Never Leave Me (41 page)

‘Would you like to see him?' he asked, as Dominic hurled himself into the pool with a somersault and his friends cheered.

‘Alors!
Of course I would like to see him' she said, her eyes overly bright. ‘But the agency … Dominic's schooling …'

‘They'll survive,' he said, and then, reluctantly, ‘But we won't be able to leave till the end of next month. Frank Warner has been subpoenaed to appear before the Committee for UnAmerican Activities.'

‘
Frank
has?' She stared at him aghast. ‘
Frank? Mon Dieu
! How could anyone, even a fanatic like McCarthy, suspect
Frank
of being a communist? Why, he's not even political!'

Greg's mouth tightened. He had not intended telling her about Frank's subpoena. McCarthy's witch-hunt for communists and radicals reflected too shamefully on his country.

Lisette was still staring at him with horror. ‘But I thought you said that the House Committee was nothing but a backwater for racially prejudiced political has-beens?'

‘So it was. Unfortunately, McCarthy has altered all that. He's winkled out a handful of communists from the government and now panic has set in and he's been given a free hand to subpoena anyone who can be even remotely suspected of being a communist or a radical.'

‘But,
Frank
! He doesn't hold a hard line view on anything! Why should they have picked on Frank?'

‘Because he mixes socially in government circles. Because he's a chatterbox,' Greg said, the white lines around his mouth deepening. ‘The Committee is scrounging for information. They want him to testify on the subject of his acquaintances, past and present.'

Lisette rose to her feet, white and trembling. ‘
Merde
! That is disgusting! I can't believe that such a thing is happening! Not here, in America!' She pushed her hair away from her face, her eyes flashing. ‘Who will this McCarthy start chasing next? Homosexuals? Jews?'

Greg shook his head. ‘No, it won't go that far, Lisette. Not now Eisenhower is president. There will be no political necessity for it.'

She stared down at him. ‘There's none now,' she said quietly. ‘And Frank? What will he do?'

‘He's going to take the Fifth Amendment.'

‘And what does that mean?' Lisette asked confusedly. ‘Does it mean that he will refuse to testify against his friends?'

Greg nodded.

‘And then what will happen to him?'

Greg rose to his feet and crossed to the poolside bar, pouring a drink. ‘It means he could end up being blacklisted.' he said heavily. ‘Financially no one will deal with him anymore. His company will be ruined.'

‘Could he be jailed?' Lisette asked, as he passed her a large gin and tonic: ‘Isn't that what they did to the writer Dashiell Hammett, when he refused to testify?'

Greg nodded. ‘Yes, but he'll be doing the right thing, Lisette. He'll be taking a stand against them and God knows, someone is going to have to soon, and in a big way.'

There was something in his voice that chilled her. The dark pupils of her eyes dilated.

‘
Alors
! Have you been subpoenaed, Greg? Are you going to have to testify to them?'

He grinned. The conversation had brought them suddenly very close together. ‘No, don't worry about me. But by the time Eisenhower comes to the end of his term of office, I think you'll find me giving the next Democratic candidate a lot of support. I might even stand for Congress myself.'

A month later Frank appeared before the House Committee and took the Fifth Amendment, refusing to testify. He was jailed for contempt and Greg flew back from Washington alone, his fury white-hot.

‘Isn't there anything anyone can do?' Lisette asked despairingly when he had showered and changed.

He shook his head. ‘Not yet, but McCarthy's days are coming to an end. He's beginning to express open hostility towards Eisenhower, and he's fast losing support in the Senate. When we come back from France, I'm going to put the entire resources of Dering Advertising behind an attempt to show the public just what it is McCarthy stands for.'

A shadow touched her eyes. ‘I received a letter from Maman this morning. Our visit is going to coincide with a visit by Luke and Annabel. You don't mind, do you,
chérie
?'

He turned away from her, strong and lithe, his jeans hugging his hips, his white silk shirt open at the throat revealing a pelt of darkly curling hair.

‘No,' he said, and only the sharpest ear could have detected a note of terseness in his voice. He had long since convinced himself that Luke Brandon was not the cause of the unhappiness that lay, unacknowledged, at the heart of their marriage. He was certainly not going to delay taking Lisette home to Valmy simply because Luke would be there at the same time. He turned towards her and felt the same rising fervour at the sight of her that he had felt when they had first met.

