by Rosie Clarke
‘Over my dead body!’ Hetty said and felt genuine revulsion. Did they think she was going to smile prettily for the camera and tell them her adventures? They wouldn’t like what she had to tell them if she did, about the men she had killed, the way she had hated, and killing blindly in revenge until Ben and then Stefan made her see how useless it was. ‘I just wish I could get my hands on whoever told them all this nonsense.’
‘But surely that would be whoever you were working with out there – wouldn’t it?’
Stefan? Hetty frowned as she considered. When you thought about it, it must have been him – but why had he done it? She had thought he considered her a nuisance, a liability, and now he had told them all she was a heroine.
‘I can’t imagine why,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t even like me.’
But she loved him, and she knew she would carry this endless, aching need inside her for the rest of her life. She might meet other men who would give her pleasure for a while, but none of them could ever be Stefan.
Why did she know that now when it was too late?
Twelve
Hetty watched Beth’s daughter playing in the sunshine with Sarah. It was a happy family scene. The smaller girl was left far behind as Elaine ran rings round her, but she manfully tried to keep up with her older friend and rival.
How lucky they were to have children, Hetty thought as she saw Beth and Georgie carrying the loaded trays outside to set on a table in the garden. It was the spring of 1945 and it looked as if at last the war was finally coming to an end. It had been over for months, all bar the shouting really, when French troops had led the allies to the liberation of Paris, but now it was almost finished. The allies were in Germany and there were rumours that Hitler had committed suicide.
For some months after the liberation of Paris, Hetty had thought that she might hear from Stefan, but no letters had come and she had finally lost all hope of seeing him. She had been a fool to expect anything; experience should have taught her that there was no point in looking for the happy ending of storybooks. Why should Stefan bother about an English girl he had once comforted and then sent home when she had served her purpose?
Perhaps that wasn’t quite fair of her. She had left him and gone back to the chateau. She had promised to marry Pierre – but that was before she had known he was a traitor. She still felt sick when she remembered that she had kissed him, made love with him – but she hadn’t known what he was really like. It just showed that you could never trust a man, even if he did seem charming. She had never been to see his lawyer in London and she didn’t intend to. If Pierre wanted his treasure, he could look for it himself. She could imagine his disappointment when he found the caves empty, and the welcome he would receive from the village people if he were seen – much like that collaborators in Paris had received after the liberation.
How easily he had deceived them all, not just Hetty but his grandmother, friends, and the men who followed him – some to their deaths. The taste of his betrayal was still bitter and it remained in her mind, like so much more that had happened during that time. No, men were not to be trusted!
Still, she rather liked Arnold Pearson. Beth seemed very happy with him and it was obvious that he doted on her. Georgie had settled for marriage with her man from the ministry, as Annabel always called Philip Rathmere. They had been married for six months and were settled in the area, just a few miles the other side of Torquay in a beautiful old manor house that he was having done up in stages. Hetty found him a bit of a dry stick, though she thought he had a nice smile and was genuinely in love with Georgie, who seemed to be happier than Hetty ever remembered her. And if she was happy that was all that mattered.
Ben had been the love of Georgie’s life, of course, but if she felt cheated she wasn’t showing it as she laughed in the sunshine with her friends. Hetty felt a kind of envy as she watched them all: Annabel and Paul and their son and daughter; Beth, Arnold, Georgie and the children all happy together in Annabel’s glorious garden. Philip was away on business at the moment, looking for more property to buy apparently. He was clearly going to be a rich man one day.
Hetty looked round at the members of her family. The only ones missing apart from Philip were Harry and Jessie Kendle, who although not strictly family had become a part of Annabel’s so that she thought of them that way too.
It was a shame that Jessie wasn’t here to join in the fun, Hetty thought, but she had so much to do and Harry wasn’t always as well as she would like. But, fortunately, they had both their sons back in one piece and not many families could say that after the war that had devastated Europe and half the world.
Hetty was considering returning to college for a year before going back to France. She had written to Madame Arnoud, but so far there had been no reply. Perhaps her friend no longer had any interest in running her business or perhaps she had decided to retire. She must be past sixty, of course.
It would be very different now in Paris, Hetty thought. Most of her old friends would be gone – but she would find new ones. She had had to make a new life for herself after she left Henri and she could do it again. She knew that her heart belonged in France, and she would return there one day.
‘Are you listening, Hetty?’ Annabel’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Paul was saying we were going to have a big party to celebrate the victory. We shall invite all our friends. I know Mary and Mike will want to come down, and Laura might if she’s not too busy – then there are all our friends locally – but we were wondering if there was anyone you wanted to ask?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Hetty said. She hardly knew some of Annabel’s older friends, people who belonged to that shadowy part of Annabel’s life, the part she never spoke of, but it didn’t matter. ‘Your friends are mine. I shall be quite content to help out with the food.’
‘You are not going to hide in the kitchen all night,’ Annabel told her. ‘What about that nice young officer who came to see you last week? What was his name – David something? Why don’t you invite him?’
