In the Millionaire's Possession (27 page)

But there was no chance of that. People were pouring out of the church around them, and a lot had cards and lucky silver horseshoes to bestow, while even more seemed to have cameras.

Helen stood, smiling composedly until her facial muscles felt stiff. At some moment Marc must have relinquished her hand, because they
’
d become separated. Looking round for him, she saw he was standing a few yards away with Alan, enigmatically receiving rowdy advice from some of the local men.

‘
Do I get to kiss the bride?
’
Nigel
’
s voice beside her was soft and insinuating, but the arms that pulled her into his embrace held no gentleness. Nor was there any kiss. Instead, his cheek pressed against hers in a parody of a caress as he whispered into her ear,
‘
If the conversation flags tonight, sweetie, why not ask him about Angeline Vallon? And see if he tells you.
’

She pulled herself free, pain slashing at her. I don
’
t need to ask, she wanted to scream at him. I already know.

But Nigel had already gone, melting into the laughing crowd.

Instead, she saw Marc coming towards her, his face granite-hard.

He said curtly,
‘
I think it is time we left, Hélène.
Allons
.
’

And silently, shakily, she obeyed.

Their silence during the ride to the airport had continued during the flight to the South of France.

Marc had apologised briefly for having work to do.
‘
But once it is completed I shall be able to devote myself to you,
’
he
’
d added, slanting a coolly sardonic smile at her before becoming immersed in papers from his briefcase.

Helen
’
s heart had lurched uneasily, but she
’
d made no reply. Instead she sipped the champagne she was offered, and stared out of the window.

The flight should have provided some kind of respite from the stress of the day, but not when the name Angeline Vallon was buzzing in her brain.

The fact that she was Marc
’
s current mistress must be common knowledge if Nigel was aware of it. Common sense suggested that she should confront her husband on the subject, letting him know she was not the innocent dupe he clearly imagined.

Yet some instinct told her that she had reached a threshold she should not cross. After all, Marc had never promised to be faithful, she reminded herself painfully. And it might even make her life easier if his physical demands were being satisfied elsewhere and she became simply his official wife, to be produced in public when required and left to her own devices in the country at all other times.

All she really needed was
—
somehow
—
to make her life bearable again.

Although her immediate concern, she realised, dry-mouthed, was to get through the week ahead of her
—
and particularly the next twelve hours of it.

She sat tensely beside Marc in the back of the chauffeur-driven car which had met them at the airport. It was already sunset, and lights were coming on all along the Promenade des Sables at St Benoit Plage, illuminating the marina, with its plethora of expensive yachts, and the up-market boutiques, bars and cafés that lined the other side of the thoroughfare.

Behind the promenade terraces of houses rose steeply to be crowned by a floodlit pale pink building with a dome, which Helen thought was a church until Marc informed her with faint amusement that it was the town
’
s casino.

‘
Would you care to go there one evening?
’
he asked.
‘
There is an excellent restaurant, and you could try your luck at the tables.
’

‘
Thank you, but, no,
’
she refused curtly.
‘
My father was the gambler of the family. I don
’
t want to follow in his footsteps.
’

He shrugged slightly.
‘
As you wish,
’
he returned.
‘
Then I shall go alone.
’

The Villa Mirage occupied its headland in splendid isolation and was reached by a narrow snaking road. It was large and rambling, built on two storeys, and surrounded by a broad terrace at ground level. The first floor rooms were served by communal balconies, each with a flight of steps that led down to the luxuriant gardens, and bougainvillaea tumbled over the white walls.

In other circumstances she
’
d have been entranced. Now she was just scared.

The owners, Thierry and Nicole Lamande, were abroad on an extended business trip, Marc had told her, and they would be looked after by the staff, Gaston and Elise.

‘
I hope,
’
he
’
d added ironically,
‘
that you will not find it too secluded.
’

Gaston turned out to be a taciturn man with a grave smile
—
in direct contrast to his wife, who was small and ebullient with a mass of greying hair. Chattering volubly, she conducted Helen upstairs to a large room at the back of the house, overlooking the swimming pool, with its own dressing room and elegantly appointed bathroom.

Gaston followed with her luggage, but, to her surprise, Helen realized that Marc
’
s bags, brought up by the chauffeur, were being placed in an identical room just across the passage. And presumably by Marc
’
s own order.

So the immediate pressure seemed to be off, she thought, suppressing a gasp of relief.

