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  ‘Would you prefer me not to go away today?’ he asked, his voice unusually soft and concerned.

  Ryan looked timidly up at him. ‘And—and if I said yes?’

  ‘Then I should not go,’ he replied steadily. ‘You are my wife. You cared for me when I was ill, and I could do no less for you.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Ryan drew abruptly away from him. What a fool she had been to expect anything else. ‘Then—no. You go. I’ll be fine. I shall probably spend the morning in bed and see how I feel this afternoon. It’s just a headache, nothing serious.’

  Alain stared at her impatiently. ‘Now what did I say wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Ryan shook her head. ‘I’m—tense, that’s all. Go on, you’ll be late.’

  Alain looked at her for a long disturbing minute and she felt every bone and muscle in her body expand under that brooding gaze. She had not dressed and the folds of her dressing-gown did little to disguise the swelling maturity beneath. These weeks of simple living and good food had given her a roundness that went well with the supple lines of her body, the slender length of her legs. She found herself remembering Christmas, and the hardness of his hand upon her breast, and a faint sigh escaped her.

  With a muffled ejaculation that was half protest, half desperation, he stepped close to her and bending his head covered her mouth with his own. The contact brought his hands to her waist, drawing her closer, and her senses swam as breathing ceased. When he finally let her go, he was as pale as she was, and there was a glitter of anger in his eyes. He didn’t say a word, he merely snatched his leather coat from the peg and disappeared out of the door.

  Because Ryan had expected to be going to Lyon with Alain, Marie did not come that morning. Ryan could not say she was disappointed. The last thing she needed right now was Marie’s knowing eyes upon her. She felt as though the searing touch of Alain’s mouth had left his brand upon her leaving her weak and vulnerable. Alone with her thoughts, a little of the fear she had once felt for him returned. As her blood cooled, so too did her senses, and she was aghast at what had happened. She felt sure that had she not practically invited him to do so Alain would never have done what he did, and like that time at Christmas he now blamed her for making him lose control. But Ryan did not completely comprehend the demands of her own body, or the temptations that made her yearn for a satisfaction she barely understood. She tried to summon up the dislike she had at first felt for him, the repulsion towards his intense masculinity—but it wouldn’t come. The fears she felt towards him now stemmed from an inner knowledge of the power he could exert over her, and she began to understand that there were more dangerous weapons than purely physical force.

  Eventually her aching head drove her back to bed, and several aspirins ensured several hours of unconsciousness. She was sleeping soundly when the knocking came at the front door.

  Struggling up out of a drugged slumber was not easy, and she stared at the clock for several minutes before its face swam into focus. Two o’clock, she read disbelievingly. It couldn’t be two o’clock. It was daylight!

  And then she remembered. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and someone was knocking at the door. Had Alain returned and found he had not got his key? Was he knocking at the front door because he knew that she slept at the front of the house and was more likely to hear him, or was it someone else? The latter was infinitely more credible.

  With a sigh she slid out of bed, dragging on her dressing-gown as she padded to the window. Opening it, she peered down to the porch below, and encountered David Howard’s amused gaze. ‘Oh—hello!’

  ‘Well, well!’ David commented dryly. ‘Not up yet?’ He shook his head reprovingly. ‘This is hardly the image of the hard-working vigneron’s wife!’

  Ryan smiled. Her headache was much improved in spite of the rude awakening, and it was quite a relief to have someone else to talk to. ‘I wasn’t very well this morning,’ she explained. ‘I had a headache. I’ve been getting some rest.’

  ‘Oh! Sorry!’ He lifted his shoulders dismissingly. ‘And how do you feel now?’

  ‘Much better, thank you.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you want to wait until I get dressed? Or are you in a hurry?’

  ‘No hurry. I’ve got all afternoon. Take your time.’

  Ryan paused only a moment longer and then drew in her head and closed the window. It didn’t take long to rinse her face and hands and put on a cream shirt and red pleated skirt, and she was running the brush through her hair as she opened the door. ‘Come in,’ she invited rather breathlessly.

