Authors: Anne Weale
She looked around the little room, at the chair where she had sat in listless contemplation of the empty future, at the pillows that had been wet with her tears.
“Could we go somewhere new? Somewhere where we haven’t been unhappy?” she asked shyly.
“There’s a plane leaving for the south in a few hours.
We could be at the Villa des Fleurs by breakfast time.”
“The House of Flowers,” she whispered. “Oh, yes. That would be wonderful. Justin, poor Monsieur Bollet was asleep in the hall when I came up. I think he was waiting for me. We must tell him everything
’
s all right now.”
“Right. I’ll go down. I’ll also call Leonie and tell her the good news. She won’t mind being woken up for this. Are you still angry with her for telling me you were here?”
“You know I’m not. I’ll always be grateful to her.”
He lifted her hands to his lips. “So will I. Now, if you’ll pack your things I’ll get the rest organized. Are you sure you can stand the journey? You must be very tired, my darling.”
She smiled. “I ought to be, but I’ve never felt less tired in my life. You won’t be long, will you?”
“Only a few minutes, and then I won’t let you out of my sight again for a very long time.”
It
was a brilliant Mediterranean morning
when they landed at Nice and hired a car to take them along the winding coast road to the Villa des Fleurs. Andrea had slept a little during the flight, her hand in Justin’s. Now, refreshed and glowing with happiness, she leaned back in the circle of his arm as the car sped through the magnificent scenery.
The villa stood on a headland above the shimmering blue gold sea. It was screened from the road by a high white wall, and as they swung through the gate and up the driveway Andrea gasped at the profusion of vivid flowers everywhere. Not only were the gardens ablaze with color, but the walls of the houses were bright with blossoming vines and creepers.
Justin had telephoned the caretaker that they were arriving, and they were met at the door by his wife, a swarthy little woman named Bernadine, who explained that Georges was in the village buying supplies. He would be back shortly, but meanwhile all was in readiness for them, including breakfast on the terrace. But no doubt
madame
would wish to bath and change her clothes after the journey.
“Don’t be long,” Justin said, smiling. “Madeline usually
l
eaves some beach clothes here. I’ll tell Bernadine to hunt them out. There ought to be something to fit you for the time being.”
Andrea followed the housekeeper upstairs and was shown into a spacious bedroom with a balcony overlooking the sea. While she was undressing, Bernadine bustled away to find some suitable clothes. She returned in a few minutes with a pile of gaily colored swimsuits and playsuits.
Twenty minutes later Andrea ran downstairs in a yellow shirt, brief white shorts and scarlet espadrilles. She found Justin on the terrace. He, too, had changed into a shirt and shorts and was leaning against the stone balustrade watching the sea. The rope soles of her espadrilles made no sound on the polished tiles, and she crept up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.
He turned at once and kissed her upturned lips.
“Do you like it here?”
“How could anyone not? It’s a perfect place for—”
“
For a honeymoon.”
A delicate color tinged her cheeks.
“I believe you’re shy,” he said, looking down at her with great tenderness.
Her mouth curved. “I’m hungry. The coffee smells delicious.”
“First things first. Come here.” He drew her against him and kissed her. “I didn’t bring you here to watch you eat.”
She laughed at him. “Why, then?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Tell me.”
“Later,” he said softly. “When the moon is up. When everyone else is asleep. Now eat your breakfast, baggage, and then we’ll go down to the beach.”
They ate the crisp milk rolls and farm butter that Bernadine had set out, and Andrea tasted her first freshly picked orange. Then Justin led her down the steep cliff path to the beach and they swam in the warm blue water that was so calm that one could see the shells on the sandy bed. Afterward they lay under an enormous striped umbrella and watched the sea foam gently onto the shore.
“
Tell me,” Justin said, “when did our marriage stop being a business arrangement fo
r
you?”
“I’m not sure. I think I was in love with you a long time ago, but I didn’t recognize it. I was afraid to admit it, even to myself. Justin, did you really love me before we married?”
