The Frenchman's Love-Child

Veronique Giraud was everything a Laroche wife should be. He had known her all his life and their backgrounds were similar. A corporate lawyer, she was an excellent hostess as well as being tolerant of her future mother-in-law’s emotional fragility. But neither love nor lust featured in Christien’s relationship with his fiancée. Both of them considered mutual respect and honesty of greater importance. Although Veronique was naturally willing to give him children, she had little enthusiasm for physical intimacy and had already made it clear that she would prefer him to satisfy his needs with a mistress.

Christien was quite content with that arrangement. Indeed the knowledge that even marriage would not deprive him of that valuable male freedom to essentially do as he liked, when he liked, had very much increased his willingness to embrace the matrimonial bond.

In little more than a month, he would be over in London on business. He would pay Tabby Burnside a visit and offer to buy the cottage back from her. No doubt she would feel flattered by his personal attention. He wondered what she looked like some years on…faded? At only twenty-one? He almost shrugged. What did it matter to him? But he also smiled.

A house in France, Tabby reflected dreamily, a place of their own in the sun…

‘Of course, you’ll sell the old lady’s cottage for the best price you can get,’ Alison Davies assumed on her niece’s behalf. ‘It’ll fetch a healthy sum.’

Fresh, clean country air in exchange for the city traffic fumes that she was convinced had made her toddler son prone to asthma, Tabby thought happily.

‘You and Jake will have something to put away for a rainy day.’ Her aunt, a slender brunette with sensible grey eyes, nodded with approval at that idea.

Lost in her own thoughts, Tabby was still mulling over the extraordinary fact that Solange Roussel had left her a French property. It was fate, it had to be. Of that latter reality, Tabby was convinced. Her son had French blood in his veins and now, by an immense stroke of good fortune and when she least expected it, she had inherited a home for them both on French soil. Of course that was meant to be! Who could possibly doubt it? She looked into the small back garden where Jake was playing. He was an enchanting child with mischievous brown eyes, skin with a warm olive tone and a shock of silky dark curls. His asthma was only mild at present, but who could say how much worse it might get if they remained in London?

The same day that the letter from the French notaire had arrived to inform her of her inheritance, Tabby had begun planning a new life for herself and her child in France. After all, the timing could not have been more perfect: Tabby had been desperate to come up with an acceptable excuse for moving out of her aunt’s comfortable town house. Alison Davies was only ten years older than her niece. When, in the wake of her father’s death, Tabby had been left penniless and pregnant into the bargain, Alison had offered her niece a home. Tabby was very aware of how great a debt of gratitude she owed to the other woman.

But, just a week earlier, Tabby had overheard a heated exchange between Alison and her boyfriend, Edward, which had left her squirming with guilty discomfiture. Edward was going to take a year out from work to travel. Tabby had already known that and she had also been aware that her aunt had decided not to accompany him. What Tabby had not realised, until she accidentally heard the couple arguing, was that Alison Davies might be denying herself her heart’s desire sooner than ask her niece to find somewhere else to live.

‘You don’t need to use up your precious savings! Thanks to your parents you own this house and you could rent it out for a small fortune while we were abroad. That would cover all your expenses,’ Edward had been pointing out forcefully in the kitchen when Tabby, having returned from her evening job, had been fumbling for her key outside the back door.

‘We’ve been over this before,’ Alison had been protesting unhappily. ‘I just can’t ask Tabby to move out so that I can offer this place to strangers. She can’t afford decent accommodation—’

‘And whose fault is that? She got pregnant at seventeen and now she’s paying for her foolish mistake!’ Edward had slammed back angrily. ‘Does that mean we have to pay for it too? Isn’t it bad enough that we’re rarely alone together and that when we are you’re always babysitting her kid?’

Tabby was still terribly hurt and mortified by the memory of that biting censure. But she regarded it as justifiable criticism. She felt that she ought to have seen for herself that she had overstayed her welcome in her aunt’s home. She was appalled that Alison should have been prepared to make such a sacrifice on her behalf, for her aunt had already been very generous to her. Indeed, all that Tabby could now think about was moving out as soon as was humanly possible. Only then would Alison feel free to do as she liked with her own life and her own home. At the same time, however, she did not want the other woman to suspect that she might have overheard that revealing dialogue.

