The Frenchman's Love-Child

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHRISTIEN was paralysed to the spot by shock as he watched Jake fight to get air into his skinny little chest. As Christien had not even a nodding acquaintance with what fear felt like, his fear on his son’s behalf hit him as hard as a bullet from a gun. He watched Tabby grab up what looked like an inhaler and tend to the little boy. His little boy.

‘What’s the matter with him…what can I do?’ Christien demanded, sick to the stomach with the force of his concern.

‘You don’t need to do anything. Jake’s fine.’ Tabby’s squeaky tone was a leaden but obvious attempt to conceal her anxiety sooner than increase the risk of Jake getting more upset. ‘It’s just a little asthma attack and the medication in the bronchodilator will help put it under control.’

Unimpressed and constitutionally incapable of standing around doing nothing and feeling helpless, Christien stepped out onto the landing, dug out his mobile phone and hastily called a doctor.

Even as his son’s breathing difficulties subsided Christien discovered that he could not take his attention from Jake. In appearance the little boy was unmistakably a Laroche. His black curls ran down into a peak at the hairline just as Christien’s did. His eyes were just like his paternal grandmother’s-dark, liquid and very expressive. His olive skin was in direct contrast to Tabby’s fair colouring and the pure lines of his bone structure were already hinting at the strong features that could be seen in the family paintings. However, in apparent defiance of those genes from a tall, well-built family, Jake looked shockingly small and slight to Christien, who had had very little to do with young children. But then illness had probably stunted his son’s growth, Christien reflected sadly.

Tabby’s tension was beginning to drain away when Christien sat down on the other side of Jake’s bed as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Jake stared at the tall, dark male in his city suit with huge surprised eyes.

Tabby was annoyed that Christien was pushing in just when she had got her son calmed down. ‘Jake…this is-’

Christien closed a hand over Jake’s tiny one and breathed shakily, ‘I am your papa…your father, Christien Laroche-’

‘Christien!’ Tabby hissed in a piercing whisper, shaken by the ill-considered immediacy of that startling announcement. ‘If you upset him, it could cause another-’

‘Daddy…?’

Jake was studying Christien with big, wondering eyes.

‘Daddy…Papa. You can call me whatever you like.’ Satisfied to have introduced himself and claimed his rightful place in his son’s life, Christien smoothed a thumb over the little fingers curling within his. He smiled. Jake began to smile too.

‘Do you like football?’ Jake piped up hopefully.

‘Never miss a match,’ Christien lied without hesitation.

Feeling excluded for the first time since her son had been born, Tabby watched in a daze as Jake and Christien proceeded to demonstrate that the gap between three years and twenty-nine years was not so great as any mere female disinterested in sport might have supposed. But then Christien was bright enough and smooth enough to sell sand in a desert. A bell sounded and she jerked in surprise, only then appreciating that the cottage now possessed a doorbell.

‘That will probably be the doctor.’ Christien vaulted upright.

‘You called out a doctor?’ Tabby questioned in some annoyance.

‘Don’t go, Daddy,’ Jake protested worriedly.

Tabby hurried downstairs and opened the door to a suave medic in a suit. Jake clasped in one strong arm, Christien hailed the older man from the top of the stairs, and from that point on, as the French dialogue whizzed back and forth too fast for Tabby to follow and Jake was examined, Christien was in charge. Apart from the occasional question relating to the treatment Jake had received in London for his asthma, Tabby was required to play little part in the discussion that took place.

Finally, having shown the doctor out again, Tabby returned to Jake’s bedroom. Christien held a silencing finger to his lips. Her son had fallen asleep in his father’s arms. That Christien had won Jake’s trust so easily shook Tabby. ‘Let me tuck him in.’

‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to risk waking him up again,’ Christien asserted.

Tabby was tempted to snatch Jake from Christien’s arms and she was ashamed of her own streak of childish possessiveness. ‘You can’t be comfortable lying there like that.’

‘Why not? Are you the only one of us allowed to show parental affection?’ Christien queried, smooth as silk, dark golden eyes flaming satiric gold over his son’s downbent head. ‘I have a lot of time to make up with Jake. I won’t miss out on a single opportunity that comes my way. If he is comfortable, I will lie here all night and I really don’t care how uncomfortable I get or how you feel about that.’

