Darkest Longings (4 page)

she had invariably found herself wondering about the man

who would bring that body to life, the man who would kiss

and caress those achingly ripe breasts, who would introduce

Claudine to the unsurpassable pleasures her own body

could give.

Now, Celine closed her eyes, trying to block out the

image of Francois de Rassey de Lorvoire and concentrate

on what her niece was saying. But the image was persistent,

it was as if de Lorvoire were there in the room, mocking her,

taunting her with that dark, mysterious power that seemed

to spill from his black eyes. What would a man like de

Lorvoire do with such innocence as Claudine’s? It was an

innocence not many would detect, but Celine was in no

doubt that he would recognize it at a glance. He would

destroy it. He would crush Claudine as ruthlessly as the

presses of the Lorvoire vineyards crushed the cabernet

grapes. Oh, that such a man should be the one to take the

virginity that Claudine had protected so lovingly, the

virginity she had always sworn would never be given before

the night of her wedding. To think that she had saved

herself for a man like Francois de Lorvoire! Celine thought

it might almost break her heart.

She tried to pull herself together, to tell herself she was

over-reacting. And certainly, when she came to speak of

him to Claudine later, she must try hard not to let her

prejudice show. The fact that de Lorvoire had remained so

resolutely impervious to her own charms - resolutely

impervious! an understatement worthy of the driest

Englishman! - must not be allowed to have any bearing on

the way she behaved now. Of course, she wasn’t the only

one he had spurned, nor was she the only one to have

suffered such humiliation in rejection. Even now she was

unsure why she had tried to seduce him — except that once

the rumour started that he was homosexual, she had been

determined to find out if it was true. He had merely laughed

in her face; she had hurled the accusation at him, screaming

it at the top of her voice as she clutched the sheets about her

body in a vain attempt to preserve the remaining shreds of

her dignity.

How that loss of dignity had hurt! But it was her own

fault. Where was the dignity in receiving a man lying naked

on your bed and offering yourself to him in any way he might

care to choose? In having him pick up your clothes, drop

them into your lap and tell you he took great exception to

being called to your home for tea and being offered

something markedly less appetizing than cake … That was

when she had thrown the accusation at him - but she should

have known better. Francois de Lorvoire cared nothing for

what society thought of him. The malice of those he had

scorned could vent itself as it chose - it would not affect

him. He was a man without emotion - a man without

morals.

And he was a man, Celine now knew, with a mistress. A

mistress who not only adored him, but satisfied him in a way

only a great courtesan could - completely and unconditionally.

She was Elise Pascale, arguably the most beautiful

woman in all France; a woman who had come from nowhere

and succeeded with de Lorvoire where all others had failed.

For de Lorvoire she had thrown off every other lover and, if

the rumours circulating in Paris were to be believed, he in

turn had devoted himself to Elise. If that was true, where did

it leave her precious Claudine? How could she even begin to

compete with a woman so experienced in the art of lovemaking?

A woman who knew exactly what it took to satisfy

the sophisticated tastes of a man like Francois de Lorvoire.

Celine’s only hope now was that Claudine’s dream would

be shattered the instant she set eyes on him. This thought

cheered her a little, for de Lorvoire could not, by any stretch

of the imagination, be described as handsome, and she

sensed that Claudine had an image of him that was as

romantic as it was false. No, Celine told herself now, she

refused to worry any more, she would leave it to Claudine.

Claudine might be headstrong and impulsive, but she most

certainly wasn’t stupid: she would understand soon enough

that all that was required of her was to become a Lorvoire

brood mare - and if she knew anything at all about her

niece’s spirit, that would be the end of the whole business.

‘I don’t think Tante Celine is with us, Papa.’ Claudine’s

voice cut into her thoughts, and Celine opened her eyes to

find Beavis standing over her ready to pour the last of the

champagne into her glass, and Claudine laughing softly at

her aunt’s apparent lack of attention.

‘I am sorry, cherie,’ she said, ‘it is the heat. What were you

saying?’

‘Only that Magaly will be arriving from Paris tomorrow

with my new wardrobe,’ Claudine answered. ‘Nothing

important.’

‘Magaly?’

‘My maid, Tante Celine,’ Claudine smiled.

‘Of course, Magaly.’ Then, seeming to collect her wits,

Celine rose, stood on tip-toe and kissed Beavis on either

cheek, saying, ‘Claudine and I are going to take a walk in the

garden, dearest, so you may go off to the study and use the

telephone. No, don’t look at me like that, I know you always

have business to attend to - and Claudine and I want to have

a nice woman-to-woman talk, is that not right, cherie?

Knowing only too well what her aunt wished to discuss

with her, the corner of Claudine’s mouth dropped in a wry

smile, and sitting forward on the sofa, she treated her father

to an extremely bawdy wink. Beavis choked on the last of his

champagne, but the merriment in his eyes showed the

delight he took in his daughter.

‘Come along, cherie,’ Celine chuckled, as she held out her

hand to Claudine. ‘We’ll stroll through the trees down to the

river, it shouldn’t be too hot if we keep in the shade, and

there’s something I want to show you.’

They parted company with Beavis outside the library,

then wandered arm in arm out of the front door, round the

lake in the courtyard and through the stable blocks to the

avenue of limes at the rear of the house, which led down to

the banks of the River Vienne.

‘So tell me how you are feeling, now you are here,’ Celine

said, as they ambled through the dappled shadows.

Letting her head fall back, Claudine gazed up at the

sparkling archway of branches above them and let out a soft

groan. ‘I don’t know, Tante Celine, truly I don’t. Perhaps

I’m insane even to be contemplating this, but I know I’m

going to go through with it.’

