Authors: Sara Craven
Andrea sighed inwardly, but there seemed little point in continuing the discussion which could easily degenerate into a series of contradictions, achieving nothing.
She put out her hand encouragingly. 'Come along,
chéri
. Delphine will think you have deserted her if you don't take her some titbits.'
He hesitated for a moment, and she thought he was going to refuse to accompany her, and that she was part of his general mistrust of everyone and everything at the chateau, but with a last shrug, he climbed off the bed and took her hand.
As they emerged into the courtyard and began to make their way round to the stables, she said gently, 'Philippe, would you rather sleep in a different room?'
He made no reply, and when she glanced down she saw him gazing up at her with wide, startled eyes. She went quietly on: 'Because there are plenty of other rooms, you know, in the main part of the house. You may choose one, if you wish.'
He swallowed nervously, then shook his head.
'You're sure?' he asked. 'If you were in the house, you would be nearer to me—if you needed anything in the night. Although,' she added hastily, 'if you called out now, I would hear you. The tower isn't very far from our—my room.'
He nodded thoughtfully, and sent her a sidelong glance. '
Merci, madame
. I think, however, that I will remain where I am,' he said with a touchingly quaint formality.
She gave him an impulsive hug., conscious of a swift feeling of relief. Whatever terrors Philippe possessed, he seemed to be in control of them at the moment. Surely she could build on that.
'That's the spirit,
mon brave
.' She smiled gaily down at him.
Gaston was standing in the doorway to the stable block, his face set in unusually grim lines. As soon as he set eyes on Philippe, he broke into a flood of excitable French, gesturing with unmistakable anger.
Andrea groaned inwardly. 'What is missing now, Gaston?' she asked.
'
Rien, madame
—but only see for yourself.' He stood aside so that she could see what lay on the floor behind him.
The splintered heap of wood was scarcely recognisable as the sledge that Gaston had laboured over with such care to renovate for Philippe only a few days earlier. A hammer lay on top of the mass of splinters, as if the perpetrator had flung it down, too tired to persist in any more destruction.
Andrea made a small shocked sound and turned to Philippe. He stood like a statue, staring at the wrecked sledge, and she felt his hand begin to tremble in hers.
'Why, Philippe?' Uncaring of the mess on the stone floor, she knelt, pulling him round to face her. 'Because it belonged to your uncle Blaise? It also belonged to your papa, you know. They shared it, and now it has gone for ever. Was that what you wanted?'
There were two brilliant spots of colour in the child's cheeks. His lips compressed tightly, he tore himself free of her and ran off as if he was being pursued by avenging Furies.
Gaston picked up the hammer with a sorrowful air.
'See,
madame
? This is the hammer that was missing. And where are the other implements, one asks oneself? What will he do with them?
Vraiment
, I think Monsieur Philippe is possessed by a devil!'
A devil of despair, perhaps, Andrea thought, as she turned away shakily. She was more disturbed by this incident than by anything that had gone before. This—this was violence, uncontrolled and dangerous, and she could only guess at the depth of emotion that had driven the child to such an act. It was almost unbelievable that he could have done such a thing. He had loved that sledge, and played eagerly on it as soon as he had been given permission, had behaved, in fact, like the child he was, instead of the fledgling adult role which circumstances seemed to have forced him into.
She wondered, half-distractedly, if she ought to go after him. She had never felt so totally at a loss, needing a wisdom that was beyond her years and experience. She'd had so little to do with young children, and Philippe was still a stranger to her.
And there was not even Blaise to consult, she remembered hopelessly. There were tears pricking at her eyelids as she walked blindly back into the chateau. She shut the great door and leaned her back against it for a moment, feeling the ancient strength of the timbers. The reminder of the storms and crises they must have weathered over the years gave her a sort of comfort.
"Are you ill?'
Opening her eyes almost dazedly, she saw Simone standing on the bottom stair, watching her. She held a cigarette, flicking the ash away with an abrupt, nervous gesture which seemed somehow out of character, Andrea thought. Simone was elegant—measured in everything she did.
