Darkest Longings (13 page)

‘Whereas you, I presume, are immune to such charms.’

‘Not always.’

Lucien grinned. ‘But there’s none to match La Pascale?’

Francois cocked an eyebrow, and laughing, they parted

company.

Lucien walked off along the hall, where he let himself

through a low door and started to climb the crooked wooden

staircase which spiralled through the tower to his room at

the top of the south wing. When he reached it, he found

Monique waiting for him on the threshold.

He wasn’t altogether surprised to see her. She had tried

to talk to him that morning, before she and Solange

departed for Montvisse, and though he had managed to

avoid her then, he had known that sooner or later she would

catch up with him. Treating her to one of his winning

smiles, he put an arm around her shoulders and led her into

his dressing-room, saying, ‘So, mon petit chou, you have

something on your mind. Something you wish to discuss

with me?’

‘You know I have, Lucien,’ she said, with a smile of

exasperation. ‘And you know, too what it’s about.’

He nodded. ‘Henri Stubert?’ He was referring to

Monique’s latest beau, who was also one of his comrades-in-arms.

Monique’s lips tightened, and the nostrils of her

haughtily-arched de Lorvoire nose flared. ‘I’ll thank you,

Lucien, never to mention that man’s name in my hearing

again,’ she snapped.

‘Oh? But I thought you two …’

‘I received a letter from him a week ago, informing me of

his engagement to Sybille Giffard, whoever she may be.

Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it.’

‘But I didn’t,’ he answered truthfully. However, he had been aware that Henri, like many before him, found his sister somewhat over-zealous in her affections.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ Monique declared, lifting her

chin defiantly. ‘I had begun to tire of him anyway.’

He watched her pick a thread from the sleeve of his

uniform which was hanging on the closet door, and saw the

slight tremble of her fingers. He knew that Henri’s rejection

did matter, and he longed to say something that might

comfort her, but he knew too that she would rather die than

admit to the hurt.

‘So,’ he said, ‘what is it that you wish to talk to me about if

it isn’t Henri?’

‘I want to know why you are here.’

He saw the expression in her wide, amber eyes, and the

corner of his mouth dropped in a smile. He knew now what

was on her mind. ‘Does there have to be a reason?’ he

teased, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa. ‘After

all, this is my home. And you are my family,’ he added,

crossing one leg over the other as he sat down beside her.

‘Lucien!’ she said meaningfully.

‘AH right, all right,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Why

do you think I’m here?’

She cast a quick glance at the door, then in a low voice she

said, ‘You have brought something for Francois, haven’t

you?’

‘Monique!’ he cried. ‘I thought it was only Maman who

listened at doors.’

‘It is,’ she said, laughing despite herself, and he thought

how lovely she was when she smiled. ‘But that revolting little

man, Erich von Pappen, rang here earlier, while you were

out and before Francois arrived. He wanted to know if you

had seen Francois yet.’

‘He did, did he?’

‘Yes.’ She turned to face him. ‘Who exactly is Erich von

Pappen, Lucien?’

‘You’ll have to ask Francois that question, I’m afraid.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ she said, though they both knew that it

was unlikely she would. ‘But why did he want to know if you had seen Francois? No, Lucien, please. I know you’re going to lie to me, but I won’t stand for it. You’ve brought

information here for Francois, haven’t you? Information

from von Pappen. Look, I don’t want to know what it is. I

have a feeling it would be better, safer, for both of you, if I

don’t. But I need to know that you will never do this again,

Lucien. It’s a dangerous game that Francois plays, but he’s

an expert at it. I don’t want you to become involved.’

Lucien gave a shout of laughter, and clasping his hands

about her face, he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You are

worrying unnecessarily, Monique, I promise you.’

‘No!’ The colour in her cheeks had deepened. ‘We have

both known for some time what Francois is about, and I

don’t want you getting mixed up in it. There’s not another

person in the world I would say this to, but you know as well

as I do that Francois …’ She stopped.

‘Go on,’ he prompted, the challenge gleaming in his lucid

blue eyes.

Monique looked away, lowering her head so that her hair

hid her face. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered.

‘Then I shall say it for you.’ But when it came to it, even he couldn’t bring himself to voice the word that he knew was searing the tip of her tongue. So instead he said, ‘You believe that Francois buys information, then sells it - not where it might do the most good, but where it will fetch the best price.’

‘Don’t you?’

Lucien thought about that for a long time. It was true that Francois played a dangerous game with the information he gathered, that he was not always ethical in the way he obtained it or the way he sold it. But his brother’s business was his own, and Lucien knew better than to interfere. Just as he knew it would be unwise to say anything that might add to Monique’s concern. In the end, he said, ‘If it will put your mind at rest, I can tell you that in this instance he will be selling it where it does the most good.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I know who he bought it from.’

‘Erich von Pappen!’ she said angrily. ‘A German!’

‘Well then, Francois is hardly going to buy from the Germans to sell to the Germans, is he now?’

Slowly Monique shook her head, but her eyes were still full of doubt. ‘There are times, Lucien,’ she whispered, ‘when I wouldn’t put anything past Francois. He’s my brother and I love him, I would never do anything to hurt or betray him, but sometimes I feel as though I don’t know him.’

Lucien took her in his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her start to tremble. ‘And he would never do anything to hurt or betray you, you must know that,’ he

said, stroking her hair.

‘That’s not what I’m worried about,’ she said, her voice

muffled by his shoulder.

‘I know. But as you said yourself, Francois knows what he

is doing. And if it helps, then I give you my word that I won’t get involved again.’

