A French Affair (46 page)

‘To save his job, why else?' he countered.

‘Then please take it from me, that's not the case. Someone carried Natalie to that sofa and I want to know who it was.'

‘I wonder if it's even occurred to you that there might be a perfectly reasonable explanation.'

‘If there is, then please tell me what it might be, because right now I can't think of a single one.'

Realising they were already far too close to dangerous territory, he said, ‘I'm sorry, I can't have this conversation now. I'm due back in the studio any minute, so I'll ring them again tomorrow, OK? And as soon as I have anything to report, I'll call you.'

With a sigh of acceptance, she said, ‘OK.' Then, after a moment, ‘I guess there's no rush, because nothing's going to bring her back, is it?'

‘Oh, Jessica, please don't get emotional on me now. It's really not a good time . . .'

‘Goodbye,' she said, cutting him off. ‘I'll talk to you tomorrow.'

Before he could respond the line went dead, leaving
him regretting just about everything he'd said throughout the entire call. Since he had no time to deal with any of it now, he used a towel to wipe the sweat from his face before heading to make-up, to have at least some of his colour restored.

After putting the phone down to Charlie, Jessica blinked back the tears that had come to her eyes, and went to make herself some tea. She wasn't feeling angry, exactly, just let down and resentful that Charlie had responded the way he had, for she'd truly expected him to give her more support once he knew what the paramedic had said. To her mind his irritability showed that he was still trying to avoid being pushed headlong into the pain of Natalie's death – and as for there being any kind of mystery or complications attached to it, clearly that was something he couldn't deal with at all.

Shuddering to think of how he was going to be once he finally did confront his loss – which would obviously be never if he could help it – she decided to try and put it out of her mind for now, since there was very little she could do without speaking to her mother. Or until Charlie had met up with Maurice.

Thinking of Maurice she wondered, not for the first time, if he might have been here that morning, but as usual she almost instantly dismissed the idea. The man they'd always euphemistically called her mother's lawyer – though indeed he had been a very prominent solicitor before his retirement – had been in Veronica's life for so many years now – though on and off, as most things were with her mother – that Jessica simply couldn't see him as anything other than the devoted, gentle and extremely caring man she'd always known.
He'd never married, because he'd never been able to persuade the elusive Veronica to become his wife, but he'd always been there, loving her anyway quietly and undemandingly, and try as she might, Jessica couldn't think of a single reason for them to hide the fact that he'd been here that day – if he had. If anything, it would have been much more in his character to step forward right away to make clear what had happened, and even take charge in his understated, lawyerly way.

So no, she couldn't suspect Maurice of anything underhand, though she had to admit he did appear to be shielding her mother now, which must surely mean Veronica had told him the truth of what had happened.

‘Yes, that does seem to make sense,' Fernand agreed, when she wandered up to the
manoir
to join him for lunch. ‘And you say Charlie has arranged to see him?'

‘Apparently they're meeting on Tuesday, but Charlie's going to try to make it sooner – once he manages to get hold of him. I'm afraid Maurice and my mother have never been ones for mobile phones.'

‘Now that I understand, because I have no fondness for them either,' Fernand confessed, while helping himself to a forkful of tasty grilled sardines. ‘Luc and Daniella insist I have one, of course, but I'm afraid they're very bossy when it comes to their father.'

Jessica smiled at him fondly. ‘I'm sure if I had a father like you I'd be equally as protective,' she told him.

Seeming to like the compliment he saluted her with his glass and said, ‘Is your father still alive?'

Jessica's expression became wry as she said, ‘I'm afraid I've no idea. My mother's never told me who he is, and I gave up asking a long time ago.'

‘
Oh là là
,' he murmured regretfully, ‘that is a very great pity.'

She shrugged. ‘It doesn't really matter any more. Actually, I always used to hope it was Maurice, but apparently he didn't meet my mother until I was almost three. I think he might have financed a few things along the way for me though, like my education and helping my grandparents out – I can't imagine where else my mother might have got the money.'

