Darkest Longings (24 page)

In the months that followed she had seen him exercise

that same anomalous power over politicians and generals,

and she began to realize that Francois was playing some sort

of political game. By observing him closely, she soon

understood, too, the nature of that game. It was dangerous,

more than dangerous, at times it was lethal, but then she had

suspected from the beginning that any association with

Francois de Lorvoire would be exceptional…

After a time, in quiet ways, she had let him know that she

understood what he was doing and that he could trust her.

To her surprise he seemed to accept it - though he was

always scrupulously careful to conceal from her the precise

details of the information he auctioned while they entertained

ambassadors, generals and even prime ministers at

her apartment; and though she had tried on many occasions,

she had never been able to discover the source of his

information. What she did know was that he had connections

in the corridors of power that went right to the very

top, not only in Paris, but in London, Rome and Berlin. In

these critical times, such connections could be extremely

profitable. She also knew - as their dinner guests did not that

Francois’ patriotism was, to say the least, questionable:

his dealings were often complicated, even tortuous, but

ultimately the information he had for sale went to the

highest bidder. And always before the information was

handed over, Francois would graciously accept a munificent

order for the unexceptional though perfectly palatable,

Lorvoire wine. For a proprietor of vineyards, selling wine

was the most natural cover in the world, and it enabled

Francois to move about Europe without exciting suspicion

…

Elise looked up. Francois, emerging from his thoughts,

was getting up and walking over to the telephone. She had

missed him these past ten days, and now his vast shoulders,

arrogant, almost sinister face and powerful hands were

arousing her in a way she couldn’t ignore. She took a deep

breath and swallowed hard, trying to prove to herself that

she could - if only this once - conquer her need for him, but

as he turned and casually crossed one long leg over the

other, resting against the back of a chair, she found herself

moving towards him.

A flicker of surprise sparked in his eyes as he saw her

standing there, then he smiled as he read what was on her

mind. Her heart turned over at the rare expression of

tenderness on his face, and already her breath was quickening

as he lifted a hand and cupped it around her delicate jaw,

drawing her to him. But as his mouth closed over hers, the

telephone operator chose that moment to ring back, and he

pushed her away.

‘Get me Lorvoire four-five-nine,’ he said into the

receiver.

Elise’s carefully schooled features betrayed nothing of

what she was feeling, but the fact that he was calling his

home angered her. ‘I will give you all that I am able to give,’

he had said, ‘and it will be to you, and you alone, that I shall

turn for fulfilment…”

There had never been any doubt in her mind that he

meant what he had said, and he had never done anything

since to suggest that his intentions had changed. In fact he

had gone out of his way to tell her of his marriage plans

before she could hear them from anyone else, and had even

gone on to explain that the Rafferty girl was his father’s

choice, not his - it was a marriage of convenience. She had

been moved by his unprecedented consideration for her

feelings, and so convinced of his aversion to the match that

she had almost pitied L’Anglaise.

That was until she had laid eyes on the bitch.

She had never asked Francois for a description of his

intended. English women all looked the same as far as she was concerned - buck teeth, rosy cheeks and sturdy thighs.

But when La Rafferty had turned out to be at least six years

her junior, and so breathtakingly beautiful that all Paris was

talking about her, Elise had turned sick with fear and

jealousy: Louis de Lorvoire always had known what he was

doing, and in the choice of bride for his son he had

remained consistent.

By way of comfort, Elise would remind herself of what

Francois had said after his first encounter with The Bitch.

‘If it wasn’t that Beavis would consider it a great insult, I

should ask him to remove his daughter from Lorvoire within

the week. As it is, she gives me the distinct impression she

has made up her mind to marry me, and seems quite

undaunted by the fact that I find her not only superficial but

lamentably immature.’

Despite her jealousy, Elise had found his predicament

amusing, and had laughed aloud when he’d told her how

Claudine had kicked his foot into the fountain. Obviously,

Claudine didn’t have what it took to handle a man like

Francois: a subtlety and cunning to match his own, and the

ability to recognize his changing moods without registering

any kind of emotional reaction. Claudine Rafferty was too

gauche and too flighty even to begin to understand what was

necessary to negotiate the darker side of Francois’ nature.

But reality would hit her soon enough, and providing The

Bitch wasn’t some kind of masochist, it wouldn’t be too

long, Elise had told herself then, before she went scuttling

back to England where she belonged.

But, to Elise’s horror, within eight days of meeting the girl

Francois had come to her and demanded that she, Elise, pay

a visit to Van Cleef and Arpels to select a ring of betrothal.

She had chosen the ring, as she did everything Francois

asked of her, with taste and care, but she had resolved there

and then that, if ever it was necessary, she would not hesitate

to betray him and let The Bitch know her precious ring had

been the choice of her husband’s mistress.

When Monique had come to see her, two weeks before

the wedding, to suggest that together they might somehow

arrange to be rid of Claudine, Elise’s initial response had

been one of enthusiasm. But then she had remembered

Francois’ uncanny knack of finding out the very thing you

least wanted him to know - and though he might not want

the marriage with Claudine himself, he could not be

guaranteed to find interference from other parties - in

particular his ‘whore from Toulouse’ - acceptable.

