Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know (40 page)

“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, and added as she rode off, “See you in a couple of minutes.”

I walked up to the château, 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.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

A
week later I got the shock of my life.

After my usual morning walk through the woods, I returned to the château. 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 café au 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 Aix-en-Provence confirmed it yesterday.”

I sat frozen in the chair, gaping at her.

At last I managed in a strangled voice,
“You'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 château. 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 understand that? I'm not interested in this baby,” I spluttered.

“I'm going to have it, whatever
you
say. You can't stop me,” Catherine 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.

I was completely alone.

 

I did as she asked and ordered a car for her. Then I went to my office in the winery. I had work to do. But I also wanted to avoid Catherine. I didn't want to say good-bye. I didn't want to see her again. Not ever. Not as long as I lived.

Anger was fulminating inside me. I tried to shake it off. Work was the answer. I sat poring over the papers that had arrived by courier from Locke Industries in New York yesterday. Concentration eluded me. I pushed them away from me, sat back in my chair, and closed my eyes.

Endeavoring to calm myself, I made an effort to focus on my business affairs. I was not particularly successful. Emotions were crowding in, getting in the way.

I was angry. And hurt. I felt betrayed by Catherine. She had let me down by getting pregnant. It was irresponsible on her part. We'd had more than one conversation about birth control. She knew my feelings about children. I'd never wanted any when I was married. So why would I want them out of wedlock?

Suddenly her last words echoed in my mind. Had she spoken the truth? Did I really believe that I couldn't love a child because my father had never loved me? I had no answer for myself. How could I have an answer to an unanswerable question?

Catherine had said I was irrational about my father. But this was not the case. I was very rational when it came to Sebastian. I knew where my feelings of antipathy sprang from. My childhood. He had never tried to help me when I was growing up. Never ventured to teach me anything. He had never made an effort to be a real father. Like other boys' fathers did. He had always left me to my own devices. Left me with Luciana and Vivienne. We had never indulged in any masculine pursuits. Or exchanged confidences. All he had ever talked about was my duty. And he had never loved me.

At least Catherine hadn't tried to convince me I was wrong about that. Instead she had given me a psychological explanation.
Disassociation.
That is what she had called it. She said it sprang from lack of bonding in the first years of a child's life. She ascribed Sebastian's inability to love to this condition. It made sense. His mother had died in childbirth. He had never bonded with Cyrus. He had said as much once. I knew he had hated my grandfather.

But
I
didn't suffer from disassociation. I had known mother love for two years. Those crucial years of a child's life. Then Christa had come along. She had been there to love me. And after Christa went away there was my Special Lady Antoinette Delaney.

I sighed under my breath. Catherine might be right about my father. But she was totally wrong about me. Wasn't she?

Oh what the hell did it matter what she thought or said or did. She was out of my life. Or would be within the space of the next hour. It was regrettable really. I had cared about her. We had been good together. Built a good relationship. She had gone and ruined it. But then women usually did. In my life at least.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

“G
ood God, where did you spring from?” I exclaimed. I stared at the door, startled to see my unexpected visitor. Her sudden arrival was a mixed blessing. Part of me was glad. The other part mad.

“New York,” Vivienne said, laughing. She stepped into my office and closed the door behind her. “I got back to
Vieux Moulin
yesterday. I was going to phone you, but then I decided to surprise you instead.”

“You succeeded.” I got up, went to hug her. We strolled across the floor together. She sat down in the chair next to my desk and went on, “You do look busy. All those papers. Oh, dear, I do hope I haven't interrupted you.”

“It's okay, Viv. I'd just about finished anyway. I've been hard at it all day. Locke Industries can be very demanding at times. Even long distance.” I glanced at my watch. “It's almost five. I might as well pack it in now. Let's go and have a drink.”

“It's a bit early, isn't it?” she demurred.

“Not necessarily. Depending on how you look at it. Here in Aix it's five. But in Rome it's already six. The cocktail hour. Anyway, I'm not offering you any old drink. But a very special one. So you can make an exception. Start drinking early for once. I want you to taste our new wine. Created by Olivier. In 1986. It's just matured. Come on, kid. Let's go down to the
cave
.”

“I'd love to,” Vivienne agreed, suddenly enthusiastic. She followed me out of the office.

