In the Millionaire's Possession (35 page)

As she turned to leave she saw an odd expression flicker in his eyes
—
something, she thought, which might have been pity. And her humiliation was complete.

Even now she could remember how she
’
d gone out of the house and walked round the lake, struggling to come to terms with the fact that her marriage was already virtually over.

Yes, she
’
d made him angry that last morning. But she
’
d been upset, and desperately hurt. So how could he behave as if he was the only injured party in all this? If he cared for her at all, wouldn
’
t he have been concerned more for her feelings and less for his own convenience?

Suggesting she should accompany him to Paris had been an act of brutal cynicism. Surely he must have realised that admitting there was another woman in his life had robbed her of any chance of peace and happiness whenever he was away from her?

Even now, when they were miles apart, she was still racked by jealousy and wretchedness. That last passionate, overwhelming night in France had done its work too well, creating a hunger that only he could assuage. But she was no longer a priority on his agenda.

She
’
d turned and stared at the bulk of the house through eyes blurred with tears. Her kingdom, she
’
d thought, where she ruled alone, just as she
’
d wanted. Her kingdom and her prison.

But even if Marc didn
’
t want her, his plans for the house were clearly still foremost in his mind.

His team of craftsmen were still working flat out, over long hours, and she could only guess at the size of the wage bill being incurred. Also, the extra staff he
’
d insisted on were now in place
—
pleasant, efficient, and taking the pressure from George and Daisy. Far from feeling resentful, they were now talking cheerfully about the prospect of retirement on the pension that Marc had also set up for them.

‘
But what would I do without you?
’
Helen had asked, startled and distressed.
‘
I rely on you both totally. You
’
re my family.
’

Daisy had patted her gently.
‘
Everything changes, my dear. And you
’
ll be having a new family soon
—
a proper one, with Monsieur Marc.
’

Which, thought Helen, was almost a sick joke
—
under the circumstances.

She
’
d tried to keep busy, to stop herself from thinking, but apart from arranging the flowers and deciding what food to eat, there was little to occupy her at Monteagle, she had to admit. The place seemed to run like clockwork. Instead, she spent two days a week helping in a charity shop in Aldenford, and another afternoon pushing round the library trolley at the local cottage hospital.

So she
’
d been out when the longed-for telephone call had come to say Marc would be arriving the next day.

But her initial relief and elation had been dealt an immediate blow when Alan had informed her with faint awkwardness that this was simply a flying visit, to check on the progress of the house, and that Marc would be leaving again after lunch.

She
’
d managed a word of quiet assent, then taken herself up to her room, where she
’
d collapsed across the bed, weeping uncontrollably.

The next day she had departed early for a ceramics auction in a town twenty miles away. It had been purely a face-saving move. She had no particular interest in porcelain and pottery, and no intention of bidding on any of the lots.

She
’
d arrived back at Monteagle just before lunch was served, and returned Marc
’
s cold greeting with equal reserve before eating her way through salmon mayonnaise and summer pudding as if she had an appetite, while Marc and Alan chatted together in French.

The meal over, she had been about to excuse herself when Marc detained her with an imperative gesture. Alan quietly left them alone together, standing on opposite sides of the dining table.

‘
The new staff? You find them acceptable?
’
he
’
d asked abruptly.

‘
Perfectly, thank you.
’
She hesitated.
‘
Of course it helps that they
’
re local people.
’

‘
And the house? The work continues to your satisfaction?
’

‘
It all looks wonderful,
’
she said quietly.
‘
But naturally I shall be glad when it
’
s over.
’

There was an odd silence before he said,
‘
Then I hope for your sake, Hélène, that they continue to make the same progress and you are soon left in peace from all of this.
’
His brief smile did not reach his eyes.
‘
Au revoir
,
’
he added, and was gone.

And that, Helen thought unhappily, had set the pattern for his two subsequent visits
—
except that Alan
’
s wife had been invited to join them for lunch. But, as Susan treated her with the same polite aloofness as her husband, it couldn
’
t be described as the most successful social experiment of the year.

There had never been any hint that he wished to spend the night here. In fact he didn
’
t even want to touch her, she admitted, swallowing a desolate lump in her throat. It seemed that the beautiful Angeline was supplying all his needs, and that she herself was excluded from any intimate role in his life, however temporary.

Why did he do it? she asked herself. Why did he take me and make me want him so desperately that every day and night without him makes me feel as if I
’
m slowly bleeding to death?

But she already knew the answer. Because he could, she thought. And how cruel was that?

