Never Leave Me (50 page)

His eyes gleamed. ‘No, you saucy wench, I didn't. Nor have I told him where he will be able to contact me at three o'clock this afternoon, but I have a shrewd suspicion it will be in the same place!'

‘Excuse me, Mr Dering,' the
maitre d'hóte
said deferentially. ‘There is a telephone call for you.'

‘Damn and blast,' Greg said explosively, throwing his napkin on the table, excusing himself from her and striding over towards the telephone.

She knew, by the grim expression on his face as he spoke to Nick, that their last, idyllic day had come to an end.

‘I'm sorry, my love,' he said when he returned. ‘It's action stations. I won't even be able to take you back home. I'll ring for a cab for you.'

‘Will you be able to finish lunch?' she asked, fighting down a wave of panic, trying not to let her distress show.

He shook his head. ‘No, I'm leaving now. It could be a long session, so don't worry if I'm not home until the early hours. We'll make up for everything next week in Texas.'

‘Yes,' she said, her eyes brilliant, her kiss warm, her heart breaking. ‘Next week.'

He left her with the same speed with which Dieter had left her on the morning of the invasion. A telephone call. Departure. She shivered, overcome by a sense of time and events repeating themselves.

‘Would Madame like dessert?' the waiter asked.

‘No thank you.' She picked up her purse and rose from the table. She was being foolish. Dieter had left her to face death in battle. Greg had left her for no other reason than a boardroom skirmish.

The
maitre d'hóte
deferentially slipped her full length mink around her shoulders. She thanked him, feeling icily chill. Dieter had returned to her only to die in her arms. Greg would return to her and she, herself, would say the words which would destroy his love for her.

‘A taxi cab is waiting, Madame,' the
maitre d'hóte
said, wondering why such a beautiful woman, with a rich, handsome husband who obviously adored her, was looking so sad.

‘Thank you,' she said again and he was touched by the sweetness in her voice. He wondered how old she was. Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Perhaps even older. There was a timelessness about her that would never date. She was a woman who would be beautiful, even when old.

‘Goodbye Madame,' he said again, wishing he could offer her some comfort.
‘Au revoir.'

She waited for him that evening, sitting alone on the patio looking out over the silky blackness of the bay. The hills beyond were veiled in mist, the distant lights of Marin sparkling like diamonds in the dusk. He didn't return. At nine he telephoned, his voice apologetic. ‘This is going to be an all-night session, sweetheart. I shan't be back before Melanie leaves. Say goodbye to her from me, and pack your bags. I've arranged for us to fly down to Houston tomorrow night'

‘That'll be nice,
chéri.'
There was an underlying tremble in her voice that belied her words. He frowned. He had nearly forgotten the confession she had waited so long to make to him.

‘If you're worrying about the talk we still have to have, please don't,' he said, signalling to Nick who was waiting to go into the conference room, that he was about to join him.

‘But I'm worried,' she said, wishing that he was in the room with her, that she could reach out and touch him, bury herself in his arms. ‘I have left it so long… and there is so much to say.'

‘About Luke?' His deep, dark voice was understanding.

‘Oui, chéri.
About Luke, and about Dominic.'

‘The reply to your telex has just come in, Mr Dering,' his secretary interrupted. He took it from her hand, casting his eye over the list of figures.

‘Goodbye,
chéri,'
Lisette was saying.
‘Je t'adore.'

He was just about to ask her why she should want to talk about Dominic in the same breath as Luke but the line had gone dead.

‘Everyone is waiting for you, Mr Dering,' his secretary prompted as he seemed about to redial.

‘Yes.' He jettisoned all thoughts of Luke Brandon. They would talk about Luke when the marathon meeting he was about to enter was over. When they were on their way to Houston. ‘Make sure there's plenty of coffee on hand,' he said, ‘and bring the strategy file in with you.'

‘I don't want to go home
at all!'
Melanie said emphatically the next morning when her cases were brought down from her room and stowed into the Zephyr's boot.

‘You will be able to come again,
ma petite'
Lisette said comfortingly, wondering if Luke would allow her to visit again when their affair was over.

