Come The Vintage

Ryan was glad to get home and change out of the white wedding dress which Marie had insisted on lending her. As Ryan had neither the time nor the inclination to buy a wedding dress of her own, she supposed she ought to have been grateful to the girl for providing something suitable for her to wear. But the slightly yellowed lace gown, which had already been worn by several members of Marie’s family, had been made for much more voluptuous curves than Ryan possessed, and consequently it hung on her slim shoulders and looked quite dreadful to her eyes.

Alain wore a suit of navy blue suede which fitted his powerful body closely. Ryan had not seen it before, and its darkness accentuated the intense lightness of his straight hair. White cuffs showed against tanned wrists, liberally covered with hairs, and she felt a rekindling of the aversion she had felt towards him when they had first met. He was so blatantly masculine, so confident, so arrogantly sure of himself and of her. And why not? she asked herself bitterly. She had done exactly as he wanted. She chose not to remember that it was what her father had wanted first of all.

In her room she stripped off the hated dress and looked round for her jeans. They were not lying on the chair where she had left them, and when she impatiently tugged open the dressing table drawer, she found her other clothes were missing, too.

Her brows drew together in perplexity. Marie had been in the house when they left for the church. Had she taken the things? Why should she? What possible use could they be to her? No, she would never do such a thing. Ryan was sure the girl was not a thief. So where were they?

A startling idea sent her scurrying along the landing to Alain’s room. She could hear the sound of his voice and the Abbé’s downstairs, so she felt no anxiety when she thrust open the door and went into his room. With trembling fingers she pulled open a drawer in his dressing table. It revealed only socks and underwear, and she quickly shut it again. A second drawer displayed shirts and sweaters, but at the third attempt she found what she was looking for. A layer of lingerie concealed nightwear and toiletries.

She stood with her fingertips pressed to her lips, staring down at the contents of the drawer, and an awful sick sensation filled her stomach. Marie must have moved her things while they were at church. But on whose authority?

‘So – what have we here?’

Ryan swung round in alarm at the unexpected sound of Alain’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, leaning negligently against the jamb, but there was a coldness about his eyes which belied the mockery of his tone.

‘I – I—’ Ryan suddenly remembered that the best method of defence was attack. ‘How – how dare you have my clothes shifted into your room?’

Alain’s expression did not alter, but he looked past her to the open dressing table drawer. ‘Marie must have done it,’ he said evenly.

‘Yes. Yes, I know. But on – on whose authority?’

Alain straightened. ‘Not mine, I can assure you.’

Ryan glanced back at the drawer and as she did so saw her own reflection in the dressing table mirror. She was suddenly made aware that she was facing him in her pants and slip and little else. She crossed her arms across her rounded breasts, and shifted uncomfortably.

‘I want – I want my jeans, and – and a shirt,’ she stated unsteadily.

‘Get them.’ He walked indolently into the room, unbuttoning his jacket.

‘If you’ll give me five minutes—’

He turned on her then. ‘For God’s sake, Ryan, grow up! We are married, remember? Or have you so soon forgotten?’

‘No, I haven’t forgotten,’ she retorted, her lips trembling. ‘I remember quite well that you said that it was to be a marriage of convenience only—’

‘So it is!’ He stared at her with eyes filled with dislike. ‘What do you expect me to do? This is my room. I have more right here than you do. Just because some foolish serving girl has taken it into her head to bring your clothes in here, it does not alter the situation between us. No doubt she expected you to be pleased. The fact that you are not is something you should take up with her, not me!’

Ryan stared at him frustratedly, continuing to shield her body with her arms. ‘How – how can I get changed with you – you here?’

‘I believe the usual practice is to unfasten one’s clothes and take them off, and then put something else on,’ he returned sardonically, taking off his jacket. ‘Do you want me to demonstrate?’

‘You – you wouldn’t dare!’ she breathed.

‘Why not?’ To her horror his fingers moved to the belt of his trousers. ‘Have you never seen an adult male without clothes before?’

‘Of course not!’

She turned abruptly away, and he uttered an impatient exclamation. ‘Very well,’ he said, walking towards the door, and looking back at her, ‘I’ll give you five minutes to find what you want, and then I’m going to get changed, right?’

Ryan nodded mutely, and the door closed behind him. With his going she flew into an agony of haste and fumbling ineptitude. Her jeans were eventually located in the wardrobe, and she tugged them on, and was fastening the buttons of a dark red shirt when he came back. He viewed her appearance critically for a few moments, and then ignoring her he began to unbutton his shirt.

‘I – I’ll move my things back into my own room later on,’ she ventured tentatively from the doorway.

He shrugged, ‘As you like,’ and she closed the door quietly behind her.

