Dangerous to Know (21 page)

“Get out of the way, Jack!” Sebastian shouted, bringing his horse to a shuddering standstill, jumping down onto the grass. “You can’t do anything. You’re just a little boy.” Pushing me to one side, he knelt next to her, touched her face, as I had done.

“Run, Jack,” he said urgently, looking up at me. “Run to the kitchen.

Ask Bridget to bring a damp facecloth. And find Alfred. Tell him to come here.”

I was immobilized. I stood there staring at Antoinette.

“What’s wrong with you? Do as I say!” my father screamed. “Are you an imbecile? Go to the house, boy. Get Aldred. I need a man here to help me, not a child.”

I ran. All the way back to the farm. I was panting when I found Bridget in the kitchen. “Antoinette fell. Off her horse. Wet cloth.

My father wants a wet facecloth. Take it to him please, Bridget.”

Before Bridget could say anything to me, Alfred appeared. “What’s wrong, Jack?” he asked quietly. “It’s not like you to cry. Speak to me, child. What’s wrong?”

Bridget said, “Mrs. Delaney’s had an accident. Her horse threw her.

Jack says Mr. Locke wants a damp facecloth.”

“He wants you to go,” I said, tugging at Alfred’s sleeve. “He needs a man to help. Not a child. That’s what he said.”

Alfred stared at me for a moment, frowning, but made no comment.

He turned and raced out of the kitchen. Bridget followed him. I ran out of the house after them.

“I’m afraid to move her,” I heard my father say to Alfred as I staggered up to them a few moments later. “That could be dangerous.

Something might be broken.”

“Here, Mr. Locke, let’s put this damp cloth on her face,” Bridget said.

“It’ll revive her. Yes, she’s sure to come around in a few minutes .”

“Thank you, Bridget,” Sebastian said, taking the cloth from her.

He placed it on Antoinette’s forehead.

Alfred and my father spoke softly together. I couldn’t hear them.

I knew they didn’t want me to know what they were saying.

She was dead. And they didn’t want to tell me. I began to cry again. I pressed my balled fists to my streaming eyes.

“Stop that at once, Jack!” Sebastian said sharply, in a harsh tone.

“Don’t be such a big baby.”

“She’s dead,” I said and began to sob.

“No, she’s not,” Sebastian snapped. “She’s just unconscious.”

“I don’t believe you,” I wailed.

“It’s all right, Jack,” Antoinette murmured, finally opening her eyes at last, looking straight at me. And only at me. “Don’t cry, my darling.

It was just a little tumble. Really, I’m fine, angel.”

I was so relieved I sat down hard on the grass.

“Where do you hurt, Antoinette?” my father asked, searching her face.

“Can you straighten out your legs?”

“I think so,” Antoinette said and did so as she spoke.

“Are you in any kind of pain, Mrs. Delaney?” Aldred asked.

“None whatsoever. I just feel rather shaken up, that’s all.”

“Let’s get you upright, darling,” Sebastian said. “Do you think you can sit?” he asked, looking at her in concern.

“I’m sure I can. Help me, please, Sebastian, would you?”

He did so. Once she was upright, she moved her head from side to side, stretched out her arms somewhat tentatively. Then she stretched her legs again.

“I’m sure there’s nothing broken. I’m not really hurt, perhaps just a bit bruised,” Antoinette remarked with a light laugh. “Although as I say that I think I might have sprained my ankle. I suddenly feel a twinge or two, can you help me to my feet, Sebastian?”

A moment later my beloved Antoinette, my Special Lady, was standing in front of me. She was alive. Not dead. My tears ceased instantly when she looked down at me, rumpled my hair and smiled.

“You see, Jack darling, I’m as good as new.”

However, she had sprained her ankle. At least she said it felt funny.

So my father lifted her in his arms and carried her all the way back to the farm.

He took her up to her bedroom and came out after a few minutes.

Bridget was sent in to help her undress. Later Doctor Simpson came to examine Antoinette’s ankle. “Just to be sure it’s not broken,” my lather told Luce and me. “And also to be sure she hasn’t hurt herself in any other way.”

After supper I went to Antoinette’s room and tapped on the door.

My father opened it. He refused to let me in to say good night to her.

“Antoinette’s resting,” he said. “You can see her tomorrow, Jack.”

