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The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience - Сара Крейвен - Читать любовный роман онлайн в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience - Сара Крейвен - Скачать любовный роман в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
Крейвен Сара
The Right Bride?: Bride of Desire / The English Aristocrat's Bride / Vacancy: Wife of Convenience
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CHAPTER THREE
THE sun had gone behind a cloud, and Allie got up from the bench, shivering a little.
She’d sat there long enough, she thought, tormenting herself with her memories. Now it was time to go back to the house and draft a letter to Tante, explaining why any return to Les Sables was impossible for her—now or in the future.
I can’t do it, she told herself with anguish. Because, even now, the pain of that time is still too vivid and too raw.
She entered the house through a side door, and went straight upstairs. After Hugo’s death, and in spite of Grace’s protests, she’d moved out of the master suite she’d reluctantly shared with him into this smaller room at the back of the house. It wasn’t as grand and formal as some of the others, and she liked its creamy-yellow walls, and the warm olivegreen curtains and bedcover. Over the months it had become her refuge.
She sat down at the small writing table that she’d bought at an antique fair, and drew a sheet of paper towards her. She sat for a moment, tapping her pen against her teeth and staring out of the window in front of her, as she tried to come up with an excuse that her great-aunt would find even feasible, let alone acceptable.
Her room overlooked the vegetable garden, and the nowdeserted stableyard. After the accident, Hugo’s hunters had been sold, along with his polo ponies. Except, of course, for poor little Gimlet, who’d broken both forelegs in that terrible crashing fall in the final chukka, and had had to be put down on the field there and then.
‘He was the lucky one,’ Hugo had said with scalding bitterness when they’d told him. At that time he’d seemed to recognise the full extent of his injuries, Allie thought unhappily. It was later that he’d come to believe in his own self-will rather than the prognosis from the medical experts.
Sighing, she wrote the date. Well, it was a start, she told herself wryly, then paused as there was a swift tap on her door. It opened instantly to admit her mother-in-law.
‘So there you are,’ she commented. ‘Mrs Windom has brought in the coffee. Are you coming down?’
‘Later, perhaps. I’m replying to Tante Madelon’s letter.’
‘Ah.’ Grace paused. ‘Did she have anything particular to say?’
‘She’s not well,’ Allie told her quietly. ‘She’d like me to visit her—and take Tom with me.’
‘No,’ Lady Marchington said, swiftly and sharply. ‘You can’t possibly go to Brittany, and even if you did consider it you certainly couldn’t take Tom. It’s out of the question, Alice, and you know it.’
Allie found herself reeling back mentally under the onslaught.
Of choice, she wouldn’t have mentioned Tante’s letter, or its contents, precisely because she knew what the reaction would be. And because she had no intention of going.
Yet now she found herself bristling furiously, as a spirit of angry rebellion suddenly surged up inside her. This, she thought, is the last damned straw. I’ve had as much of her interference in my life as I can stand. I’m not living under a dictatorship, and it’s time I made that clear.
She said coldly, ‘I wouldn’t be allowed to take my own child on holiday to visit a close relative? Is that really what you’re saying?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Then you’d better suspend your disbelief.’ Grace’s expression was grim. ‘I have no intention of permitting my grandson to be whisked out of the country—and to France, of all places.’
‘Why not? Was one of the Marchington ancestors killed at Agincourt?’ Allie tried to speak lightly, in spite of the anger building inside her.
‘Don’t be flippant,’ Grace snapped. ‘What I’m saying is that our lives are not going to be turned upside down at the behest of one arrogant old woman. I simply won’t permit it.’
‘Please don’t speak about Tante like that,’ Allie said icily. ‘The invitation came to me, and I’ll deal with it as I see fit.’ She paused, steadying her breathing. ‘I’m not a child. I’m twenty-two years old, and I don’t need your permission, or anyone else’s for that matter, to stay in Brittany with the woman who practically brought up my father.’
She met Lady Marchington’s furious gaze in open challenge. ‘Anyway, why shouldn’t I go? Give me one good reason.’ If you dare…
Spots of colour burned in the older woman’s face. ‘Tom’s far too young for a journey of that nature.’
‘A night on a ferry and a couple of hours by car?’ Allie’s tone was derisive. ‘Babies far younger make similar trips every day.’
‘But Tom isn’t just any child. He’s the Marchington heir. You have your position to consider. And his.’
