Catherine: One Love is Enough (Catherine Series Book 1) (32 page)

Garin’s hands still shook. ‘It doesn’t look right! It doesn’t look right!’ he complained between clenched teeth.

He looked quite wild. His black eye blazed uncannily, and the deep lines round his mouth seemed to have deepened further still. Then he suddenly abandoned the necklace clasp and clutched at the neckline of Catherine’s dress, wrenching at it violently. The cloth ripped open with a dry little sound and Catherine cried out in alarm. The fever that had taken hold of Garin, however, seemed to leave him as suddenly as it had come. He was quite calm again as he slipped the torn dress off her shoulders, leaving her naked to the waist. He still smiled his curious sidelong smile …

The necklace now hung correctly. The gold lattice covered Catherine’s shoulders completely and hung down over her bare breasts, half concealing them.

‘That’s much better!’ Garin said with an air of satisfaction. ‘I am afraid you can’t be expected to go about half naked to show this piece off at its best – though it does look quite marvellous against your skin like that. But keep the necklace, if only to make up for the torn dress. I must apologise for that, my dear. But, as you know, I cannot abide faults of taste.’

A long velvet stole, which she wrapped round her torn dress, allowed Catherine to return to her room without attracting the notice of her maids. She carried the necklace in both hands. By the time she finally reached her room she was shaking like a leaf. Fortunately Sara was not there. She hurriedly took off her torn dress and threw it into a corner. She now had one more proof of the fact that one never knew with Garin what might happen from one moment to the next.

At supper that night he was cold and distant, and such words as he addressed to her were of the most banal kind, to do with the weather they had been having. Then he escorted his wife to her room without more ado, kissed her on the forehead as usual and turned on his heel.

‘Why don’t you ask him to explain what he is up to?’ Sara asked as she helped her mistress undress. ‘I think you have a right to know. I felt all along that there was something odd about this marriage, but I didn’t realise that it was as bad as this! Still a virgin after more than a month of marriage! I know your husband has been away most of that time, but still …’

‘But you guessed that something was wrong. Don’t you remember how you questioned me the morning after my wedding-night?’

‘I knew your husband had not stayed with you for long that night. But I imagined that he would have visited you frequently since. How could one have guessed that he would behave like this? It’s incredible!’

After the necklace incident and the cheerless meal that had followed it, Catherine had been so angry that she had not tried to hide her state of mind. Feeling herself spurned and humiliated by Garin’s complete indifference, she had finally decided to tell Sara the truth about their conjugal relations, such as they were. Sara had heard her out with an expression of comical amazement, hands on hips.

‘What? Nothing? Nothing at all?’

‘Almost nothing. On our wedding-night he came into my room and made me get out of bed and take my clothes off. And then he stared at me for a long time, as though … as though I were one of those ivory and alabaster statuettes he has in his room. He told me that I was very beautiful … and then he left. He has never come back. Perhaps he doesn’t find me attractive.’

‘Are you mad?’ Sara cried, her eyes kindling. ‘Not find you attractive? Why, silly girl, you have only to look at yourself in the mirror! There isn’t a man alive who could resist you if you really set your cap at him. That husband of yours is made of the same stuff as the others! Do you mean to tell me that he took off your nightgown, looked at you stood there all naked … and then went quietly off to bed at the other end of the house? Why, I have never heard of anything so ridiculous! It’s enough to make him the laughing-stock of the whole kingdom!’

As she spoke, Sara shook out the dress that Catherine had just taken off and laid it out across the bed to brush it before putting it away. Catherine watched her with a disillusioned expression on her face.

‘I don’t see why. He might very well be merely keeping to the Duke’s bargain. He married me, it is true, but Philippe might easily have made him promise never to touch me.’

