By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
Читать онлайн книгу.
persisted all the way from Tante Laraine’s to the Luxembourg Gardens. Luc had hustled Shari so fast out of the family lunch she was breathless. But not nervous. She had no reason to be scared. He was a civilised, non-violent guy, she was an adult woman capable of making her own decisions and defending herself, so this silence wasn’t playing on her nerves.
Much.
It was just that, in a small car, when they were physically in such close proximity, she could hear his very breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Or maybe that was the jackhammer in her heart.
Anyway, he parked and took her for a charming stroll through the afternoon shadows, under trees, past grassy banks to a beautiful old rhimey fountain. Most of the people had left or were on their way home. The clowns, a juggler in his harlequin costume. Lovers holding hands. A kid playing with a hoop. Mothers pushing their babies.
Shari wouldn’t have minded a few of them hanging around, just in case, but she guessed it was time for them all to repair to their kitchens and prepare the family cassoulet.
She concentrated on small things along the way. Water lilies floating on the pond. Jonquils nodding along the garden path, closing their faces now as the shadows lengthened.
They paused by the fountain. Luc faced her. She made her mind go empty, the way she always had when she suspected Rémy was about to strike.
‘Do you have something to tell me?’ He took her arms in a gentle grasp that might as well have been of steel. There was no escaping this moment of truth.
‘Yes.’ Not breathing, she met his compelling gaze. ‘It’s true. I only found out for sure myself this morning. I’m—we’re—pregnant.’
She braced.
He scrutinised her face for what felt like for ever. Worlds of calculation glinted in his eyes while he evaluated the available data. In a romance novel he would have said Then we must get married. No question about it.
‘And you are certain?’
That expression on his face. The tinge of doubt. She remembered it well from the night in Sydney. That occasion when he’d asked her how recently she’d seen Rémy. How recently she’d been hot from his cousin’s bed.
‘Pretty certain,’ she said tonelessly. ‘I took a pregnancy test this morning. It came up positive. It was what I—expected.’
He didn’t lash out, just sat down with her on a nearby bench. But she could see he was in shock. He was blinking fast and there was a pallor under his olive tan, a grave set to his mouth.
‘I know what you are wondering,’ she said suddenly. ‘You’re wondering if the child is yours. You’re thinking I might be—exploiting this opportunity to foist Rémy’s child onto you, and …’ Her voice choked up. Tears came into her eyes and she turned her face away.
He took her hand and held it tight. ‘Please. I have to ask the question. Is it mine?’
‘Yes. Yours. Rémy and I hadn’t been—together in that way for a long time.’
He searched her face, frowning. Then, dragging his fingers through his hair, he got up and started to pace. ‘This—needs serious thought.’ He walked, halted, walked again, like a man riven by terrible conflicts. After a few minutes he paused before her. ‘What do you want to do? Whatever you choose, I will help you.’
Her heart trembled. ‘I don’t know. I’m still coming to terms with it.’
She crossed her fingers. This was the point where the hero would take her in his arms and tell her it was the most beautiful news he’d ever received.
He was silent for a moment. ‘Bien sûr, this is not the ideal way for a—a child to be conceived.’
‘No.’
‘You live in Sydney. I live here. We are separated by a great distance.’
She closed her eyes. He was a man, she was a woman. Different planets of origin. He hardly needed words to describe the status quo. The separation factors. His hands did the talking for him. Crushed her wayward little hope and put it back in its box.
‘You have a career. You are an independent person. Naturally, you value your autonomy.’
‘Well, yes.’
He added carefully, ‘In France, of course, there are options. I’m not sure how the law exists in Australia …’
She lowered her eyes. ‘There are options.’
‘Here … I believe it can be as simple as taking a pill.’
She nodded.
He stared at her a while, his eyes glittering, his face tense. ‘This is not something—either of us would have planned.’
‘No.’
‘This—this changes lives. I would not have afflicted you with this problem.’
‘Of course not.’
He lowered his lashes, frowning and breathing rather hard. ‘So …’ A grim tension tautened his lean face. ‘Perhaps the obvious thing to do then would be to—take action. N’est-ce pas?’ His gaze scoured her face, questioning, searching.
The sun went out, or maybe a cloud doused the world. Her limbs suddenly felt chilled. Shivering, she pulled her trench closer. ‘Do you mind if I go back to my hotel now? I’m feeling very tired all at once.’
‘Of course, of course.’ He helped her up, so courteously, so concerned for her comfort, she had the feeling he’d have carried her to the car if she’d requested it.
The drive to the Hôtel du Louvre was even more tense, if possible, than the drive to the Luxembourg Gardens. But it was a different sort of silence. More like Hiroshima, in those minutes after the bomb.
Before all the agony set in.
When they drew up at the hotel, he paused before turning off the ignition, frowning at the hotel entrance. ‘Will you be okay here?’
‘Of course. It’s a lovely hotel. It’s very comfortable.’
His frown deepened. ‘I—I’ve never heard anything against it. I’m sure it’s of a reasonable standard. Clean.’
She nodded.
‘And safe? You feel safe here?’
‘Yep. Safe.’
‘The staff. They are respectful?’
‘Very.’
‘And the facilities are—très bon?’
He was so concerned that despite her internal suffocation she nearly laughed. ‘Mais oui. Très, très bon.’
He got out and strode around to open the door for her, then ushered her in through the revolving door.
He glanced around the small lobby, then faced her, the lines of his face even more taut. When he spoke his words sounded suddenly jerky. ‘So—so what will you do now? Will you sleep?’
‘Hope so.’
His eyes strayed in the direction of the restaurant, which to her eyes looked warm and charming, with its banquettes bright with red regency stripes. ‘What about your dinner? Do you feel you can eat in this place? You hardly ate a bite at lunch.’
‘Oh, yes, yes, I did.’ She hoped her appetite problems hadn’t wounded his feelings. ‘The lunch was delicious. Your mother’s a wonderful cook. Anyway, I’ll—I might have something sent up later.’
He took both of her hands. ‘Are you sure this is what you want? To be here now?’
‘Where else? I’m not really in the mood for the Ritz.’
He turned sharply away, but not before she saw the flush darken