Shadows (28 page)

“I must explain something to you.”

Ah, here it comes.  Rory stiffened, expecting a blow.

Her fingers flirted nervously with the collar of her blue and white striped blouse.  She kept meeting his gaze, but could not sustain it.  Guilt, of course.

“Go ahead.”  He supposed she would try and explain away whatever had happened between her and Christophe.  Did he really want to hear this?  She looked so innocent in her Ralph Lauren blouse, and those wide blue eyes looked troubled.  As, of course, they should.

“Yesterday…yesterday, I…”  She swallowed convulsively, one hand going to the base of her throat.  She took another sip of wine.

His heart sank.  This was going to be difficult to hear.  He battled the urge to get up and walk away, and looked down at his smart yellow shirt and cream slacks.  Perhaps if he didn’t look at her, she would find it easier to confess.  And he could hide his own feelings at the same time.

She coughed, cleared her throat.  “It’s amazing how much better I feel after a good night’s sleep.  Things seem much clearer than they did.  You know how weird things have been lately?”

Rory nodded, and struggled to keep his feelings in check until he'd heard what she had to say.  He rolled the wine glass between his fingers, and studied it with more attention than it deserved.

“Well, they have been even weirder than you know.”

“Get on with it, Melissa.”  The wait was agonizing.  He really didn’t want to hear this, yet had to know.  He held himself ready for the hurt that was sure to come.

She took a deep breath.  “A day or two ago…do you remember I told you I felt an echo of what Justine felt when Pierre made love to her?”

Rory put down his wine, folded his arms and sat back.  He stared at the sun slanting down through the moving leaves of an old tree.  The beams lit every single hair of her head and threw gentle shadow around her eyes.  Hastily he looked back at the tree and closed his mind to the idea that she might say she and Pierre had made love.  That, he could not face.  “Yes.”

“And you know Christophe felt Pierre’s terror when he drowned?”

Her throat muscles must have tightened, because her voice was an octave off key.  He willed her to go on, she mustn’t stop now.  Rory braced himself, tightened his fingers on the flesh of his arms.

“Well, he feels what he feels for Justine, for me.”

Puzzled, he gazed at her.

She tilted her head as if listening to the echo of her words, and frowned.  “No, that’s not right.  He projects—no, he doesn’t even do that.  What Pierre feels for Justine is projected through Christophe onto me.  Does that make any kind of sense?”  Her hand went to her mouth, drifted down again.  “It’s awfully hard to explain.  And what Justine feels for Pierre is projected through me onto Christophe.  It’s very strange.  We don’t seem to have anything to do with it, but yesterday—”

She was gabbling now.  Christ, how much longer was she going to take?

Melissa swallowed hard and shuffled restlessly in her chair.  “Yesterday, when we were in the library, between one second and the next, it was as if I became Justine and Christophe turned into Pierre.  We kissed.  The telephone rang, and that broke the spell, or whatever it was—”

“Now that,” Rory said flatly, “has the ring of truth about it.”  His fingers nipped his arms like claws.

“Rory, it’s not funny,” Melissa wailed.

“I quite agree.  I have rarely heard anything less agreeable than this tale of you and your French lover.  No wonder you both looked so guilty when you came creeping back to the mill yesterday lunchtime.  How far beyond kissing did this thing go?  Am I to understand that you and he—no, you were in the library, for God’s sake.  Even he couldn’t do that in a library.”

The waiter chose that moment to arrive with the main course.  He placed un crêpe à la crème de marron before Melissa with the usual twist of the wrist, served Rory and departed with a cheery “Bon appétit.”

Melissa looked at her pancake stuffed with chestnut purée as if she’d never seen one before.  Last week she'd claimed it as her favorite snack.  Her lower lip trembled.  “We only kissed.”

A knife speared through him at her words.  “And you enjoyed it?”

“It wasn’t me.”  Melissa cried in protest, and heads lifted at neighboring tables.  With a visible effort she got herself in hand.  “That’s what I’m trying to say.  Please understand, Rory—I don’t know how else to explain it, but it isn’t me and Christophe.  It’s them—Pierre and Justine.”

There was a nasty silence.  The leaves swayed and danced above her head and flickering shadows ran over her face and shoulders.

Trying to stop his growing anger bursting free, Rory gripped his hands together.  Think like a lawyer.  Act as if you were in the courtroom.  “You do realize you are talking about possession, don’t you?”  It worked, but only for a moment before natural feeling got the upper hand again.  Rory narrowed his eyes, tried to control the words he wanted to say, and then threw down his napkin with a muttered expletive.  “I can’t believe I’m actually discussing this.”

Her eyes flashed fire.  “Well, now you might begin to appreciate how peculiar Christophe and I feel about the whole thing.”

