Best Laid Plans (19 page)

A woman poked her head around the bookshelves, smiling at her and inviting her to help herself to a coffee.

‘If you need any help, give me a shout,’ she said. ‘We can place an order for any of the new releases if you like and they are usually with us within a couple of days. No extra charge.’

‘Thank you.’

Feeling hot and bothered Christine buried her head in the book as if her guilty thoughts were on display. Didn’t they call women who fancied younger men cougars? When, just for a fleeting moment, she imagined what it might be like with a young vital body such as his she blushed inwardly at such a wicked thought.

Wrong number indeed!

She had never believed that for an instant and if he made
her
feel like this then what on earth was the effect on a pretty young woman like Monique?

T
hey were in her aunt’s apartment, the two long narrow windows giving views across the quiet Parisian avenue. The room was not decorated to Monique’s taste being altogether too stiff and formal with its lacquered side cabinets, buttercup-yellow silk swags above the windows and two enormous pale grey sofas sitting either side of a painted Oriental coffee table. The Asian influence must have come from Sylvie’s first husband whom Monique recalled had been a Singapore business man.

Opposite her, Sylvie was relaxed in wide-legged satin trousers and a matching draped top. ‘I know just the man,’ she said. ‘He is an old friend and very discreet. It will cost money, of course, but what does that matter? I am more than happy to help out. We can think of an excuse to explain your absence for a while because you may not feel up to travelling soon after.’

‘Soon after what?’ Monique was tired, ready for bed and struggling to make sense of all this. They had said very little on the way to Paris and once they approached the city she let Sylvie concentrate because the traffic was horrendous. She was very glad she was spared driving but her aunt gave as good as she got, accelerating alarmingly and crunching through the gears, gesticulating and nearly coming to blows with a taxi driver who cut her up in the middle of some fantastically complicated junction. For a
moment, fearing the worst, Monique had closed her eyes.

Now they were safely installed in Sylvie’s palatial apartment and her aunt was surely suggesting an abortion?

‘Don’t look so shocked. You have little choice, my girl. Even if you have the slightest doubt then you cannot expect your husband to be a father to a child who may not be his. It is unfair of you to put him in that position.’

‘You’re wrong. I
do
have a choice. I’ve been thinking about what to do for the last two months.’

‘You must ask yourself if you want a child.’ Sylvie’s face was set. ‘I don’t believe you do. If that was what you wanted then I’m prepared to be happy for you but you don’t look like a contented woman. You are so like me; I never wanted a baby, either.’

‘Nor did my mother,’ she said bitterly.

‘Perhaps not but she made the best of it.’

Monique gave a little snort but what was the point of dragging all that up again. She looked across at her aunt who was sitting with her legs crossed, silver jewellery sparkling at throat and wrist. For a moment they were silent and then Sylvie seemed to reach a decision, leaning forward and speaking low. ‘I had two abortions, Monique, and I regret neither. It was not the right moment.’

‘It never is.’ Monique sighed hesitating briefly but then, as confessions seemed to be the order of the day, she continued. ‘I was pregnant once before when I was at college but I lost it naturally. I never told my mother. I never told the father. I did not tell a soul.’

‘Would you have had it?’ If Sylvie was surprised she did not show it.

‘I don’t know. I was still debating what to do when I miscarried.’

‘Then you probably would have had it, silly girl. We can keep secrets, the two of us. You must make a decision, Monique, and quickly. It makes sense to have the procedure
done here in the next few days. You can rest afterwards and I will get somebody in to take care of you. Then when you feel up to it you can return home and nobody will be any the wiser and when you are ready you can come back with your husband to live here in France and—’

‘No. I don’t want to live in that place,’ Monique said firmly. ‘I don’t care if the cottage is done up and looks beautiful, it’s in the wrong place. I could never settle there. I hate that village.’

‘Ah.’ Her aunt reached forward and took a cigarette from a silver case. ‘I thought it was just me but you feel the same and so did your mother, which is why she never wanted to live there, either. I told you, the three of us have a lot in common. There were strange happenings in that village many years ago, things they are reluctant to talk about, and I don’t believe it has ever recovered.’

‘What sort of happenings? A serial killer on the loose?’ Monique managed an uncertain laugh.

Sylvie dismissed it with a wave of her hand. ‘Not that; something much more sinister, which I am not going to discuss with you. I hoped you might not notice but you are sensitive to auras as I am, as we all are in this family. It is a pity but I gave you the chance.’

