Darkest Longings (59 page)

Her first instinct was to turn and run back up the stairs.

She couldn’t face him now, not when she was so unprepared.

But his eyes held her, and she felt the blood running

hotly in her veins. Longing filled her, so powerful that she

had to grip the bannister to stop herself falling.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said, her voice barely

above a whisper.

Her question seemed to amuse him. ‘I live here,

remember?’

She was in such turmoil that she hardly knew what she

was saying, ‘But… the letter. In the letter you said …’

‘You thought I was never coming back?’ he said. ‘So did I.

At least, I hoped I wasn’t.’

His words viciously stripped away her panic, leaving her

with a raw, aching emptiness. ‘Are you all right?’ she heard

herself ask.

‘As you can see,’ he answered. ‘And you? How are you?’

‘I’m well. Louis misses you,’ she added, after a pause.

He looked away, but not before she had seen the quick

pain in his eyes.

He knew he should walk into the study now, get away

from her before…

‘Francois…’

He looked up, but the hunted, almost desperate look

retreated from her eyes and she only smiled and shrugged

awkwardly.

‘You look lovely,’ he remarked, noting that she was

wearing the short sable coat he had bought her. ‘But then

you always do.’

She watched him take off his hat and put it on the table

beside the front door. Then he looked at her again,

measuring her with an arrogant smile.

‘If you have an engagement, don’t let me keep you,’ he

said abruptly. Then he turned and walked into the study.

How could seven months away from her have done this to

him, he wondered angrily. How could that look in her eyes, the one he had seen so many times before, have suddenly now the power to crack the barrier he had always held

between them? What was happening to him that he should

want so desperately to take her in his arms, when before he

had always managed to resist her?

He tensed as the door opened, and felt the anger spring to

his lips as he turned to look at her. But when he saw the

temper flash in her eyes, his own evaporated, and he

relaxed, smiling, against the edge of the desk. This was the

Claudine he knew, the Claudine he could handle.

Whatever engagement I have can wait,’ she snapped.

‘You owe me an explanation, Francois, and I want to hear it

now.’

He nodded. ‘I take it you are referring to the contents of

the letter I sent my father?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Then I think you can be in no doubt…’

‘But how dare you!’ she seethed, slamming the door

behind her. ‘How dare you think you could dismiss me like a

servant? I am your wife! Louis is your son! Have you no

conscience, Francois?’

‘You need to ask?’ he remarked dryly. ‘And what is all this

anger anyway? I thought I’d given you what you wanted. The

freedom to marry Armand.’

‘The Catholic church does not permit divorce,’ she cried.

‘But it does permit annulment,’ he said, not without

irony.

‘It’s too late for that! We have a son, remember!’

‘Non-consummation is not the only grounds for annulment,’

he answered. ‘And if my father disinherits me, which

I have good reason to believe he will in the next few days, I

think you will find the Bishop of Touraine sympathetic to

your cause.’

She stared at him in horror. He meant it. He did want to

be rid of her. Her feelings were in turmoil. She wanted him.

God, she wanted him so much … But she wouldn’t think

about that now. ‘So you are a traitor?’ she breathed.

‘I’m working with the Germans, yes,’ he said, folding his

arms. ‘In fact they have promoted me to the rank of

commandant.’

‘No!’ she cried, clasping her hands to her head. ‘No. You

can’t! You’re French, your family are French! Haven’t you

considered what this will do to them?’

‘I have considered,’ he said, taking a cigarette from the

box on the desk and lighting it. ‘But we’re getting away from

the point. Which is, that you now have grounds for your

annulment, and this time I will do nothing to stand in your

way.’

‘I don’t want an annulment!’

She cried out as he suddenly gripped her arm and

dragged her towards him. ‘You do!’ he said viciously. ‘Do

you hear me? You do!’

She looked up at him, frightened and bewildered. There

were tears in her eyes, and as her lips started to tremble he

suddenly pushed her away. ‘Go, Claudine,’ he growled. ‘Go

back to Armand. I don’t want you. I never have.’

She stood staring at the window, tears rolling down her

cheeks. ‘But I want you,’ she said quietly, unable to stop

herself.

‘No!’ he roared.

There was a long, long silence. The clock over the mantle

ticked away the minutes, and Francois ground out his

cigarette. It was tearing him apart to hurt her like this. But

why was this happening now? Why was he allowing her to

break down his defences at a time when it was more

important than ever that they remain invincible? And why,

now, was he so longing to tell her how much he wanted her

too? How much he loved her. The words were there in his

throat, clamouring to be spoken, but he wouldn’t, he

couldn’t, utter them. As von Liebermann himself had

pointed out, he was a man who could not allow himself the

luxury of love …

And yet, how could he carry on like this? Looking at her

now, he saw how straight she held herself, how she averted

her head so he could not see her pain, and her courage and

dignity wrenched at his heart. He had always known how

much she loved him. He had known it, probably, before she

knew it herself. But he had hardened his heart, pushed her

away - though there were times, so many times, when it had

half-killed him to do it. It had never been easy, even at the

start, before he loved her, but most difficult of all had been

the times when he made love to her, when her exquisite

body moved beneath his with such hunger that it was

enough to seduce his very soul. But still he had held back,

even though her every move, every breath, every murmur,

was a source of unbearable torture for him. She was his

wife, and he longed for her with an ache that knew no

threshold of pain.

And as that ache once again surged through his loins, he

closed his eyes and willed her to leave. But still she didn’t

move. He wondered how much longer he could hold on.