Allie’s gaze remained stony. ‘And is that your only objection? Because Tom isn’t just a Marchington. He has Colville and Vaillac blood too. And it’s entirely natural that Tante should want to see him, especially as she’s in bad health. After all, he’s the last of her line, too.’
Grace’s mouth hardened. ‘Breton peasant stock. Hardly anything to boast about.’
‘They’re brave, and strong, with good, loving hearts,’ Allie returned icily. ‘That would be enough for most people.’
‘Now you’re just being difficult.’
‘Under the circumstances,’ Allie said, ‘that is almost amusing. Only I don’t feel like laughing.’
‘Alice—for heaven’s sake. There was enough talk last time when you simply—disappeared, for weeks on end, leaving poor Hugo to cope alone.’
‘Hardly alone. He had you, his nanny, a full-time nurse, and all the staff to look after him. I was pretty much surplus to requirements—except in one respect, of course.’
She paused. ‘And I came back. As I always intended. Was there more talk then? Or did I redeem myself because at last I was doing my duty by my brave, disabled husband, and giving him the child he’d been demanding with such monotonous regularity?’
There was another taut silence.
‘Sometimes,’ Grace said, ‘you sound so hard, Alice.’
‘Do I?’ Allie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I wonder why?’
‘And I’m hurt that you should be making this kind of decision without consulting me.’
You, thought Allie, wouldn’t be hurt even if I hammered a stake through your heart.
‘As soon as that letter arrived I knew exactly what that woman would want,’ Grace added angrily.
‘Oh, come on,’ Allie defended. ‘You talk as if Tante’s always demanding attention, and that’s simply not true.’
‘Oh, she’s more subtle than that,’ her mother-in-law said derisively. ‘Your mother warned me, of course, that she was a born manipulator.’
Well, the pair of you should know, Allie countered silently.
‘Well, let’s agree to disagree over that too, shall we?’ she suggested quietly.
‘And French houses don’t have proper damp-proof courses.’ Grace tried a new tack. ‘Tom might catch a chill.’
Alice leaned back in her chair. ‘He doesn’t stay still for long enough. And I don’t want him wrapped in cotton wool all the time. He’s a little boy, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Yes, he is, and I’m not sure you realise just how important he is to the future of the Marchingtons.’
‘On the contrary. I’ve had it drummed into me that he is the future of the Marchingtons, God help him.’ Alice said shortly. ‘Before, during and after he was born, God help me.’
There was a silence. Then Lady Marchington said, ‘Alice, listen—please.’ She looked older suddenly, and weary. Almost scared. ‘You can’t possibly go back to that place. It would be madness.’
There were two heartbeats of silence as Allie looked back at her. Her voice was even. ‘In what way—madness?’
Her mother-in-law put up a hand to smooth her already immaculate hair. ‘Well—perhaps madness is a slight exaggeration. All the same, you must see why you shouldn’t go back there. And I’m sure your mother would agree with me.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Allie returned quietly. ‘But it makes no difference to my decision.’
Lady Marchington took a deep breath. ‘If Madelon genuinely wishes to see Tom, perhaps—arrangements could be made for her to come to England.’
‘Except that it isn’t right to uproot someone of her age,’ Alice said quietly. ‘Particularly when she’s unwell, and I’m young and healthy and can make the trip perfectly easily.’
What am I saying? Why am I making all these arguments for a case I’d already decided to lose? Because it’s too late to say so. Because, by this totally unwanted and unwarranted intervention, Grace has backed me into a corner, and if I’m ever to establish any independence for myself I cannot give way over this issue. And, as a result, I now have to go back to Les Sables d’Ignac, even though it’s the last thing I want in this world.
I have to. There’s no choice now. It’s make or break time…
Oh, God, why couldn’t she have kept quiet? Given me the chance to find some kind of valid excuse for staying away. For escaping this nightmare?
‘Plymouth to Roscoff overnight,’ she added with a shrug, forcing herself to sound casual. ‘Then a leisurely drive down to Les Sables. Tom will love it.’
‘You can’t take Tom,’ Grace said harshly. ‘If you insist on going, it must be alone.’
‘You mean that after deserting my husband on the last visit, I should desert my son this time?’ Allie asked ironically. ‘Imagine the gossip that would cause. And I don’t choose to feature as a neglectful mother. Besides,’ she added squarely. ‘It would give me the chance to really be with Tom for once. To spend some real quality time with him on my own, so that we can get to know each other properly.’
