In the Millionaire's Possession (36 page)

She sighed.
‘
But I suppose he thought he could make my dream come true, bless him, and turn a profit at the same time. It
’
s what he
’
s always done, so I can hardly blame him. But all I wanted was to live here quietly, doing the repairs bit by bit. Making it just like it was years ago, when my family worked here. Loving it, I suppose.
’

She looked at Helen, biting her lip.
‘
Now I guess you
’
ll call your security and have me thrown out.
’

‘
Actually,
’
Helen said gently,
‘
I was going to offer you a cup of tea, Mrs Newson. And another guided tour
—
if you
’
d like that.
’

It had been an oddly agreeable couple of hours, Helen decided when her unexpected guest had left. Shirley Newson had spoken no more than the truth when she
’
d said she knew the house. She was as accurate about its history as Marion Lowell, but she was also a fund of stories
—
amusing, scandalous and poi-gnant
—
about the Fraynes and their guests, which her relations had handed down to her, and which Helen, thoroughly intrigued, had never heard before.

Perhaps, she thought wryly, if the wife had come to conduct negotiations a year ago instead of the husband there might have been a different outcome. Perhaps…

Anyway, she thought, it was all too late now. And she sighed.

‘
You did give Marc my message
—
about Lottie
’
s wedding?
’
Helen tried to hide her bitter disappointment as she spoke.
‘
Because it starts in just over an hour, and he
’
s cutting it incredibly fine if he intends to be here.
’

‘
Mrs Delaroche.
’
Alan Graham
’
s voice had an edge to it.
‘
Does it occur to you that there could be
—
circumstances which might make it difficult for Marc to leave Paris right now?
’

Helen bit her lip.
‘
Meaning Madame Angeline Vallon, I suppose?
’
she challenged, too hurt and angry to be discreet.

Alan stared at her in open bewilderment.
‘
You know about that?
’
he asked incredulously.

‘
Yes,
’
she acknowledged curtly.
‘
After all, it
’
s hardly a secret.
’

‘
You know?
’
he repeated slowly.
‘
And yet you carry on with your life as if it didn
’
t matter?
’
He
’
d never been friendly, but now he sounded positively hostile.

Riled, Helen lifted her chin.
‘
Marc makes his own choices,
’
she said.
‘
They have nothing to do with me. My world is here.
’

His laugh was derisive.
‘
And so as long as it
’
s looked after you don
’
t give a damn about anything else. I
’
d hoped that, all appearances to the contrary, you might actually care.
’

Care? she thought.
Care
? Can
’
t you see I
’
m in agony here
—
falling apart?

She said freezingly,
‘
You may be my husband
’
s friend, but that gives you no right to criticise me like this.
’

‘
Mrs Delaroche,
’
he said,
‘
you are perfectly correct about that, and you can have me removed from this project any time you like. I have other more worthwhile proposals in the pipeline.
’

He paused.
‘
I
’
m sure Marc will be at this wedding if it
’
s humanly possible. No matter what it may cost him. Because you
’
ve asked him to do it. Is that what you want to hear?
’

And with a final scornful glance at her, he walked away.

Helen wasn
’
t sure if she had the power to fire him, but she knew she shouldn
’
t let the matter rest. That she should go after him
—
demand an explanation for his extraordinary behaviour.

Except she had a wedding to dress for, she thought, pushing her hair back from her face with an angry, restless hand. And if she had to attend it alone, she would do so looking like a million dollars.

Because no one was going to accuse her of wearing a broken heart on her sleeve.

She
’
d decided, after a lot of consideration, to wear her own wedding outfit again. After all, Marc had once suggested that she should do so at a party of their own, she remembered unhappily, and under the circumstances Lottie
’
s wedding reception was probably as good as it was going to get.

But once today was over, she told herself grimly, she would develop some attitude of her own
—
and deal with Alan Graham.

The service had already begun when she was aware of whispering behind her, and at the same moment Marc slipped into the pew beside her. She turned to look at him, lips parted, delight churning inside her
—
along with an almost savage yearning.

‘
I
—
I didn
’
t think you
’
d be here,
’
she breathed.

‘
I had an invitation.
’
His whispered reply was cool and unsmiling.

Helen sank back into her seat, her heart thumping painfully. What had she been hoping? That he
’
d kiss her, murmuring that he could not keep away when all the evidence was to the contrary?

She hadn
’
t been to many traditional weddings, and she
’
d almost forgotten the timeless resonances of the Prayer Book ceremony. Now they came flooding back with a kind of desperate poignancy, making her hands clench together in her lap and her throat tighten.