As he tilted her face to his, he was wondering what she

would do if he were to tell her what the information was that

he had carried from von Pappen. But she had been right

when she said it would be safer for them all if she didn’t

know. The fact that Adolph Hitler had announced to his

inner circle his preliminary plans to annex Austria, was

more than a dangerous thing to know. But at least, this time,

he could be certain that Francois was selling the information

to the French; it was rare, with Francois, that things

were so blessedly simple.

And then, for no logical reason, an image of Claudine

came into his mind - Claudine standing on the hilltop

overlooking Lorvoire, tall and straight, her magnificent hair

with its shades of blueish copper blowing in the wind, her

eyes sparkling with laughter. And then, in his mind’s eye, he

saw her as she later struggled to hide the confusion of her

feelings for Francois … But there had been no confusion

when she had stood at the foot of the chateau steps, those

splendid almond-shaped eyes blazing with fury as Francois

so crudely dismissed her. Lucien smiled as he remembered

how his brother had turned back; it was probably the only

time in his adult life that he had witnessed Francois obeying

a woman. But the way Francois had so casually changed the

subject when he referred to Claudine earlier, was enough to

tell him that his brother had acted out of indifference - that

he considered Claudine nothing more than a small irritant

in his life, which would from time to time need his attention.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Monique whispered.

Lucien’s eyes moved back to hers. ‘Francois,’ he

answered, ‘and Claudine.’

Monique’s face darkened. Then, to his amazement, she

jumped angrily to her feet and ran from the room - but not

before Lucien had seen the tears in her eyes.

- 5

Marcel, the de Lorvoire chauffeur, arrived at Montvisse a few minutes before eight o’clock the following morning. Claudine was ready and waiting in the small octagonal hall, wearing her blue velvet riding jacket, a high-necked ruffled blouse and a new pair of tailor-made fawn jodhpurs. Her hair had been coiled into a diamond-studded snood by Magaly, and in her gloved hands she carried her hat and crop.

After being endlessly quizzed by Tante Celine the previous evening about the time she had spent with Lucien, she had retired early to bed only to pass an almost sleepless night. She was still shaken, not only by her extraordinary and bewildering confession to Lucien that she was in love with Francois - which was absurd in the extreme - but by the way Francois himself had behaved after she lost her temper. Of course, she was under no illusion that his feelings towards her had changed, she knew perfectly well that he had merely been humouring her; but she couldn’t deny the pleasure it had given her to hear him admit to being jealous. She had no idea what it had cost him to say it, but

she sincerely hoped it was a lot. Though that was unlikely, she realized despondently - as unlikely as that he would be losing any sleep over her. At that she had closed her eyes and drawn the sheets over her head, but pride made an uncomfortable pillow, and it wasn’t until the first light of dawn that she had finally fallen into an uneasy slumber.

Now, as she sat back in her seat behind Marcel on the way

to Lorvoire, she was for once oblivious to the poppies springing up at the roadside, the wide open spaces around her filled with maize fields and vineyards, and the way the sunlight danced on the Vienne as they crossed the bridge at

Chinon. She was too engrossed in what she was going to say

to Francois that morning to think of anything else. Her

decisions might have been more easily reached were

Francois de Lorvoire not a man of such unpredictable and

infuriating response. However, there was one thing she was

resolved upon, even though her stomach reacted violently

each time she thought of it, and she had as yet no clear idea

of how she would approach it. But approach it she would.

Why should she be subjected any longer to that abominable

man’s game of procrastination? He was going to ask her to

marry him - and he was going to ask her today.

When the chauffeur pulled up outside the chateau she

remained in the car, waiting for him to open the door, flatly

refusing to admit to herself that she was nervous. But there

was no denying the sudden rise in her spirits when she saw

that it was raining: perhaps there would be no rendezvous

with Francois this morning after all! With a wry grin, she

stepped out of the car. That man really does bring out the

coward in me! she thought ruefully.

Jean-Paul, the butler, had his umbrella at the ready, and

after greeting her with the respectful informality that was

typical of the de Lorvoire household, he took her into the

hall, then led her through the drawing-room to the library,

where Francois was sitting in a leather armchair reading the

newspaper.

The instant she saw him, Claudine felt as though a great

cavern had opened up inside her, leaving her bereft of

everything but her thudding heart. Quickly she averted her

eyes, taking in the shelves of leather-bound books, the

ornate writing desk, the grey marble fireplace … Behind

her, Jean-Paul cleared his throat, and finally Francois

looked up.

‘Ah, good morning,’ he said in English, and putting the

paper to one side, he stood up. Then, sweeping an arm

towards the window, he continued in French, ‘As you can

see, it is not the weather for a ride. Perhaps later, if the rain

subsides. In the meantime, may I offer you some breakfast?’

‘Just coffee, thank you,’ Claudine answered, pulling off her gloves and noting with relief that her hands were steady.

Francois looked past her and nodded, then she heard the door close behind Jean-Paul.

The room was so quiet she could hear the clock ticking on the marble mantlepiece. Francois walked to the window, and lifting one shining black riding boot onto the window seat, he folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. His hair was wet, and she wondered if it was from the rain or an early morning shower. Then, to her alarm, her skin started to burn at the thought of him taking a shower; it was extraordinary to think that one day they might share that kind of intimacy-that she would come to know the habits of this man. Looking at him now, she tried to imagine what it

would be like to see him smile, to hear him laugh, to have

him hold her in his arms and kiss her - make love to her.

‘You look rather pale this morning,’ he remarked. ‘Are

you sickening for something?’

‘Er, no,’ she stumbled. ‘No, not at all. I didn’t sleep too well, I’m afraid.’

‘I trust there is nothing troubling you?’ His hooded eyes