‘From the little your mother told me while she was here, I believe you could be right. He's obviously been a very good friend to her over the years.'

‘Mm, perhaps too good if he's helping her to cover something up now.'

Fernand nodded pensively and sipped his wine. ‘I am sure the answers are going to come out very soon,' he told her, staring down at his glass. ‘I think they must.'

She looked at him curiously, experiencing a small beat of unease, for there had been something about his tone that was making her wonder if he might actually know more than he'd ever told.

When she asked him he shook his head for a long time, as though no more certain about his suspicions than he was about sharing them. ‘I have never lied to you,
ma chère
,' he said in the end. ‘I truly don't know what happened down at the cottage that morning – as you know, I wasn't even here – but I will tell you this, I am glad you have come to find the truth, because like you, I have often thought there was more. It is why I have helped you as much as I can. Like Luc, I believe in your instincts. Perhaps his reasons for helping you go a little deeper than mine, but that is a subject we will leave alone.'

Jessica swallowed and looked down at his old hand, lying on the table between them. Without really thinking about it she covered it with her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Thank you,' she whispered, ‘for believing in me, and for not judging me, at least not as harshly as I deserve to be judged, or as I've been judging myself.'

His watery old eyes came up to hers. ‘I wouldn't have chosen this for you, or my son,' he told her, ‘but nor would you have chosen it for yourselves. All I can tell you is that it will pass. It will take time, and I don't think it will be easy, but in the end I know you will both do the right thing, by those you love, and by one another.'

Relieved he didn't know about their plans for tonight, Jessica nodded, but her voice was constricted as she said, ‘Yes, we will. That much I can promise you.'

He smiled and turned his hand to hold hers. ‘It is almost time for me to leave,' he said. ‘It is a long drive, and I am instructed by Luc and Daniella that I must go very slowly these days. Not very French, huh?'

She twinkled. ‘Not very,' she agreed.

As they got to their feet a phone inside the house started to ring. ‘Maybe one of these days we'll talk again,' he said, embracing her, ‘but for now, I think that is probably my son or my daughter trying to reach my mobile.'

It was just after three when Fernand went by in the Mercedes, giving a jaunty little hoot on the horn. Jessica waved from where she was sitting beneath the parasol on the patio, with her laptop open as she worked on the first few pages of her book.

She wasn't really expecting to make much headway, but she was trying anyway, for she needed to focus her mind away from the call to the paramedic, and from her conscience, which she could sense, like a growing shadow in the wings, ready to burst into the centre of the stage. Until now she'd felt convinced she'd be able to go through with tonight, but as the minutes and hours ticked by, she was becoming more and more concerned about how difficult it could be in the days to come. Lilian would be back as soon as midday tomorrow, only hours after her best friend and husband had emerged from the same bed. Even to think it burned her with shame, yet, a moment later, the thought of never knowing what it would be like to hold him, to feel his kiss on her mouth and his body claiming hers, was more than she could bear.

Becoming exasperated with her own agitation she took herself inside, hoping the cooler air might help to clear her mind.

By four she was fully controlled by her conscience, so had no more doubts about what she was going to do. She'd serve dinner outside, where the Germans could see them, then she'd explain why she'd changed her mind about making love. She knew he'd be as disappointed as she was, but perhaps, in his heart, he'd be relieved. They'd come this far without committing the ultimate betrayal, so it would surely be madness to make it so much more difficult for themselves now.

The next time she looked at her watch it was almost five. He should have been back by now, but there was still no sign of him, and nor had he called. Suddenly certain something had happened to him, she grabbed her phone and pressed in his number.

His mobile was out of action.

‘Oh my God,' she murmured, clasping a hand to her head. She was seeing so many horrifying images now, dreading that fate had gone to these lengths just to keep them apart, that it was a while before she realised the
camionette
had pulled up outside. Even when she saw him coming across the patio she still couldn't quite believe it.