She watched Simon and Lottie with painful intensity
—
his unhidden tenderness, her glorious serenity
—
knowing that was how it should be when you were safe and loved.

If only Marc had looked at her like that, adoring her with his eyes, when they
’
d stood together to receive the same blessing the Vicar was pronouncing now, she thought passionately. And if only she
’
d been free to whisper the oldest vow of all
—
I love you
as he bent to kiss her.

Because she knew now with terrible certainty that this was the truth she
’
d been fighting since she met him. That it wasn
’
t simply the beguilement of sexual union that she
’
d feared, but the deeper spiritual and emotional commitment that she
’
d tried to reject. The recognition that in this man
—
this stranger
—
she
’
d somehow met the other half of herself.

Everything else had been a blind
—
the bargain they
’
d made, even Monteagle itself.

But only for me, she thought, pain lancing her. Not for Marc. To him it was never more than a deal, and now he has what he wants he
’
s moved on.

She sent him a swift sideways glance from under her lashes, silently begging him to turn towards her
—
take her hand. But Marc sat unmoving, his profile like granite, his expression as remote as some frozen wasteland.

And she knew that if there
’
d been a moment when she might have captured his heart it was long gone. All she was left with was loneliness, stretching out into eternity.

CHAPTER TWELVE

NOT long now, Helen promised herself wearily. The bride and groom had departed for their honeymoon in an aura of radiance, and the usual sense of anticlimax had immediately set in, so the party would soon be breaking up. And just as well, because she was almost at the end of her tether.

She could admit it now. She hadn
’
t felt well all day
—
tired and vaguely sick. And it had been the same for the past week or more, if she was honest. Stress, she supposed. And sheer uncertainty about the future.

Not that the reception hadn
’
t been a great success. The Long Gallery had looked wonderful, its mellow panelling gleaming in the late sunlight while Lottie
’
s delicious food had been eaten and the toasts drunk, then later assuming an atmosphere of total romance once the candles were lit and the music began.

And Helen couldn
’
t fault Marc. Wherever else he might wish himself to be, he
’
d behaved like a perfect host. He had danced with practically every woman in the room
—
bar one. He
’
d even stood beside her, his hand barely touching her uncovered shoulder, as Simon and Lottie thanked them lavishly for their hospitality and called for their health to be drunk.

‘
Marc and Helen
—
who saved our lives.
’

And Helen had stood mutely, smiling until her face ached, determined to overcome the churning inside her and trying also to ignore the fact that Marc had not danced with her. Other people had, of course. She
’
d hardly been a wallflower. But she and her husband had been on parallel lines all evening
—
never meeting, never touching until that moment. Hardly speaking. And that was clearly the way he wanted it.

Wearing her wedding outifit had been a mistake too. As she
’
d removed the jacket, her nervous hands struggling once again with those tiny slippery buttons, she
’
d sensed him near her, and glanced up, wondering if he remembered
—
if he would come to her rescue this time too. But Marc
’
s dark gaze had swept over her in total indifference, and then he
’
d turned away, his mouth hardening. And deliberately kept his distance ever after, she realised forlornly.

But when the guests had finally departed and they were left alone
—
what then?

She
’
d learned from Daisy that he
’
d brought a travel bag, which had been put in the State Bedroom. So it seemed he was planning to stay the night at least. But Helen had no idea whether or not he intended to sleep alone, or if, in spite of everything, he would expect her to join him in that vast bed.

The warmth of Lottie
’
s farewell hug and her fierce whisper,
‘
Be happy
’
, still lingered, taunting her with its sheer impossibility.

Because even if she went to Marc tonight, and he took her, it would mean nothing. Just a transient usage of his marital rights, which she knew she would not have the power to resist. Because she wanted him too badly.

His arms around me, she thought sadly, on any terms. Any terms at all. No pretence. No defence.

And above all she needed to talk to him
—
to ask him to give their ill-conceived disaster of a marriage another chance. Even if she had to resort to the self-exposure of confessing how much his infidelity was hurting her.

But when she returned from saying goodbye to the bride and groom
’
s parents, and the other departing guests, awash with gratitude and good wishes, the Long Gallery was empty and dark. Daisy and the staff were not scheduled to begin the big clear-up until the morning. But there was no sign of Marc either.

He hadn
’
t even waited to wish her goodnight, let alone offered the chance of the private conversation she needed.