‘Do you really believe that? Well then, just you explain, my poor child, what man worthy of the name would accept such a bargain without feeling eternally disgraced in his own eyes? Anyway, a great prince like the Duke Philippe would never stoop to such a suggestion. No, there can be only two possible explanations. One is that Messire Garin does not find you attractive, which seems impossible. And the other is that your husband is not a real man. After all, he had nothing to do with women before his marriage. He has never been known to have a mistress, or a love affair of any sort. He had to be ordered to do so before he would take a wife. Perhaps …’

‘Perhaps?’

‘Perhaps he is inclined the other way … It is a common enough practice in Greece and Italy where I come from. Many women there are forced to go to their graves untouched because their men prefer boys …’

Catherine’s eyes grew huge. ‘Do you mean you think Garin is like that?’

‘Why not? He has travelled a great deal, especially in the countries of the Levant. He might well have become addicted to that vice out there. At all events, we must get to the bottom of this mystery.’

‘I don’t see how,’ said Catherine, with a shrug.

Sara put down her brush and came toward her, looking at her with eyes that had narrowed to mere slits. ‘I told you that if you really wanted a man enough, no-one worthy of the name would be able to resist you. Well, now you must show Garin that you do want him. After all, you have done nothing so far to attract your husband.’

‘But I don’t want to attract him!’ the young woman protested. ‘I would like to find out why he behaves as he does, I admit, but that is not at all the same thing as giving myself to him.’

Sara flashed her a look of such withering contempt that it left Catherine rooted to the spot. Then she shrugged and turned her back. Catherine had never known Sara to look at her like that before.

‘You are not a real woman!’ the gypsy woman said contemptuously. ‘To tell the truth, you are well matched, the pair of you! No woman, no real woman that is, would allow herself to be so humiliated without trying to find out why. It is a question of pride.’

‘No it isn’t. I just love someone else. That’s all.’

‘Oh yes, I know you want to keep yourself pure for some young fellow or other who won’t have you at any price! And you really think you can succeed? Silly little fool! How long do you suppose you can hold out against the Duke? Would you rather wait till your husband, since this seems to be his role, hands you over to him all trussed and ready like a fat little goose? You accept this slave’s role then? I’ll tell you something: if you had a little of my blood in your veins, a little honest red blood all hot with pride and arrogance, you would go and throw yourself into your husband’s arms and force him to do his duty by you – if only to pay this Philippe of Burgundy back as he deserves! But it isn’t blood that flows in your veins, it’s water! Wait till you are handed over, then, poor thing. It’s all you deserve!’

Catherine could not have been more shattered by this outburst than if she had been struck by a thunderbolt. She stood there with her arms hanging at her sides, not quite knowing how to react.

Sara suppressed a smile, before adding with deadly gentleness: ‘And the worst part of it all is that you are secretly pining to go and have it out with your husband – because if there is one thing you are not ideally suited for it’s chastity! You are really as cross as a turkey-cock!’

This second of Sara’s comparisons, borrowed from the poultry-run, had the effect of spurring Catherine out of her state of stunned surprise. She instantly flushed to the roots of her hair and angrily clenched her fists.

‘So I deserve no better than to be handed over like a fat little goose, do I? And I’m as cross as a turkey-cock, am I? Well, we shall see about that! Go and fetch my women!’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Wait and see! You were right about one thing: I am very cross indeed! I want a bath, at once, and all my perfumes! And let me tell you that if you don’t succeed in making me irresistible somehow or other, I shall have you flayed alive when I get back.’

‘If it only depended on me,’ cried Sara, laughing as she ran to ring the bell, ‘your husband would be in mortal danger!’

A few minutes later Catherine’s maidservants arrived, breathless. The silver bath was filled with lukewarm water and Catherine immersed herself in it for a few minutes. Then they massaged her from head to toe and powdered her all over, and under Sara’s watchful eye Perrine performed her rite with the perfumes. Sara herself took charge of Catherine’s hair. While the other maids busied about their various tasks, she brushed and brushed the long, silky hair till it gleamed like gold and crackled when she touched it. She left it hanging loose down Catherine’s back. Then Sara dismissed the maids, intending to complete Catherine’s toilet on her own.

