And she was content to lie like that, holding him tightly, her lips caressing the strands of sweat-dampened hair on his forehead.
Because instinct seemed to be telling her that if ever there was a moment for confession, this was it. When he was in her arms, his sated, emptied body still joined to hers like this, surely he would forgive her anything—wouldn’t he?
‘Remy.’ His name was a breath from her lips. She put her cheek on his hair. ‘Darling—there’s something I have to say. Something I should have told you long ago—when we first met. Only I never knew—never guessed—we would love each other. That you would mean everything in the world to me.’
She swallowed. ‘Sweetheart—mon amour…I—I’m married. I have a husband inEngland . But I don’t love him, and I never did. So I’m going back to finish it, get a divorce.’
She ended on a little rush of words, and waited tautly for his response. Only there was none.
She was prepared for shock—certainly for anger and recriminations—but not—silence.
Or was he simply too stunned to speak?
She said questioningly, ‘Remy—darling…?’
He mumbled something drowsy in reply, burying his face more closely against her, his body totally relaxed, his breathing deep and steady.
My God, she thought with an inward groan, he’s asleep. Which means he hasn’t heard a single word I’ve said, even though it took every atom of courage I possess to say it.
She was tempted to wake him there and then—to repeat her stumbling confession. But he looked altogether too peaceful, all tension gone from the dark face. He was even smiling a little as he slept.
Well, Allie thought, sighing. I suppose it will keep a little longer at that. But I must tell him soon—very soon. And, on that resolve, she closed her own eyes and allowed herself to drift slowly away.
She awoke with a start, and lay for a moment totally disorientated, her heart thudding. Hugo, she thought. Oh, God, I was dreaming about Hugo.
Then she heard the rain still lashing the window and realised where she was, and why, and relief and joy flooded through her.
She turned her head slowly and looked at Remy, still fast asleep beside her. At some point he must have moved a little, lifted himself away from her, although his arm was still thrown possessively across her waist.
Did he know? she wondered with passionate tenderness. Did he have the least idea how she was feeling? Did he understand her starved body’s reaction to the miracle of physical delight he’d created for her?
For the first time in years she felt totally relaxed and at peace. Also happier than she had ever believed possible.
And when he woke she would tell him so, along with, she decided, a suitable reviver.
She slid carefully from under the protection of his arm and swung her feet to the floor. From the tangle of clothing beside the bed she retrieved Remy’s shirt and slipped it on, fastening a few discreet buttons on the way. She could detect the faint fragrance of the cologne he used, and she put the sleeve to her nose, sniffing luxuriously.
She pulled the coverlet over him, then padded quietly out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen, where she stood looking around her, getting her bearings.
He’d offered her coffee some lifetime ago, she told herself, so the makings had to be available.
She looked first in the refrigerator, finding milk, and mineral water too, and she uncapped one of the small bottles, drinking thirstily as she leant back against the work surface.
This would be an amazing kitchen to work in, she thought, imagining herself here with Remy, preparing a meal together.
She sighed, smiling. Well—perhaps—one of these days. But coffee would do to be going on with.
Inspection of the pale wood cupboards eventually yielded a pack of ground beans and a cafetière, so she filled the elegant stainless steel kettle and set it to boil, humming quietly to herself as she did so. She’d just located a set of earthenware beakers when she heard a sound behind her and turned quickly.
Solange was standing in the middle of the living room, staring at her, lips parted, eyes burning with anger and disbelief in her white face.
And Allie knew, of course, what the other girl must be seeing. The dishevelled hair, the half-buttoned shirt reaching only to mid-thigh, the shining eyes and swollen mouth. Everything about her, she realised with dismay, must be screaming Sex.
Oh, God, she thought. Why didn’t I get dressed properly?
‘Chienne.’ Solange’s voice shook.‘ Sale vache.’
For a moment, all Allie wanted to do was run. To get away from the fury and the ugly words. And from the French girl’s bitter disappointment, too—which, perhaps, was the worst thing of all. But she stood her ground, lifting her chin defiantly.
‘Please don’t call me names, mademoiselle,’ she said quietly. ‘I am neither a bitch nor a dirty cow. I have been making love with the man I love, and I have nothing to be ashamed of.’
Solange took a step closer, her hands balled into fists at her sides. ‘You don’t think so? But I tell you different. Because you do not belong here, you—espèce de raclure.’ Her tone was a hiss. ‘You are an outsider—not one of us—and Remy needs a woman beside him who can support him in his work. Someone who knows this community—who has its respect. Not a slut of an English girl who will soon be gone, back to her own filthy country.’
