Darkest Longings (17 page)

your need to be close to the children - when they come.’

It was that remark, as much as anything, that was causing

Claudine so much misgiving now. As she sat on her bed on

her wedding morning, the reality of what lay ahead - and of

what she felt about it - was at last beginning to come home

to her.

She looked down at her hands, at the diamond that

glittered in the sunlight, and for a moment her feelings

engulfed her. Then suddenly she got up from the bed,

dragged the cheval mirror away from the window and

stripped off her clothes.

As she gazed at her reflection she tried to see herself

through Francois’ eyes. Tried to imagine his hands on her

breasts, his mouth seeking hers, his fingers exploring her

most intimate places. His own naked body …

She closed her eyes as the heat seared through her veins,

and as her fingers closed around her nipples the sensation

that shot through her loins snatched the breath from her

body. She clutched at the bedpost, biting her lips as she

waited for the tide of longing to subside.

How could her body betray her like this? How had this

come about when she detested and despised him? Yet,

almost from the moment when she discovered that exquisite

bedroom in the apartment upstairs, when she realized that

even after they were married she was to sleep alone, she had

known it was pointless to go on deluding herself. Ugly as he

was, cruel and malevolent as she knew he could be, she

could no longer deny that she wanted him in a way she had

never wanted any other man in her life. She desired him

with every fibre of her body, and had done almost from the

moment she met him.

She threw back her head and looked up at the ceiling,

wanting, but not daring, to scream. Why, dear God, when

he so plainly did not want her, did she want him so much?

Suddenly she froze as she heard his voice outside, calling

to Lucien. Then hearing him laugh, it was as if all her

resolve garnered in a towering surge of defiance; when she

looked back at herself in the mirror, her eyes were hard and

shining.

‘Today,’ she whispered to her reflection, ‘you are going to

marry him. And after that, only you can see to it that he

becomes the husband you want him to be. Your desires

need not be a weakness, they can be a strength if you learn to

use them correctly. And he will want you, one day he will

want you every bit as much as you want him.’

She ran her hands down over her hips, then slipped her

fingers into the moistness between her legs, and a cry

With her eyes still closed, Claudine merely raised her

eyebrows and said, ‘I don’t know, but they didn’t.’

Dissy stared at her. The absence of bridesmaids wasn’t

the only thing that struck her as odd about Claudine’s

wedding. What worried her most was that ever since she’d

arrived she had been aware of a change in Claudine herself,

which as the week progressed she had no longer been able

to dismiss as pre-wedding nerves. And surely it was strange

that Claudine had said almost nothing about Francois when

Dissy had expected her to be talking of nothing else,

confiding all the details of the proposal, declaring her

undying love. Then there had been the mysterious absence

of the bridegroom. Apparently he had been at the chateau

just prior to her arrival, but he had then been called to Paris

on urgent business which had kept him there until two days

before the wedding.

Oddest of all, perhaps, had been Monique’s interrogation.

Two days ago, while Claudine was in Chinon meeting

Francois from the train so that they could register their

marriage at the town hall, Monique had taken her for a walk

in the woods, where she had proceeded to ask all manner of

questions about the way Claudine and Francois felt about

each other! If the bridegroom’s sister is in the dark about

their relationship, Dissy had thought, who does know what’s

going on? Then, she and Monique had talked about Freddy.

Dissy had found Monique’s interest rather surprising - she

must be at least five years older than Freddy, perhaps more.

But it was when she and Monique returned from their

walk that Dissy had received the biggest shock of all. The

man waiting there on the steps of the chateau to greet her,

Monique proudly informed her, was none other than the

future Comte de Rassey de Lorvoire.

Dissy was ashamed now at the way she had stopped dead

in her tracks and her mouth had actually fallen open. But he

was so ugly, and so … Well, so big, standing there beside

her lovely Claudine. His hand, when he held it out, had

made Dissy shudder, but that was nothing to what she had

felt when she looked into his eyes… She’d hardly slept a

wink that night, and even Poppy had confessed to finding

the man a trifle unusual.

However, Claudine had done nothing to invite any

comment about her fiance, nor had she expressed any doubt

about what she was doing. ‘In which case,’ Poppy had said

only that morning, ‘it would be singularly inappropriate for

you to mention your own doubts, Dissy. As we all know,

Beavis has done nothing to pressure her into this marriage,

so we can only conclude that this is what Claudine wants.’

‘But is it what Francois wants?’ Dissy said. ‘He doesn’t

love her, Poppy, I know he doesn’t. I can see it in his eyes

when he looks at her. If anything, he despises her. And

surely she can see it too?’

But if she could, Claudine was saying nothing. And at

three o’clock that afternoon Dissy stood amongst the two

hundred guests in the Royal Abbey of Fontevraud and

watched her best friend, in a dress to make even a royal

wedding gown look dowdy, walk down the aisle on the arm

of her father, to a man who was as unsightly as his brother standing

beside him in full dress uniform - was handsome.

As they knelt side by side before the priest, Claudine was

shaking. She had no idea what she was feeling, she simply

listened as the priest’s guttural chant echoed solemnly

through the abbey and her own heart thudded in her ears.

Then Francois’ hand was on her elbow, helping her to her

feet, and the priest was whispering to her to remove her veil.

She didn’t look at Francois as she did so, but kept her eyes

fixed on the priest while Francois repeated the marriage

vows in a warm, gentle voice that belonged to a man she

didn’t know… Then it was time for her to pledge her troth.