  David observed her appearance admiringly. ‘Well, well!’ he remarked once more. ‘So you do have legs—and very attractive ones, I might add. I was beginning to wonder. I’ve only seen you in trousers so far.’

  Ryan flushed. ‘Did no one ever tell you that it’s rude to make personal remarks?’ she exclaimed, but she wasn’t really angry. ‘Come into the kitchen and I’ll make some coffee. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten a thing yet today.’

  He followed her into the kitchen and then stopped, sniffing. ‘Mmm, something smells delicious.’

  Ryan nodded towards the stove. ‘It’s some chicken soup I made last night,’ she explained. ‘Do you want some?’

  David approached the stove and lifted the lid of the saucepan. ‘Well, well,’ he said again. ‘Such accomplishments in one so young!’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic. And stop saying “well, well”. It’s irritating. Do you want some or don’t you?’

  ‘Let’s say I shouldn’t say no.’

  Ryan shook her head goodhumouredly, and lighted the ring beneath the pan. Then she filled the percolator and set it to bubble. While she put out spoons and dishes and some of the long French bread she had bought in the village the day before, David perched on the corner of the table watching her.

  ‘So?’ he said. ‘How are things?’

  Ryan busied herself at the stove so he should not see her face. ‘Fine,’ she answered quickly. ‘How are things with you?’

  ‘Not so bad,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m going away this weekend, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Away? Back to England?’

  ‘No.’ He grinned. ‘To the Alps—skiing.’

  ‘Skiing?’ Ryan was interested. ‘I went skiing once. It was years ago now, with a party from the school.’

  ‘Not so many years ago, surely,’ he teased.

  ‘Well—five or six.’ She paused, thinking. ‘We went to Davos. You know—in the Swiss Alps. It was great fun. I think two of the party went home with broken legs, and one of the teachers twisted her ankle.’ She giggled reminiscently. ‘I wasn’t much good at it, I’m afraid, but it was marvellous to watch the experts. Are you an expert?’

  ‘Me?’ David grimaced. ‘You must be joking. It’s all I can do to remain upright.’

  ‘Have you been before?’

  ‘Yes, twice.’

  ‘Then I don’t believe you.’ She turned to ladle the soup into their dishes. ‘I expect you’re being modest to make me feel better.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it.’ He straddled a chair and began spooning soup into his mouth. ‘Hmm, this is marvellous! My mother used to make home-made soup like this.’

  ‘Used to?’

  ‘Yes. She’s dead now. My father married again a couple of years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. She had cancer. It was a blessed relief for her. And my father was only fifty when he remarried, too young to spend the rest of his life alone.’

  ‘You’re very understanding. Not all children feel like that about their parents. They tend to be jealous of intruders.’

  ‘Do they?’ David lifted his shoulders indifferently. ‘Were you?’

  ‘Me?’ She seated herself opposite him, looking surprised.

  ‘Yes, you. I hear that your parents divorced when you were quite young.’

  ‘Yes,’ she conceded, looking down at her plate, ‘they did. But neither of them remarried.’

  ‘No?
’

  ‘No. My father had a heart condition and—and my mother—well, I don’t think she was entirely cut out for marriage.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ryan had never talked like this about her parents before. ‘She refused to return to France when my father had to come back here to take charge of the vineyard. He was French, you see. She was English.’

  ‘Yes, I heard the story.’

  ‘I see.’ She bit her lip. ‘You’ve been listening to gossip again.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He sighed, looking across at her as he broke some bread from the roll. ‘Ryan, I was curious about you. About how you came to be here. I asked questions.’

  ‘From whom?’ She was horrified.

  ‘Oh, not from Marie, don’t worry. From her aunt mostly. I wanted to know how you reacted when you discovered that Alain de Beaunes had inherited half your father’s estate.’