‘Your conscience is clear.’ Monique said dryly, watching as her aunt lit the cigarette and inhaled. ‘Smoking is very bad for you.’

‘The good things in life are always bad for you,’ Sylvie said. ‘What are you going to do about this other man?’

‘Finish it.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

She nodded. ‘I don’t know what got into me, Sylvie. I love Mike and I’m mad to risk losing him.’

‘I will ring my good friend in a moment,’ Sylvie blew smoke heavenwards. ‘The procedure can be arranged for tomorrow. The sooner the better.’

‘The “procedure”? Is it legal?’

‘He is a good friend,’ her aunt reiterated as if that answered the question. ‘And he owes me a favour.’

Daniel called to rearrange the date, putting it forward by one day and asking if she wanted to drive over and meet him at his flat before they went to dinner. It seemed perfectly sensible to do that and she did not suspect for a moment that he had an ulterior motive and would try to ravage her immediately she was through the door.

Daniel was the last man to do something like that. She did know, however, where this was inevitably leading and if she wanted she could end it anytime she liked before it got more complicated but she did not want that. She wanted to take a chance on this and see where it led because this time, so far, there were no doubts whatsoever. She did not, however, want to tempt fate by telling her mother too much about it and thank God there was no Janet now giving her knowing looks. If Janet knew what was happening she would be turning cartwheels.

It was a lovely day but then it was turning out to be one of those springs where everything was turned upside down by unseasonably warm weather. They were all being lulled into thinking that this was it for the rest of the summer when in all probability June would not be bursting out all over but would come in with a drop in temperature and blankets of cloud that wouldn’t clear until August.

Amy smiled at such a pessimistic thought.

She knew the city well but there had been a lot of changes over the years and she was unfamiliar with the new traffic layout. But she wasn’t too worried because she had once driven a furniture van through these streets and if she could do that she could do anything.

Daniel’s flat was in the former Docks area and as she waited for him to buzz her in at the communal entrance she half expected to see a replica of Brian’s place. She didn’t often think of Brian these days, regarding the whole episode
as a near miss, for if she had had time to consider it she might have forgiven him all sorts and compromised all ends up and as a result made the biggest mistake of her life.

The interior of the flat was, to her relief, nothing like Brian’s converted barn. Daniel’s sitting room, although furnished in a contemporary fashion, was so much warmer with a huge sofa and armchair covered in aubergine velvet, one wall papered in a striking silver and navy design; it was clean, uncluttered but comfortable at the same time. Yes, she approved and said as much. All it needed was a few feminine touches to lift it.

‘Glad you like it,’ he said, his pride evident. ‘I always used to leave things to Jenny but it was good this time to have a go myself.’

So her name was Jenny. She wished he hadn’t said that but it came easily to him and she knew without asking that he was well and truly over her. She wandered over to the window with its view of the renovated dock area as he went into the kitchen to make them a cup of coffee. He had bought, not rented, so that meant, presumably, that he was serious about staying here.

‘Have you checked out the department stores?’ she asked, wincing even as she said it because talking shop was not meant to be on her agenda this evening.

‘No.’ His voice from the kitchen was accompanied by the sound of cups being taken out of cupboards. ‘I’ve been too busy and I avoid them if I can. You know me, I can guarantee I’ll see things that are not quite right and it’s not my job to do anything about it any more.’

She joined him in the kitchen, superbly equipped in a glossy way, a gadget-heaven far removed from the country-style kitchen at Snape House, which she much preferred.

‘I know what you mean. I don’t do department stores, either. This is nice, Daniel,’ she said.

‘What is? This flat or us being here together?’

‘Both,’ she said with an uncertain smile. She knew that
sooner or later one of them would make a move and considering how long they had known each other this whole tiptoeing round the real issue was faintly ridiculous. It was the twenty-first century for heaven’s sake and people didn’t do the courtship thing anymore, which on many levels, she thought, was a pity. Hadn’t she felt that it had all happened much too quickly with Brian and look where that had ended up?

On the contrary, she felt she knew this man and yet in so many ways she did not.

‘I was hoping you would get back in touch,’ she said, passing him an opportunity to explain why he had.