‘I think it's rotten,' Dominic said, his face pale, his eyes fierce. ‘Mel living in London and me living in San Francisco and never being able to see each other,'

‘We will when we grow older,' Melanie said optimistically. ‘Daddy lives in London and yet he flies to Los Angeles every month, sometimes twice a month. Mummy doesn't like it. She says she doesn't know why he doesn't live here permanently!'

‘Is that true, Maman?' Dominic asked with interest. ‘Why doesn't Uncle Luke come here and stay with us?'

‘Because he is far too busy,' Lisette said, turning quickly away from their questioning faces, an anguished flush staining her cheeks.

‘And why can't I go to the airport?' Dominic continued relentlessly. ‘I'd much rather go to the airport with Mel than attend prizegiving.'

‘Prizegiving is very important, Dominic,' Lisette said, knowing that that was not the real reason she had been so firm about his not accompanying them. It was because she knew that later in the morning Greg would return from his all-night meeting with Del-Air and it was then that she had to talk to him. There could be no further equivocation. No further postponement.

‘Ask Uncle Luke if you can come back at Easter,' Dominic shouted to Melanie as Lisette bundled her into the car. ‘We can visit Alcatraz and go sailing and …'

‘'Bye,' Melanie yelled as Lisette revved the engine and slid the car into first gear. ‘' Bye! I'll come back! I promise!'

As they headed out towards the airport, two shining rivers of tears began to roll slowly down her cheeks. Lisette squeezed her hand. ‘Don't cry,
ma petite.
Easter is not so far away.'

‘But I don't know that Daddy will let me come,' Melanie said, looking very small and very dejected. ‘He doesn't always understand things, you see.'

Lisette did see. Her face was sombre as they approached the airport. She doubted very much if Luke would understand what she herself had to say to him, and she was very much afraid that when he did understand, he would forbid Melanie to have any further contact with Dominic.

‘Goodbye, Aunt Lisette,' Melanie said waveringly as they stood at the flight gate and a competent looking air hostess took her hand. ‘I enjoyed myself ever so much and perhaps if you tell Mummy how very,
very
much I want to come back, I might be able to.'

Lisette kissed her on the cheek. She had not been in contact with Annabel since she had begun her affair with Luke. ‘I will do everything I can to make sure that you come back to us at Easter,' she said, hoping that Luke would not seek retribution at the ending of their affair, through the children. ‘And now it's time for you to go,
ma petite.
God bless and
au revoir.
'

Melanie had flung her arms around her neck, hugging her tightly, and then had turned, disdaining the air hostess's proffered hand, walking bleakly through the London flight gate.

Lisette walked up to the observation room, waiting until the airliner had taxied down the runway and then winged upwards, the sun silver on its wings. In fourteen hours'time Melanie would be back in London with Annabel and possibly with Luke.

She walked quickly out of the observation room and towards her parked car. Within days, Luke would be in Carmel, demanding to see her. She opened the Zephyr's door and slid behind the wheel. She still hadn't told him that their affair was over. She still hadn't removed her possessions from the cottage they had shared. She swung left on to the freeway, knowing that she must do so immediately. That by the time she spoke to Greg, every link with Luke had to be severed. She pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator, ignoring the turn-off that would lead her towards home, continuing south towards Carmel.

Greg emerged from his conference room at nine-thirty, tired and dishevelled, but with the Del-Air promotion ready to present. He glanced down at his watch. Melanie's flight was at ten. With luck he would still be in time to wave goodby to her. He dismissed his chauffeur, easing the Cadillac limousine out of the underground garage, satisfied with the stragey they had hammered out, looking forward to the next few days in Texas with Lisette. No matter what she told him about Luke, it would not come as a shock to him. He had long ago accepted that her relationship with Luke, before he himself had met her, was one that still had to be exorcised. He ran his hand over the early-morning stubble on his jaw. Hopefully, at last, it was just about to be.