All the same, she tried to ignore the wide bed, with its immaculate white-embroidered linen, as she walked across to the long windows that led to the balcony and opened the shutters. The air was warm and still, carrying a faint fragrance of lavender from one of the local flower farms, while the rasp of cicadas filled the gathering dusk.

She took a long, luxurious breath, trying to calm herself.
‘
It
’
s going to be all right,
’
she whispered.
‘
Everything
’
s going to be fine.
’

She turned to re-enter the bedroom, and halted with a stifled cry. Because Marc was there, leaning in the doorway, arms folded as he watched her.

She said unevenly,
‘
You
—
you startled me.
’

‘
You seem easily alarmed,
ma mie
.
’
His mouth twisting derisively, he came forward into the room.
‘
I have only been asked to say that our dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.
’

‘
Oh,
’
she said, trying to sound pleased when she
’
d never felt less hungry in her life.
‘
Then I
’
ll come down.
’
She turned away, beginning to fumble with the little satin-covered buttons on her jacket, trying to drag them free from their loops.

‘
Be careful,
’
he said.
‘
Or they will tear.
’
He walked over to her and removed her shaking hands from their task, dealing with the fastenings himself, deftly and impersonally.

She
’
d planned to take the jacket off, of course, but she felt absurdly self-conscious as she slipped it from her shoulders
—
as if, she thought, she was suddenly naked under his inscrutable dark gaze.

‘
Your dress is charming,
’
he said, after a pause that seemed to Helen
’
s overwrought senses to have lasted fractionally too long.
‘
Perhaps we should give a party when we return to England, so that all your friends in the village can admire its true glory. What do you think?
’

She shrugged as she walked past him towards the door.
‘
I
’
m sure people will want to see how the house is progressing, anyway,
’
she returned quietly.
‘
But won
’
t you find a village party rather boring?
’

His brows lifted.
‘
With you beside me,
cherie
?
’
he asked mockingly.
‘
Impossible. Now, let us go and eat our wedding supper.
’

A table had been set for them under an awning on the terrace, bright with tiny bowls of scented flowers and candles in little glass shades. Gaston brought Helen the dry white wine she
’
d asked for, while Marc drank Ricard.

The food was wonderful, even though Helen was fully aware she was not doing it justice. A delicately flavoured vegetable terrine was followed by poached sole, then tiny chickens simmered in wine and grapes. After the cheese came
milles-feuilles
, thick with liqueur-flavoured cream.

Helen was sparing with the excellent Chablis offered with the meal, and, to Marc
’
s open amusement, resolutely refused the brandy that arrived with the tall silver coffeepot.

‘
Afraid that it will send you to sleep again,
ma chère
?
’
His brows lifted.
‘
I promise it will not.
’

Her heart lurched.
‘
Did Elise do all of this?
’
she asked, keen to change the subject.
‘
She
’
s a miraculous cook.
’

‘
A lot of people would agree.
’
He smiled faintly.
‘
And many attempts have been made to lure her away, but she remains faithful to Thierry and Nicole.
’

She said stiltedly,
‘
It was kind of them to lend you this beautiful house.
’

‘
And I am sorry we have only a week, instead of the month they offered,
’
he returned.
‘
But it may be that we can go on a longer trip later in the year
—
to the Caribbean, perhaps, or the Pacific islands.
’
He paused.
‘
Would you like that?
’

She didn
’
t look at him.
‘
It
—
it sounds wonderful.
’

Oh
,
stop pretending
, she begged silently.
Please
,
stop pretending
.

It was growing very late, she realised. The deep indigo of the sky was sparked with stars, and a slight breeze had risen, carrying with it the murmur of the sea.

She suddenly realised she was going to yawn, and tried desperately to mask it with her hand. But he noticed.

‘
Tu es fatiguée
?
’

‘
No
—
not at all.
’
Her denial was too swift
—
too emphatic.
‘
It
’
s so lovely here,
’
she added, forcing a smile.
‘
I
’
m trying to take it all in.
’

‘
That may be easier in daylight. And I am glad that you are not tired.
’
Marc finished his brandy and rose. He came round to her and extended his hand.
‘
It is time for bed,
ma femme
,
’
he said softly.
‘
Viens
.
’

Shakily, Helen got to her feet and let him lead her into the house, across the shadows of the
salon
and up the stairs beyond.

At her door, Marc paused, running a rueful hand over his chin.
‘
I need to shave,
’
he told her.
‘
So I will join you presently.
’