‘Meeting him or marrying him?’

‘Both. That is, of course, if he wants to marry me. Maybe

when he meets me he’ll change his mind.’

Celine gave her beautiful niece a long, considering

glance. ‘He won’t change his mind, cherie.’ She paused. ‘But

what about love, Claudine?’ she said softly. ‘Have you given

that no thought at all?’

Claudine chuckled. ‘I think about it all the time.’

‘And?’

‘Again, I don’t know. Maybe we will fall in love, who

knows?’

It was on the tip of Celine’s tongue to tell her that that

would never happen, but she stopped herself. Which of

them could predict the future? Who could say that de

Lorvoire wouldn’t fall in love with her? God knew, Claudine

had turned into as captivating a woman as she’d ever seen,

so maybe she would win his heart - if indeed he had one.

But then she remembered Elise Pascale, and it was as if the

ground beneath her was tilting, plummeting her into

despair.

For a moment she toyed with the idea of telling Claudine

about La Pascale, but again she kept silent. Claudine might

be an innocent, but she knew enough about the French way

of life to know that most French husbands had mistresses.

And, of course, if Claudine were to marry de Lorvoire there

was nothing to stop her taking a lover, too - after she had

given birth to the heir, naturally. But Celine judged it better

not to say any of that to Claudine just now - and besides,

there was still the hope that Claudine would see how foolish

she was being before things got as far as marriage. Though

how successful she would be in defying her father, Celine

wasn’t at all sure.

Suddenly Claudine laughed. ‘I know you’re longing to

talk me out of this, Tante Celine.’

‘You’re right, I am,’ Celine said. ‘Maybe I should tell you

why.’

‘There’s no need. I’ve heard enough about Francois de

Lorvoire in these past weeks to know that he’s the most

unsavoury character you could wish to meet.’

‘But you don’t believe what you hear?’

Claudine shrugged.

Celine looked at her. ‘So, would you like me to tell you

about him?’

‘Do you know, I don’t think I would,’ Claudine answered,

after a moment or two. ‘What I’d like now is to meet him for

myself.’ Then, after another pause: ‘However, there is one

thing you could tell me.’

‘Yes?’ Celine prompted when Claudine didn’t continue.

Claudine’s eyes were wandering dreamily about her,

taking in the glorious spectacle of nature left to tend itself

the trees that rose on either side of them, the carpets of

green and yellow that spread as far as the eye could see.

Then her lips curved in a secret smile as she decided that,

no, she wouldn’t ask about Hortense after all. She would

save that question for Francois. Instead she turned to her

aunt, gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, and as they

approached the steps in the tall grass which led down to the

river, she skipped on ahead, lifting her dress to stop it

catching on the thistles and revealing the dark bands at the

top of her stockings as she tripped down to the water’s edge.

Watching her go, so unselfconscious, so natural, Celine

felt a jolt of painful love shoot through her heart. Claudine

reached the roughened sandy beach, kicked off her shoes,

rolled down her stockings and splashed into the river. ‘This

is heavenly, Tante Celine,’ she cried, throwing out her arms

and spinning round and round. ‘It’s so beautiful here. Just

look at the sunlight on the water, look at the poppies, look at

the trees and the sky. I love it here, Tante Celine, I love it so

much I want to hold it in my arms.’

And how, Celine thought, could Francois de Lorvoire,

were he here to see her, not want to do the same to her?

Surely even he could not remain impervious to such charm,

such guileless joy, such unsullied beauty. And again that

brief flicker of hope ignited in her breast. Perhaps he would

love her; perhaps beneath that implacable exterior there was

a heart.

‘Is there a rowing boat here?’ Claudine called. ‘It would

be wonderful to row across to that forest over there, don’t

you think? To sail about under the branches hanging over

the water.’

She had stopped spinning, and her head was on one side

as she contemplated the opposite bank where the trees

crowded one upon the other, the river lapping at their roots

and the sun scorching their topmost leaves where they rose

high, high into the sky. There was something mystical about

that forest, she felt; she wanted to go closer, to find out what

it was.

‘That is what I wanted to show you,’ Celine answered.

‘It’s the de Lorvoire forest. It spreads all over the hillside,

much further than you can see, and the chateau is in

amongst it, hidden from view.’

‘The Lorvoire chateau is surrounded by those trees?’

‘Yes. But there’s a steep meadow in front of the chateau,

and lawns on either side - like a kind of oasis in the middle

of the forest.’

Claudine gazed in wonder. Then she turned to face her

aunt, who had come to stand at the edge of the river. ‘I’m

going to be happy here, Tante Celine,’ she said softly.

Celine smiled, and wondered if Claudine had ever known

what it was to be anything other than happy. But of course

her mother had died when she was sixteen years old, and Celine knew that still, even now, Claudine missed her

terribly. And that was another thing she admired so much in

her niece, her indomitable courage, her understanding and

selflessness that had helped to hold Beavis together when

Antoinette fell to her death on that fateful Italian holiday.

Her own grief Claudine had nursed privately, confiding in

no one but Celine.

Claudine was looking down at the grey-brown water

lapping about her ankles. Then, lifting her head, she said in

a voice of quiet but unmistakable passion, ‘I am going to

marry him, Tante Celine.’

‘But why?’ Celine asked gently. ‘Why, when…’

‘Because I have to.’

‘No, cherie, you don’t have to. I will speak with your father…”

‘I have to,’ Claudine repeated.

Celine’s confusion showed, and smiling, Claudine waded

out of the water to put an arm around her aunt. ‘I have to,’