  Ryan caught her breath, pushing her scarcely touched food aside. ‘I don’t see what it has to do with you,’ she exclaimed, feeling the sickness of anxiety stirring in her stomach.

  ‘Ni moi non plus,’ remarked a harsh voice from the doorway which led into the hall, and looking up Ryan stared in amazement at her husband.

  ‘Alain…’ she murmured faintly, ‘then, still speaking in English, she went on: ‘I—I thought you were in Lyon.’

  ‘Pas possible!’ He advanced grimly into the room and his expression brought David to his feet, too, demonstrating only too well the enormous differences in their physiques. Alain towered over the younger man, his bulk blocking David’s avenue of escape. He said: ‘You are the teacher of English from the school, oui?’ His eyes swept over the other man contemptuously. ‘Might I ask what you are doing here?’

  David licked his dry lips and looked helplessly at Ryan. ‘He—he didn’t know I was—ill,’ she interposed swiftly. ‘He came to see me.’

  ‘A votre invitation?’

  Ryan hesitated. ‘Peut-être.’

  ‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ David broke in nervously. ‘There’s no need for you to play the heavy father, monsieur. Ryan and I are friends, that’s all. There’s no harm in our relationship.’

  ‘I did not say there was.’ Alain’s lips twisted as he turned to his wife. ‘You are feeling better, non?’

  Ryan nodded jerkily. ‘M-much better.’

  ‘Bien.’ But Alain did not sound concerned.

  ‘Where—where did you come from?’ she burst out suddenly. ‘I mean, you never use the—the other door.’

  ‘I seldom use it, non,’ Alain agreed coldly. ‘Mais aujourd’hui…’ He shrugged. ‘You would not deny me that right, I hope.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Ryan moved uncomfortably. ‘Please, Alain, let’s not lose our tempers. I—we—we were just having some soup. Would you like some?’

  Alain surveyed the pair of them with cold dislike. ‘Non, merci.’ He unbuttoned his leather jacket, flexing his shoulder muscles as though the journey he had just made had tired him more than he had expected. ‘I am—glad you have not been—how do I say it?—neglected?—in my absence, non? Myself, I have—business—in the village. I bid you both adieu.’

  He turned and walked back into the hall, closing the door behind him. Ryan waited only a few seconds, her fingertips pressed to her lips, and then she sped across the kitchen and into the hall. ‘Alain?’

  He was opening the front door as she reached him and his expression was not encouraging. ‘Oui?’

  Ryan lapsed back into French. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘That is no concern of yours, but as it happens I have already told you—to the village.’

  ‘Alain, please…’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Don’t go like this.’

  ‘Like what? I have assured myself that you are well cared for, have I not? I have discharged my duties as a husband.’

  ‘Alain, you don’t understand—’

  ‘What do I not understand?’ He removed her fingers from his arm with a jerk. ‘That you have been consoling yourself with this Englishman?’ He uttered an imprecation. ‘But you are wrong. I understand only too well.’

  ‘David and I hardly know one another,’ she protested.

  ‘No?’ Alain plainly did not believe her. ‘Yet you are on Christian name terms, and he treats you as if he knows you very well indeed.’

  ‘That’s just his way. It means nothing. I think he feels responsible for me—’

  ‘Responsible for you!’

  ‘Oh, you’re deliberately misunderstanding what I’m trying to say. He—he thinks I’m English—’

  ‘But you are not.’

  ‘I know, but… Oh, why are you doing this?’

  ‘I am trying to keep my temper as you asked me,’ retorted Alain fiercely. ‘Do not tempt me to go back in there and give that young pup the thrashing of his life!’

  Ryan moved her head helplessly from side to side. ‘I—I wish you wouldn’t be so—so—’

  ‘Crude? Boorish? Barbaric?’ He supplied the words with savage mockery. ‘Yes, I am all those things, as you will discover.’ He stepped outside. ‘Go back and entertain your visitor, Ryan. I have better things to do than stand here arguing with you. Do not bother to wait up for me. I may be very late. Perhaps you will be able to persuade your boy-friend to stay for supper, hmm?’