‘I can if you like,’ Hetty said with a shrug. ‘He was one of the welcoming committee when I came home. He wanted me to go on a lecture tour of some kind, do publicity work for the government, that’s why he came to see me, but there’s nothing between us – nothing for you to get excited about, Belle.’
‘But he likes you. You can see it when he looks at you, Hetty. If you made an effort…’
‘What?’ Hetty pulled a wry face. She was aware of a physical attraction but knew there was nothing more. ‘Do you think he would ask me to marry him? I don’t think so, Belle. He knows all about me – my whole story – and he thinks it would be rather dashing to have an affair with me, something to brag about to his friends.’
‘Then don’t ask him,’ Annabel said, looking disappointed.
‘No, perhaps that would be best,’ Hetty said. ‘I’ll go and fetch some of those fruit tarts your cook made, Belle – they looked delicious.’
She heard her sister say something to Georgie as she disappeared into the house and knew Annabel was worried because she took no interest in any of the young men who were produced for her benefit. She had tried to tell Annabel that there was no need. She wasn’t interested in going out for dinner with any of them, and she could find her own men when she was ready for some fun.
She sighed as she went into the kitchen. She supposed the ache in her heart would go away one day…
*
The victory was official at last and Annabel’s party was in full swing. Hetty had been busy helping in the kitchens all day. She liked cooking, especially for a party and sometimes wondered if she ought to have chosen that as a career rather than her painting. Perhaps she might try that when she returned to France, she thought, smiling a little at the idea.
She would quite enjoy running a small café – or a country hotel, that would be even better. She wondered if the five thousand pounds her brother had left her would be enough to buy her a small hotel
of her own. Perhaps not, but she might be able to find someone to be her business partner. It was something worth giving serious thought.
She watched from the doorway as more guests came in and kissed Annabel. Most of them brought an offering of some kind – either wine or food they had made themselves. The war might be over, but there was still difficulty finding enough to feed everyone, though Annabel seemed to manage very well.
It was living in the country, Hetty supposed. Annabel had a lot of friends and they brought her gifts of game and little things from the farm that were smuggled under the counter, as it were. It was a game the country folk played and had done throughout the war, pinching a few eggs or a pig here and there that the poor old ministry never knew existed. And, of course, Annabel kept her own ducks and hens at the bottom of her very long garden. Over the years, she had bought an extra bit of land and that had been devoted to a kitchen garden during the war, though Paul had plans for building extra accommodation there when things got better. He was always interested in expanding his business interests and might be interested in helping her to open a small hotel in France.
Annabel called her over to introduce her to a couple of young men; both of them were handsome and full of talk about themselves and what they were going to do now that the war was over. Hetty listened politely and made an excuse to leave them as soon as she could. Men like that bored her.
What kind of a fool was she? A wry smile touched her mouth as she realised that she needed the challenge of danger, a man who could not be led around on a chain, a man who dominated and led rather than trailed behind. She needed Stefan, but she had thrown her chances away and she must forget him, take that place at Art College, and go on with her life. It was so easy to decide but so much harder to get rid of this emptiness inside her, this longing for a man she would never see again.
She went out into the garden, seeking a little privacy. It was such a lovely night and the moon made it romantic. People called that a lover’s moon, didn’t they? She stared up at it, making a wish, then laughed at herself. There had been a time when the last thing she had needed was a moon! Oh damn! This wasn’t doing her any good; she might as well go back to the party.
‘Hetty? Your sister told me you would be here.’
Hetty felt the tingle run down her spine. It couldn’t be! How could it be? Turning, she saw him standing there and her heart began to race wildly. Her mouth had gone dry and she couldn’t move; she was turned to stone and had to wait as he came up to her. He was smiling, a hint of challenge in his eyes and yet there was also something more… something uncertain, seeking. This was Stefan as she remembered him, strong, arrogant, proud – and yet there had been a subtle change. Was she imagining it or were there shadows beneath his eyes, signs that like her he spent restless nights when sleep just would not come?
‘How are you, Hetty? I hope you didn’t mind that I came out to find you?’
‘No…’ she swallowed hard. ‘I’m just surprised. What are you doing here, Stefan?’
‘Your brother-in-law invited me,’ Stefan said. ‘I telephoned earlier in the day and he said you were out but asked me to come this evening. I would have been here earlier, but I was delayed.’
‘Out? Yes, perhaps I was in the garden picking strawberries,’ Hetty admitted after thinking about it. Her heart was hammering wildly as she fought for calm. ‘But I meant here in England?’
‘I was invited here by the British Government,’ Stefan said. ‘I have avoided it for as long as I could, but they were most insistent. It seems they want to present me with a medal, take some pictures. Nonsense of course, but I wanted to see you, so I gave in.’
‘You wanted to see me… why?’ Hetty’s mouth was dry, her knees trembling. Why was he looking at her like that, in that hungry, yearning way that made her insides turn to water? ‘I thought…’ she broke off, unable to go on.
‘You thought you meant nothing to me?’ Stefan’s eyes were intent on her face. ‘You thought I wanted to use you – like Henri and Pierre?’
‘Aren’t all men the same?’ she asked, but her voice was hoarse, merely a whisper.