In her own room, she gave a little more thought to her appearance. She had had no intention of dressing up in anything frivolous and feminine for Alain de Beaunes’ benefit, no matter what the Abbé Maurice might think, but she was totally unaware that in the casual garments she had a youthful charm and attraction that owed nothing to artifice. She had grown so used to the thick curtain of her hair which curved under at her shoulders, the slightly slanted hazel eyes and tip-tilted nose, a mouth that was wide and mobile, that she no longer appreciated the beauty which together they created.

She touched the colour in her cheeks brought there by Alain’s disturbing comments. Ryan de Beaunes! She said the name experimentally. That was her name now. Wife to Alain de Beaunes, a man she had known for little more than a month. A man moreover, she was realizing, she knew next to nothing about.

Downstairs, the old Abbé was rocking himself before the blazing fire, a glass of wine resting comfortably in his hand. He looked round as Ryan entered the room, and what he saw seemed to please him because he smiled rather contentedly, and said:

‘I won’t linger too long, madame. I am not without discretion, I can assure you.’

‘Oh, but—’ Ryan licked her lips. ‘You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?’

The priest shook his head. ‘Some wine,’ he said, raising his glass, ‘and a chance to wish you well, and then I shall be gone.’

Sheer terror stiffened Ryan’s legs so that she could scarcely walk across the room. In half an hour – an hour at most – she would be alone with the man who was now her husband. What a fool she had been to imagine she could go through with it!

‘Father—’ she was beginning desperately, when the door opened behind her and Alain came into the kitchen. He had shed the navy suede suit for green corded pants and a cream sweater, and to her eyes he looked bigger and more powerful than ever. She quaked at the idea of attempting to thwart him. She wouldn’t stand a chance, and the law was all on his side now.

As though her pale strained features mirrored her thoughts, Alain’s eyes narrowed as they rested upon her. ‘Get some glasses, Ryan,’ he said harshly. ‘I have some champagne on ice for this most special occasion.’

She doubted that the Abbé Maurice was aware of the irony in his tones, but she was aware of it and was glad. Surely, if he could speak so mockingly of the situation, he found no great advantages in it. If only she could believe …

The Dom Perignon was wasted on her. She had only tasted champagne once before, and it was not something she particularly cared for. She preferred the still, smooth wines to the sparkling ones.

But the Abbé obviously enjoyed toasting them both, and he was warmly expansive as he left.

‘May God smile on you, my children,’ he declared, taking first Ryan’s hand and then Alain’s. ‘Be thankful for your youth and good health, and may God bless you with many fine sons and daughters to share your good fortune.’

‘Thank you, Father.’ While Ryan hid her embarrassment, Alain swung open the outer door, allowing a blast of cold air to penetrate the warm kitchen. It was already dusk, and as he reached for his coat he said: ‘I’ll drive you back, Father. It’s too dark for you to see your way clearly, and besides, the track may be slippery.’

The priest protested, but not too strongly, and Alain overruled his polite refusal. ‘Very well. Thank you, my boy.’ It was strange to hear Alain addressed as a boy. Abbé Maurice raised his arm to Ryan. ‘I will not keep him long, little one,’ he chuckled, and went out into the night.

Alain didn’t look at Ryan as he closed the door, and after the station wagon had driven away down the track she was still standing motionless by the glowing fire.

Then she gathered her wits. If life was to go on as usual, it was up to her not to alter things. It was almost six o’clock. At seven, Alain would expect his evening meal. On the stove was the vegetable stew she had made the previous day. She had planned to serve that with some of the crusty rolls which Marie had brought her from the bakery in the village, following it with fruit and cheese. It was a simple enough meal – most of the meals she prepared were simple meals – but would he expect something more extravagant tonight? After the Dom Perignon she could not be sure.

But nothing had changed, she told herself severely. Just because, for appearances and nothing more, he had produced a bottle of champagne, it did not mean that tonight was some sort of a celebration. A reluctant sob caught in her throat. Her wedding day! Her wedding night! Had any girl had a stranger one?

The table was set, and the stew was simmering on the stove when she heard the station wagon coming back. Immediately her nerves became taut, and a lump closed up her throat. He came in whistling, taking off the leather coat and hanging it behind the door. He went to the sink and washed his hands, drying them on the towel she kept for the purpose, and then sniffed the air appreciatively.

‘Mmm, something smells good,’ he commented, taking out his cheroots and lighting one from the fire. ‘And rolls? Did Marie bring them?’

‘Yes.’

Ryan was short, but she couldn’t help it. He flicked a glance towards her, and then sighed. ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Why are you looking so upset? Have I done something wrong?’