The desire to touch her, to feel her mouth beneath his, was

becoming so intense that it was almost beyond his control.

Then suddenly his feelings threatened to overpower him.

He knew if she didn’t leave now, that very instant, there

would be nothing he could do to stop himself pulling her

into his arms and crushing her with the full force of his love.

She told herself that soon, any minute now, she would be

able to walk away. She must go, and she must not turn back,

because if she did she knew she would tell him. She knew

that she would be unable to stop herself falling to the floor in

front of him and confessing how deeply she loved him. How

the need to feel his arms around her was tormenting her

beyond endurance. But she would rather die than let him

see her like that. And rather die than see the contempt in his

eyes as she begged him.

She started to move, and for one terrifying moment felt

that she couldn’t. It was as though the tension between them

was holding her back, pulling her to him; but taking a

breath, she willed herself to try again. She heard him move,

and as she felt his hand on her shoulder the breath locked in

her throat. His fingers brushed against her neck, and as her

head fell back she gave a tortured, choking sob.

He grabbed her into his arms, holding her against him,

pressing her face to his neck and breathing the scent of her

hair. He could feel her trembling, just as he could feel his

own need tearing through him. He lifted her face, and as

desire engulfed them he covered her mouth with his.

She clung to him, pushing hard against him, wanting to

lose herself in him so that he would never let her go again.

Her body shook. She could feel his hands in her hair, his

mouth covering her face with kisses, and all she could hear

was the agony in his voice as he repeated over and over

again, ‘Oh my God, my God, Claudine. I love you. I love

you.’ Then his mouth was on hers again, sucking her lips

between his own, thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

The telephone behind them started to ring, and there was

nothing in the world that could have torn him away from her

then - except his fear of Halunke. But as he started to pull

away she clung to him, begging him with her eyes to stay

with her. He kissed her again, more urgently and more

passionately than before, then he gently removed her arms

from his neck and turned back to the desk.

He picked up the receiver, his eyes on Claudine as she

walked to the window. Instead of von Pappen’s voice, as he

had expected, he heard Lucien’s. ‘Yes,’ he said gruffly.

‘Claudine is here.’

She looked up, and the way he was looking at her sent a

shock of such commanding hunger through her body that

she felt herself start to sway.

‘Yes, Lucien, it is Francois,’ he said. Then after a pause,

‘I arrived yesterday.’

He said no more after that, listening to his brother, and

Claudine watched him, unable to tear her eyes away. Then

she saw the blood drain from his face, his knuckles whiten

with the tension of his grip, and in his eyes, as he looked

back at her, a sudden appalling rage. Her heart leapt into

her throat and she started towards him.

‘We’ll be there as soon as we can,’ Francois said finally,

and replaced the receiver.

Already her eyes were wide with terror as she whispered,

‘It’s Louis, isn’t it? I know it. Francois, what’s happened to

him?’

‘Sssh.’ he said sharply. ‘Calm yourself. Louis is all right.’

‘Then what is it? What’s happened? Why are you looking

like that?’

‘It’s Papa,’ he answered, dashing a hand savagely through

his hair.

‘What about him?’ she cried.

He raised his eyes to hers, and his haunted, murderous

face sent a jolt of pure terror searing through her veins.

‘What about him?’ she cried again - then she screamed as he

swung round and smashed his fist into the mirror behind

him.

‘He’s dead!’ he roared. ‘My father is dead!’

By the time they arrived at Lorvoire it had been dark for some

hours. From where she was sitting in the back of the Citroen,

Claudine had watched Francois throughout the journey, every

now and again catching a glimpse of his thunderous face in the

mirror as he drove furiously through the night. Before they left

she had telephoned Tante Celine to ask her to go to the Ritz

for Monique. She would have gone herself, except that she

didn’t want to leave Francois. But as she’d bandaged his hand

and they’d waited for Monique, she had watched him

withdraw so deeply into himself until he had appeared almost

oblivious to her presence.

Absently, she stroked Monique’s hand where it was

resting in her lap. She knew from the steady sound of her

breathing that she had finally fallen into a doze. She had

taken the news badly; as they set out she had become almost

hysterical, recalling the last time they had all been in Paris,

when her father had stood at the drawing-room window

with an arm round Solange, waving her off… To where?

She couldn’t remember. All she remembered was that he

had been standing there, his kind, smiling face reflecting all

the love he felt for his daughter … At that point she had

collapsed into Claudine’s arms, and Claudine had stopped

trying to persuade Francois to let her drive.

Now, as he steered the car into the drive of the chateau,

he said in a voice made hoarse by too many cigarettes, ‘I’m

sorry. I know how much you loved him. You must be hurting

too.’

She was, but that didn’t matter when she could see how

brutally he was fighting his own pain. For now she had to be

strong, and keep herself together for him, and for … She

closed her eyes as she wondered how Solange had taken the

news, and she knew that was uppermost in Francois’ mind

too as he pulled the car to a halt outside the front door.

As they got out, Lucien came down the steps to greet

them. He took Monique in his arms, then turned to

Francois.

‘How is Maman?’ Francois asked.

‘She hasn’t cried yet,’ Lucien answered. Then with a sigh

he added, ‘I wish she didn’t worry about me so, it’s only that

that has stopped her. She feels she has to be strong for me.’

Francois nodded, then turning to Claudine he took her by

the elbow and ushered her into the chateau.

They found Solange in the semidarkness of the family