As unkind as the way he
’
d suddenly ended that brief interlude on the bed over there, she reminded herself. Her whole body had been singing to the touch of his mouth and hands when he
’
d stepped back, apparently unaffected by her re-sponse
—
except to be amused by it.

How silly and futile all her subsequent protests must have seemed to him
—
and how easily they
’
d been overcome, she thought bitterly. And she knew still that, in spite of everything, if he so much as beckoned to her she would go to him.

Her body was aching
—
starving for him. Demanding the surcease that only he could give, but which he chose to deny her.

Making it clear that there was no place for her even on the margins of his life.

Perhaps, she thought, wincing painfully, Angeline Vallon doesn
’
t like sharing either, and has enough power to issue an ultimatum.

Sighing, she walked over to the portrait and stood staring up at it.

‘
How did you cope?
’
she asked softly.
‘
When your royal victor became tired of his spoils and moved on? How many days before you stopped hoping? How many long nights before he ceased to feature in your dreams? And what else must I endure before my sentence is served and I can get out of jail?
’

On the other hand, if she did escape somehow, then where would she go?

Her mouth twisted wrily. Bolivia, she thought. Uzbekistan
—
or any of the places that Marc had been flying between over these long weeks. She
’
d always secretly yearned to travel, to get to the heart of cities and countries that were only names in an atlas, but she
’
d given up all hope of that for the sake of Monteagle.

If she could turn back time, she knew now she would have followed Marc downstairs that last morning, held out her hand and said, Take me with you. Because half a life at his side would have been better than no life at all.

A fly had appeared from nowhere, and was grumbling vainly against one of the windows. Helen walked across the room and opened the casement to allow it to escape, and stood suddenly transfixed, staring across the lawns below.

A woman was standing, a hand shading her eyes as she looked up at the house, her long red hair gleaming in the late summer sunlight.

No, Helen thought with disbelief. And, as the anger began to build in her,
No
.

Has Marc allowed this? she asked herself. Has he dared to let her invade my territory? And is she going to spend time here
—
with him
—
forcing me to move out for the duration? Why else would she be here, spying out the land?

Oh, God, she thought. How could he hurt me
—
insult me
—
like this?

She closed the casement with a bang and ran from the room, and down the stairs, almost flinging herself out into the open air.

As she reached the grass she saw the other woman walking rapidly towards the side gate.

She is not getting away with this, Helen told herself grimly. She
’
ll stand her ground and hear what I have to say.

‘
Wait!
’
she called, cupping her hands round her mouth.
‘
Attendez
,
madame
!
’

The other woman paused, turning as if surprised, then waited awkwardly, hands thrust into the pockets of her cream linen trousers, as Helen came running towards her.

She only stopped, breathless and shocked, when she realised that, apart from hair colour, her quarry bore no resemblance at all to the woman whose magazine picture still haunted her mercilessly.

She was considerably older, and thinner, and her face was pleasant rather than beautiful
—
although at the moment she looked embarrassed and wary.

‘
I
’
m sorry,
’
she said.
‘
The house isn
’
t open to the public any more, is it? And I
’
m trespassing.
’

‘
Yes, I
’
m afraid so.
’
Helen struggled to control her breathing.
‘
Did you want anything in particular?
’

‘
Not really.
’
The other woman shrugged.
‘
Just a final glimpse, really. I went round with the guided tour a few times before the restoration work started, and I was curious to see if much had changed.
’

Helen stared at her.
‘
You
’
re quite a devotee.
’

‘
I feel I
’
ve known the place all my life. You see, my great-grandmother was in service here years ago, and my grandmother too, and they loved it. I grew up with all these stories about Monteagle
—
felt as if I was part of them. Daft, I know, but we all have our dreams.
’

She paused.
‘
You
’
re Helen Frayne, aren
’
t you? But you confused me when you called out in French. I thought that was your husband
’
s nationality.
’

‘
It is. I
—
I thought you were someone completely different. I
’
m sorry.
’
Helen hesitated.
‘
May I know who you really are?
’

‘
Why not?
’
Another almost fatalistic shrug.
‘
My name
’
s Shirley
—
Shirley Newson. You know my husband, I think?
’

Helen said slowly,
‘
Yes
—
yes, I do.
’

‘
And wish you didn
’
t, I dare say.
’
Shirley Newson
’
s smile was affectionate, but wan.
‘
Trevor
’
s a good man, but when his heart
’
s set on something he turns into a bull in a china shop. I know full well he ruined any chance we had of buying the place. All those stupid ideas about theme parks and the like.
’
Her eyes flashed.
‘
As if I
’
d have allowed that.
’