Without another word he closed the door in my face.

I slumped down on the floor next to the grandfather clock in the corner of the upstairs hall. I would wait until he left. Wait until he went to bed. Then I could creep in to kiss her cheek, to say good night.

I must have fallen asleep in the darkened hall. It was the sounds that woke me. The groaning. The moaning. And then the strangled cry.

split second later I heard Antoinette’s voice. “Oh God! Oh God!”

she exclaimed. There was a little cry again. “Don’t-” The rest of her sentence was muffled.

I scrambled to my feet, ran across the hall. I burst into her bedroom.

It was dim, shadowy. But I could see my father in the light from the bedside lamp. He was naked. He was on top of Antoinette. Holding her face in his hands. He was hurting her. I knew it.

“Stop it! Stop it!” I screamed. I flew at him, grabbed hold of his leg.

My father was strong, very athletic. He moved swiftly. Jumping off the bed he grabbed hold of me, lifted me up, and carried me across the floor. As he marched out of the room with me I looked back.

Antoinette was covering her naked body with the sheet.

She saw me staring and blew me a kiss. “Go to bed, darling, that’s a good boy,” she said and smiled at me lovingly. “Sweet dreams.

-I cried myself to sleep. I was just a little boy. Only eight. And so I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t protect her from my father. He was back -in her room hurting her. I couldn’t do anything about it.

The next morning Antoinette was present at breakfast as she usually was.

It seemed to me that she had never looked so beautiful. She was quiet.

Lost in her thoughts. Whenever I looked at her she smiled at me in that special way she had. My father glowered at me over the rim of his coffee cup. I waited for him to chastise me about my behavior the night before but he did not. He didn’t even mention it.

Later when we were alone, Antoinette gave me lots of hugs. And she kissed the top of my head and told me I was the best boy in the whole world, her boy, and that she loved me very much. She asked me to help her cut flowers for the vases, and we went out to the garden and spent the morning together.

I blinked several times and took a deep breath as Catherine came cantering up to the fence.

“Are you all right?” she asked, leaning forward, peering at me over Black Jack’s head.

“Yes. Why?”

“You look a bit strange, that’s all.”

“I’m okay.” I bent down, retrieved the bottle of wine from the grass.

I regretted that I had dropped it so clumsily.

“Olivier has produced a remarkable wine,” I confided. “Possibly a great one. The weather was excellent in 1986. The grapes were good.

I wanted you to taste it. But I’ve probably ruined it. Dropping the bottle the way I did.”

“Let’s try it anyway,” she answered. She gave me a wide smile, saluted look a bit strange, that’s all.”

“I’m okay.” I bent down, retrieved the bottle of wine from the grass.

I regretted that I had dropped it so clumsily.

“Olivier has produced a remarkable wine,” I confided. “Possibly a great one. The weather was excellent in 1986. The grapes were good.

I wanted you to taste it. But I’ve probably ruined it. Dropping the bottle the way I did.”

“Let’s try it anyway,” she answered. She gave me a wide smile, saluted, and added as she rode off, “See you in a couple of minutes.”

I walked up to the chateau, my mind still focused on Antoinette and –______________________ — - ––—Sebastian. I had not thought of that awful incident since it happened.

It had lain dormant for twenty-two years. But now that I had finally remembered it I understood everything. Understood that this was when I had first begun to hate my father.

Ij\

A week later I got the shock of my life.

After my usual morning walk through the woods, I returned to the -chateau. In the kitchen I found Simone, my housekeeper. She was preparing the breakfast tray for Catherine and myself. After exchanging a few words with her I carried the tray to the library.

Since the advent of Catherine in my life, I always ate breakfast there these days. I didn’t mind. It was a pleasant room overlooking the woods. Catherine loved it. She invariably worked on her book at the big library table under the window.

Catherine had not come down yet. I poured myself a cafi all lait, took a warm croissant out of the basket, spread butter and homemade strawberry jam on it.

I was munching on the croissant when Catherine came in, apologizing as she did.

“Sorry I’m late. Oh good, I see you’ve started,” she said, joining me in front of the fire. Sitting down on the sofa opposite, she poured coffee for herself.

After a moment, she went on, “Did you have a good walk, darling?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it like out today?”