‘I’m afraid I still can’t stop wondering why some elderly French lady should have remembered you in her will,’ Alison Davies confided with a bemused shake of her head.

Dragged out of her own preoccupied thoughts by the raising of that topic yet again, Tabby screened her expressive green eyes and looped a stray strand of caramel-blonde hair back behind one small ear. Some things were too personal and private to share even with her aunt. ‘Solange and I got on very well—’

‘But you only met a couple of times…’

‘You’ve got to remember that what she’s left me can only be a tiny part of what she owned because she was very well off,’ Tabby muttered in an awkward attempt to explain. ‘I’m over the moon that she’s left me the cottage but I suppose in her eyes…it was just a little token.’

Tabby was reluctant to admit that, on each of the occasions she had met Solange Roussel, she had connected with the older woman on a very emotional level. The first time she had been bubbling with happiness and quite unafraid to admit that she adored Christien. The second time she had been a lot less sure of herself and she had not been able to hide her fear that Christien was losing interest…and the third and final time?

Months after that fatal French holiday that had torn apart so many lives, Tabby had travelled back to France alone to attend the accident enquiry. She had been desperate to see Christien again. She had believed that the passage of time would have eased his bitterness and helped him to acknowledge that they had both lost much-loved parents in that horrendous crash. However, she had soon learnt her mistake for, if anything, the intervening months had only made Christien colder and more derisive. Even Veronique, who had once been so friendly towards her, had become distant and hostile. As Gerry Burnside’s daughter, Tabby had become a pariah to everyone who had lost a relative or been injured in any way by that car crash.

On the day of that enquiry Tabby had finally grown up and it had been almost as cruel and life-changing an ordeal for her as the aftermath of that car accident. Even though the previous months had been a nightmare struggle for Tabby to get through, and she had had to borrow money from her aunt just to make that trip back to France, she had still been full of naive hopes and dreams of how Christien would react to the news that he was the father of her newborn baby boy.

But on the day of that official hearing, her dream castles had crumbled into dust. In the end she had not even got to tell Christien that she had given birth to his son, for she had baulked at making that announcement in front of an audience and he had refused her request for a moment’s privacy in which to talk. Devastated by that merciless refusal to accord her even the tiniest privilege in acknowledgement of their past intimacy, Tabby had fled outside sooner than break down in tears in front of him, his relatives and friends. Out there in the street a hand had closed over hers in a comforting but shy gesture. In disconcertion, Tabby had glanced up to meet the look of pained compassion in Solange Roussel’s understanding gaze.

‘I’m sorry that the family should have come between you and Christien,’ the older woman had sighed with sincere regret. ‘It should not be that way.’

Before Tabby had been able to respond and admit that she suspected something rather less presentable than family loyalties might ultimately have led to her having been dumped by Christien, Solange had hurried back into the building where the enquiry was being held. His great-aunt had doubtless been fearful of being seen to show sympathy to the drunk driver’s daughter.

‘You are planning to sell this French property…aren’t you?’ Alison pressed without warning.

Tabby drew in a deep breath in preparation for breaking news that she knew would surprise the brunette. ‘No…I’m hoping to keep it.’

Her aunt frowned. ‘But the cottage is on Christien Laroche’s Brittany estate…isn’t it?’

‘Solange said that Christien rarely went to Duvernay because he much prefers the city to the country,’ Tabby volunteered stiffly, for even voicing his name out loud was a challenge for her. ‘She also told me that the estate was absolutely enormous and that her little place was right on the very edge of it. If I keep myself to myself, as I plan to do, he’s not even going to know I’m there!’

Alison still looked troubled. ‘Are you sure that you aren’t secretly hoping to see him again?’

‘Of course, I’m not!’ Tabby grimaced in embarrassment. ‘Why would I want to see him again?’

‘To tell him about Jake?’