'No, I'm fine,' she replied with an immense effort to sound normal.
Simone's eyes were frankly speculative. '
Eh bien
. And where is Philippe? I have been trying to teach him to read, and it is time for his lesson.'
Andrea pushed her hair back wearily. 'I—I'm not sure. Playing somewhere, I think.'
The lie rose instinctively to her lips, prompted by some indefinable certainty that Simone should not know what had happened.
'Playing or sulking?' Simone's faint smile held more than a trace of malice. 'You forget,
ma chère
, how well I know him. He is a strange child,' she added meditatively. 'Given to odd moods, capable of strong hatreds and much bitterness. My sister was not like that—nor was his father Jean-Paul. Perhaps he resembles his uncle Blaise, in whom one can also detect much bitterness. I do not envy you your life with either of them.'
Andrea pressed her fingers against her eyes. Her voice seemed to come from a long way away. 'What are you playing at, Simone?'
She was horrified as soon as she had spoken, unknowing where the words had come from.
Simone's dark eyes were as hard as agates. 'No game,
ma chère
Andrée, believe me. I am merely trying to make you see sense at last. No matter what Blaise may have told you, Philippe is really better off with me. I can—handle him.' Her smile, suddenly, was full of charm and persuasion,, her eyes veiled by her long lashes. 'Won't you speak to Blaise for me—please, Andrée? It is ridiculous for us to be at odds in this matter. Philippe belongs with me—he is happy with me. When I go, there will be nothing but trouble for you.'
'You're very convincing,' Andrea said quietly. 'But you are directing your arguments at quite the wrong person, I'm afraid. It is Blaise you need to convince, and he is determined, I know, to keep Philippe here with him, no matter what the cost.'
Simone pitched her cigarette to the floor, and ground it savagely under her heel.
'The cost already has been quite—considerable—has it not?' She laughed softly. '
Le
pauvre
Blaise. Almost I can pity him. It cannot suit his pride to be saddled with a wife he does not want merely for the sake of a child. I was not deceived, you understand, by this hasty wedding. An affair in a corner, was it not?'
'Hole-and-corner is the phrase you are searching for, I think,' Andrea said wearily. 'But you're wrong,
mademoi
selle
. It may have begun like that, I'm willing to admit, but I—I love Blaise and I hope and believe that he is beginning to love me,' she ended, her heart throbbing painfully, as she dared to voice for the first time the truth of her feelings and desires.
Simone's small teeth glinted. 'Your sentiments are charming,
madame
—naive and sentimental, but charming. I have no doubt that Blaise will be happy to oblige you. He was not meant to lead a celibate life,' she went on, a frankly reminiscent smile curving her lips. 'You will have nothing to complain of in his expertise as a lover, if you can once overcome your revulsion at his face. I could not—even now,' she added with a little shrug.
The bright blaze of confidence in Andrea died as swiftly as it had sprung to life. She stared unbelievingly at Simone, her brain refusing to credit the obvious implications of the other girl's words.
'What do you mean?' It might have been someone else's voice.
Simone looked pityingly at her. 'It is true,
n'est-ce pas
? You really don't know that Blaise and I were once engaged to be married.'
'Before the fire at Belle Riviere?' Andrea said through stiff lips.
'
Naturellement
. Afterwards, when they brought him out and I saw what had happened to his face, I was a coward, I admit. I have not a strong stomach for such things. I knew I could never let him touch me again. It was painful for us both, but in the end easier for me than attempting to hide such feelings. That would have been impossible.'
There was almost a touch of complacency in her tone, Andrea thought wildly, as if she expected her to agree and sympathise.
Simone went on, 'Now you can comprehend why Blaise is so anxious to have custody of Philippe. It is his revenge on me for having broken our engagement.' She sighed elaborately. 'It is strange to think how easily I might have been Madame Levallier at this moment.' She stretched sensuously, and met Andrea's horrified gaze. 'He still wants me, you know,' she said almost idly. 'But I have made him see it is impossible. Even if it were not for the scars, you are his wife and deserve his loyalty if nothing else. You should be grateful to me.'