‘On your own? But you’ll have to take Nanny.’
When hell freezes over…
Aloud, ‘Thank you,’ she said politely. ‘But I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m perfectly capable of driving my own car, and caring for Tom like any other mother. In fact, I’ll love it. Besides,’ she added practically, ‘Tante has no room for another guest at the cottage, and it’s the holiday season over there.’
I want my life back, and I want my child back too, she thought. And if this is the only way, then I’ll take it.
Grace clearly realised she had lost the advantage, and her mouth was a slit. But her voice was composed again. ‘I see. So, when are you thinking of going?’
‘I thought—as soon as I can get a ferry booking.’ Allie looked back at her calmly, just as if her stomach wasn’t tying itself into knots at the prospect. She added, ‘I think I’ll pass on the coffee. Tante will be waiting for my reply.’
Grace nodded. ‘Then clearly there’s nothing more to be said.’ She gave a small wintry nod, and left the room.
The ferry was crowded, and it seemed to take an age before her deck was cleared and Allie was able to drive down the ramp into the busy port of Roscoff.
It was a clear, bright morning, but the crossing had been a choppy one. Tom had not liked the motion of the ship, and had proclaimed as much all night long. He’d not been sick, just angry and frightened—and probably missing Nanny’s confident, capable handling, Allie acknowledged exhaustedly. And for the first time she wondered if Grace and her mother had been right. She was too inexperienced, and he was too young for such a trip.
But, as she’d waited restlessly to be called to her car, she’d seen umpteen other babies, much younger than hers, who seemed perfectly relaxed and cheerful about the whole experience.
It’s all my own fault, she told herself, for not insisting on looking after him myself from Day One, and to hell with postnatal depression. Other women manage, and I could have done, too. Well, from now on things are going to change. Permanently.
She couldn’t pretend it would be easy. Nanny had greeted the news of the trip in ominous silence, and the days leading up to departure had been cloaked in an atmosphere that could only have been cut by a chainsaw.
But, when Allie had taken no notice, she’d been forced to accept the situation.
It might not be a very worthy triumph, thought Allie, but for someone who’d been consistently ignored since Tom was born, and made to feel incompetent and ungrateful when she protested, it was eminently satisfying.
She got well free of Roscoff and its environs, then stopped at a tabac in a convenient village, ordering a café au lait and a croissant, while Tom had milk, and made himself agreeably messy with a pain au chocolat.
She gave him a perfunctory wipe down to remove the worst of the crumbs, then strapped him back into his safety seat with his favourite blue rabbit. Before they’d gone half a mile, the combination of the previous restless night and warm food caught up with him, and he fell peacefully and soundly asleep, leaving Allie to concentrate on her driving.
Last time she’d come this way, she’d pushed the car swiftly, almost recklessly, aware of little but her own wretchedness, but now she had precious cargo on board, and her control was absolute. She slotted some cool jazz into the CD player, and headed steadily south towards Ignac, knowing that she would easily reach Tante’s house by lunchtime.
Tom slept for an hour and a half, and then woke, grizzling. Allie parked on the wide verge at the side of the road, changed him quickly, gave him a drink, then let him play on the rug she’d spread on the grass. Propped on an elbow, she watched him, smiling, as he carefully dismembered a large leaf.
He turned his head and saw her, according her the sudden vivid grin that lit up his face, before stumping energetically in her direction, grabbing her shoulder to steady himself.
‘Who’s my wonderful, clever boy?’ she praised, hugging him. And who certainly isn’t going to be bow-legged through walking too soon? she added silently, recalling a recent bone of contention at home.
They stayed for another sunlit half-hour before Allie decided they should be on their way again. Tom made a token protest as he was strapped into his baby seat, but she soon tickled him into good humour again, nuzzling her face into his neck so that he laughed and grabbed at her hair.
An hour and a half later, Ignac began appearing on the signposts. She saw the name with a sense of relief, because it had been a long time since she’d undertaken so long a drive. Although so far it had been an easy, even enjoyable journey, with only moderate traffic to contend with in places.
The joys of midweek travel, she thought. Most of the holidaymakers arrived at the weekend, and are now relaxing at their hotels and gîtes, leaving the roads open for me, bless them.
‘Courage, mon brave,’ she told Tom, who was beginning to be restive again. ‘We’re nearly there.’