Within minutes we were standing in the wine-tasting corner of the red wine maturation cellar. I ushered Vivienne to a chair. Then I took a bottle of the vintage 1986 red out of a wine rack and showed it to her.

“It was good weather that summer and fall. If you remember, Viv,” I explained. “And the wine is excellent. It's aged well. Olivier mixed three different grapes. It has a wonderful taste. Very soft on the palette.”

“I can't wait to try it,” she replied and smiled up at me. “Go on then, open it. Let me taste your triumph.”

“Olivier's triumph,” I said.

I felt her eyes on me as I handled the bottle. I did so carefully. Slowly. I followed the steps taught to me by Olivier years ago.

Once I had poured a glass for each of us, I raised mine. “Here's to you, Viv.”

“And you, Jack.”

She took a sip and then another. After a moment she nodded. “It's wonderful. Like velvet on the tongue. And there's just the right hint of violets. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. But I told you, it's Olivier's wine. Not mine.”

Vivienne drank a little more, pronounced it the best wine ever created at the château, and said, “I'd like to order some of it, if I may.”

“Sure. I'll give you a couple of cases. Tonight. Before you leave.”

“I want to pay for them, Jack.”

“No way. What's mine is yours. You should know that by now.”

“Thank you. That's sweet of you. Anyway, don't stand there, come and sit down with me.”

I did as she asked. Groaning under my breath. I knew her so well. Better than I knew myself, at times. And I could tell from her expression what was on her mind. She was about to launch into a long recital. About her trip to New York. About Sebastian. About the damned profile.

Wanting to get it over with, I broached the subject. “How's the profile on Sebastian coming along?”

“Very well, in certain respects. I talked to a lot of people at Locke Industries. To the president and his vice president.”

“What did Jonas and Peter have to say?”

“Only good things, of course. I spent a lot of time with Madge Hitchens at the foundation. In all the years she went to Africa with Sebastian she never met any women with him. And certainly not last year. At least none that he might have been romantically involved with.”

“She actually said that?”

Vivienne nodded. “Yes, she did, and, in fact, no one knows anything at all about a new woman in his life. Nor did they know he was planning to get married this spring.”

“Except you.”

“That's right.”

I laughed out loud.

Vivienne stared at me. “Why're you laughing like that?”

“Maybe she didn't exist. Doesn't exist.”

“What do you mean?”

I laughed again. I knew I sounded cynical. I couldn't help myself. I said slowly “Maybe this woman was an invention on his part.”

“That's ridiculous. Why would he invent a new woman, tell me he was in love, say he was getting married this spring?”

“To light a fire under you, Viv. Get you going.”

“Now why on earth would he want to do that?” she exclaimed.

“To make you jealous. That's what I'm trying to say.”

“That's preposterous. Very far-fetched indeed.”

“Not necessarily. Not when I really think about it.” I gave her a knowing look. “Sebastian always cared about you the most. More than the other wives. You meant more to him than your mother ever did. Also—”

“I really find that hard to believe,” Vivienne cut in. “He loved my mother very much.”

Ignoring her comment, I said, “He could have wanted to start up with you again. Why not? Once you were very special to him. His favorite. Yep, that's it.” I laughed more loudly than before. “He wanted to get you back. So he made himself look highly desirable. By inventing a new woman in his life.”

“That's a ridiculous premise on your part—”

“I bet I'm right,” I interrupted. “He
did
make you jealous that day. Admit it.”

“No, he didn't,” she protested indignantly.

“It's me you're talking to, Vivienne.”

She was silent.

I sat drinking my wine for a few minutes. Neither of us spoke. I realized that I had hit the mark. He
had
made her jealous. When they had lunch at Le Refuge. That was typical of him. He had always been very clever when it came to women. And at pushing the right buttons.

After pouring more wine for us both, I murmured, “Why don't you fly to Africa? Go to every place he visited without Madge. The last year of his life. You'll discover he was there alone. I mean without a lover. Without a new woman. And
of course
Madge Hitchens was his only companion in the places he usually went to. Madge and some of the others from the charities.”

Vivienne said, “During lunch at Le Refuge, when I asked Sebastian questions about his new girlfriend, his fiancée, because that's what she was, he said she worked in Africa. That she was a doctor. A scientist. It's more than likely that she was working in a laboratory somewhere. Maybe even somewhere isolated. I'm quite certain she didn't travel around with him. Why would she when she had a job? And
that
is the explanation, in my opinion.”

