derision. 'You cannot simply hand in your notice when the
going gets tough.'
Samma swallowed. Lucky me, she thought.
She said quietly, 'You can enforce obedience, but not affection. And
I want Solange to be fond of me—genuinely.'
'In a year?' The reminder was faintly brutal. 'Don't hope for too
much, Samantha.'
She bent her head. 'I don't expect very much at all.'
At dinner on Allegra the previous evening, she'd tried to ask him a
little about life at Belmanoir, and Solange in particular, but his
replies had been almost terse. For a man so determined to retain the
custody of his child, he seemed to know very little about her, she
thought unhappily. For Solange's sake, she hoped he wasn't being a
dog in the manger about her.
The car turned suddenly under a high stone gateway on to a drive
flanked by tall hibiscus hedges.
Samma peered ahead of her through the windscreen, aware that her
heart was beating hard and fast. She was on Lucifer's Cay, after all,
and somewhere beyond the bright normality of the flowers was the
house which Le Diable had built for himself and his dynasty.
She didn't know what she'd been expecting—a Gothic ruin,
perhaps, with a skull and crossbones fluttering from the
battlements. But it wasn't like that at all—just a rambling white
mansion with a pillared portico, and an elegant wrought-iron
balcony encircling the upper storey.
And, at the top of the steps leading to the front entrance, someone
was waiting. A girl, Samma saw, no more than in her twenties, with
an exquisite cafe au lait skin, and black hair coiled into a sleek
chignon at the nape of her neck. The neat dark dress she was
wearing did nothing to disguise ripe breasts and rounded hips, as
she walked with a graceful, swaying motion down the wide,
shallow flight of steps towards them.
'Roche.' Her voice was like sunwarmed honey. 'Sois le bienvenu. It
is good to have you at home again.' She turned her smile on Samma.
'And welcome to you also, madame.'
Samma felt something clench inside her, as Roche bent to kiss the
girl lightly on both cheeks, murmuring something in his own
language as he did so.
'Samantha?' He turned to her. 'Allow me to present Elvire Casson,
my—housekeeper.'
His slight hesitation wasn't lost on her for a moment. Samma smiled
politely, and shook hands, her mind working furiously.
'I have a mistress,' he'd said. Why hadn't he also mentioned that
Samma would have to share a roof with her at Belmanoir? Or did
he think she was so young and naive that she wouldn't think to put
two and two together and come up with the right answer? To which
the answer was—probably.
'Where is Solange?' Roche was looking around him, frowning.
It was Elvire's turn to hesitate. 'She reacted badly to your news,' she
said at last. 'She refused to go to school this morning, because she
claimed to have a fever. I took a pitcher of juice to her room, and
she was gone.'
His firm mouth tautened in annoyance. 'To Les Arbres, sans doute.'
'Mais oui. Madame Duvalle telephoned to say she was there, so I
asked for her to be returned.'
Like an overdue library book, Samma thought, bristling, as they
walked up the steps into the house.
'We have arranged a small celebration to greet your bride,' Elvire
announced. 'The staff are naturally eager to greet her.'
Samma wondered if she was merely imagining that faintly derisive
note in the older girl's voice.
She said quietly, 'I'd prefer to go straight to my room, if you don't
mind.'
'Just as you wish, madame. I will have Hippolyte bring up your
cases.'
Samma found herself mounting the broad sweep of the staircase,
with Roche's hand cupped round her arm, which wasn't what she'd
intended at all. He didn't have to play the part of the devoted
husband in front of Elvire Casson, she thought, fuming. She, of all
people, would be bound to know the reality of the situation. She
wrenched herself free when they reached the gallery, avoiding the
ironic
going gets tough.'
Samma swallowed. Lucky me, she thought.
She said quietly, 'You can enforce obedience, but not affection. And
I want Solange to be fond of me—genuinely.'
'In a year?' The reminder was faintly brutal. 'Don't hope for too
much, Samantha.'
She bent her head. 'I don't expect very much at all.'
At dinner on Allegra the previous evening, she'd tried to ask him a
little about life at Belmanoir, and Solange in particular, but his
replies had been almost terse. For a man so determined to retain the
custody of his child, he seemed to know very little about her, she
thought unhappily. For Solange's sake, she hoped he wasn't being a
dog in the manger about her.
The car turned suddenly under a high stone gateway on to a drive
flanked by tall hibiscus hedges.
Samma peered ahead of her through the windscreen, aware that her
heart was beating hard and fast. She was on Lucifer's Cay, after all,
and somewhere beyond the bright normality of the flowers was the
house which Le Diable had built for himself and his dynasty.
She didn't know what she'd been expecting—a Gothic ruin,
perhaps, with a skull and crossbones fluttering from the
battlements. But it wasn't like that at all—just a rambling white
mansion with a pillared portico, and an elegant wrought-iron
balcony encircling the upper storey.
And, at the top of the steps leading to the front entrance, someone
was waiting. A girl, Samma saw, no more than in her twenties, with
an exquisite cafe au lait skin, and black hair coiled into a sleek
chignon at the nape of her neck. The neat dark dress she was
wearing did nothing to disguise ripe breasts and rounded hips, as
she walked with a graceful, swaying motion down the wide,
shallow flight of steps towards them.
'Roche.' Her voice was like sunwarmed honey. 'Sois le bienvenu. It
is good to have you at home again.' She turned her smile on Samma.
'And welcome to you also, madame.'
Samma felt something clench inside her, as Roche bent to kiss the
girl lightly on both cheeks, murmuring something in his own
language as he did so.
'Samantha?' He turned to her. 'Allow me to present Elvire Casson,
my—housekeeper.'
His slight hesitation wasn't lost on her for a moment. Samma smiled
politely, and shook hands, her mind working furiously.
'I have a mistress,' he'd said. Why hadn't he also mentioned that
Samma would have to share a roof with her at Belmanoir? Or did
he think she was so young and naive that she wouldn't think to put
two and two together and come up with the right answer? To which
the answer was—probably.
'Where is Solange?' Roche was looking around him, frowning.
It was Elvire's turn to hesitate. 'She reacted badly to your news,' she
said at last. 'She refused to go to school this morning, because she
claimed to have a fever. I took a pitcher of juice to her room, and
she was gone.'
His firm mouth tautened in annoyance. 'To Les Arbres, sans doute.'
'Mais oui. Madame Duvalle telephoned to say she was there, so I
asked for her to be returned.'
Like an overdue library book, Samma thought, bristling, as they
walked up the steps into the house.
'We have arranged a small celebration to greet your bride,' Elvire
announced. 'The staff are naturally eager to greet her.'
Samma wondered if she was merely imagining that faintly derisive
note in the older girl's voice.
She said quietly, 'I'd prefer to go straight to my room, if you don't
mind.'
'Just as you wish, madame. I will have Hippolyte bring up your
cases.'
Samma found herself mounting the broad sweep of the staircase,
with Roche's hand cupped round her arm, which wasn't what she'd
intended at all. He didn't have to play the part of the devoted
husband in front of Elvire Casson, she thought, fuming. She, of all
people, would be bound to know the reality of the situation. She
wrenched herself free when they reached the gallery, avoiding the
ironic
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