Darkest Longings (28 page)

resignation at the prospect of having to struggle with her again

… A great surge of anger erupted inside her; she flung back

the bedcovers, hoisted her nightdress over her thighs and spat,

‘Here you are, this is what you’ve come for, isn’t it?’

His only response was to look at her. Then, loosening his

tie and unbuttoning his collar, he walked towards the bed.

As he came to a stop beside her, her nails bit into the palms

of her hands - but his eyes weren’t on her nakedness, they

were gazing mockingly into hers. Then, saying nothing, he

lifted the blankets and covered her again.

She glared up at him, a buzz of alarm sounding in her

head. What foul trick was he about to play her now?

He reached out to turn on the lamp, then slid his hands

into his pockets, all the time keeping his eyes fixed calmly on

hers. She watched him warily as he sat on the end of the bed,

leaning one shoulder against the bedpost and stretching out

his legs. She could see the hideous scar that started beneath

the corner of his right eye, and the soft light gleaming on the

greased smoothness of his hair.

‘I have asked the notary to come here tomorrow at three,’

he said. ‘He will arrange your allowance. If you find the

amount unsatisfactory then I will naturally increase it. The

money will be yours to do with as you please …”

‘I have money of my own,’ she snapped.

He nodded. ‘I am well aware of that. But as I said, the

money is yours, to do with as you please. If you choose not to

use it…’ he shrugged ‘… (a tie fait rien.’

She eyed him suspiciously; then a thought struck her.

‘Guilt money!’ she cried. ‘Is that what it is? Does it salve

your conscience to pay for what you’re doing to me? Or is it

your sick way of making me feel like a whore?’

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his dark face hard

and inscrutable. ‘I shall be leaving here in a few days,’ he

continued, just as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘and shall be away

for some weeks. I know you have the highest regard for my

mother and father, so I shall trust you not to do anything that

could in any way injure or embarrass them.’ He threw her a

quick look, and she knew that beneath those words lay a

warning. ‘You will find this difficult to believe, I know,’ he

went on, ‘but I should like you to be happy here at the

chateau, as much for the sake of my family and the children

we hope to have, as for your own.’

‘You’re a liar, Francois,’ she said. ‘You care nothing for

me, or my happiness. If you did you would let me go. You

would end this farce of a marriage and give me the

annulment I …’

‘That subject is closed, Claudine. You are my wife now,

for better or for worse, as I am your husband. Try to get

used to the idea. It will be easier for you if you do.’

‘And what about you? How easy is it for you, having a wife

who despises you?’

He smiled, and as he looked at her his eyes seemed to

penetrate hers in a way that brought the colour flooding to her

cheeks. It was as though he could read everything that was

going on inside her mind. ‘You will find that I allow you a great

deal of freedom in our marriage,’ he said, ignoring the

question. ‘Much more than most wives have, in fact. I require

only one thing of you, as you know, and you may be pleased

also to know that once you have produced a boy to continue the

de Lorvoire line, sexual relations between us will be at an end.

Then all I shall require of you is that you are a good mother,

and that you are discreet about your lovers.’ He stood up.

‘Tonight I shall let you sleep in peace. However I shall feel

obliged to avail myself of my conjugal rights again before I

leave, I will let you know when. In the meantime please be in

the library at three tomorrow afternoon to meet the notary.’

He snapped off the light and started back across the

room. Claudine’s eyes followed him until the door closed

behind him, leaving her in darkness. Then suddenly,

without giving herself time to think, she leapt out of bed and

stormed into the sitting-room.

He was standing at the table, looking at some documents,

his hands still in his pockets. When he heard her, he looked

up, and a frown of exasperation crossed his face.

‘I think you should know,’ she fumed, ‘that what you want,

and when you choose to do it, just might not be acceptable to me:

To her total confusion, he started to laugh. ‘Is this your

way,’ he said, ‘of telling me that you want me in your bed?

Now?’

She looked at him in horror. That wasn’t what she was

saying at all.

‘Or have I misunderstood?’

She took a step backwards as he started to amble towards

her. ‘What are you doing?’ she cried, as he turned her round

and pushed her back into the bedroom.

She jerked herself away and swung round to face him.

The humour had gone from his face, and he seemed bored,

waiting for what she was about to say. The frustration was

too much for her, and raising her fists she started to hammer

them into him. She managed three punches before he

caught her hands and twisted them behind her back. The

movement brought her body against his, and she felt a bolt

of desire strike her with such intensity that it snatched the

strength from her legs. But he tightened the grip on her

arms, holding her up, and she gasped with the pain of it.

‘So,’ he said, his mouth very close to hers, ‘you have a

penchant for violent sex?’ He laughed as he saw the

expression on her face, but as he looked down at her she felt

her lips start to tremble and her eyes flutter closed as she

waited for the touch of his mouth. ‘However, I’m afraid I am

in no mood to oblige you tonight,’ he said, ‘violently or

otherwise.’ And he let her go so abruptly that she staggered

back against the bed.

She watched the door close behind him, listened as he

walked across the sitting-room and into his own room. Her

head was spinning, her heart was thudding painfully and her

wrists were smarting. She threw herself onto the bed and

drew her knees to her chest as if to shut out the insufferable

humiliation. What in God’s name was happening to her?