  And with these parting words he left her, striding away round the house to where the station wagon was standing on the road.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT was after midnight when Alain eventually came home, but Ryan was not in bed. She had got undressed earlier, but she had known it was useless trying to sleep until she knew he was safely home. Besides, she had justified herself by deciding that he might want some food or a hot drink when he got in, and it would give her an opportunity of explaining David’s presence that afternoon.

  She was sitting in the firelight when he came in, and he didn’t immediately notice her. He was taking off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, throwing his tie over the back of a chair. But inevitably he switched on the light and stared at her with something like hatred in his eyes.

  ‘What in hell are you doing down here?’ he demanded angrily. ‘I thought I told you not to wait up.’

  There were deep lines beside his mouth, and his tousled hair bore witness to the number of times he had raked his hands through it. Or did it? Ryan’s stomach shrank at the thought that another woman might be responsible for his strained and weary appearance.

  ‘I—I wanted to talk to you,’ she managed carefully.

  ‘To talk to me? At this time of night!’ He swayed slightly as he swung round to indicate the clock and she realized he had been drinking. ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  ‘There is.’ Ryan rose to her feet, wrapping her candlewick dressing-gown closer about her. ‘Alain, I am not involved—sexually involved—with David Howard.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’ She sighed. ‘Do you believe me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, Alain…’

  ‘Do not “oh, Alain” me! I have been hearing some things about you myself this evening. My dear little wife – who entertains other men while her husband is away!’

  That’s not true!’

  ‘Of course it’s true.’ Alain’s mouth was a thin line. ‘I caught you myself this afternoon.’ He shook his head. ‘To think I didn’t go to Lyons because I was worried about you!’ Derision twisted his lips. ‘I only got as far as Anciens. I telephoned from there that I couldn’t make the meeting I was supposed to attend.’

  ‘Oh, Alain…’

  ‘Oh, Alain,’ he mimicked her contemptuously. ‘What a fool I was!’

  ‘Alain, I didn’t know David would appear!’

  ‘You must have had some idea. It’s not the first time, is it?’

  Ryan hesitated. ‘There was—one—other occasion.’

  ‘One!’ He obviously thought she was lying.

  ‘It
’s the truth. Honestly, Alain. Why should I lie? What I do means nothing to you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He took a few steps towards her.

  She flushed, but stood her ground. ‘What I say. You—you don’t really care what I do. Except in as much as I am a possession of yours and therefore you feel you have the right to do all my thinking for me.’

  His eyes narrowed, the heavy lids veiling his expression. ‘Is that what you think?’

  Ryan nodded. ‘Well, I’m not permitted to question your movements, am I?’

  ‘What movements are you referring to?’

  Had she been more alert to his mood and less to his physical nearness, she would have detected the change in his voice, the menacing quality which had crept in behind the anger.

  ‘Your—your relationship with—with Vivienne Couvrier.’

  ‘You know nothing about my relationship with Vivienne Couvrier,’ he stated, coming to stand in front of her. ‘Do you?’

  ‘I can guess!’ she declared unsteadily.

  ‘Oh, yes? And how far can your guessing take you?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ She looked up into his dark face.

  ‘I mean—what experience have you—an innocent—in such matters?’

  ‘Don’t be horrible!’

  ‘It is horrible to call you an innocent?’

  ‘The way you said it—yes.’ She looked away from him, concentrating on the toes of her slippers.

  ‘How would you like me to say it, then?’ he queried, and now she caught the threatening tone. Her head lifted a little, and she stared at the silver buckle of his belt.

  ‘I don’t think I want you to say anything more to me,’ she stated, through stiff lips. ‘But I am not a liar, whatever you may think.’

  Alain began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it free of his pants. He rubbed his fingers over the hair-roughened skin of his chest. Then he captured one of her hands and drew it to his chest also, holding it there beneath his.