“Sunny. As you can see. Not as mild as yesterday. But a nice day.

For a good gallop.”

“Oh I don’t think I’ll go riding,” she responded. “I don’t think riding would be good for the baby, do you?” Putting the cup down, she looked at me.

“Baby! What baby?”

“Our baby, Jack.” She tossed back her flowing red hair and beamed at me. “I was going to tell you tonight, tell you properly over dinner. It just popped out now. I’ve suspected I was pregnant for the past week.

-And the doctor in Air-en-Provence confirmed it yesterday.”

AL

I sat frozen in the chair, gaping at her.

At last I managed in a strangled voice, “)bu ‘re having a baby?”

I was not only shocked but incredulous.

All smiles, she nodded. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

I was speechless. Words failed me.

She went on quickly, “I never realized I would feel this way, not that I ever thought much about children. I didn’t care whether I had a child or not. But now that I am pregnant I’m just thrilled to bits.

Terribly excited. It’s really wonderful news, isn’t-” Her voice faltered and abruptly she stopped. She stared hard at me. After a moment she said, “You don’t think it’s good news, do you?”

“No, I certainly don’t. It’s horrendous. A baby was never part of our plan.”

“But Jack-“

“You were supposed to be taking care of yourself. You said you were using a diaphragm,” I rasped. I glared at her. “What happened?

Did you suddenly stop?”

“Of course I didn’t!” she cried. She was irate. “Something must have gone wrong.”

“Merde!”

“It can, you know.”

“It shouldn’t have, though. Marriage was never part of our deal.

I told you I would never get married again.”

“Who wants to get married?” she shot back angrily. “Not I, Jack.

I’ve always told you that. I cherish my independence. And this is not about marriage. It’s about a baby. Our child. Unexpectedly, I find myself pregnant, and I’m pleased about it … I’m looking forward to having the baby.”

“You can’t have it! Do you understand me? You can’t have it!”

“Are you trying to tell me I should have an abortion?” she demanded .

Her face had gone deathly white.

“You’ve no alternative!” I snapped.

“Oh but I do. I can have the baby.”

“I don’t want it, Catherine.”

“I do, Jack. And I have no intentions of terminating my pregnancy. I thought you’d be as happy as I am.”

“Happy! Don’t be such a fool! This is a disaster.” .

“It needn’t be. We don’t have to get married, darling,” she began in a softer voice. “We can live together, just as we have been doing these past few months. And we can bring up our baby together, here at the chateau. It’s a wonderful place to raise a child, Jack. And honestly, matrimony doesn’t have to figure in it, not at all.”

“No way! Absolutely no way!”

“A lot of people do it, Jack. They-“

“I’m not a lot of people. I don’t want this child. Don’t you under stand that? I’m not interested in this baby,” I spluttered.

“I’m going to have it, whatever you say. You can’t stop me,” Cather me said, her voice hardening. There was a sudden change in her.

She had acquired a defiance that brought a tautness to her face, and her body had stiffened. Her resoluteness took my breath away.

“If you have this baby we can’t be together,” I threatened. “It’s the end of our relationship.”

“That’s fine by me!” she cried and jumped up. Her eyes blazed in her white face. “I will not get rid of my baby. And if you don’t want to live with me and bring it up, then I’ll live alone. I’ll have the baby and bring it up myself. I don’t need you. Or your bloody money, Jack Locke! I have enough of my own. And I’m quite self-sufficient.

In every way!”

“So be it,” I said coldly, also standing.

She glared at me, her fury apparent.

I stared her down.

Neither of us spoke.

“I’d better leave,” she exclaimed in a curt, clipped tone. “I can be packed in half an hour, an hour at the most. Please be kind enough to order a cab for me. To take me to Marseilles. There are plenty of planes to London daily. I don’t want to hang around here for longer than is necessary.”

“Consider it done!” I answered angrily. I was rasping again. My voice sounded harsh to me.

Catherine walked across the room. She turned at the door. In a voice that dripped ice, she said, “You’re afraid to be a father.

You’re -afraid because you believe you can’t love a child. And all because your father couldn’t love you.”

I opened my mouth. No words came out.

She threw me one last pitying look. Swinging on her heels she left, slamming the door behind her.

The chandelier rattled.

Then there was silence.