‘I thought you'd had an accident,' she cried, meeting him at the door. Had they not been in full view of Jean-Marc she'd have flung her arms around him, but they were, so she stood aside for him to come in. ‘Are you all right?' she asked. ‘Why weren't you answering your phone?'

‘The battery ran out,' he replied, taking it from his pocket and tossing it on the table. ‘Of course there wouldn't have been a problem if I'd remembered to take a charger, or Jean-Marc hadn't forgotten his . . . Then we had a flat tyre, then we were surrounded by
cows
. I thought I was never going to get here.'

She started to laugh, as much with relief as at the image of him surrounded by cattle. ‘You look very cross,' she told him. ‘I hope you didn't scare the cows.'

His smile was only fleeting and didn't quite reach his eyes.

‘Luc?' she said, taking a step back to look at him. ‘You're really angry.'

As he turned away she walked round in front of him, and fear gripped her as she saw so much anguish in his eyes. ‘Tell me what happened,' she insisted. ‘Something obviously did.'

‘Nothing's happened,' he said, ‘except this! Us! The craziness of what we're doing.'

Her heart seemed to stop. ‘Are you saying . . .? Do you mean . . .?' She couldn't bring herself to utter the
words. After so much soul-searching and wrangling with her conscience, to be faced with the prospect of him not wanting to go through with it was now making her desire him more than ever.

‘What I'm saying,' he growled, ‘is that tonight should be a beginning for us, not an end. But it can't be, and we're fooling ourselves if we think one night is going to be enough, because the way I feel about you . . .' He stopped abruptly. ‘I'm sorry, I can't do this.' Turning away, he started for the door.

‘Luc, wait,' she cried, going after him.

‘I'll be back for dinner,' he said, ‘but I need to calm down before I start saying things we'll both regret.'

As he strode across the patio towards the van she watched him helplessly, understanding his frustration, even sharing it, but there was nothing she could do with Jean-Marc there, so she turned back inside. Seeing his phone on the table, she almost threw it across the room in despair. She couldn't make this any better. God knew, she wanted to, but how could she change the fact that they were both married to other people, or somehow magic their guilt away so they could at least have this one night in peace? There seemed little point to it if they were going to tear themselves apart like this, so when the phone rang a few minutes later and his voice came down the line she heard herself saying, ‘You're right, this is crazy, so I think it would be better if you didn't come for dinner . . .'

‘Jessica, listen,' he interrupted.

‘No, it'll be easier this way. Please don't . . .'

‘Jessica, listen to me,' he said forcefully. ‘I'm sorry about just now. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you . . .'

‘But you were right . . .'

‘No, I was wrong, and it wouldn't have happened if it weren't for the cows.'

She drew breath, then blinked, not sure she'd heard right.

There was irony in his voice as he said, ‘As I sat there, surrounded by cows, unable to get to you, even by phone, I found myself wanting to ram the van into every one of them, bulldoze them out of the way, even kill them if I had to, and then I realised it was what I wanted to do to everything that is standing between us.'

‘And you think I don't feel the same way?'

‘No, I think you do, which is what's making this so hard. It shouldn't be so intense, but we've made it that way by holding back when all the time we've wanted to be together.'

‘So what do we do?'

There was a moment's silence before he said, very softly, ‘Do you want me to come?'

‘Yes,' she whispered. ‘I mean, if you want to.'

‘Don't ever doubt it. I want to make love to you so badly I feel I might go insane if I don't.'

Turning weak with desire she said, ‘It's the same for me.'

‘Then we'll have this night,' he said. ‘I need to finish here with Jean-Marc, then I'll shower and come straight to you.'

It was almost half an hour later that Jessica heard a car going past, and looked down from the bedroom window to see Jean-Marc leaving. Immediately the nerves in her stomach began churning again, making her wonder when she'd last felt so gripped by excitement and apprehension.