Bride Of Desire

‘As soon as that letter arrived I knew exactly what that woman would want,’ Grace added angrily.

‘Oh, come on,’ Allie defended. ‘You talk as if Tante’s always demanding attention, and that’s simply not true.’

‘Oh, she’s more subtle than that,’ her mother-in-law said derisively. ‘Your mother warned me, of course, that she was a born manipulator.’

Well, the pair of you should know, Allie countered silently.

‘Well, let’s agree to disagree over that too, shall we?’ she suggested quietly.

‘And French houses don’t have proper damp-proof courses.’ Grace tried a new tack. ‘Tom might catch a chill.’

Alice leaned back in her chair. ‘He doesn’t stay still for long enough. And I don’t want him wrapped in cotton wool all the time. He’s a little boy, for heaven’s sake.’

‘Yes, he is, and I’m not sure you realise just how important he is to the future of the Marchingtons.’

‘On the contrary. I’ve had it drummed into me that he is the future of the Marchingtons, God help him.’ Alice said shortly. ‘Before, during and after he was born, God help me.’

There was a silence. Then Lady Marchington said, ‘Alice, listen—please.’ She looked older suddenly, and weary. Almost scared. ‘You can’t possibly go back to that place. It would be madness.’

There were two heartbeats of silence as Allie looked back at her. Her voice was even. ‘In what way—madness?’

Her mother-in-law put up a hand to smooth her already immaculate hair. ‘Well—perhaps madness is a slight exaggeration. All the same, you must see why you shouldn’t go back there. And I’m sure your mother would agree with me.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Allie returned quietly. ‘But it makes no difference to my decision.’

Lady Marchington took a deep breath. ‘If Madelon genuinely wishes to see Tom, perhaps—arrangements could be made for her to come to England.’

‘Except that it isn’t right to uproot someone of her age,’ Alice said quietly. ‘Particularly when she’s unwell, and I’m young and healthy and can make the trip perfectly easily.’

What am I saying? Why am I making all these arguments for a case I’d already decided to lose? Because it’s too late to say so. Because, by this totally unwanted and unwarranted intervention, Grace has backed me into a corner, and if I’m ever to establish any independence for myself I cannot give way over this issue. And, as a result, I now have to go back to Les Sables d’Ignac, even though it’s the last thing I want in this world.

I have to. There’s no choice now. It’s make or break time …

Oh, God, why couldn’t she have kept quiet? Given me the chance to find some kind of valid excuse for staying away. For escaping this nightmare?

‘Plymouth to Roscoff overnight,’ she added with a shrug, forcing herself to sound casual. ‘Then a leisurely drive down to Les Sables. Tom will love it.’

‘You can’t take Tom,’ Grace said harshly. ‘If you insist on going, it must be alone.’

‘You mean that after deserting my husband on the last visit, I should desert my son this time?’ Allie asked ironically. ‘Imagine the gossip that would cause. And I don’t choose to feature as a neglectful mother. Besides,’ she added squarely. ‘It would give me the chance to really be with Tom for once. To spend some real quality time with him on my own, so that we can get to know each other properly.’

‘On your own? But you’ll have to take Nanny.’

When hell freezes over …

Aloud, ‘Thank you,’ she said politely. ‘But I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m perfectly capable of driving my own car, and caring for Tom like any other mother. In fact, I’ll love it. Besides,’ she added practically, ‘Tante has no room for another guest at the cottage, and it’s the holiday season over there.’

I want my life back, and I want my child back too, she thought. And if this is the only way, then I’ll take it.

Grace clearly realised she had lost the advantage, and her mouth was a slit. But her voice was composed again. ‘I see. So, when are you thinking of going?’

‘I thought—as soon as I can get a ferry booking.’ Allie looked back at her calmly, just as if her stomach wasn’t tying itself into knots at the prospect. She added, ‘I think I’ll pass on the coffee. Tante will be waiting for my reply.’

Grace nodded. ‘Then clearly there’s nothing more to be said.’ She gave a small wintry nod, and left the room.

