movement of her hips. An exceptionally beautiful woman. Tall and slender, graceful. The sort of woman people looked at twice because she was—different. With a long neck, narrow hands and feet, she walked as though she was special. Someone he’d presumably loved.
And yet, when he looked into her face, he saw only bitterness, pain. A gentle girl, he suspected, who’d had to learn toughness the hard way. Because of him? What the hell had he done to make her look so distressed?
Shifting slightly, trying to find room for his long legs, he gave a grim smile. He should have bought her a bigger car. Driving to France in this sardine can was going to be a real test of endurance. Well, he’d suffered worse and survived. And, at the end of it, would he finally remember?
She was back in just over an hour. Hair tied loosely back now, still damp from her shower, it hung like a brown, shiny curtain. Dressed in thick black cords and a white sweater, a black leather jacket slung round her shoulders, she carefully looked both ways before crossing the road. And he felt—attracted.
After putting her small suitcase in the boot, she climbed behind the wheel and handed him a map. ‘Just in case,’ she explained.
He nodded, glanced at the house, saw the curtain twitch and a woman with short dark hair peek out.
‘Who’s that?’
Glancing across, she murmured, ‘My mother.’ ‘She lives with you?’
She shook her head. Switching on the ignition, she checked her mirrors then pulled away.
‘Did I ever meet her?’
‘Yes, and my father.’
‘And?’
‘They liked you.’
Turning his head, he stared at her profile. ‘For four months there has been no one to ask questions of. I’m sorry if you think me—’
‘No,’ she broke in, distressed. ‘But please try to see it from my point of view. I find this very hard. Ask what you need to.’
‘Thank you. Was I ever here?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed quietly.
‘They didn’t mind us living together?’
Hesitating only briefly, she shook her head.
Still watching her, he asked, ‘Were you in love with me, Gellis?’
A swift, sharp pain in her heart, she gave a bitter smile. ‘Yes.’ So much. More than life.
‘But I left you.’
‘Yes.’
‘We didn’t have a row? Anything like that?’
‘No.’
‘And I didn’t tell you I was going to South America?’
‘No.’
He was silent for a moment, and then he asked quietly, ‘Were we happy, Gellis?’
With another bitter smile, she murmured, ‘I thought so, yes.’ She’d thought it was the love story to end all love stories. And perhaps it had been. But why, then, had he behaved as he had? She had made so many excuses for him in her mind, to her parents—tried to rationalise it, come to terms with it, and didn’t suppose she ever would until she knew the truth. And he must have been an astonishingly good actor, mustn’t he? Because, that last month, never by hint or deed had he ever intimated that he no longer loved her. Or their son. A son he’d delivered...
‘Gellis?’
‘I am going to die,’ she stated confidently. ‘Gellis!’
‘If the next pain is as bad as the last, I am going to die.’
With a splutter of laughter, he climbed onto the bed beside her, held her in his arms. ‘You aren’t allowed to die,’ he said softly.
Opening her eyes, she stared at him. ‘Non?’ ‘Non.’
‘Well, if the ambulance doesn’t get here soon, or the doctor—’ Stiffening, she clutched at him, held her breath.
‘Pant.’
‘I don’t want to pant,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, boy, I need to push.’
‘Non, he denied worriedly.
‘Yes. Oh, God. Get some towels.’
‘Towels?’
‘Yes! Vite! Oh, Sébastien, quickly.’
Alarmed, he rolled to his feet, sprinted into the other room, grabbed a pile of towels and hurried back. He hovered, gave a ridiculous smile, asked foolishly, ‘What do I do with them?’
‘Oh, Sébastien!’ she exclaimed on a weak laugh. ‘Put them under me.’
‘Right. Put them under you. Be calm,’ he instructed himself. ‘Be calm.’ Gently raising her, he put several towels beneath her, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and smiled. A bit quirky, a bit lopsided, but a smile. ‘I’m all right now.’
‘Good.’
‘I must deliver it, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right’
‘Everything will be fine,’ she gasped.
‘Oui. And I remind myself that we like to do things differently. How fortunate I read the books.’ He gave a shaky grin, then kissed her. ‘Raise your knees.’
She raised them, eyes fixed trustingly on her husband.
Walking to the other end of the bed, he took another deep breath, and rested both hands heavily on the counterpane. ‘Mon Dieu!’ he exclaimed weakly. ‘I can see the head.’
‘Is that good?’
‘Certainly,’ he said with more confidence than he was feeling. ‘Now you must push. It will be all right, my darling.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. She gave him a shaky smile, gasped on another sudden pain, and he smiled, tried to sound confident. But there was anxiety in his eyes as there was in her own. A slight shake to his voice. ‘That’s fine; keep pushing. Gently, gently...’
Oh, God. ‘It hurts.’
‘I know.’
Gripping the bed-head with hands that trembled, she waited for the next pain, then pushed and, astonishingly, felt the head emerge.
Eyes wide, they stared at each other.
‘Oh, mon dieu!’ Gently supporting the head with his large hands, he instructed anxiously, ‘One more.’