But as the day of the wedding drew closer, Elise had

begun to wonder if she had done the right thing in sending

Monique away; their interference might have been welcome

after all - for Francois was now almost beside himself with

rage that the girl refused to pull out. ‘She behaves as though

I am in love with her and refusing to believe it!’ he stormed.

‘What must I do to prove that I find her the most tedious

woman it has ever been my misfortune to meet? God knows,

I don’t want to be married at all - I don’t want a woman

meddling in my affairs or wheedling for my attention - but if

I must marry, why in hell did my father have to pick

someone who is nothing more than a wilful, overindulged

child? I can’t understand why my parents are so ridiculously

smitten with her. She’s a fool. She’s even fooled herself into

thinking she’s in love with me.’

Elise was surprised. ‘You’ve mentioned nothing about

this before. Do you really think she’s falling in love with

you?’

‘It isn’t what I think, it’s what she thinks. Well, there’s only

one way to make her see how ridiculous she is…’

That had been two days before the wedding. Then had

come Claudine’s flight from the honeymoon suite Francois

had no idea Elise knew about that - followed by an

early return from Biarritz. Clearly, Francois had achieved

what he had set out to do and knowing him as she did, Elise

shuddered at the thought of the methods he would have

employed.

And yet, no matter what had passed between Claudine

and Francois over the past ten days, Elise was still wary. It

was a perverse truth that Francois’ unsightliness and his

disdain only added to the power of his attraction. Claudine

had certainly been strongly attracted before the wedding,

even if she wasn’t now; who was to say that marriage might

not revive the attraction - or even that Francois might not

come to be attracted to Claudine? That was what frightened

Elise more than anything else, for if she lost Francois she

lost everything. As his mistress, she, the daughter of a

Toulouse forgeron, was a member of polite society; she

received invitations to the opera and the theatre, she was

included on the guest lists for charity balls and excursions to

the races at Longchamp. She would never, of course, be

invited into the homes of the people she mixed with, but for

now at least, it was enough that the men came to her

apartment to meet Francois, and that her skills as a hostess

were properly recognized. Often the men came when Francois was away, but there was never anything furtive or unseemly in their visits, they came simply because they

enjoyed her company; the bachelors among them might

walk with her in the Tuileries Gardens or take her for coffee

to a pavement cafe in Montmartre. Elise took great pleasure

in her popularity, for she had no close friends of her own.

Since knowing Francois she had had no need of them - he

gave her everything.

But what really mattered to Elise more than anything else

- more than the friends Francois brought her, the clothes,

the jewels, the success - were the hours they spent alone

together, when the mere touch of his fingers could inflame

her with such desire that she felt without him she might die.

No man had ever done to her the things that Francois de

Lorvoire did, and no man had made such demands of her.

She had thought she knew all there was to know about the

art of making love, but he had shown her ecstasy and she

dreaded above all else to lose it. To lose it to Claudine …

For if Francois were ever to make love to Claudine the way

he did to her, it would mean only one thing, that he had

fallen in love with his wife …

Elise, turning these uncomfortable thoughts over in her

mind, had wandered from the drawing-room into the

bedroom and now stood staring absently down at the bed.

She was so deep in thought that she didn’t realize Francois

had followed her until she heard the door close behind him.

She turned, and when she saw him standing there, his

dark, unshaven face looking meaner than ever, her eyes

began to shine with hunger. ‘What happened to the

telephone call?’ she murmured.

‘It can wait,’ he answered, starting towards her.

‘You mean, you aren’t eager to speak to your wife?’

He laughed, and reached behind her to pull the clip from

her hair. ‘As a matter of fact, I was calling my mother.

Lucien is leaving Spain and returning to his regiment.’

‘Oh?’ She turned her head to kiss his hand as his fingers

raked gently through her hair. Now wasn’t the time to

pursue the implications of Lucien’s decision, so she only

said, ‘You’ve seen Lucien since the wedding?’

‘I have,’ he confirmed, using his free hand to unfasten his

collar. He smiled. ‘So you see, there was no need for you to

be jealous that I was calling Lorvoire.’

She laughed softly. ‘You know me too well.’ And putting

her arms around his neck, she tilted her face to his.

The touch of his lips was light, but it was enough to send

an electrifying thrill through her body. She pressed herself

against the hardness of his thighs, but he removed her arms

from his neck and went to lie on the bed. It was her cue to

undress.

For a while, as she peeled the clothes from the rounded

curves of her body, Elise kept her eyes lowered, not wanting

him to see her expression … If Francois had seen Lucien in

the past ten days, it could only mean that he had left

Claudine in Biarritz with the maid. And if he was telephoning

his mother, it must mean that he had come straight to

Paris - to her - leaving Claudine to return to Lorvoire alone.

Elise’s sense of triumph was intoxicating. It was highly

probable, she thought, that Claudine was afraid of Francois

by now, something which in itself would disgust him. She

laughed quietly to herself. There seemed little chance now

that this marriage would work - and she, Elise Pascale, was

going to do everything in her power to see that it didn’t. For

no matter how often Francois told her he would never marry

her, she knew that in the end he would. And that would set

her apart from all the great courtesans of France. Not for

her the humiliation of being cast aside in preference for

another: one day she was going to be the Comtesse de

Rassey de Lorvoire. And though The Bitch presented an

enormous obstacle, Elise Pascale would overcome it - by