‘I don’t want to tell him about Jake now. The time for that has been and gone.’ Tabby tilted up her chin for if Christien and his snobby, judgemental family had been affronted even by the sight of her at that accident enquiry, her son’s very existence would surely only further offend and disgust them. ‘Jake’s mine and we’re managing fine.’

Alison said nothing, for she was not convinced and she knew just how vulnerable Tabby could be with her open heart and trusting nature. She had always felt very protective towards her late sister’s only child and she was well aware of the dangerous effect that her niece appeared to have on the opposite sex. Tabby had blonde hair the colour of streaky toffee, green eyes, dimples and an incredible figure that bore a close resemblance to an old-fashioned hourglass. The one quality that Tabby had in super-abundance was the sort of natural sex appeal that caused havoc.

When Tabby walked down the street, men were so busy craning their necks to get a better look at her luscious curves that they had been known to crash their cars. In actuality misfortune did seem to follow Tabby around, Alison conceded ruefully, thinking of the amount of bad luck that had shaped her niece’s life in recent years. Yet, Tabby would still rush into situations where angels feared to tread and, even though the results were often disastrous, she remained an incurable optimist.

Reminding herself of that fact, Alison rested anxious grey eyes on the young woman seated opposite her. ‘I hate to rain on your parade, but…I suspect you haven’t considered how expensive it would be to maintain a holiday home in another country.’

‘Oh, I’m not thinking of the cottage as a holiday home! My goodness, is that what you thought?’ Tabby laughed out loud at the very idea. ‘I’m talking about a permanent move…about Jake and I making a new life in France—’

Startled by that sudden announcement, her aunt stared at her. ‘But you can’t do that—’

‘Why not? I can do my miniature work anywhere and sell what I make on the internet. I’m already building up a customer base and what could be more inspiring than the French landscape?’ Tabby asked with sunny enthusiasm. ‘I know that to start with things will be tight financially, but, because I own the cottage, I won’t need much of an income to get by on. Jake’s at the perfect age to move abroad and learn a second language as well—’

‘For goodness’ sake, you’re making all these plans and you haven’t even seen this cottage yet!’ Alison exclaimed in reproof.

‘I know.’ Tabby grinned. ‘But I’m planning to go over on the ferry next week to check it out.’

‘What if it’s uninhabitable?’

Tabby squared her slight shoulders. ‘I’ll deal with that when I see it.’

‘I just don’t think that you’re being practical,’ Alison Davies said more gently. ‘Going to live abroad may seem like an exciting proposition, but you have Jake to consider. You’ll have no support network to fall back on in France, nobody to help out if you need to work or you fall ill.’

‘But I’m looking forward to being independent.’

At that declaration, her companion looked taken aback and then rather hurt.

Steeling herself to press home that point, Tabby swallowed hard for she knew it was the most convincing argument that she could put forward. ‘I need to stand on my own feet, Alison…I’m twenty-one now.’

Her cheeks rather flushed, her aunt got up and began clearing away the supper dishes. ‘I can understand that but I don’t want you to burn your boats here and then find out too late that you’ve made an awful mistake.’

Tabby sat there and thought about all the mistakes she had made. Jake came running in the back door and ran full tilt into her arms. Breathless, laughing and smelling of fresh air and muddy little boy, he scrambled onto her knee and gave her a boisterous hug. ‘I love you, Mum,’ he said chirpily.

Her eyes stung and she held him tight. Most people were too polite or kind to say it, but she knew that they all thought Jake was her biggest mistake so far. Yet when Tabby’s life had fallen apart only the prospect of the baby she’d carried had given her the strength to keep going and trust that the future would be happier. Christien had been like the sun in her world and it literally had felt like eternal darkness and gloom when he had gone from it again.

A frown still pleating her brows, Alison turned from the sink to study the younger woman again. ‘Before you moved in here I worked with a guy called Sean Wendell,’ she confided. ‘He was mad about France and he moved to Brittany and set up an agency managing rental property. I still hear from Sean every Christmas. Why don’t I phone him and ask him to give you some support while you’re over there?’