‘Sorry it wasn’t earlier but I needed to think about things,’ he said as he led the way back into the sitting room. She noticed a few photographs in modern frames grouped together on a small side table and he told her who was who as she glanced at them. There was no picture, she was glad to see, of the aforementioned Jenny, which was hardly a surprise but there were photos of a happy smiling group of his immediate relatives; his mum and dad, a brother and sister. ‘We get on quite well,’ he said with some surprise. ‘We’re all scattered but we do try to see each other when we can.’

‘At least you don’t work together,’ she told him with a smile. ‘That’s hell. Mike is still reluctant to let go and doesn’t quite trust me to do the job properly.’

Daniel laughed at that. ‘He obviously hasn’t heard of your reputation.’

‘Which is?’ she asked briskly.

‘Don’t get huffy.’ He smiled that smile of his. ‘You’re known to be a tough cookie and not the sort to stand any nonsense. People respect you for that and they trust you.’

‘Thank you very much.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I want to be known as tough. I’m not remotely tough, Daniel …’ she added ruefully, for in an odd way it hurt to be called that. Goodness, she had felt anything but tough
during these last difficult months but then again if you kept your emotions hidden then they remained just that – hidden. She had to be strong for her mother, who she knew had private little weeps, but there was nobody being strong for
her
and she needed there to be. She started to speak again, trying to explain, but she couldn’t get the words out and damn it, she knew that she was in grave danger of bursting into tears. How long would this go on? She needed to snap out of it.

Daniel cottoned on in an instant but then they had always been able to read each other’s minds.

‘Hey, come on, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said, moving swiftly towards her and taking her in his arms. ‘That’s the last thing I want to do. I know how it’s been for you and believe me …’ he took a moment to draw back so that he could look at her. ‘I’ve watched you and I’ve wanted to help but I didn’t seem to be able to. Janet said it was best to leave you to it because you had to get through it yourself.’

‘She was wrong. I needed somebody outside the family,’ she said softly, falling against him once more and savouring it. ‘Oh Daniel, it’s been just awful. I still can’t believe it happened like that.’

‘I know.’

They were so close, catching each other’s breath, that a kiss was inevitable and gentle at first but quickly became something else and that was enough for all the pent-up emotion of the last weeks to surface at last. She wanted to cry, she wanted to smile, but most of all she wanted him to help her through the worst of it. It felt as if she had, without realizing it, built a barrier around herself since her father’s death and she needed to break through it but she could not do it by herself.

She needed him.

‘Should we cancel the restaurant booking?’ she said, remembering and feeling guilty. ‘We should let them know,’ she added. ‘They might want to re-book the table.’

‘Sod the restaurant,’ he said, intent on what he was doing and so that evening, unsurprisingly, they never made it to the restaurant but they did make it to bed. There were no doubts this time and she knew he loved her even before he said so and she had no hesitation at all in saying that she loved him, too.

Monique was having grave doubts about going through with the ‘procedure’, a term that sounded much better than ‘abortion’. It was surely the sensible thing to do given the circumstances but when it came to it she was hesitant.

She had been living in some sort of fairy tale these past few days, the lovely sunny weather helping and making her feel that she could live here forever under a cloudless sky. The short burst of torrential rain that had accompanied her visit to the cottage seemed appropriate now as a means of getting through to her that it would not always be like that.

Today it was grey outside. It had rained overnight and the streets were glistening and the traffic had started up with much hooting. People rarely sounded the horn in England, she realized, and when they did it was for the right reason. Why had she ever imagined herself to be French when it was obvious to all and sundry that she was as English as roast beef?

Lying on the bed, bigger than hers at home, she looked round the cold classy interior of the guest bedroom in her aunt’s apartment and thought what a cold classy family she came from. On her mother’s side she could trace her roots back to some aristocratic family and her mother had liked reminding them of that. Her mother had always thought herself better than anybody else, looking down on people, thinking she was a cut above, and although she grumbled later Monique did not think she was too concerned when her career in fashion journalism faltered and fizzled out when Monique came inconveniently along. She had never
wanted to make the move to the north of England with her father but he was a force to be reckoned with in academic circles, a historian of repute, although his frequent affairs belied that stuffy image. Her mother had amused herself, making frequent trips to London where she had ‘friends’ and leaving the two of them to fend for themselves. Her father palmed her off on a selection of au pairs, never making any secret of the fact that he viewed her continued presence as a necessary nuisance.