Read Online Never Leave Me by Margaret Pemberton - Free Book Online Page A

feeling well, Lisette? Do you still have your headache?’
    â€˜No Papa. Please don’t look so anxious.’
    â€˜But you’re not eating properly, Lisette. You’re bound to feel unwell unless you eat. Isn’t there anything at all that you would like for breakfast?’
    He sounded so concerned that she managed a wry smile. ‘A cup of genuine coffee instead of this ghastly chicory.’
    He grinned ruefully. ‘I’m afraid even Elise can’t manage that.’
    â€˜Elise. Is that her name? I haven’t seen her yet. What is she like?’
    Young, he wanted to say. Too young for what she has to do.
    The reality of her arrival had filled him with fresh doubts and fears.
    â€˜Pretty,’ he said, and pushed his plate away, his appetite lost.
    They sat together silently, both wanting to discuss the girl’s arrival and its implications, but too conscious of the danger of being overheard to do so.
    â€˜I think I’ll cycle into the village this morning,’ she said at last. ‘The daffodils are out in the woods. They look glorious.’
    His eyes met hers. What she was really saying was that she hoped to see Paul Gilles and let him know that Elise had arrived safely and without arousing suspicion.
    â€˜Yes,’ he said unhappily, aware again of frustration and impotence; ‘The forsythia has bloomed early. I think I’ll go and cut some for indoors. A blaze of colour will cheer us up.’
    The linden trees flanking the drive were already beginning to take on a verdant haze. The tight green buds were unfurling and the fresh, clean scent of spring was strong in the air. Once out in the open she could breathe more easily. There was no chance here of suddenly rounding a corner and being confronted by him.
    She cycled down the long, gravelled drive, surprising a grey squirrel that scampered quickly out of her path. The late February wind had softened to a breeze. It blew refreshingly against her face, tugging at her hair, tinging her pale cheeks with a hint of colour. At the end of the drive she swung left towards the village, free-wheeling down through the beech woods to the high-hedged lanes of Sainte-Marie.
    The village was in sight when the chauffeur-driven Horch came down behind her, hard and fast. She pulled over as far as she could towards the steeply banked hedgerow but the powerful car gave her no room. Her front wheel swerved, ramming into the grassy bank and sending her flying from the saddle. The bike fell heavily against her, the handlebar gouging her thigh, slithering to the ground, leaving a hideous trail of blood in its wake.
    Through a sea of pain she was aware that the car had screamed to a halt; that someone was running to her aid.
    â€˜Sind Sie schon gut?’
    The harsh voice was familiar but the words made no sense. There was a ringing in her ears and colours and shapes zigzagged crazily.
    â€˜ Gott in Himmel! Are you all right?’ His voice was urgent, his arm tight around her shoulders, his eyes brilliant with anger and anxiety.
    â€˜Yes … I …’ She tried to pull away from him but it was impossible. She seemed to have lost all her strength and there was something hot and sticky running down her leg.
    â€˜Good God, you could have been killed!’ He swung his head round, shouting at his petrified chauffeur to open the rear door of the Horch and then, as she gasped aloud in protest, he swung her up in his arms, striding with her towards the car, the blood on her leg smearing his immaculate uniform.
    â€˜No … please. I can walk.’ Her head was spinning with concussion, with shock, and with the desperate need to free herself from his touch.
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said curtly, laying her on the leather rear seats of the Horch. ‘You couldn’t walk a step.’
    She caught a glimpse of the white, frightened face of the chauffeur and felt a surge of pity for him. He looked like a