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.His whole manner changed, dramatically, unbelievably, for he was calm all at once, having resumed that old familiar air of arrogant superiority and cold indifference.‘Mr Scott has written to me; his plans have changed.He’ll be here the day after tomorrow.’ His chill incisive tone was a dagger in Jane’s heart and impulsively she flung out her hands to him in a gesture of desperate pleading.‘I’ll talk to you—now—about Don—if you want me to! I intended talking earlier but couldn’t find you.And you t-told Meri that—that I was tired and wanted my dinner upstairs, so I hadn’t the courage to—to come and talk.Why did you avoid me, Philippe? You must have known that there was some sort of an.explanation ’‘You were with this fellow Clark during the afternoon,’ he cut in harshly.‘This morning I was called away, urgently, to the office on the plantation and went early, before breakfast, and was there until after lunch.Yvette called here later, to tell me you were at the Stag Hotel with your friend.She questioned him, apparently, when you had left, and although he did not tell her much, she deduced that he’s the man who’s been writing to you regularly.I did ask you, at the time I wanted you to become engaged to me, if you were engaged to anyone else, and you said no.’‘It was true.Don was not—not my fiancé.’‘Your lover, then?’ he queried in a very soft tone of voice.And when she made no answer, ‘I could have been your lover, couldn’t I?’ Contempt brought an ugly twist to his mouth.‘You’re shameless, Jane, and don’t want you in my house.You are free to go— and I would prefer it to be soon.’ A pause to give her a chance to speak, but she shook her head, tom to pieces by the torture inflicted on her by two men— this one and her husband.Physical and emotional fatigue robbed her of everything except the desperate craving for solitude, for the sanctuary of her room where she could shed the tears that were causing this unbearable throbbing in her temples.She looked at him through eyes that could scarcely see; his face was blurred and all that registered was the sombre frown creasing his brow.and that nerve pulsating in his throat.‘I must go to bed,’ she quivered, turning to place a trembling hand on the balustrade rail.‘Goodnight— Monseigneur.’There was no answer and she hadn’t expected one.As she reached the first curve of the magnificent staircase she paused momentarily to look down.Philippe had gone, and all she saw was the drawing-room door gently closing on its hinges.Once in her room all control left her and she flung herself on the bed and wept bitterly.For it all to end like this, without Philippe ever knowing the truth, never discovering that she was not nearly so blameworthy as he believed.Yet as she had told herself before, it did not really matter.When she left here they would never meet again, their paths would be severed for ever.It was a long while later that she rose from the bed and went to the window, flinging it wide open.She wanted air, cool and soothing as it blew in from the crystal clear waters of the lagoon.It shone in the starlight, like a sheet of pure silver, with just a small shadow where, on the shore, a beautiful feathery casuarina tree spread its foliage over the shoreline where it narrowed at the far end of the crescent.Her eyes moved, to the grounds of the chateau, bathed in moonlight that was fading but still shedding a muted argent glow over the silent landscape.She would miss it all so much! She had little known, when she had accepted the responsibility of bringing Barry and Tamsin over here, just what havoc the action was to play in her life.But that was fate.Philippe had spoken once of fate.And he had spoken of truth as well.Truth.it takes two to find it, he had stated, one to speak it and one to understand it And he had not given her the chance to speak the truth to him If he had, then perhaps he would have understood, and forgiven her
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