Allie was almost reeling under this onslaught, but she made herself stay ice-calm. And her voice reflected this. ‘I think Remy is free to make his own choices, Mademoiselle Geran.’
‘And what is this great choice? To degrade himself with a putaine like you? Well, he will soon regret that.’ The other woman drew a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Always—always I knew what you were. Knew that you could not wait to throw yourself into his bed.’
‘What exactly are you complaining about?’ Allie asked coldly. ‘That I have taken your place—or that you never received an invitation?’
Solange gasped, and her head went back as if Allie had struck her, the once pretty face twisted with rage and crimson with mottled blood. She lifted her hands, bunched into a semblance of claws, and her voice was thick. ‘Would he still want you, I wonder, if I scratched out your eyes?’
From the stairs, Remy said grimly, ‘An interesting point, Solange, but we will not put it to the test. And now I think you should go, before you make matters any worse.’
His feet were bare, concealing his approach, and he’d clearly dragged on his jeans simply for the sake of marginal decency, because they hung, only half-fastened, low on his hips.
Solange’s small red-tipped hands were suddenly uncurled. Extended in appeal.
‘Remy, chéri, I do not blame you for this. A man has—temptations.’ She tried, horribly, to laugh. ‘I—I understand this, and I can forgive—’
But he cut coldly across the stumbling words. ‘There is no need for forgiveness, Solange. Let me speak plainly. Local gossip may have paired us together, yet I have asked nothing from you, and promised nothing in return. This—understanding between us does not exist.’
She swallowed harshly. ‘Remy—mon coeur—how can you say that?’
‘Because it is true, and you know it.’ He paused. ‘And I would prefer you did not visit here again without an invitation.’
She stared at him wild-eyed, her mouth working soundlessly, then she whirled round and was gone, the big doors slamming behind her.
Remy leapt the last few stairs and came to Allie’s side, sliding his arms round her and drawing her protectively against him. She buried her face in his bare brown shoulder, her voice muffled. ‘That was—vile.’
‘I woke up and you were gone, which troubled me.’ His voice was uneven. ‘And then I heard talking, and thought that my father might have arrived, or Grandpapa, and that this could cause you embarrassment.’
‘I came down to make coffee,’ she said. ‘And she was suddenly—here. But why?’
‘It is entirely my fault,’ Remy said harshly. ‘She used to visit often, while the work was being done, in order to find fault with Gaston Levecq, and, I think, to persuade me to employ her cousin instead. Also to offer advice that I did not need. I should have realised—and stopped it when it first began.’
The kettle came cheerfully to the boil and switched itself off. Remy released her and went to fill the cafetière.
He said quietly, not looking at her, ‘Alys, tell me, je t’en prie, that she has not made you hate this house—or regret what has happened between us here.’
‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘No one—not even Solange—could ever do that.’
She saw the tension relax from his shoulders. He said softly, ‘Soit.’ And continued making the coffee.
He said, over his shoulder, ‘I am relieved that it was not Grandpapa who found you just now. Seeing you like that might have provoked une petite crise cardiaque.’
‘At least I’m wearing something,’ Allie returned with mock defensiveness. ‘And your shirt was the first thing I found on the floor,’ she added, not altogether truthfully.
‘Vraiment?’ The brilliant eyes were dancing with amusement. ‘Perhaps I should make you a present of it, chérie. I know it never looked so good on me.’
She said huskily, ‘Everything looks good on you, Remy.’ Adding silently, And off, too…
‘Ma bien-aimée.’ His voice was gentle. He was silent for a moment. ‘It was a bad moment for me, when I found you gone from our bed. I thought perhaps you were angry with me.’
‘Angry?’ She was startled. ‘How could I be?’
His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Then—disappointed. Because I wished to make it perfect for you—our first time together—to take away all the bad memories. But it was over far too soon.’ He added with a faint groan, ‘And then I fell asleep.’ He shook his head. ‘My only excuse, mon ange, is that I wanted you so very much.’
She went to him, sliding her arms round his waist and smiling up into his eyes. ‘That sounds more like a very good reason than an excuse,’ she told him softly, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. She added teasingly, ‘And may I remind you that we both went to sleep?’
She wanted to assure him, too, that the bad memories were all gone. But how could she when there was still the appalling problem of her marriage to be dealt with? she thought, conscious of a nervous tightening in the pit of her stomach. She pressed herself more closely against him, letting the warmth of his body dispel the sudden chill inside her.
He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face up towards him. ‘Yet there is something, I think, that troubles you.’
She forced a smile. ‘The aftermath of Solange, I expect. She did call me some pretty foul names.’
There was a pause, then he said laconically, ‘D’accord. That must be it.’