Mentally, however, she was already bracing herself, unsure of what she might find when she reached Les Sables.
Tante disliked the telephone, regarding it as something to be used only in the direst emergencies, and the letter expressing her delight at Allie’s visit, and confirming the suggested arrangements, had been in the same wavering hand as before.
Not for the first time, Allie wished there was someone she could confide in about her worries. Someone who also cared about Tante.
Once there was, she thought—and stopped right there, her lips tightening. She could not let herself remember that—even though every landmark—every direction sign in the last hour—had been battering at her memory with their own poignant reminders.
But what else could she have expected? she asked herself with a sigh. Those few brief weeks with Remy had given her the only real happiness she’d ever known. How could she even pretend she’d forgotten?
Tante had warned she would find Ignac much changed, but apart from the new villas, all white and terracotta in the sunlight, which had sprung up like mushrooms on the outskirts, the little town seemed much the same.
Its church was ordinary, and Ignac didn’t possess one of the elaborately carved calvaries which were among the great sights of the region, but its busy fishing harbour bestowed a quiet charm of its own.
The narrow streets were already crammed, with parked cars on both sides, and as she negotiated them with care she realised that the town square ahead was a mass of striped awnings.
‘Of course,’ she said aloud. ‘It’s market day. I certainly forgot about that.’
The market was drawing to its close, the stalls being swiftly dismantled, rails of clothing and boxes of household goods being put back in vans, although last-minute shoppers still lingered at the food stalls, hoping for bargains.
But we, she thought, always came early to buy…
She forced her attention back to the road ahead, braking gently as an old lady stumped out on to the pedestrian crossing just ahead, waving her stick to signify her right to priority. She was accompanied, apprehensively, by a younger couple, and as she reached the middle of the crossing she stopped suddenly, and turned to upbraid them about something, using her stick for emphasis. The other woman looked at Allie, shrugging in obvious embarrassment, as all efforts to get the senior member of the party moving again ended in stalemate.
She wants to have her say, and she wants it now, Allie thought, reluctantly amused. And, until it’s over, we’re going nowhere.
People were pausing to watch, and smile, as if this was a familiar occurrence.
He seemed to come from nowhere, but there he was, joining the trio on the crossing, a tall, lean figure, dark and deeply tanned, casual in cream jeans and an open-necked blue shirt. He was carrying two long loaves of bread, and a plastic bag that Allie knew would contain oysters. He transferred it to his other hand, before he bent, speaking softly to the old lady, while his fingers cupped her elbow leading her, gently but firmly, to the opposite pavement.
For a moment it looked as if she might resist, then the wrinkled face broke into an unwilling grin and he laughed too, lifting her hand to his lips with swift grace. Then, with a quick word and a shrug to her grateful companions, he was gone again, vanishing between the remaining market stalls as quickly as he’d arrived.
Allie sat and watched him go, her hands gripping the wheel as if they’d been glued there. She thought numbly, But it can’t be him. It can’t be Remy because Tante said—she promised—that I’d have nothing to fear.
Nothing to fear…
An impatient hooting from the vehicles behind brought her back to the here and now, and she realised, embarrassment flooding her face with colour, that the total shock of seeing him had made her stall the engine. She restarted carefully, and set off, waving an apologetic hand to the other drivers.
She threaded her way out of town and on to the narrow road which led to Les Sables, before yanking the wheel over and bringing the car to an abrupt halt. She sat for a moment, her whole body shaking, then flung open the car door and stumbled out, kneeling on the short, scrubby grass while she threw up.
As she straightened, her head swimming, her throat and stomach aching, she heard Tom’s frightened wail from the car, and dragged herself to her feet in instant contrition.
‘It’s all right, darling, Mummy’s here.’ She found a packet of wipes in the glove compartment and hastily cleaned her face and hands, before releasing Tom from his harness and lifting him into her arms. She sat down on a flat boulder a few feet away from the car, and held him close against her, patting him and murmuring soothingly while she waited for her heartbeat to settle. And she tried desperately to make sense of what had just happened. But failed.
There is nothing that should keep you away…
The words were indelibly printed on her brain. Unforgettable.
The wording of Tante’s letter had suggested—had seemed to promise—that Remy was still far off in South America. So how could he possibly be there in Ignac, charming tough old ladies into compliance, buying food from the market, clearly as much at home as if he’d never been away?