The ferry was crowded, and it seemed to take an age before her deck was cleared and Allie was able to drive down the ramp into the busy port of Roscoff.

It was a clear, bright morning, but the crossing had been a choppy one. Tom had not liked the motion of the ship, and had proclaimed as much all night long. He’d not been sick, just angry and frightened—and probably missing Nanny’s confident, capable handling, Allie acknowledged exhaustedly. And for the first time she wondered if Grace and her mother had been right. She was too inexperienced, and he was too young for such a trip.

But, as she’d waited restlessly to be called to her car, she’d seen umpteen other babies, much younger than hers, who seemed perfectly relaxed and cheerful about the whole experience.

It’s all my own fault, she told herself, for not insisting on looking after him myself from Day One, and to hell with postnatal depression. Other women manage, and I could have done, too. Well, from now on things are going to change. Permanently.

She couldn’t pretend it would be easy. Nanny had greeted the news of the trip in ominous silence, and the days leading up to departure had been cloaked in an atmosphere that could only have been cut by a chainsaw.

But, when Allie had taken no notice, she’d been forced to accept the situation.

It might not be a very worthy triumph, thought Allie, but for someone who’d been consistently ignored since Tom was born, and made to feel incompetent and ungrateful when she protested, it was eminently satisfying.

She got well free of Roscoff and its environs, then stopped at a tabac in a convenient village, ordering a café au lait and a croissant, while Tom had milk, and made himself agreeably messy with a pain au chocolat.

She gave him a perfunctory wipe down to remove the worst of the crumbs, then strapped him back into his safety seat with his favourite blue rabbit. Before they’d gone half a mile, the combination of the previous restless night and warm food caught up with him, and he fell peacefully and soundly asleep, leaving Allie to concentrate on her driving.

Last time she’d come this way, she’d pushed the car swiftly, almost recklessly, aware of little but her own wretchedness, but now she had precious cargo on board, and her control was absolute. She slotted some cool jazz into the CD player, and headed steadily south towards Ignac, knowing that she would easily reach Tante’s house by lunchtime.

Tom slept for an hour and a half, and then woke, grizzling. Allie parked on the wide verge at the side of the road, changed him quickly, gave him a drink, then let him play on the rug she’d spread on the grass. Propped on an elbow, she watched him, smiling, as he carefully dismembered a large leaf.

He turned his head and saw her, according her the sudden vivid grin that lit up his face, before stumping energetically in her direction, grabbing her shoulder to steady himself.

‘Who’s my wonderful, clever boy?’ she praised, hugging him. And who certainly isn’t going to be bow-legged through walking too soon? she added silently, recalling a recent bone of contention at home.

They stayed for another sunlit half-hour before Allie decided they should be on their way again. Tom made a token protest as he was strapped into his baby seat, but she soon tickled him into good humour again, nuzzling her face into his neck so that he laughed and grabbed at her hair.

An hour and a half later, Ignac began appearing on the signposts. She saw the name with a sense of relief, because it had been a long time since she’d undertaken so long a drive. Although so far it had been an easy, even enjoyable journey, with only moderate traffic to contend with in places.

The joys of midweek travel, she thought. Most of the holidaymakers arrived at the weekend, and are now relaxing at their hotels and gîtes, leaving the roads open for me, bless them.

‘Courage, mon brave,’ she told Tom, who was beginning to be restive again. ‘We’re nearly there.’

Mentally, however, she was already bracing herself, unsure of what she might find when she reached Les Sables.

Tante disliked the telephone, regarding it as something to be used only in the direst emergencies, and the letter expressing her delight at Allie’s visit, and confirming the suggested arrangements, had been in the same wavering hand as before.

Not for the first time, Allie wished there was someone she could confide in about her worries. Someone who also cared about Tante.

Once there was, she thought—and stopped right there, her lips tightening. She could not let herself remember that—even though every landmark—every direction sign in the last hour—had been battering at her memory with their own poignant reminders.

But what else could she have expected? she asked herself with a sigh. Those few brief weeks with Remy had given her the only real happiness she’d ever known. How could she even pretend she’d forgotten?