“Christ.”  Rory had had more than enough.  He couldn't sit and discuss why Melissa had kissed another man.  He shoved back his chair and got up in one swift movement.  With a glance of acute dislike, he stalked away from the table.

~~~

Melissa's mouth fell open as Rory marched straight across the cobbled square back into the heart of Domme.  Several couples at neighboring tables followed Rory’s retreating figure, and then, full of curiosity, swung back to Melissa.  Her face flamed.  Hastily, she closed her mouth, and stared at the crêpe on her plate until the cream oozed slowly under the edges of the pancake.  Then, with a strangled sob, she lurched to her feet, grabbed her bag and ran after Rory.

She reached the car, but kept looking for a glimpse of his tall figure.  He would have to come back to the Honda at some point.  He surely wouldn’t drive off and leave her here.  Would he?  This was her worst fear come true.  Why had she ever come on this holiday with a man she barely knew?

The midday sun slapped the cobbles and the stone houses.  Heat struck her as she ran through the crooked, badly cambered lanes and skidded to a halt beside the Honda once more.  He wasn’t there.  She flopped against the car, badly out of breath, and yelped when the hot metal pierced the thin cotton of her skirt.  Where was he?

She stood in the full sun in the open square and grew increasingly worried.  Why wouldn’t he believe her?  Why wouldn’t he listen?  The things that had been happening were not her fault.  She dashed a sly tear from her cheek.

Once before she had fallen in love only to be abandoned when things didn’t run smoothly and here it was happening again.  There must be something wrong with her, something that prevented men loving her.  Perhaps she dressed too primly, or didn’t agree with everything they said, or didn’t bolster their confidence.  Mother always scoffed at the idea of making a man feel wonderful, and no doubt she had picked up her mother’s ideas.

What about a man making a woman feel wonderful?  Why was it a one-way trade?  Men always made her feel as if she wasn’t quite what they wanted, as if she was second best, would do until someone better came along.  Her fiancée had hurled that at her as he disappeared around the door.  “You were only ever on limited time,” he'd said, looking her up and down.  “You didn’t ever think it was going to last, did you?”

And now it was happening again.  There would be no future with Rory.  She wilted against the car thinking she would be an old maid, never have children, never be happy.

He strolled from the mouth of a small back lane behind the market, walked slowly across to the car and came to a halt in front of her, his face unreadable.  His hand reached out, his finger tapped her shoulder.  “You’ve caught the sun.”

Melissa stared blankly at him and then found her voice.  “Is there any wonder?  You try standing here for half an hour.”  There you go, Melissa.  On the attack right away.

“I,” he said mildly, leaning toward her, “went back to the restaurant.  You weren’t there.”

“Oh.”  Her heart fluttered.  He went back for her.  Could she take that as a good sign, or not?  That had to be good, didn’t it?

“I paid the bill, since you didn’t.”

He didn’t look angry.  He looked at her as if he was amused.  Well, she wouldn’t be laughed at or treated badly by a man ever again.  She lifted her chin.  “Damn the bill.  We need your help.  You are the only sane one, who doesn’t seem to be affected.  We need you desperately.”

He hesitated, looking down at her from thoughtful eyes.  “Can the wonderful Frenchman not sort it out for you?”

Melissa ignored the sarcasm and shook her head.  “He’s suffering.  He can’t sleep for dreams of being drowned in the dark underneath that dreadful wheel.”

A twinge of guilt hit her.  She’d slept very well last night, except for the vague memory of a strange dream.  A dream where someone spoke to her.

Rory’s head tilted.  “Yet he’s lived here all his life with no odd effects till you arrive?  Don’t you think that’s strange?”

Melissa shrugged hopelessly.  “I can’t explain it, unless it’s me, my presence, my being here, that has brought it all to the surface.  I suppose it’s my fault.”

The sounds of the little square, with its terraced cafés, milling people and scampering children faded into nothing.  Melissa stared at Rory, standing there with his hands in his pockets and knew her whole life was at a turning point.

She didn’t want to lose him.  After the meal at the St Pierre, she’d finally admitted her love for him, if only to her self.  Today he barely spoke to her.  Raw and hurt, as if someone had peeled a layer of skin from her, she waited for the next blow to fall.  Perhaps it had never been as meaningful as she thought.  Perhaps the two ghostly lovers had brought them together.

No.  She couldn't believe that.  She loved him, and might as well die if he left her now.

“Or mine.”  Rory spoke slowly, watching her with that intense, almost hypnotic stare of his.  “I persuaded you to come here.  You only came to please me.  I can hardly hold you to blame.”

Gone was the hard, cold tone he’d used earlier.  Perhaps he wasn’t going to hate her after all.  The craggy lines of his face softened, and with that a rush of warmth and understanding hit her.  Things must have looked pretty bad to him when she returned, uptight and nervous, to the mill with Christophe yesterday.  Expecting him to understand everything without a hint of explanation, she'd done nothing, said nothing to reassure him.  That was wrong of her.

“I love you.”  Her words danced in the air between them, and she struggled with a sudden breathlessness.  Had she really said that?  Where had she got the courage to tell him she loved him?

Now he would laugh, throw it all back in her face.  She stiffened and waited for the inevitable.

But his mouth relaxed, and the line of his brows lifted, nothing, really of moment.  Yet the subtle shift of expression changed his face.  Warmth filtered through, softened the line of his mouth.  “Really?”

“Oh, yes.”  Melissa swallowed with difficulty, and couldn't say more.  He moved towards her.  “Rory—”

His large hand captured her jaw and drew her close.  His mouth sought hers and bestowed upon her a light, slow kiss, soft as a bird’s wing.  There was an instant of surprise, and she wanted to cling to him but couldn't as long as he held her jaw, so contented herself with returning his kiss, and letting her feelings show in her eyes when he drew back a little.  Restored in a heartbeat, Melissa smiled up at him.  He cared, he really did.

“Come on, Blue Eyes, let's go and eat.  Have you got the nerve to go back to the same restaurant, or shall we select another?”

Bemused, Melissa stared at him.  “You believe me?”

“I believe you.”  The grim-faced lawyer had gone.  The hard lines on his face had disappeared.  This was the Rory she knew and loved.  “Here’s what we’ll do.  We’ll eat, and then we’ll spend the rest of the afternoon doing something that will take our minds well away from this annoying couple who won’t stay dead.  But first of all, we’ll sit through an entire lunch this time, and enjoy it.  What do you say?”

Full of bravado, she walked back up the hill to the restaurant she had left so dramatically, and sat quietly at a corner table.  The waiter sauntered over, and eyed them doubtfully.  “You are ’ere to stay?”