Coming to France had been the best thing she could have done, she assured herself as, dressed now in a full emerald-green cotton skirt and a navy sleeveless top, she made and drank some coffee in the heavily beamed farmhouse kitchen.
William, bless him, kept her hard at work, leaving her little time to fret. On her arrival he had greeted her as if she were a saviour and her self-esteem had been further enhanced when he'd praised her lavishly for the way she had tackled the piles of dogeared hand-written manuscript that had accumulated since he had been without a secretary.
But Mariette Voisin, who came in most days to tackle the housework, would be arriving at any moment and, although the elderly French woman spoke only garbled English, she was incorrigibly curious and subjected Beth to a barrage of almost unintelligible questions at every opportunity, so she rinsed out the earthenware coffee-cup she had been using and slipped out into the morning sunshine.
The converted farmhouse lay in a leafy hollow along a tangle of narrow lanes between Boulogne and Le Wast and when Beth had eventually managed to find it, that first day, she had known it would be the perfect place to hide.
Hide from whom? she scorned, kicking out at one of the
pebbles that littered the dusty lane. No need to hide when no one would come looking. Charles would be only too thankful that she had voluntarily removed herself from his life.
Frowning, she pushed the intrusive thoughts of him out of her mind, deliberately trying to relax. Crouched over her shorthand notebook for five long hours made her body crave air and exercise and here, in these lovely sun-drenched lanes with the thick forest trees never far away, was the perfect place to take it. And suddenly, as often seemed to happen in this enchanted land, she rounded a bend and came across a hidden hump-backed stone bridge which spanned a dancing stream, and leant there, catching her breath, grateful for the shade of the overhanging trees.
Then, as the sound of an engine disarranged the sleepy pattern of birdsong and bees, she flattened herself against the parapet, leaving as much passing space as possible on the narrow track, then turned as the vehicle stopped behind her, probably a tourist, bemused by the seemingly aimless wandering of the lanes.
But the polite half-smile died on her soft lips and her heart flipped, stopped, then raced on. And Charles said from the open car window, 'Get in.'
She couldn't move. She literally couldn't move a muscle. She didn't know what he was doing here, how he had found her, why he had bothered. She opened her mouth, but no words came, and she just knew she must look like a dying fish, and that made hot colour run from the slash of her V neckline to the roots of her hair; then she heard him mutter a violent expletive as he slid out of the car to tower over her.
'Don't give me that blank stare, woman. We have met before.' His teeth closed with a snap, his eyes raking her pale face. 'I'm the man you married, remember? Promising to love, honour and obey. So get in the car.'
His strong hands were clenched at his sides, bunched against the black denim of his jeans. He looked as if he would like to shake her until her head dropped off, and she pushed the word 'no' past her dry lips and saw his mouth go tight, the skin growing taut across the hard cheekbones and aggressive jaw.
'I'm blocking the road and I'm not moving another inch without you.' And that should have given her fair warning of his intention to manhandle her into the passenger-seat, but she was still in shock while he walked round the front.
When he slid in beside her she managed huskily, 'I'm here on a job and I'm already late back,' which was a downright lie but one he seemed to swallow because he said, his deep voice silky smooth now with an underlying menace she had never heard from him before,
'So direct me. I'll take you there.'
And there was no way she was going to be able to get out of that. She could refuse point-blank and he would simply drive away with her. Anywhere, the mood he was in. She had never seen him this angry before.
Something inside her shivered and contracted as she glanced up at his stony profile, and she gave directions in a thin, sharp voice and wondered if he knew just what kind of hell he was putting her through.
She had just set her foot on the long, tough road back to some sort of acceptance of her ruined marriage and he had to appear to plunge her back to square one. And she was shaking inside as she said into the prickly silence, 'How did you know where I was?'
'Allie, who else?'
Of course. Who else? Beth and her best friend from schooldays had kept in close touch even after she'd married and left the Helpline Agency. She would have been the first person Charles would have asked.
'But why bother?' she asked dully, slowly, unconsciously, shaking her head.
He shot her a hard sideways look, a look that boded ill for her peace of mind, and his voice was grim as he told her, 'Did you think for one moment I'd simply let you walk away?'
CHAPTER THREE
Beth sagged in her seat, her eyes closing. Now why hadn't she thought of that? Of course he wouldn't allow her to simply walk away, to take that sort of initiative.
Charles Savage's middle name had to be determination. A tough character, he always had to be in control. He hated loose ends. He would have to know exactly what his estranged wife was doing, and where she was doing it. Besides, he would want a quick divorce, wouldn't he? He would need to keep tabs on her, know exactly where she was.
'Very cosy.' The biting edge of sarcasm as he braked the car made her eyes wing open. They were in the cobbled yard at the front of the old stone farmhouse, the tubs of geraniums around the walls making bright splashes of colour.
'Yes, isn't it?' She was giving as good as she got. He might have brought her down, but she wasn't out for the count—not as far as he was going to be allowed to see. 'I love it. I'm quite at home here already.'
Home. The very word cut through her like a blade. Home was where he was, and she would never be there again. Never was such a desolate word but she resolutely blinked back tears and shot him a bright, glittering look, ignoring the curl of anger on his mouth.
'Come along in, if you have something to say. You can't have come all this way just for a change of scenery.'
She let herself out of the car and swept over the yard ahead of him, willing herself to stay calm. So far she had avoided the agony of hearing him tell her he wanted a divorce, wanted to be free to marry Zanna and take her and their son to live with him.