The Price of a Wife

'If you don't like anything that has been mentioned you only have to say-—'

'Really?' He cut into her careful words with all the softness of a bullet. 'Well, there was just one little thing, as it happens. How come an ape like that knows more about you than I do?'

'What?' She stared at him, unable to believe she was hearing right.

'And don't play dumb; it doesn't suit you. You know exactly what I am referring to, Josie. He knows about your past life, your old boyfriend—this Peter—and what is Pierre Delpire to you? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But I'm left standing there like an old flame at a wedding. Oh, to hell with it—' He ground out the words through clenched teeth. 'What does it matter anyway?'

'But I don't know Pierre Delpire,' she said confusedly, utterly bewildered by the black rage darkening the rugged features.

'Exactly. He is a stranger to you, a complete stranger, yet he knows more about you than I do. How do you think that made me feel back there?' he said furiously, his eyes slits of silver.

'I… I don't understand—'

'You don't understand?' he snarled scathingly. 'It's damn clear I'm the one who doesn't understand anything. You were involved with this Peter, from all accounts, and then gave him the old heave-ho and drove the guy half-insane. What was it? The career beckoning? The bright lights of the city? Or did the poor fool want to marry you, have a family? That would really have done it, wouldn't it? Who are you, Josie? What are you? How can one woman give off so many different signals?'

'I don't have to explain myself to you or anyone else,' she said tightly, her face white.

'No, that's right—that's absolutely right,' he agreed, his face as black as thunder. 'You are your own person, aren't you? Answerable to no one and with no one answerable to you.'

'Yes.' She raised her chin and looked him full in the face as her heart thundered so hard she felt she was going to pass out at his feet. 'That's how it is.'

'And how you want it to remain?' he asked coldly.

She nodded, not trusting her voice, willing herself to remain in control for just a few moments more until she could make an excuse and escape that devastating gaze.

'I see. Well, there is really nothing more to be said, then, is there? If you will excuse me, I shall have lunch in my study while I work on some papers. You may have yours in your room or on the veranda, whichever you prefer.' He stared at her, the silver eyes like liquid mercury.

'Thank you,' she said woodenly, before turning and walking away, her heart cut to ribbons.

Later that afternoon, her face clear of the tearstains that ravaged her features earlier, after the disastrous confrontation with Luke, she stood down on the beach watching the dancing waves lit with sparkling sunshine, the hot, powdery sand like velvet beneath her bare feet.

She had worked for an hour after lunch, but an aching head and an aching heart had driven her outside after a while, and now her walk was slow and weary as she made her way back to the pool area. She had just settled herself on one of the loungers positioned under the dappled shade of a large cherry tree, when the sound of children's laughter brought her head jerking upright.

'Oh, pardon, mademoiselle...' As Madame Marat caught sight of her she came to a sudden stop, causing the trio of chattering children behind her to cannon into her back. 'I did not know you were 'ere,' she apologised hastily, and she turned to usher the now silent infants back the way they had come. 'We come back another day, mademoiselle— pardon.'

'Please, don't do that.' Josie felt highly embarrassed at spoiling what was obviously a treat for the housekeeper's grandchildren. 'I don't mind, really. I think the pool is big enough for everyone.' She smiled warmly into the Frenchwoman's forbidding countenance and received a tentative smile in return.

'Is no problem to come back another day.' Madame Marat said anxiously. 'They are a leetle noisy—excited, you know?'

'It's perfectly all right.' Josie was conscious of three pairs of wide blue eyes surveying her from under three curly mops of hair, and she forced herself to smile at the small children even as her heart gave the little twist that all such encounters caused. They were very pretty—unlike their grandmother—and very small. 'How old are they?' she asked Madame Marat quietly.

'Denis is nearly two.' She indicated a rosy-cheeked little boy, who grinned at Josie immediately. 'Maime is three and Francoise is four.'

'They're lovely children,' Josie said softly.

'They are an 'andful, mademoiselle.' Madame Marat grimaced dramatically. 'But is it any wonder? This is what I ask myself. Their papa, he run off—poof! You understand, mademoiselle? So now my poor daughter, she is all alone. Is very 'ard for 'er, I think?'

Josie nodded sympathetically even as she envied Madame Marat's luckless daughter from the bottom of her heart. With three beautiful babies like these their mother was rich in everything that mattered, she thought silently, although probably the poor woman couldn't see it that way right now.

'Well, please, let them play,' Josie said quietly.

'Merci, mademoiselle.' Madame Marat said something in rapid French to the three children, who immediately echoed their grandmother's thanks, their baby voices high and shrill. There was much giggling and chattering and several covert glances in Josie's direction as their grandmother blew up three pairs of armbands, but once in the water the little tots splashed about at the pool's shallow end while Madame Marat sat at the edge, dangling her feet, her voice raised in warning now and again if they ventured too far.

And after a while it happened… as it always did if Josie came into contact with children. Whether it was her hunger, her longing, her love for all children that drew them to her she didn't know, but, despite their grandmother's repeated admonishments, first one little wet body then another crept over to her side, and she found herself playing and talking with them despite the language barrier.

In the world she had chosen to live in she wasn't often put in such a situation, but on the rare occasions it happened the result was always the same; an immediate rapport and understanding. And a particular kind of exquisite torture for her.

And so it was, just as Madame Marat was trying to persuade them that they had to go home for tea, cajoling them with promises of further afternoons in the pool, that Luke found her, engulfed by tiny plump arms and legs and wriggling bodies, her face alight and her whole being absorbed in the little tots.