“So you do believe she existed?” I asserted.

“Exists,” Vivienne corrected.

I shrugged. “Who's to know. I still think it's odd that no one met this woman with him. It's not at all in character.”

“What do you mean exactly?”

“Sebastian liked to show his women off. You should know that better than anyone. He loved a beautiful woman on his arm. Certainly, you were the prime example, Viv.”

“If that's a back-handed compliment, thank you,” she responded, and smiled at me.

“You're welcome, honey.”

“Jack?”

“Yes?”

“Do you trust me?

“You know I do, Viv.”

“And my judgment?”

“Sometimes,” I hedged.

“Look, you must trust me now. I know
instinctively
that Sebastian meant every word he said to me. He wasn't trying to make me jealous, so that he could get me interested in him again. He
knew
me, and he certainly knew that would be the wrong way to go about it,” she explained quietly. “Let me put it to you very simply. He
was
telling me the truth that day over lunch. He
had
met a young woman in Africa, had fallen in love with her. He loved her in a way he had never loved before. He said that in those exact words. He was going back to Africa to meet her. They were traveling on to India together. They were going to spend Christmas in Connecticut. At the farm. And then he was bringing her to France. To
Vieux Moulin.
To meet me. And you, I'm sure. They were going to be married here in France. This spring. I honestly and truly believe that this is exactly the way it was.”

I realized how serious Vivienne was. I said, “Okay. Let's just say you're right. But why does it matter? You don't need this woman to write your profile. You knew him better than anyone. She can't add anything.”

“That's true, yes. I could start writing the piece tomorrow. But you've forgotten something. I want to know
why
he killed himself.”

“Oh, Viv,
honey.
You're never going to know.”

“I'm going to make a damned good try at finding out.”

“How?”

“I'm going to find the woman.”

“
How
?”

“I'm not sure. But I will. Believe me, I will.”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to her. Interview her.”

“
Why
?” I asked again.

“Because in my opinion she's got something to do with his death.”

I stared at her. “You gotta be kidding.”

“No, Jack, I'm not. I think that she's somehow connected to his suicide. And before you say it, not because she might have jilted him either.”

“Then what?”

“I don't know. Not yet.”

“Why are you suddenly so focused on this woman?”

“Because in his very predictable life she was the only thing that was different.”

I nodded slowly “That's true. But you'll never find her,” I remarked. I meant this. I thought Viv was wasting her time.

“We'll see. In the meantime, wrack your brains for me, darling, and maybe you'll remember something, even a small thing could be pertinent.”

“I'll try. But I already told you. I didn't see much of him last year.”

Vivienne finished her wine without further comment. A bit later she said, “I'm getting tiddily here. Drinking on an empty stomach. And I've got to drive back to Lourmarin.”

“I'll feed you,” I said. “Stay to dinner.”

“Why not? And thanks, I'd love to see Catherine. How is she?”

I cleared my throat. “She's not here, Viv.”

“Oh. Where's she gone?”

“I don't know.”

Vivienne frowned. “I'm not following you, Jack.”

“She's left me. Gone back to England. At least she went to Marseilles. Early this morning. To catch a plane home to London.”

“Oh, Jack, darling, I am sorry,” Vivienne commiserated. “You two seemed so well suited. Perfect together. I thought you'd found the right woman at last. Whatever happened?”

“She got pregnant.”

“So?” Vivienne asked, raising a brow.

“We disagreed. About the baby. She wanted it. I didn't. She dug her heels in. We argued. She said she was going to have it. No matter what I thought or said. In the end we had a screaming row. She left.”

“And you let her go?”

“Yes.”

“How could you be so stupid! So dense!” Vivienne cried, staring at me aghast. “How could you let that marvelous woman escape?”

I flinched under her critical gaze. “Look, Viv, I don't want to get married,” I said finally. “And I certainly don't want to have kids. She fully intends to have this baby. Against my wishes. When she said she was leaving I didn't stop her. Anyway, it's for the best. It wouldn't have worked. Not in the long run.”

Vivienne regarded me for a prolonged moment. Then she said in a low but vehement voice, “You're a damn fool, Jack Locke. You've just made the biggest mistake of your life.”