The Antique Love (21 page)

A passing group whistled. He drew back, looking down at her.

“What an idiot I’ve been,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “I was frightened of losing you. So frightened of ending up half-crazed, I was out of my senses. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She reached a hand up to his lips. “Is this a dream?” she asked softly. He shook his head. The well of happiness within filled to overflowing. “Then dreams can come true, after all,” she whispered. She reached up and met his lips with her own, closing her fingers around the love token and wrapping her arms around his neck in a long, long embrace, whilst the sun set behind them over the Arno.

Helena Fairfax was born in Uganda and came to England as a child. She’s grown used to the cold now and that’s just as well, because nowadays she lives in an old Victorian mill town in Yorkshire, right next door to windswept Brontë country. She has an affectionate, if half-crazed, rescue dog and together they tramp the moors every day—one of them wishing she were Emily Brontë, the other vainly chasing pheasants.  When she’s not out on the moors you’ll find Helena either creating romantic heroes and heroines of her own or else with her nose firmly buried in a book, enjoying someone else’s stories. Her patient husband and her brilliant children support her in her daydreams and are the loves of her life.

* * * *

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MuseItUp Publishing

Contemporary Sweet Romance

Jean-Luc Olivier is a devastatingly handsome racing-driver with the world before him. Sophie Challoner is a penniless student, whose face is unknown beyond her own rundown estate in London.  The night they spend together in Paris seems to Sophie like a fairytale
—a Cinderella story without the happy ending
. She knows she has no part in Jean-Luc’s future. She
made her dying mother a promise to take care of her father and brother in London. One night of happiness is all Sophie allows herself. She runs away from Jean-Luc and returns to England to keep her promise.

Safely back home with her father and brother, and immersed in her college work, Sophie tries her best to forget their encounter, but she reckons without Jean-Luc. He is determined to find out why she left him, and intrigued to discover the real Sophie. He engineers a student placement Sophie can’t refuse, and so, unwillingly, she finds herself back in France, working for Jean-Luc in the silk mill he now owns.

Thrown together for a few short weeks in Lyon, the romantic city of silk, their mutual love begins to grow. But it seems the fates are conspiring against Sophie’s happiness. Jean-Luc has secrets of his own. Then, when disaster strikes at home in London, Sophie is faced with a choice
—
stay in this glamorous world with the man she loves or return to her family to keep the sacred promise she made her mother.

Chapter One

A deep voice reverberated around the empty chapel, bringing Sophie to a halt in the doorway. Outside, sunlight streamed over a group of black-clad mourners lingering in the memorial gardens. For a moment, she was tempted to let her feet carry her on, to pretend she’d heard nothing and escape into the Parisian sunshine…but that would be the act of a coward. She steeled herself, casting a last, longing glance at the departing mourners before making a slow turn to face the speaker.

“I am sorry for your loss,
mademoiselle
Challoner.” The owner of the voice was standing in the aisle, in the semi-darkness of the deserted chapel of rest. The sunlight streaming in from the high windows fell in motes on his broad shoulders, leaving his features in shadow. When he stepped forward, a beam of dusty light lit up the brilliant blue eyes she remembered. He stretched out one strong hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Sophie slipped her cold fingers into his.

“I assume I should still address you as
mademoiselle
?”

Sophie watched in silence as his blue eyes swept down to her ringless left hand.

“So you didn’t marry, after all?” he persisted.

She felt the heat begin to mount in her cheeks and forced herself to speak. “No, I…” She pulled her hand out of his and began again. “I didn’t marry. Thank you for coming today. It was good of you to remember my grandmother.”

She made the mistake of lifting her eyes to his. He was regarding her with the same faintly contemptuous expression he had worn when her grandmother had first introduced them all those years ago. Sophie was grateful for the veil she wore. It masked the flush she could feel deepening. She turned to go.

“
Mademoiselle
Challoner.” His voice halted her again. He stepped past her, into the sunlight pouring through the door. And now Sophie was no longer able to prevent awareness flooding through her. Alone in the chapel, he had created an inescapable intimacy. His position blocked her exit, his stance confident and assured. Sophie remembered only too well how determined he could be. She looked up to find him gazing at her with a curiosity she found far more unnerving than his previous contempt. She flicked her gaze over his shoulder, her heart beginning to thump.

“Sophie,” he said softly.

Sophie closed her eyes. A formal
mademoiselle
Challoner was almost bearable, but the intimate use of her first name brought a rush of memories that threatened to overpower. With an effort of will she forced her eyes open, subduing the pounding in her throat.

“I don’t think we have anything to say to one another.” Her words were too rapid, too high-pitched. He registered her reaction with a flick of his head but didn’t move from the doorway. Sophie looked beyond him, searching for some means of escape, and noticed her brother at the tail-end of the crowd moving slowly out of the chapel gardens.

“Jack,” she called, her voice shrill with relief. She lifted one slim white hand to beckon him to her rescue. Beside her she heard a low, defeated laugh as the gentleman stepped back. She didn’t look again in his direction.

Her brother, tall and gawky in his ill-fitting suit, turned and hurried toward them. Sophie performed the introductions, trying not to let the relief show in her voice.