'Thank you.' Andrea's voice was level and totally colourless. 'And now, if you'll excuse me.'
'
Certainement
.' Simone moved to one side to allow her to pass. '
Un moment
,' she added suddenly as Andrea reached the stairs. 'I have given you Blaise, after all. Surely you owe me Philippe in return.'
Andrea turned to face her, gathering her last reserves of emotional strength.
'I owe you nothing,
mademoiselle
. As for Philippe, you don't deserve him—neither you nor Blaise.'
She held her head high as she mounted the stairs. But her self-possession was a veneer, and carried her only round the curve of the stairs out of the sight of the watcher in the hall below. Once there, all the strength seemed to drain from her legs and she sank down on the wide stair, a long convulsive sob of agony tearing its way out of her being.
Andrea never knew how she got through the rest of that interminable day. Somewhere, operating independently outside herself, there seemed to be a girl who prepared food she could not have forced herself to eat, who cleaned silver until it gleamed, and used wax polish on furniture until her arms and shoulders ached with the exertion.
She was a strange creature, this girl. She could smile and speak and listen to what was said to her, in spite of the pain that seemed to be splitting her apart. She was even quite attractive too, in spite of her pallor, she thought critically as she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror she was cleaning. Not in Simone's class, of course, yet sufficiently appealing for it to be quite reasonable for a man who wanted Simone and could not have her to console himself with her.
She could not complain, the sensible hard-working side of her told this hysterical stranger who kept getting in her way. Blaise had never hinted that their relationship would mean any more to him than a purely physical release. It was she who had spoken the word 'love' in that connotation, and she could only be thankful she had not said it to him. What would he have done? she found herself wondering. Would he have pitied her, and pretended? It was unthinkable—unbearable, and she bit her lip until the blood came.
At least now his terms had been spelled out to her, and it was for her to decide whether or not they were acceptable.
When Gaston entered the dining room to make up the fire, she heard herself asking him quite calmly and normally if he had seen Monsieur Philippe, and nodding almost brightly when she was informed that the little one was walking with Mademoiselle Delatour.
The whole world seemed to be full of the splash of water, as the melting snow dripped from the eaves and ledges, and then, as the afternoon lengthened into approaching darkness, it began to rain, a steady persistent downpour.
Strange to think how she would have welcomed this rapid thaw only twenty-four hours earlier. Now she found herself anticipating the imminence of Simone's departure with something like dread.
Over and over again, she wondered why Blaise had not told her that Simone had been the fiancée who had rejected him after he had been injured. She dragged off the betrothal ring he had given her and left it on the dressing table in their room, unable to bear the thought of it occupying Simone's finger before her own.
She had a bath before dinner in the hope that the warm water would relax her, but it failed miserably. She was as taut as a violin string as she sat at the dressing table brushing her hair, and waiting with thudding heart for the sound of Blaise's approaching feet down the corridor.
When at last he came, she laid the brush down on the dressing table with suddenly nerveless fingers. She looked as white as a ghost, yet she did not trust her hands to apply blusher and lipstick with their usual sophistication.
He paused just inside the door and their eyes met in the mirror. He smiled, and for one heart-stopping moment she wondered how she could ever have thought his face bleak and hard, and a silent cry of anguish welled up inside her.
He crossed the room with his long swift stride, and bent over her, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck under her ear. The caress sent a shiver of response through her which she was unable to dissemble, and she heard him draw a sharp breath, then seek her mouth with his with a burning intensity which threatened to overwhelm her.
'A black dress?' he murmured teasingly at last against her lips, his long fingers slipping questingly inside the deep cowl collar to explore the delicate hollows and curves of her throat and shoulders. 'What are you in mourning for,
ma belle
?'
She wanted to cry out, 'For the rest of our lives together,' but she crushed the words down, and made herself smile.
'I—I thought it was
tr
è
s chic
. Don't you like it?'