‘Melanie will be company for Lucy,' he said, not really caring whether she would be or not. Caring about nothing but his driving need to make love to her, knowing that if he did so her response would be feigned. A sham that he had not the courage to tell her he had seen through long ago.

‘Will
Grandpére
speak only French?' a very American Lucy had asked curiously as they stood at the deck rails waiting for their first view of France.

‘Nearly,' Lisette said with a laugh. ‘And you must speak French, too, Lucy. Do you remember the nursery rhymes I taught you?
Sur le pont, d'Avignon, Frére Jacques, Frére Jacques?
'

Lucy's rosy cheeks were like ripe apples, her hair a tumbled mass of curls. ‘I don't like speaking French, Mummy. It takes me so long to say what I want to say. I can never remember the words like Dominic. My tongue gets fast.'

‘That's because you're a chatterbox,
ma petite
,' Lisette said, hugging her tight. ‘Look! Can you see the white of the cliffs? That's France,
chérie
. We're nearly home!'

Lucy looked up at her mother curiously. ‘We've just left home,' she said with childlike logic. ‘We won't be going back for ages and ages. Not until the end of the summer.'

Lisette leaned eagerly over the deck rail, her eyes shining. ‘This is my home,' she said rapturously. ‘This is France!'

She was shocked by her father's frailty. He had begun to stoop and there was a hesitancy about his movements that had never been there before.

‘Oh, it's so good to be home, Papa,' she said, perching on the arm of his chair, her arm lovingly around his shoulders. ‘Why does San Francisco have to be so very far away?'

He had pressed her hand to his cheek, overjoyed at having her home once more, at having his grandchildren running noisily through the chateau and gardens.

‘Luke and Annabel and Melanie arrived five days ago,' he said contentedly. ‘He looks very much the Englishman when he arrives. Always the dark suit. The white shirt. The very correct tie with the tiny, tiny dots.' He chuckled with amusement. ‘And then he unpacks his luggage and he wears a turtleneck sweater and slacks and the suit stays in the back of his wardrobe until it is time for him to return to England.'

She was looking forward to seeing Luke again. For six years their letters had flown across the Atlantic. His, addressed ostensibly to both herself and Greg. Hers, addressed to both himself and Annabel. Both knew it was a politeness. Neither Greg nor Annabel were really interested in what they had to say to each other. Luke's letters were full of his regular visits to Valmy. Of news of Sainte-Marie-des-Ponts. Of Old Bleriot's health and Madame Pichon's retirement. Lisette's letters were full of Dominic and Lucy, but Dominic was mentioned far more often than Lucy. Not because she loved Dominic more. She didn't. Lucy was just as fiercely precious to her. But because Luke was the only person with whom she could discuss Dominic without restraint. She could tell him how he looked, what he was achieving, without having to suffer the well-meant lies of how very like Greg he was. With Luke there was no pretence. No lies. He was, as he had said he would be many years before, her very best friend.

Luke felt sick with the impatience to see her again. Six years! Christ! How had he endured it? He had no intention of enduring it again. He had recently become chairman of Johnson Matthie Advertising, and as Johnson Matthie had an office in Los Angeles, he was determined that he would find the need to visit the west coast of America on a regular basis. He had missed her arrival by minutes, having been asked for the tenth time by Annabel to put the tennis nets up on the courts ready for their and the children's use.

‘She's gone up to greet her father,' Annabel had said soothingly. ‘Greg is in the library indulging his taste for calvados with Heloise. Dominic has taken Melanie exploring. Lucy is having a little sleep.'

Good manners demanded that he go immediately into the library and renew his acquaintance with Greg. He had not done so. Greg could wait. He had taken the stairs two at a time, walking feverishly up and down the long gallery that ran outside the first floor bedrooms, waiting impatiently for her to emerge from Henri de Valmy's bedsitting room.

