The Right Bride?. Jessica Steele
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lifted the strands of her light brown hair, letting the cloud of Tante’s anxiety which had hung over her since the previous day dissipate, while her heart thudded in eager anticipation.
She did not have to wait long before she was aware of Roland’s hoofbeats, quiet on the short turf, and horse and rider dark against the pale morning sky.
He said softly, ‘I knew you would be here.’ He reached down a hand, pulling her up on to the saddle in front of him. Settling her carefully.
‘Won’t Roland mind?’ She ran a hand over the glossy mane.
‘He will have to accustom himself.’ As they moved off, he said, ‘Is there anything you wish to ask me, ma belle? Anything you need to know?’
‘No.’ His arms around her conveyed all the lovely certainty she needed. She found herself thinking Poor Solange, then added aloud, ‘Unless you have something you want to say to me?’
‘Many things.’ He pushed up the sleeve of her tee-shirt and kissed her bare shoulder, his lips warm and lingering against her cool skin. ‘But they will have to wait.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To have breakfast,’ he said. ‘At Trehel.’
‘Oh,’ she said, a touch doubtfully. ‘Your family won’t mind?’
His lips touched her hair. ‘They will have to accustom themselves also.’
‘But how will I get back?’
‘Naturally I shall drive you home, before I go into Ignac. Or did you think I would send you back on Roland?’
‘It crossed my mind,’ she admitted, and heard him laugh softly.
They were quiet for a while, then she said, ‘Do you know this is only my second time on the back of a horse?’
‘Vraiment? I hope you are a little more comfortable this time. And that you do not find it as frightening.’
‘Oh, I’m still a little scared,’ she said. ‘But for very different reasons.’
‘Ah, mon ange.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Alys, you must know that I would never willingly do anything to hurt you.’
Or I you. Never willingly. But I know in my heart that I shall—because I can’t help myself…
Perhaps their need for each other would be like a summer storm, she thought with sudden sadness. Raging for a while, then blowing itself out, with no lasting harm in its wake. Maybe even enabling them to say goodbye as friends.
‘Qu’as-tu, Alys?’ He must have sensed her disquiet. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘No, nothing. Except—I was thinking how strange life is. How unexpected.’
‘You think so?’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘Yet I know I have been waiting for you since the day I was born. Is it not the same for you?’
‘Yes,’ she told him quietly. ‘Oh, yes.’
And knew, with sadness, that she spoke only the truth. But that it was all, tragically, too late…
Trehel was an old grey stone house, massive among its surrounding grasslands and trees, with three storeys of shuttered windows that seemed to be watching like half-closed eyes as they rode up. Allie could only hope the scrutiny was friendly.
Remy walked Roland round the side of the house to a large courtyard holding stables and outbuildings.
There was a big barn set well back from the yard, and Allie could hear the noise of sawing and hammering emanating from it.
‘Is that where you’re planning to live?’ she asked as Remy dismounted and lifted her down.
‘Yes,’ he said, then looked at her, his mouth twisting ruefully. ‘Ah, Solange must have told you. What else did she say?’
Allie shrugged. ‘That it hadn’t gone entirely to plan.’ Also, she happened to mention the view from the bedroom.
‘The building work has been more slow than I had hoped,’ he admitted. ‘However, it should be finished soon.’
‘May I see round it?’
‘Of course, but not now,’ he said, tossing Roland’s reins to the elderly man emerging from the stables. He added softly, ‘One day, ma belle, when we have more time.’ And the promise in his voice warmed her skin.
Then he took her hand, and led her into the house.
She found herself in a huge kitchen, with a long table at its centre. A tall white-haired man was busying himself at the range with a kettle as they came in, and the two dogs of indeterminate breed who were lying beside him looked up, thumped feathery tails on the rug, then relapsed into doing very little again.
The man turned, and Allie found herself being studied by shrewd blue eyes under bushy eyebrows.
He said, ‘So, Remy, who is this lovely girl you have brought to brighten our morning?’
‘I wish you to meet Alys, Grandpère. She is Celine Vaillac’s granddaughter. Ma mie, this is my grandfather, Georges de Brizat.’
‘But of course.’ The rather stern mouth softened into a warm smile. ‘I was foolish not to have known at once. You are very like her, mademoiselle.’
And you, she thought. One look at you, and I know exactly what Remy will be like as he grows old.
And she felt pain slash at her as she realised she would not be there to see him…
Oh, God, she thought, this is all so wrong. I shouldn’t even be here now. The whole situation’s getting out of hand.
But she recovered herself instantly, shook hands, murmuring a polite greeting, and sat at the table to be served with warm rolls, cherry jam, and large bowls of hot chocolate.
‘Where is Papa?’ Remy asked.
‘The Richaud baby. They telephoned at dawn after the first contraction, I think.’
‘Well, it is understandable,’ Remy said tolerantly. ‘After four girls, Richaud is desperate for a boy.’ He grinned. ‘It has become a matter of public concern, Alys. They have been laying odds in the Café des Sports.’
Her mouth was suddenly bone-dry. ‘Poor woman—to have so much expected of her,’ she managed, and gulped some of her chocolate.
Georges de Brizat came and sat at the head of the table, followed hopefully by the dogs. He gave Allie another thoughtful look. ‘You are staying with Madame Colville, mademoiselle? She is well, I hope.’
‘Absolutely fine.’ She forced a smile.
‘Good.’ His nod was faintly abstracted. ‘Good. You will tell her I was asking about her? Also, give her my best wishes?’
‘Yes—yes, of course.’
‘We knew each other many years ago, during the bad years of the Occupation. She and her sister were brave girls. Brave and very beautiful.’ He paused. ‘They had happy lives—with their Englishmen?’
‘Yes,’ Allie returned, faintly surprised. ‘Very happy.’
He nodded again, then applied himself to his breakfast.
One of the dogs came and laid a chin on her leg, and she stroked his silky head and fondled his ears, before slipping him a morsel of bread and jam, while Remy watched her with such tender amusement that she wanted to get up from her chair, and go round the table into his arms, to remain there for ever.
But he was getting briskly to his feet. ‘I must go and shower. Get ready for work.’ As he passed his grandfather’s chair, he dropped a hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘Be gentle with Alys, Grandpère. No Resistance-style interrogation,