‘In many ways, yes,’ he replied and his smile made her heart turn over. ‘I shall not pretend that I am not arrogant or that I do not like my own way as often as I can get it – or that I am not inclined to be lazy sometimes.’
‘Madame Arnoud told me never to marry a Frenchman because they were too lazy.’
‘I am afraid that was good advice. We are spoiled by our women, you see. They do everything for us when we are children and then when we are older they expect us to change.’ He shrugged expressively, his eyes meeting hers, challenging and yet pleading with her to understand. ‘But there the resemblance to the others you have known stops. I do not want to use you, Hetty. I do not want an affair with you. I want you to marry me; I want you to be my wife.’
‘I’ve decided I’m never going to marry.’ She said it quickly, defensively, because she couldn’t let him in, didn’t dare to risk her heart.
‘But I shall change your mind for you – no?’ His eyes were intent on her face. ‘I think you love me, chérie. You will marry me one day.’
‘I might,’ Hetty said. She had no idea why she was holding back, but something inside her could not give in so easily. ‘But then I might not. I will come to France with you. I will live with you – I’ll be your partner. We will run a hotel together and live at the farm…’
‘So that is why you brought the Comtesse’s gift to you to my kitchen,’ he said and grinned wickedly. ‘You were planning to move in all the time. You were making it your house. When I went back there, I saw you at every turn, haunting me, forcing me to remember, to admit that I still wanted you. Everywhere I turned, you were there, mocking at me with those green eyes, witch’s eyes. You have certainly bewitched me, Hetty. I could even smell your perfume, feel your presence in the house, as though your spirit haunted it as it haunted me. Did you do that on purpose, Hetty – was it your intention to drive me mad until I had to come looking for you?’
‘It was a house I knew I could live in,’ she admitted, responding to his teasing. ‘I might perhaps be able to take the man who lives there as a part of the bargain – if you promise to help with the washing-up.’
Stefan pulled a face of horror. ‘You ask me to do the washing up?’
It was impossible that a man who had fought and schemed against the enemy and won so many fierce battles should be reduced to a pinafore and the washing suds – and Hetty gave in.
‘Perhaps that is too much,’ she said laughing now. Suddenly the world was brighter, life was worth living again with all its challenges and disappointments, all its risks.’ You must help with the cooking then.’
‘Ah, now that is something I can do,’ he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he threw her challenge back at her. ‘I shall cook and you will wash up.’
‘Over my dead body! We share the cooking – and we’ll hire someone else to wash up!’
Stefan’s eyes danced with humour. ‘I see I have found myself a clever wife. You have found the compromise, I think.’
‘A clever mistress perhaps.’
‘You will marry me one day.’
‘What makes you think that?’ She threw down the gauntlet, her eyes bright.
‘Because you love me and because the children will expect it. They will plead with you to marry their poor papa and you will give in, my darling.’
Hetty’s laughter died. ‘I do not think I can give you children, Stefan. I have never fallen for a child and there have been two other lovers in my life.’
‘But they were not me,’ he replied as if the answer were that simple. ‘It was not meant that you should bear their children. You were meant for me. You are my woman and I shall give you the child you long for – yes?’
Hetty smiled, her eyes meeting his. ‘Give me a child, Stefan, and when the doctor confirms I am pregnant I shall marry you.’
‘There! I knew you would gi
ve in,’ he crowed and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close to him. His kiss was passionate, hungry, demanding but also tender. He let her go and then smiled down at her. ‘So where is your room, chérie?’
‘Why?’ Hetty gazed up at him, her heart racing.
‘Because the sooner I get you into bed, the sooner I can give you a child, my love.’
‘You are so certain,’ she said. ‘Do you have children by other women?’
‘Perhaps thousands,’ he said and grinned at her. ‘But I do not know of them – and perhaps I have saved them all for you.’
Hetty laughed as the joy swept over her. His confidence was impossible to resist and perhaps it would happen because Stefan willed it so. ‘If I have you, it will be enough,’ she whispered. ‘But I think we should slip away – go somewhere we can be entirely alone.’
‘Now that is the most sensible thing you have said all night,’ Stefan said, and taking her hand they began to run together round the side of the house to the car Stefan had left parked outside.
Annabel stood with Paul at the French window and smiled to see them go. She looked up at Paul as his eyebrows arched in inquiry.
‘That was very clever of you, darling,’ she said. ‘Pretending that Hetty was out when you knew all the time she was in the garden. But supposing he had turned your invitation down?’
‘If he had turned me down, he wouldn’t have been the one, but I had a pretty good hunch when he asked for her,’ Paul said. ‘There was something in his voice, a kind of longing, a need, that I recognised. He was feeling the way I did when you hid yourself from me, Annabel. Besides, a woman like Hetty had to have someone waiting for her somewhere. The French may be a strange lot and we shall probably never understand them – but they can’t all be blind.’
Annabel laughed. ‘She looked happy, didn’t she? I wish we could have heard what they were saying.’
‘I don’t think we need to,’ Paul replied. ‘Judging from the way he looked at her, I think we both know exactly where they are going.’