He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “The first time I saw you I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and I had seen dozens of lovely women. When we met on the moors the next morning
I
knew I hadn’t imagined it. Physically, you were everything a man could want. The way you moved, your voice, your hands—you were perfect. But there was something else that fascinated me more than your looks. It isn’t easy to describe, but I suppose one could call it an untouched look. I guessed that no man had ever meant anything to you, but that underneath that veneer of coolness and poise there was a fire waiting to be lighted. I wanted to be the one to light it. After we’d met in London a few times I knew I was head over heels in love with you.”
“But I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me?” she said perplexedly.
“Because at that stage, sweetheart, I knew you better than you did yourself. Long before you told me about your background I had guessed the gist of it.”
He reached for his shirt and took his cigarette case from the breast pocket, lighting two and giving one of them to her. He had made her oil her arms and legs for fear the fierce heat of the noonday sun would burn her, but his own skin was naturally brown, and she guessed that in a day or two he would be as dark as a Gypsy. Sitting beside her in a faded pair of swimming trunks with sand on his long legs and his hair tousled from a brisk toweling, he looked very different from the stern-faced immaculately dressed man whom she had known in London. Now when he looked at her there was no chilling remoteness in his gaze, but an ardor that made her pulses race, her heartbeat quicken.
“I was convinced that you were not fundamentally mercenary,” he said. “I concluded that the insecurity of your childhood had made you put a false value on material things, and that once you were safe from worry about the
future you’d begin to wake up emotionally. If I’d told you how I really felt you would never have married me, would you?”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t have been fair. I
’
d have felt I was taking advantage of you. As it was I had pangs of conscience.”
He buried his half-finished cigarette in the sand and sprang up, holding out his hands to pull her to her feet. With his arm around her shoulders they strolled down to the water’s edge.
“But, Justin, you said last night that you hoped to make me love you. Yet after we were married you were so aloof, so terribly self-contained. Instead of growing closer we seemed to be drifting farther and farther apart.”
His fingers caressed the smooth curve of her shoulder.
“I know,” he said soberly. “That was the devil of it. I was afraid of rushing you, but it was all I could do not to make violent love to you every time we were alone.”
“No one would ever have guessed it,” she said dryly, remembering his distant behavior during the first weeks of their marriage.
“On the contrary, several people did guess. Leonie knew how I felt about you, and so did Aunt Laura.”
“You mean she knew that you loved me but I didn’t love you?”
“Yes, from the first. She’s a shrewd old darling.”
“But didn’t she try to dissuade you from marrying me? She can’t have approved of it,” Andrea protested.
“That’s what I thought, but apparently she has an old-fashioned theory about men being instinctive hunters and women their willing prey. When you disappeared, I went down to Berkshire thinking you might have taken refuge there. Laura soon wormed the facts and gave me a sound talking to because in her view I’d made a hopeless mess of the situation. According to her you’d been on the brink of love for weeks and I’d been a blind fool not to see it. I didn’t believe her then, but when Leonie telephoned to say she’d found you in Paris I knew I couldn’t let you go without a fight. My darling, you’re crying. What is it?”
Andrea blinked back the tears that sparkled on her lashes.
“I was wondering what I would have done if you hadn’t come,
”
she said shakily. “I tried so hard not to think of you, but I just couldn’t stop. Every time I saw a tall d
a
rk man in the street it was agony. Oh, Justin, never, never let me go!”
He caught her to him and kissed the tears from her eyes.
“My dear love, need you ask that?” he murmured against her lips. “Can’t we forget the past? The future is all that matters now. Kiss me, Andrea. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
From high above them there came the tinkle of a bell.
“That’s Bernadine summoning us to lunch,” Justin said huskily.
Hand in hand they climbed the rocky
steps, and at the
t
op Andrea paused to catch her breath and look out over the glittering ocean. The scents of a thousand flowers wafted across the gardens to mingle with the salt tang of sea and a butterfly fluttered across the terrace like a living jewel in the golden light. The future could never be certain, and the years ahead might bring trouble and sorrow, but here for a little while, in this perfect setting, the rapture of love was hers.
She turned to her husband and together for as long as life should last they went into the house.