What had possessed her to go after him like that? For once

he had not pressed himself upon her, had been willing to

leave her in peace, and she, instead of welcoming it, had …

When they were in Biarritz, she’d thought she had overcome

this insidious longing for him, had managed to control

the treachery of her body; but when he had held her against

him just now, when she felt his mouth so close to hers, she

had wanted him more than ever.

She couldn’t understand herself. She was confused,

angry, pathetic. Why was she the victim of this consuming

desire? Because that was all it was, she told herself; there

was no love - there couldn’t be when he treated her the way

he did. No, she didn’t love him, she knew she didn’t. And

she didn’t care that he had rejected her, that he had told her

she could take a lover, that he would end what relationship

they had once she had done her duty. She didn’t care about

any of it. She was glad. She hated him, and never wanted

him to touch her again …

The following morning, the courtyard in front of the wine

caves was a hive of activity. Stacks of flattened boxes were

being unloaded from one lorry while boxes filled with wine

were heaved onto the back of another; Genevieve, the florist

from Chinon, and her assistant were lifting the day’s supply

of flowers for the chateau out of the back of their Renault

van, and Edmond, the butcher’s boy, went skidding past on

his bicycle en route to the kitchen door. Claudine was

standing at the window of the small salon, where the family

read the newspapers and listened to the wireless after

breakfast, watching all that was going on and trying not to

smart at how ridiculous she had made herself the night

before.

She hadn’t slept well, which was hardly surprising, but

she was calmer this morning, and now, thinking back to last

night, she couldn’t help grinning a little at the ease with

which Francois had seen through her, recognizing what

she’d wanted even before she knew it herself. No one else

could read her the way he did, which was one of the reasons

why she detested him so much. It was also, she acknowledged

despondently, one of the reasons why she loved him.

She pulled herself up sharply. Of course she didn’t love

him! It was simply that all these feelings were new to her,

and she didn’t know how to control them yet. But she would

learn, starting today. From now on she would concentrate

only on how passionately she hated him, and at the same

time she would do everything in her power to show him that

she was every bit as capable of resisting him as he was of

resisting her.

Again she smiled, pleased to think how quickly she was

managing to get her life - and her emotions - back in order.

Then, out of the corner of her eye she noticed Armand and

Francois strolling towards the cave furthest from her, and

her heart plummeted.

They were engrossed in conversation, and as she watched

them she was struck by the contrast between them. Armand,

with his startlingly blond hair, was the shorter of the two by

at least three inches, but his shoulders were broad and his

body was lean and muscular. Armand’s eyes too, Claudine

thought, remembering their time together the previous

evening, were just as compelling as Francois’, though in

their own very different way. It was no wonder everyone

spoke of him so affectionately when he exuded such

kindness and warmth.

The two of them came to a stop behind one of the lorries,

and she was about to turn away from the window when she

saw Armand raise his hands in the air, as if demonstrating

the size of something. She found herself smiling as she

watched the ease and humour of his manner, and when

Francois burst out laughing, wished with a sudden pang that

she could be there, sharing the joke. She did turn away then,

and dropping a quick kiss on Louis’ balding head, went off

to dress for the busy day ahead of her.

One of the people she planned to see today was Madame

Reinberg, who lived in the village, next door to the cafe.

Claudine knew Madame Reinberg by sight, and in her

encounters with the village children had been especially

attracted by the Reinberg children, little Janette and her

younger brother Robert, who was mildly retarded. Liliane

had told her yesterday afternoon that Madame Reinberg’s

husband had deserted her. He had left no note and no

money, but he had taken with him a woman from Chinon,

and his wife was brokenhearted.

Claudine could do little about the broken heart, but she

could ensure that Madame Reinberg’s children did not find

themselves homeless, and if necessary, she had decided, she

would pay the rent herself until a solution was found, out of

the money from Francois’ promised allowance - an idea

which appealed to her sense of the bizarre, since Francois

was the Reinbergs’ landlord. She had, of course, told

Solange and Louis what she intended to do, but they had

been only too delighted that she was involving herself in the

affairs of the village - and now, as she prepared to leave,

dressed in a green corduroy skirt, checked wool blouse and

thick cardigan, Louis walked with her to her car, telling her

to let Gertrude Reinberg know that there was no need for

rent this side of Christmas.

‘And the other side?’ Claudine asked mischievously.

‘Oh, I have a feeling you will have come up with a solution by then, ma chere.’

‘You have such faith in me, Louis!’

‘Bien sur,’ he chuckled. ‘You don’t know the meaning of

the word failure.’

She wondered for a moment what he meant by that. She

was well aware that Louis saw a great deal more than he let

on, but he had never said a word to her about her marriage.

‘Now,’ he said, opening the car door for her, ‘don’t forget

to ask Gustave at the cafe if he has come across any of those

fine Cuban cigars again. I’m willing to pay over the odds, tell

him, which is what the old rogue would charge me anyway.

And whatever you do, Claudine, don’t tell Solange.’

Claudine grinned. Doctor Lebrun allowed Louis three

cigars a week and one tot of brandy each night, which was

three more cigars and seven more tots than Solange would

allow him, which was why Louis had to rely on the rest of his

family to smuggle in his luxuries.

As she drove past the wine caves she passed Armand and

Francois. ‘See you at eleven,’ she called out to Armand.

Armand gave her a salute - and she saw the sardonic lift

of Francois’ eyebrows. ‘God, he’s unbearable,’ she muttered

through clenched teeth, and pressing her foot hard on