind was full of practical details about what lay ahead of her. Could she get a train to Paris? Would the airline accept travellers' cheques for her air fare? Would she be best to stay in a hotel and make the journey tomorrow? Nevertheless at the back of her mind was the awful thought, like a painful blow over the heart, that soon she would have to say goodbye to Charles. If only she could remain calm. He might never know.
Then quite suddenly the door opened and he was standing there. The door closed and he leaned against the wall, his dark eyes following every deft move she made. Although her heart was hammering wildly Kate
continued her precaution of avoiding looking directly at him. She picked up a pile of folded underwear and put it in the case on top of some skirts and jumpers.
`You seem remarkably incurious, Kate.' At last he spoke, and it was with a languid, almost amused voice.
`Yes.'
`You really don't want to know,' as he spoke he came over to stand close to her, supporting himself with one of the tall carved pillars at the foot of the bed, 'what has happened to Antoine?'
She shook her head briefly without speaking.<
br />
`You don't care that he left about half an hour ago, Kate?'
`I don't care.' But she did care that he had taken so long to come up to see her. To tell her what had happened. To find out if she needed any comfort.
`You're sure, Kate?' Suddenly his hands, strong as steel, came out and caught her by the shoulders, turning her round to face him so that there was no escaping the power of his possessive searching eyes. 'It's important to me to know.'
`Sure? Of course I'm sure.' Defensively she almost spat the words at him. 'I hate him. I hate you. Oh, why did I ever . . .' To her dismay all the tears she had been struggling against burst from her, she felt herself folded against his chest, felt his hands caressing her hair.
`Hush! Hush, my Kate. It doesn't matter.' Then he spoke in his own language, little murmured endearments which she had rejoiced in the previous night. At last her weeping eased and she pulled herself away from him.
`I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that.' She tried to turn her tear-stained face from his, but he would have
none of it, forcing her by means of a firm hand under her chin.
`If you really mean that you don't care, Kate, then I can tell you, explain a little so that perhaps you can understand why these things happened as they did. And why, dear Kate,' the tenderness in his voice made her tremble beneath his hands, but if he noticed he gave no sign. Instead the dark face became sombre while the eyes continued to search for she knew not what. 'Dear, dear Kate, I could not tell before what you surely had every right to know.'
He sighed, relaxing his hold, depriving her of the life-giving support of his arms. 'Ma tante, Antoine's mother,' he continued in a voice now deprived of emotion, 'she is, as you must have realised, quite unbalanced.' Closely he watched until the merest inclination of her head signalled her acquiescence. 'I had not seen her for many years and although I had heard from Antoine how her possessive eccentricity had increased I had not appreciated just how mad she had become. I fear that at last Antoine must do something, it has gone too far to be ignored, for everyone's safety she must . . He broke off and there was a moment's silence before he continued. But these unpleasant truths I wished to keep from you, ma petite. I still thought—mon Dieu, how I tortured myself with the thought !—that you loved Antoine and would still wish to marry him.' He shrugged. 'I would not have you caused additional anxiety, thinking you were to join with a family so . . —he hesitated—`. . . so unstable.'