“This is my brother Jack,
monsieur
. Jack, this is—.”

“It’s Jean-Luc Olivier. I recognised you straight away.” Jack thrust one long, slim hand from the worn cuffs of his jacket. “But I didn’t know you knew our grandmother.”

Jean-Luc accepted the recognition without comment. Of course, he was used to being recognised. He offered Jack his hand pleasantly.

“My uncle was an old friend of your grandmother’s. I am sorry for your loss. Unfortunately, my uncle was too ill to attend, so I’ve come alone. I knew your grandmother myself.” He turned to Sophie, the charming smile vanishing. “But perhaps we should say I am more a friend of her family.”

There was the lightest mocking inflection on the word
friend
. Sophie raised her chin at that, but Jean-Luc carried on, reaching inside the pocket of his dark suit.

“I am happy to see you again after all this time,
mademoiselle
. Here is my card. If you need anything—anything at all—get in touch.” He pressed the card into her hand. “
Au revoir, mademoiselle
. We’ll meet again.”

He nodded, his final words an ambiguous mix of civility and threat, then strode away, the gravelled path crunching under his footsteps.

Jack stared after him, jaw wide open.

“You know Jean-Luc Olivier?” he asked, astounded. “And you never told me?”

Sophie shrugged, hugging her black jacket around her. She was watching the strong set of Jean-Luc’s powerful shoulders as he walked away and wondering why, instead of feeling relief, every atom in her treacherous body was willing him to turn back.

“I met him years ago, at my eighteenth birthday party,” she said. “You know, the one g
rand’mère
organised for me in Paris. The one you said you didn’t want to go to because it would be full of snobs and rubbish celebrities, and you’d actually sooner stay at home and practise your violin.”

She raised her eyebrows in mock anger, but Jack ignored her. He was still staring wistfully after the retreating figure.

“But I had no idea he’d be there,” he protested. “He’s one of the most famous racing drivers in the world.”

“Well, you were invited.” She tapped his arm affectionately. “Sometimes I think you love that violin more than me. Anyway,” she continued, her gaze drawn to the retreating figure, “Jean-Luc doesn’t race any more. He’s retired.”

“And how do you know that?” Jack’s eyes widened.

Sophie turned helplessly as her brother’s quick mind ticked over. Jean-Luc’s handsome figure was disappearing down the drive. It was obvious Jack was putting two and two together.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “You and Jean-Luc Olivier?”

Sophie gave a groan. Luckily, she was saved from further astute questioning by the approach of one of her grandmother’s friends. She turned to accept more condolences, only to see with horror that Jean-Luc had still not left. He was deep in conversation with their father at the exit to the gardens. She wondered what her guileless father was talking about and quivered. Her gentle father would be no match for a man like Jean-Luc, whose shrewd gaze just then met hers across the rest of the funeral stragglers. She looked away hastily. It wasn’t until the last of the funeral guests said their goodbyes that Jean-Luc finally disappeared.

Their father was waiting patiently for them by the gate. Sophie turned to take her brother’s arm and realised she was still clutching Jean-Luc’s card in her hand. She lifted it up, registering for the first time that it was not the usual white or cream board, but solid gold. Her eyes flashed.

“Bling, bling,” she snorted. She tossed the card resolutely into the nearest litter bin, without reading the text, and walked on to join their father.

“Sophie, what do you think you’re doing?” her brother hissed behind her. “Why are you throwing that card away?”

She shrugged and turned away without speaking.

* * * *

On the other side of the yew hedge surrounding the gardens, the object of Sophie’s scorn sat behind the wheel of his car. He watched the family leave the chapel grounds, Sophie between her father and Jack, her hand tucked protectively in her father’s arm. She had removed her close-fitting hat and veil and was carrying it in her left hand. Her thick, dark hair fell in abundance to her waist. Her face was pale and weary. As she grew nearer, she lifted her head and caught sight of him. For a split second, her incredible violet eyes rested on his face. Impossible to guess the emotion that lay behind that gaze. Fear? Longing? And then the trio moved on. In his rear-view mirror, Jean-Luc caught a glimpse of the determined set of Sophie’s shoulders as she walked away from him down the tree-lined avenue. She didn’t look back.

* * * *

A few weeks after the funeral, back in London, Sophie got off the number 94 bus outside college and sighed with relief. The sun might shine brighter in her grandmother’s native Paris, but Sophie was glad to be home, even if that meant putting up with overcast skies and drizzle. Sophie missed her grandmother dearly, but she didn’t miss her grandmother’s carelessly snobbish friends, the shallowness of her circle, their endless casual encounters…and she didn’t miss men like Jean-Luc Olivier.

She gave an irritated shake of her head at the direction her thoughts were taking her. She had commitments now, and her grandmother’s glamorous world had no part to play in keeping them. And she had been a fool to get involved with Jean-Luc Olivier in the first place. No matter how often that Frenchman appeared in Sophie’s dreams, and no matter how often he smiled at her there, trying to make her feel she was part of his world, his life had nothing to do with hers or the reality of caring for her family. And just now she had her future employment to think of. If she didn’t focus on her studies, her family would soon have no money coming in.