‘The ferry? Where does your godmother live?’
‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? I must have had other things on my mind,’ he taunted smoothly. ‘She lives in France near St Jean Cap Ferrat. She has a small villa there with its own private beach. Nicky will love it.’ There was a world of meaning in those last few words, and Briony knew that he intended to take Nicky to France whether she went with them or not.
‘Well, are you coming with us?’
‘I’m certainly not letting you take Nicky on your own!’
‘How gracefully you give in!’ he mocked. ‘Will you need to buy anything? I was g
oing to suggest I arranged for Mrs Johnson to look after Nicky on Monday.’
‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ Briony said savagely. There seemed to be no part of her life he hadn’t taken over and she resented it bitterly. Not content with taking her son, he seemed to want to dominate her life as well.
‘I try,’ he agreed. ‘Although I have been known to be defeated, if it brings you any comfort.’
With that enigmatic comment he strolled out into the garden, unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it carelessly on the lawn before stretching himself out in the sun. His torso was powerfully built and muscular, his stomach flat and taut. As she watched him awareness crept gradually over her and she had to turn away, trembling with fear at the discovery she had just made. She still loved him! Her body had known it long before her mind, hence its immediate reaction to him. But whatever happened he must never find out. That would be the crowning humiliation. She stuffed a fist in her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. Dear God, how was she to endure the rest of her life as his wife and yet still maintain the fiction that she hated him, especially if he continued in his present vein? She could never endure his full possession without betraying herself. Merely the thought of it turned her bones weak to the marrow with intense longing. What she must do was to maintain as great a distance between then as possible. She must never, never again allow a repetition of this afternoon’s events. If Nicky had not cried when he did there could have been only one outcome, and her cheeks burned with shame as she recalled Kieron’s mocking accusations to the same effect.
She went upstairs to wake Nicky, dressing him in a tee-shirt and shorts, his chubby brown limbs melting her heart with tenderness. When they got downstairs she sent him outside to Kieron, trying not to feel racked with envy and shut out as Kieron reached out a hand to encircle his son and pull him down beside him, the two dark heads achingly similar as Nicky curled up trustingly within the protection of his father’s arm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WE’LL stop soon and have something to eat.’
Briony nodded. They were driving through Northern France, along a straight, fast road bordered with poplar trees, which seemed to go on for ever. Nicky had fallen asleep in his car seat and after the little boy’s chatter had faded away a deep silence had filled the car.
Briony hadn’t wanted to come away on this holiday. She could see no good coming out of it—and potentially a lot of danger. Since she had made the discovery that she was still in love with Kieron she had been filled with a terrible fear that somehow he might find out, and the effort of trying to appear cool and unaware of him had already seriously depleted her small reserves of self-control. It was as though after years of being subordinate to her mind, her body had finally thrown off its yoke, making its own needs and desires all too plain.
They had been driving since early morning and Briony was glad of the opportunity to stretch her legs when they eventually stopped for lunch in a small French town. Although she didn’t want to admit it, it was a relief to let Kieron take charge, finding them somewhere to eat, and informing the waiter in crisp French that they would need something plain and simple for Nicky.
They were shown to a patio shaded by wisteria, its grey gnarled trunk and branches spread flat against the whitewashed wall of the restaurant, a small river flowing placidly on its way to the sea several yards away.
Briony even felt too tired to study the menu, and simply passed it over to Kieron with a listless shake of her head. ‘You choose.’
He frowned and for a moment she thought she saw concern in his eyes. No doubt he was wondering how on earth he was going to cope with Nicky if she became ill, she thought sardonically. The little boy had been very good, but inevitably the long drive had bored and irritated him.
As she drank the cold soup Kieron had ordered she wondered what his godmother would be like. Kieron had said very little about her except that he always tried to spend some time each year with her, and that she was now a widow, and lived permanently in the South of France. Briony had visions of a lilac-coiffured dowager, immaculately made up and dressed in chic French clothes, and already she was dreading meeting her.
‘Finish your soup,’ Kieron instructed, breaking into her thoughts. She stared uncomprehendingly at him, unaware that she had pushed the bowl away barely touched. ‘You’re too thin,’ he added. ‘Héloise will have forty fits when she sees you.’
‘Héloise?’
‘My godmother’s cook, maid, confidante, and friend,’ he told her. ‘They’ve been together since Tante Marian was first married.’
‘I hope we’re not going to be too much trouble.’ Her forehead puckered as she thought of Nicky’s noisy and demanding intrusion into the organised, restful world of two middle-aged ladies.
‘We won’t, unless Héloise accuses me of starving you,’ he said dryly. ‘And a little less of the martyred air might help, if you could possibly manage it.’
Briony finished her meal in silence. Kieron had the knack of making her feel like a sulky child, deliberately playing up to gain adult attention and sympathy. Even in the shadowed patio the sun was hot and she glanced automatically at Nicky’s bare head. He had Kieron’s skin colouring and took the sun well, but she had taken the precaution of buying him a couple of sun-hats, plus some thin long-sleeved tee-shirts just in case he was in danger of getting burned. Her own skin was more of a problem. Her long days in the cottage garden had given it a faint hint of colour, but it was liable to burn badly if she wasn’t careful.
As though he had read her thoughts, Kieron said abruptly, ‘Come and sit over here in the shade. You look pale, and I don’t want you getting sunstroke.’
‘I’m not a child,’ she protested, but his eyes were scathing, the dark brows drawn upwards in disbelief as he glanced at her barely touched food.
‘No? You deliberately drive yourself almost to the point of exhaustion; you refuse to eat properly, and then you sit outside in the full heat of the midday sun.’
‘I shan’t be ill,’ she told him. ‘I can’t be. Who would look after Nicky?’
‘Finish your lunch,’ he told her abruptly. He looked angry, and Briony wondered if it was finally coming home to him exactly how taxing the responsibility of a child could be.