She should have told me the truth, she thought passionately. Should have warned me that he was here. Except that if she had nothing would have dragged me here, and she knew it.
Perhaps, she thought, Tante doesn’t know he’s come back. Maybe it’s a temporary thing—some kind of furlough—and she hasn’t heard.
But she discounted that almost at once. Her aunt’s house might be secluded, but it wasn’t in limbo. Every piece of gossip, every item of local news, found its way to her sooner or later.
Besides, Remy’s father, Philippe de Brizat, was Tante’s doctor—and his father before him, for all she knew.
Of course the news of Remy’s return would have been shared with her.
Anguish stabbed at her. It seemed unbelievable that her beloved and trusted great-aunt should have deliberately set out to deceive her like this. Unless she knew that the first time she did so would also be the last.
She must, Allie thought sombrely, be really desperate to see me again—to see Tom—even to contemplate such a thing.
Her immediate instinct was to turn the car and drive back to Roscoff. Get the first possible return sailing. But, apart from all the other considerations, that would mean returning to the Hall with her tail between her legs, losing any advantage she’d gained in her belated bid for independence.
I could still visit Tante, she thought, but make it a brief visit—not stay for the ten days as planned. That should be safe enough.
After all, France is a big country, and Brittany’s not its only region. Plus, it’s still early enough in the year for there to be hotel vacancies. I could take Tom exploring the Auvergne, or the Dordogne. Even go as far as the Côte d’Azur.
Anywhere, she resolved, as long as it was far—far away from Remy de Brizat. Because Tante was so terribly wrong, and she had everything to fear from encountering him again.
Her arms closed more tightly around Tom, who wriggled in protest, demanding to be set down.
She held his hands, steering him back to the car as he paced unsteadily along, face set in fierce determination.
‘I know the feeling,’ she told him as she lifted him back into his seat for the short drive to Les Sables. ‘And from now on, my love, it’s you and me against the world.’
The house stood alone, grey and solid against the slender clustering pine trees behind it. Allie eased the car along the track, remembering her father’s concern that Tante should have chosen such an isolated spot.
‘It wouldn’t do for me,’ he’d said, shaking his head. ‘The silence would drive me crazy.’
Tante had laughed gently. ‘But there is no silence, mon cher. I live between the wind singing in the trees and the sound of the sea. It is more than enough.’
The front door was open, Allie saw, and a woman’s small, upright figure had emerged, and was standing, shading her eyes against the sun, watching the car approach.
It’s Tante Madelon, Allie realised with astonishment. But if she’s been ill, surely she should be in bed, or at least resting on the sofa.
She brought the car to a halt on the gravelled area in front of the house and paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. She’d already decided on her strategy. No reproaches or recriminations. Instead, she too would practise a deception—she would pretend that she’d simply driven through Ignac and seen no one. As far as she was concerned, Remy de Brizat was still on the other side of the world.
And if Tante mentioned his being back in Ignac, she would produce a look of faint surprise, maybe even risk a polite question about his life in Brazil. Or had he, in fact, moved on from there?
She’d tried so hard not to think about that. Not to wonder where he was and what he was doing.
And now it seemed as if all her desperate efforts to blank him out of her mind had been in vain.
Ah, well, she thought bleakly, as she marshalled her defences. Just as long as it doesn’t show.
And she opened the car door and got out, smiling resolutely.
Madelon Colville had never been a large woman, but now she seemed to have shrunk even more. In Allie’s embrace, she felt as insubstantial as a captured bird. But her eyes were still bright, shining with love and pleasure, and her voice was husky with emotion as she murmured words of welcome.
‘Dearest child, you cannot know what this means to me.’ She looked towards the car with unconcealed eagerness. ‘Now, where is your little son?’
Finding himself on show, Tom decided to be shy, and buried his face in his mother’s neck. But Tante was unfazed by the reaction.
‘It is all too new and strange for him,’ she declared. ‘But soon we will be friends—won’t we, chéri?’ She took Allie’s hand. ‘Now, come in, and meet Madame Drouac, who looks after me. She is a widow, like myself, and so good to me. However, she speaks no English, and you will not understand her patois, so I shall translate for you both.’
Madame Drouac, who was standing at the range, stirring a pan of something that smelt deliciously savoury, was a tall, angular woman with a calm face and kind, shrewd eyes. As she shook hands, Allie was aware of being subjected to a searching look, followed by a low-voiced exchange with her great-aunt.
