The Right Bride?

Tante gave her a tranquil smile. ‘They are the dearest friends,’ she said. ‘But sometimes—enough is enough.’ She paused. ‘Besides, ma chère, I woke this morning with a premonition that you would need me before the day was over.’ She sighed. ‘But I hoped very much I would be wrong.’

Allie slept badly that night, and spent the following day on tenterhooks, hoping against hope that Remy might relent in some way and contact her.

If he was just prepared to hear me out it would be something, she told herself silently, as she paced restlessly round the garden.

All the same, she knew that her failure to confide in him would still be a major stumbling block to any real rapprochement between them.

It was all he’d ever really asked of her, and she’d failed him totally. Which was something he might find impossible to forgive. And somehow she had to prepare herself for that. Even learn to accept it.

He may not want me any more, she thought desolately. Not after what I’ve done. But maybe—if I talk to him—explain how it was—we could at least part as friends.

Perhaps that’s the most I can ask for. And the most I can offer.

When breakfast was over the next day, she came downstairs and said, ‘I’m going to Trehel.’

Tante looked her over, assessing the elegant cut of the tailored cream linen trousers and the indigo silk of the short sleeved shirt Allie was wearing with them.

‘With all flags flying, petite?’ There was a touch of wryness in her voice.

Allie held up her left hand, with the gold band on its third finger. ‘And total honesty at last.’

Tante nodded. ‘The de Brizats are an old and a proud family, my child. Remember that, and do not expect this to be easy for you.’ She paused. ‘Bonne chance, Alys.’

I’ll need it, Allie thought as she started the car. Every scrap of luck that’s going, and every prayer answered too.

Today, the house looked quiet and brooding in the sunlight, its shuttered windows like barriers, warning her not to come too close. Or was that her guilty conscience, working on her imagination?

Stomach churning, she drove round to the back and stopped in the courtyard. Remy’s Jeep, she saw, was parked in its usual place, and she breathed a faint sigh of relief. At least she didn’t have to go into Ignac and confront him at the medical centre.

As she got out, she heard the dogs begin to bark in the main house, but she ignored them. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up to the barn door and turned the handle, as she’d done so many times before. But the door didn’t swing open to admit her, and she realised it must be locked.

He’s never done that before, she thought with a silent sigh. Yet he must know that I’d be coming come to see him. He’s obviously planning to make me beg.

She lifted the brass knocker shaped like a horse’s head. They’d bought it together at the market only a few days ago, because she’d said the horse looked like Roland. She beat a vigorous tattoo.

But there was no response, nor sound of movement within. Allie stepped back, shading her eyes as she looked at the upper windows, and then with a rush and a whimper the dogs were there, circling round her, tails wagging, as they pushed delighted muzzles at her, waiting for her to stroke and pet them.

She turned and saw Georges de Brizat, standing looking at her across the courtyard, his face like a stone. He whistled abruptly, and the dogs, reluctant but obedient, moved back to his side. He hooked his hands into their collars and kept them there.

As if, she thought with real shock, she might contaminate them.

He said, ‘Why are you here, madame? You must know you are not welcome.’

Allie lifted her chin. ‘I need to see Remy. I have to talk to him—to explain.’

‘It seems that your husband is the one who requires an explanation,’ he said with grim emphasis. ‘Go back to him, madame, if he will have you. There is nothing for you here.’

Her throat tightened. ‘I won’t go until I’ve seen Remy.’

‘Then you will wait a very long time,’ he said. ‘He has gone.’ And turned away.

‘Gone?’ Allie repeated the word almost numbly, then ran across the courtyard to him, catching at his sleeve, her voice pleading. ‘Gone where? Please, Monsieur Georges, you must tell me…’

‘Must?’ the old man repeated, outrage in his voice. ‘You dare to use that word to me, or any member of my family? And what obligation do I have to you, madame—the young woman who has ruined my grandson’s life and, as a consequence, broken the heart of my son, too?’

She bent her head, hiding from the accusation in his eyes. ‘I—I love Remy.’

‘You mean that you desired him,’ he corrected harshly. ‘A very different thing.’

‘No.’ She forced her voice to remain level. ‘I love him, and I want to spend my life with him.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘But his wishes are entirely different, madame,’ he said at last, his voice gruff. ‘Yesterday he contacted the Paris headquarters of the medical charity he used to work for, and volunteered his services yet again. His father drove him to the train last night, having failed to persuade him to stay. By now he may be on his way to the other side of the world.

‘And why?’ His voice rose. ‘Because he does not ever want to see you again, or hear your name mentioned. And for that he is prepared to sacrifice his home, his career, and all the dearest hopes of his family. He has gone, Alys, from all of us. From his whole life here. And even if I knew where I would not tell you. You have done enough damage.

‘Now, leave, and do not come back. Because the answer here will always be the same.’

He moved to the back door, then halted, giving her one last, sombre look. ‘It was a bad hour for my grandson when he saw you on the beach at Les Sables.’

‘A very bad hour,’ Allie said quietly. ‘He would have done better to have left me to drown. Just as I’m dying now.’

And, stumbling a little, she went back to her car and drove away without a backward glance.

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