Traffic was heavy and it was five past ten by the time he sped down the turn-off towards the airport. Melanie's flight would already have left, but with luck Lisette would still be on her way from the observation room to her parked car. As he entered the short-term parking lot, he saw the unmistakeable gleam of her midnight-blue Lincoln speeding towards a distant exit. He slewed round in pursuit, pressing his hand hard down on the Cadillac's horn to attract her attention. He saw her slow down at the gates and then ignoring his efforts to halt her, saw her turn left, quickly picking up speed.

‘Blast,' he said beneath his breath, keeping her in sight, settling down to the task of trailing her all the way back to Pacific Heights.

Lisette took the coast road, driving south through Half Moon Bay and Davenport, mentally checking how long it would be before she was back home again. Two hours for the drive down, half an hour to collect her belongings, fifteen minutes for the telephone call she had to put through to Luke at his London number, and then a two hour drive back home again. The speedometer flicked from sixty-five to seventy. She had never been so eager to arrive in Carmel, never more determined that she would never visit it again.

Greg grinned to himself as he overtook a Duesenberg and a red Ford convertible, keeping her well in sight. She would have the shock of her life when she looked through her driving mirror and saw who it was hard on her heels. As she increased speed, not slowing down for the turn-off he had expected her to take, he frowned, puzzled. She'd known that he would be arriving home at this time, that he wanted them to leave for Texas as quickly as possible and he couldn't for the life of him imagine where it was that she was going.

Five minutes later he knew only too well. They were on US 101, heading towards Los Angeles on the route that retraced the route of the old Camino Real, the Royal Road the Spanish had built over two hundred years before. The route that would take her to Carmel.

For a moment he had been unable to believe it. He had checked the road signs, checked the Lincoln Zephyr and then, knowing that there was no mistake, he had dropped back, no longer eager that she should see him, his face gaunt, his eyes burning, as he followed her to her rendezvous.

The Santa Cruz Mountains soared magnificently skyward on her left-hand side, but she paid them not the slightest attention. It would be the early hours of the morning in London. With luck, Luke would be spending the night alone at his penthouse flat. If she was unlucky, he would be at home in Kent with Annabel. Monterey Bay gleamed glossily on her right-hand side, sailboats skimming the azure-blue water. She bit the corner of her lip anxiously. Her telephone call would wake him. Would wake Annabel. She drove in Del Monte and out of it again, flashing on to Pacific Grove, to Lake Majella and on to Carmel.

Waking Annabel was a risk she would have to take. She couldn't end her affair with Luke by a letter. Their lives had been too closely woven, for too long, for her to treat him in such a cavalier fashion. She had to speak to him, if not face to face then over the telephone. She slowed down, driving through Carmel's main, tourist-thronged street, and out onto the beach road that led to the cottage. There was a hint of fog rolling in from the sea, and the wind-contorted trees hiding the cottage from public view looked almost reminiscent of the trees that shielded Valmy from the sea.

She drew to a halt, turning off the Lincoln's engine, stepping out into the salt-laden air. She had told Luke that she would never return to Valmy, but she knew now that she had meant she would never return to Valmy without Greg. The homesickness that never quite left her flooded over her. The beach stretching away at her feet for endless miles was alabaster white, far more perfect, far more aesthetically beautiful than the beach below the cliffs at Valmy. No men had died here, no blood had been spilt, and yet it failed to move her. She knew that no matter how often or how long she walked here, she would not gain the comfort that she gained when walking the beaches of France.

The wind was strong, lifting her hair away from her face, stinging her cheeks. She gave a last look seaward and then turned, taking out her door key, entering the cottage for what she knew would be the last time.

Greg's knuckles whitened on the wheel as he followed her through the small villages strung out like jewels along the coastline. He couldn't believe what it was she was doing. Couldn't believe that she was capable of such an outrage. As they entered Carmel he allowed her to drive on, knowing very well where she was going, and knowing that he need no longer keep her in sight. He had been to the cottage Luke was renting from Steve Bernbach when Bernbach had given a leaving party before departing for his new job as creative director of Johnson Matthie's London office. He knew very well where it was, how secluded it was, how perfect for the kind of trysts he now knew Lisette was keeping with Luke Brandon. The track was bumpy, covered with drifts of sand, and he drove slowly, not wanting his journey to come to an end. Not wanting to be brought face to face with her faithlessness.