But Allie did not need a translation. She remembers me from the last time I was here, she told herself without pleasure. Recalls who I was with, too.
‘Amelie thinks you have become thin, ma mie.’ Madelon spoke lightly. ‘She says we must fill you with good food. Also le petit.’
She indicated an old-fashioned wooden highchair, polished to within an inch of its life, which was standing at the table. ‘She has loaned us this for Thomas. Also the cot, where her own son slept. He has married a girl from Rennes,’ she added with a shrug. ‘And she does not need them for her baby. She wants everything that is new. So Amelie is pleased that her things will be used once more.’
She paused. ‘I have told her that you are a widow, Alys, but also that your marriage only occurred after you left here and returned to England.’ Her gaze was steady. ‘You understand?’
‘Yes,’ Allie said woodenly. ‘Yes, of course.’
Lunch was a thick vegetable soup, served with chunks of bread, and there was cheese to follow.
Tom made a spirited attack on his soup, using his spoon like a stabbing spear. He was assisted in his efforts by Madame Drouac, who talked softly to him in Breton, and occasionally clucked at him like a hen, which provoked a joyous toothy grin. Shyness, it seemed, was a thing of the past, Allie saw with relief.
‘He usually has a nap in the afternoon,’ she mentioned as they drank their coffee.
‘Very wise,’ said Tante. ‘I do the same.’ She gave Allie a long look. ‘And perhaps you should rest also, ma mie. You are pale, and your eyes are tired.’
‘Well, I have had more peaceful nights,’ Allie admitted ruefully. She hesitated. ‘Would it be all right if I took a shower first? I feel as if I’ve been wearing these clothes for ever.’
Tante covered her hand with her own. ‘You must do exactly as you wish, chérie. This is your other home. You know that.’
It’s probably my only real home, Allie thought, as she carried Tom upstairs. The room had been rearranged, with its wide bed pushed under the window in order to accommodate the cot—a palatial, beautifully carved affair. For a moment, Allie felt almost sorry for the daughter-in-law from Rennes who couldn’t recognise a family heirloom when she saw it. But her loss was Tom’s gain, and he was asleep even before Allie had finished unpacking.
She undressed slowly, and put on her thin, white silk dressing gown before making her way to the bathroom, which boasted a separate shower cabinet as well as a large tub. ‘It may be a cottage, but I insist on my comforts,’ Madelon Colville had declared, when the old-fashioned fittings had been torn out and replaced.
And maybe I like mine too, Allie thought wryly, as she set out the array of exquisitely scented toiletries she’d brought with her.
She stepped into the shower and turned on the spray, letting the water cascade luxuriously over her hair and body.
The soup had been just what she needed, and, although she was still on edge, she was no longer shaking inside. Madame Drouac was clearly a good cook, and Allie found she was looking forward to the casserole of lamb that had been promised for the evening meal.
‘Amelie is a jewel,’ Tante had said quietly downstairs. ‘I only wish she was not considered a necessity. But the doctor insisted I should have help.’
The doctor… But which one did Madelon Colville mean? After all, there were three generations of de Brizats living at the big stone house at Trehel. It could hardly be the grandfather, Georges, who had retired under protest a few years before and must now be nearing his eighties, so it had to be Philippe still—or his only son, Allie thought, biting her lip savagely. And that was something she couldn’t ask.
She wished that Madame Drouac spoke even a little English, so that, among other things, she could establish exactly what was wrong with her great-aunt. Because, when she’d tried a little tactful probing, Tante had merely waved a languid hand and said that she had good days and bad ones.
‘But today is nothing but good, because you are here,’ she’d added.
On the other hand, Allie thought wryly, the language barrier between the housekeeper and herself meant she didn’t have to answer any awkward questions about her previous stay.
She towelled herself dry, and slipped on her robe again. Back in the bedroom, she combed her damp hair into place, reluctant to use her dryer in case she disturbed Tom.
In spite of her weariness, she knew she would not sleep. She was too tense, and her brain was buzzing. She knew that for her own peace of mind she should have stayed away. That she should not have let herself be provoked into accepting such a dangerous invitation. But could she really regret what she’d done, when Tante was so clearly overjoyed to see her?
And, anyway, it was far too late for repining.
The box was unlocked at last, and all her personal demons had come swarming into the open. And somehow they had to be faced. Whatever the personal pain they might bring in their wake.
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