‘What shall I wear?’ Catherine asked, looking questioningly at her once the women had left the room.

‘You will wear what I tell you to wear,’ said Sara, who was now busy dressing Catherine’s hair in a long, shining ponytail, secured on top of her head with a gold bracelet studded with turquoises. She clearly took considerable pleasure in her handiwork, and kept smiling mysteriously to herself.

A few minutes later Catherine left the room, holding a candle in one hand to light the way. Perrine had brought word that Garin had not yet retired for the night. He was talking to Abou-al-Khayr about medicine … Catherine hurried along the corridors, wrapped in a great taffeta coat lined with pale grey fur, with matching slippers on her feet. She wanted to get to Garin’s room before he did.

When she reached the heavy oak door that led to her husband’s room there was no light to be seen underneath it. She raised the latch and peered into the darkened room. Then she lifted up her candle, stepped in, and quickly shut the door behind her. All was well …

She went round the room with her candle, lighting the torches that the valet had left ready. Soon the large, luxurious room was ablaze with light. The silver and crystal chair glittered like a jewel, but it was the bed that attracted Catherine. Slowly and a little fearfully, she climbed the two velvet-covered steps and stood there looking at the sober but sumptuous bed. Germain, the valet, had turned back the covers, and she paused for a moment, wondering whether or not to slip between the violet silk sheets. But, remembering Sara’s advice, she remained as she was, stood by the bed. Then she heard a quick footstep approaching along the gallery.

When Garin opened the door of his room the first thing he saw was Catherine stood beside his bed, head thrown proudly back, looking at him. She was still wrapped in the silk coat. His gaze left her for a moment to range round the room with its blazing candelabra, then returned to her with undisguised astonishment.

‘What are you doing here?’

Without a word she let her coat slip down to her feet and stood there, stark naked but for the barbaric necklace he had given her a few hours earlier. She smiled at him challengingly. Her pale, slender body stood out sharply against the dark bed hangings, the golden nimbus of hair drawn back so as to reveal her long, supple neck. She looked like some pagan goddess.

Garin blanched, staggered as though transfixed by an arrow, and then leant against the wall with his eyes closed.

‘Go away …’ he stammered hoarsely. ‘Leave me … at once.’

‘No!’

He could no longer conceal the fact that he was profoundly agitated. He could not regain his self-control. With a feeling of triumph, Catherine observed the distress into which this normally icily calm man had been thrown. She abandoned her last reserve of modesty. Silently, on bare feet, she came across the room toward him, smiling and irresistible.

‘I won’t go,’ she said. ‘I am staying here, because this is where I belong, as your wife. Look at me, Garin! Are you so frightened of me?’

He murmured, without opening his eyes, ‘Yes, I am frightened of you. Don’t you understand that I cannot touch you, that I haven’t the right to do so? Why torture me by tempting me to do something forbidden? Leave me alone, Catherine, please!’

But instead of obeying him, she came still closer, slipping her arms round his neck in spite of his protests, and pressed her body against him, enveloping him in her scented warmth. She touched his white face with her lips. Garin, stood with his eyes closed, looked like a martyr nailed to the whipping-post.

‘I won’t leave you till you have made me your wife, as you have every right to do. I don’t care a fig for Philippe’s orders. They are wicked and unnatural and I reject them. I am your wife, and if he wants me he must take me as you have made me. Look at me, Garin.’

She heard him groan softly, and once more he tried gently to push her away. But this time he did look at her. And he saw the face of his enchanting temptress close to his own, with parted lips and eyes soft with promise. He felt each curve of her young, supple body against him. The golden goddess of a moment before, whom he had almost believed to be a figment of his imagination, had come to offer herself to him, and she was maddeningly desirable. He lost his head …