By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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of course. I know. It’s such a shame.’ Shari felt so sad for poor Emilie, and helpless. ‘Poor Em. It’s a horrible tragedy. But what can she do?’
‘She thinks someone must go in her place.’ Neil’s voice faltered a little. ‘We er … we know you’ll want to be there, Shari. So we’re—counting on you.’
Shari blenched to the soles of her feet. ‘What?’
The image of Luc Valentin, backed by a phalanx of hostile aunts, turned her hoarse. ‘Neil, no. Rémy and I didn’t even part as friends. Far from it. He wouldn’t— They wouldn’t want me there. I don’t even know Paris. I—I—I … Neil. You know I can’t afford it.’
‘Don’t worry, lovie,’ Neil said with surprising gentleness for a brother who was usually fairly brisk. ‘We’ll buy your ticket. We insist. It’s the least we can do for you.’
‘But … Please, Neil, tell Em I’d love to represent her, but I can’t. You of all people know I’m no good with funerals. And I’m too … Lately I’ve just been so tired. And I haven’t a thing to wear. Anyway, I hardly know a word of French. Neil, Neil—I couldn’t bear that long flight.’
There was a long silence. Then Neil’s voice came through again. Serious this time. Kindly. ‘Sis … Listen to yourself. You need to do this. Em and I have seen how down you’ve been these past weeks. You’re not yourself.’
‘What do you mean?’ Though she knew as soon as she said it she’d probably been tetchy and miserable. How could she have been anything else? Rémy had died, for goodness’ sake. She’d never been able to handle death.
As well, she’d been shamed by a man she’d offered herself to, she was struggling to create a book, and if all that weren’t bad enough her PMT crisis had gone on for so long her boobs were exploding out of her bras.
‘Emilie and I have talked it over. You’re in denial, we think.’
‘Neil.’ She laughed hollowly. ‘Don’t be silly.’
Typical of her brother to come up with some pop psychology. If only it were possible to explain to a man without him immediately leaping onto the bandwagon of sexist propaganda about hormones affecting women’s intelligence.
The truth was, stress had always given her menstrual problems, right back to her high-school days. Crushes, exams, falling in passionate love with her English teacher … The pangs of adolescence had thrown her querulous body clock out of whack every time.
She knew from experience that once her period started, she’d feel better in every way and be able to cope properly and be a decent, loving support to her sister-in-law.
‘Come on, Shar. The truth is you’ve been grieving over Rémy and the engagement a long, long time. We think you need to make this pilgrimage to properly close this episode in your life.’
Oh, right. Where did they get their psychiatric expertise from? Doctor Phil?
A few retorts jostled on her tongue, but most of them would only add fuel to Neil’s assertion that she wasn’t being herself. Her mousy, frumpy, slutty, hormonal self.
‘We absolutely insist on sending you first class,’ Neil persisted, enthusiastic since it didn’t have to be him. ‘See? You can sleep all the way. It’ll be a rest. And don’t worry about Paris. The family will look after you. Look how well you got on with Luc.’
Visions of the boathouse, their hot, panting urgency, Luc’s hard length filling her up, making her cry out, making her wild, making her yearn every night since, sent Shari’s knees weak. ‘No,’ she said faintly. ‘You’re wrong about that. We detested each other.’
‘Are you sure? It hardly seems like a week since you were here fluttering your lashes at him.’
Shari wanted to shout Stop. If only he knew what he was saying. Every word was a spike in her heart. Considering that Luc Valentin was the only person now living who knew the shame of her battered woman status …
Considering she’d actually had sex with him …
Considering he thought her the lowest, most pathetic creature he’d ever laid his aristocratic eyes on …
And how recently she’d snarled at him on the phone like a wild animal.
She shuddered to the core. She could never face him again.
‘Come on, Shar. Please. If not for yourself, do it for Emilie. Em wants to ask you herself, but she’s afraid you’ll think she’s imposing on your generous nature.’
Right. Fine. The Big One. The Emilie card.
Emilie was fragile, Neil reminded her. The twins could be distressed. Any further disturbance could bring on a premature birth situation. They could lose the twins. They could lose Emilie.
Shari’s conscience twinged. She loved Em as much as she loved Neil. With sinking resignation it dawned on her she didn’t have a chance of wriggling out of it unless she wanted to feel shame and self-reproach for all time.
Succumbing to the intense and excruciating pressure by painful degrees over days, she accepted that this was what family members did for each other. For once in her life she must put aside her personal fears and phobias and do something for someone else. Regardless of what Luc Valentin thought, she did have courage and self-respect, and she could behave honourably, and like an adult.
She could go there and meet him on his home turf with cool composure.
Though she did lay down some stipulations. She would only go briefly. And she would arrange it all herself. She wanted no interference.
There would be no advance warnings given. She made Neil solemnly promise on his honour as a brother and a stockbroker. No jolly welcoming committee at the airport. No feather bed tucked under the charming rafters of Tante Laraine’s rustic roof.
Emilie was shocked and wounded at this—Tante Laraine was her mother’s beloved cousin, and the mother of Luc—but Shari insisted. She would rather stay in a hotel.
She would rather stay in a drain.
All right, she could admit to herself she was scared. Call her a coward, but everyone knew the French loathed strangers. Especially if they couldn’t speak the language creditably. Rémy had always found her attempts to use her high school French hilarious.
Naturally, the last thing she wanted was to stay in a household where her name was a byword. One of her deepest fears was that Luc would have informed his entire family about the whore of Babylon Rémy had engaged himself to. It wasn’t as if she’d be able to defend herself there by telling them the truth about their golden boy.
Boys.
And as if everything else weren’t enough, the truth was, as Neil very well knew, she’d been severely traumatised by funerals ever since her mother’s. If Neil hadn’t been there to put his arms around her quivering ten-year-old self in the bad days and nights that had followed she’d probably have had to be sectioned.
Dragging herself to the task, she booked a room in a hotel near the Louvre. At least it didn’t sound too bad. There was something solid about an Hôtel du Louvre. If her nerve failed her when it came time to attend the ceremony, she could always sneak to the museum and hide among the Egyptian antiquities.
The flight she booked was transferable, just in case anything came up where she was required to stay longer. If Luc Valentin got over his disgust at the way she’d spoken to him on the phone, he might feel forced to take her to dinner, or something. She should probably accept, for the family’s sake, although she’d be reserved, even rather chilling.
She took steps to ensure she had something decent to wear to the ceremony. Luc might have a low opinion of her morals and her self-regard, but she would give him no opportunity to sneer at her clothes.