When she did he knew that his wait, all the waiting, had been worthwhile. She was twenty-seven now, no longer a girl but a woman. Her hair was swept into a perfectly combed knot, accentuating the shape of her tiny ears, the depth of her remarkable violet eyes. She was wearing a cream linen suit and a vanilla silk blouse and her shoes were high and peep-toed, her perfume the same elusive fragrance he had remembered for six years.

‘I was beginning to think you had drowned on the crossing,' he said, striding towards her, seizing hold of her shoulders, drinking in the sight of her.

She laughed, pleased to see him despite his fervour which always disconcerted her. ‘We're not late, Luke. The ship only docked two hours ago.'

‘You're six years late,' he said grimly, lowering his head to kiss her.

She turned her face swiftly, so that his impassioned kiss seared her cheek, not her lips.

‘We're
friends
,' she said, catching hold of his hands tightly, her voice fierce. ‘Friends, Luke. Not lovers. Don't spoil this homecoming for me, please.'

His lean dark face was so harsh as he looked down at her that it could have been Arabic, not English. ‘Are you happy?' he demanded savagely. ‘Do you still love him?'

It was easier to answer the second question than it was the first. ‘Yes, I still love him,' she said, her eyes holding his steadily. ‘I will always love him, Luke.'

He drew in his breath, his nostrils pinched and white. ‘And are you happy?' he asked relentlessly. ‘Does he know yet? Have you told him?'

She shook her head, turning away from him, beginning to walk along the gallery towards the stairs. ‘I haven't told him. It's been too long, Luke. I can never tell him now.'

‘And Dominic?' he asked, walking at her side, hating the fact that in another few minutes he would have to share her with her mother, with her children, with Greg. ‘Don't you want to tell him about Dieter? Don't you want him to know about his father?'

He saw the pain at the back of her eyes, saw her almost physically flinch, and knew his words had found their mark. ‘He could, if you wanted him to,' he continued relentlessly. ‘He could if you weren't so scared of Greg leaving you!'

She wheeled round to face him, suddenly angry. ‘But I
am
scared of Greg leaving me! I love him! I don't want to live without him for an instant, Luke! Do you understand me? No matter what the cost, it will be worth it if only Greg continues to love me!'

There was such passion in her voice that he knew he had lost his battle for her, even before it had begun.

‘Then there's nothing more to say,' he said savagely, spinning on his heel, walking away from her. She ran after him, catching hold of his arm.

‘Don't be foolish, Luke! I've looked forward so much to being with you again. To seeing Melanie and Lucy playing together. To be back at Valmy again. Please don't fall out with me!'

He looked down at her, a lock of his dark, straight hair falling low across his brow, his eyes bleak with the fury of his defeat. From downstairs they could hear the faint sound of childish voices.

‘Please, Luke,' she repeated, her eyes pleading with him for understanding.

There was a long, taut moment and then he shrugged, smiling ruefully. ‘Okay, you win. Let's face the troops together,
mon brave
.'

She laughed, slipping her arm through his, walking happily with him down the staircase to where the children with Annabel and Greg and her mother waited.

‘I'm only going to speak French now that I am in France,' Dominic was saying with eight-year-old importance.

‘I want to speak French, too,' Melanie said, gazing up at him adoringly. ‘Please can I speak French, Mummy? What is French? Is it nice? Can Lucy speak it?

‘I'm sure Lucy can speak a little French,' Annabel said indulgently. ‘Now why don't you come with me to the bathroom and wash all those grass stains off your hands and knees? Wherever have you been?'

‘I've been exploring with Dominic. We've found lots of nice places and …'

‘Excuse me,' Annabel said apologetically to Lisette and Heloise. ‘I must take her to the bathroom. I can't imagine how she got so dirty. She's only been out of my sight for a few minutes.'

Greg grinned as a concerned Annabel led a reluctant Melanie in the direction of soap and water. ‘Annabel is going to have to learn that Melanie is going to be permanently covered in scratches and grazes and grass stains if Dominic has adopted her as an acolyte. They were attempting to climb onto the stable roof when I called them in. I thought it best Annabel didn't know.'

Luke gave him a lopsided grin, his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘Your judgement was correct,' he said good-naturedly. ‘Melanie only goes out with her mother or a nanny when we are at home. These weeks at Valmy are going to open up a whole new world for her.'