A shadow fell over her face, and there was the briefest

touch of lips against hers. After that she remembered

nothing until the organ suddenly started to play and they

were walking back down the aisle.

They returned to the chateau in Louis’ open-topped

Bugatti. Marcel drove slowly, so that Claudine could wave

to the people who lined the cobbled streets of the villages

along the way - Fontevraud, Candes St Martin, St

Germain-sur-Vienne - as they called out their good wishes.

Beside her, Francois made no attempt to disguise his

loathing of such a display. His discomfort was ridiculous,

she thought, and she laughed - but even the sound of her

own laughter did nothing to dispel the strange feeling of

displacement.

When all the guests had returned, they sat down to the

twelve-course wedding feast in the lavishly decorated

ballroom of the Chateau de Lorvoire. Almost every noble

family in France was represented, and several members of

the English aristocracy were there too. Claudine sipped her

champagne and laughed as everyone drank the bride’s

health, then the bridegroom’s, then quite spontaneously,

Solange’s. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she pushed

away the oysters, then the smoked salmon, the turbot, the grives aux raisins. When someone called to her, she answered, her eyes dazzling in their beauty and her lips

never far from laughter. Beside her Francois had his back

half-turned as he conversed with her father — but Claudine

barely noticed.

At seven o’clock the ballroom was cleared and the

dancing began. There was much hilarity when Poppy took

over the piano and the band picked up the rhythm of the

Lambeth Walk, a dance from a London musical, while

Dissy taught everyone the steps. Like a child who never

tires of the same story, Solange insisted they play it over

and over again, until Louis had a quiet word with the band

leader, then tangoed his wife off across the floor. Lucien

took Claudine, and soon the whole room was a mass of

gaily twirling bodies and grandly stamping feet. Claudine

danced for what seemed an eternity, moving with the music

from a fox-trot to a quick-step, from a rumba to a waltz,

changing partners with such frequency that in the end she

laughingly pleaded exhaustion, and taking Solange by the

hand, started to wander round the room talking to guests.

Francois remained on the edge of the proceedings,

shaking hands where he had to, but mainly engrossed in

what Beavis and his father were saying. One subject

preoccupied them: the increasing probability of war.

Francois was listening intently; as a British diplomat and a

close friend of Neville Chamberlain, Beavis was naturally

well-informed, and since the collapse of Leon Blum’s

government in June and the rise to power of his father’s old

friend Camille Chautemps, there was much to discuss.

Eventually, aware that Celine was watching him, and

knowing that on this occasion he must do what was expected

of him, he excused himself and made his way over to

Claudine.

She was standing in the middle of a group, laughing at

something Lucien was saying, but when they saw him

coming the crowd parted to let him through. As everyone

around her fell silent, Claudine turned, and when she saw

her husband she cocked her head on one side and placed a

hand on her hip.

‘Would you care to dance?’ Francois said, fixing her with

his eyes in a way that seemed to banish the presence of those

around her.

‘I should be delighted,’ she said, and taking the hand he

held out to her, she allowed him to lead her to the middle of

the floor.

The band, who had been waiting for this moment,

smoothly brought the piece they were playing to an end and

started an instrumental version of ‘The Very Thought Of

You’. It was one of Claudine’s favourite songs, and as the

other dancers cleared the floor and Francois pulled her into

his arms, she wondered if he knew the words. But if he did,

he gave no sign, and she wasn’t sure whether she was sorry

or glad.

‘It is unusual, I know, for the bride and groom to have the

last dance,’ he said, as he led her through her paces, ‘but

then ours is an unusual alliance, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘The last dance?’ she echoed.

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re intending to leave in your

wedding gown, it is time you went upstairs to change.’

Trying not to mind that he had passed no comment on

her dress, with its waterfalls of lace, flowing taffeta skirts

and pearl-studded silk bodice, she said, ‘How long do I

have?’

‘As long as you like. But I’d prefer to arrive at Poitiers

before midnight.’

‘Poitiers?’

‘We are spending the night at an hotel there. Did I forget

to tell you? My apologies.’

She looked away as she suddenly became aware of his

hand in the small of her back. ‘Will you be driving us?’ she

enquired, in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.

‘Unless you have a notion to do so,’ he answered.

‘However, if you continue to tremble the way you are now, I

wouldn’t advise it.’

Her eyes shot to his, but there was no humour in his face;

if anything, he seemed bored.

‘I’ll go upstairs to change,’ she said, and turning abruptly,

she walked from the dance floor.

An hour later, followed by Celine, Solange, Monique and

Dissy, Claudine walked down the grand staircase and into

the hall. She was wearing a navy Mainbocher suit with a

cerise silk blouse and navy wedged shoes. Magaly had redressed

her hair, which was now rolled in a snood under her

navy and cerise hat. In the distance she could hear the

sounds of the party, which she knew would continue into the small hours of the morning. For one fleeting moment she wished with all her heart that she could stay.

The others were fussing around her, offering her all the

advice traditionally given to brides for the first night of their

honeymoon. Solange, as usual, was outrageous - but for

once Claudine wasn’t laughing. She was staring past them

to where Francois stood at the door with Lucien, Beavis and

Louis. He too had changed out of his wedding clothes; now

he was wearing a dark double-breasted suit and a black

trilby hat.

Her eyes closed for a brief moment, then pulling herself

together, she walked towards him. ‘I’m ready,’ she said in a