Hot colour flooded her cheeks. He had thrown down a gauntlet but it was not one she was willing to pick up as yet. She was moving in uncharted territory. Christien had accepted that Jake was his without a single word of the protest she had expected or even a demand for further proof. That was good, she told herself. That he should be angry was natural, she told herself in addition. On the surface, Christien might seem to be handling her bombshell very well but, in reality, he had to be in shock too and he needed time to adjust. It would be foolish of her to argue with him before he had even had the chance to think through what being Jake’s father would demand from him.

Tabby sat down on the chair by the wall. She wanted to cuddle Jake, reassure herself that he was fine again, but instead Christien had him and she felt constrained. ‘There was really no need for you to contact a doctor,’ she remarked. ‘It was a very mild attack-’

Christien gave her a hard look of challenge, his strong jawline set firm. ‘I can afford the very best medical attention and I intend to avail myself of it for my son’s benefit. I would like him to see a couple of consultants. I want to be sure that he receives the best possible treatment.’

‘Don’t you think that you should discuss that first with me?’ Tabby was fighting her own resentment over his high-handed attitude with all her might, for she did not want to be unreasonable.

‘For three and a half years you have made all the decisions on our son’s behalf and I am not impressed by the value of your judgement.’

Tabby set her teeth together. ‘You’re not being fair.’

‘You kept Jake and I apart by denying me all knowledge of his existence. As a result, my son was forced to go without many advantages that I believe he should have enjoyed from birth,’ Christien enumerated coldly. ‘How can you expect me to think in terms of being fair to you? Were you fair to him?’

‘There is more to life than money. Our son has always had love.’

‘A very selfish love,’ Christien pronounced with lethal derision. ‘Both I and my family would have loved him. You have also deprived him of his cultural heritage-’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Tabby was staring fixedly at him but her throat was convulsing with tears held at bay only by will-power.

Christien dealt her a grim appraisal. ‘He speaks neither the Breton language nor French. He is the only child born to a proud and ancient line in this generation. He will mean a great deal to my family-’

‘Are you so sure of that? Are you sure they’ll be pleased to hear that you have an illegitimate son and that his mother is Gerry Burnside’s daughter?’ Tabby cut in painfully.

‘In France, children born outside marriage have the same rights of inheritance as those born within it. My family are more likely to be shocked that I should have a son who only met me today, a son who speaks not one word of our language and who does not know what it is to be a Laroche,’ Christien completed with icy conviction.

A chill ran down Tabby’s spine and then spread into her tummy to leave her feeling both cold and hollow. Lashes screening her pained and confused gaze from his, she surveyed them both: the man and the little boy with the same distinctive colouring. She watched Christien smooth back Jake’s mop of curls and, noticing that his hand was not quite steady, appreciated that he was not as in control as he would have liked her to believe.

‘He looks so like you,’ she could not help muttering.

‘I know.’ Christien sent her a blistering look of condemnation. ‘How could you do this to us?’

‘Christien-’

‘No, you listen to me,’ he broke in, low and deadly in tone, for he did not need to raise his voice to make her shiver. ‘From the hour he was conceived, he deserved the best we both had to give. His needs transcend your wishes and mine. You should have recognised that before he was even born. But now that I am part of his life, you will not be in a position to forget who and what comes first again.’

That sounded threatening. Tabby wanted to argue with him and demand to know exactly what he meant. However, she did recognise that he had voiced sufficient grains of hard truth to give her pause for thought. But, regardless, he was a man and she reckoned that there was no way he could really understand how fearfully hurt and humiliated she had been on the day of that accident enquiry when he had acted as though she had never meant anything to him. He had made her feel about an inch high and fiercely protective of Jake. She had assumed that Christien would have been even more scornful had she announced that she had given birth to their child. After all, he had demonstrated a complete lack of respect or caring towards her, so why would she have credited that he would react with any greater generosity to his young son? But then he had believed she had started seeing another guy and she had to make allowances for that.

When Tabby woke up, she was lying fully dressed on top of her bed with a bedspread pulled over her. After she’d fallen into a doze, Christien must have carried her through to her own room. It was already after nine in the morning and she scrambled out of bed. Jake’s tumbled bed was empty, his pyjamas lying on the floor. Frowning, she sped down the stairs and discovered that she was alone in the cottage. Panic tugging at her as she recalled how Christien had accused her of being no better than a kidnapper in keeping him and his son apart, she was almost afraid to read the note that she saw lying on the hearth. Christien’s abominable scrawl informed her that he had taken Jake out for a drive in the Ferrari. Slowly, she breathed again. What could be more natural than Jake getting a run in his father’s boy-toy car? Christien doing something so predictable and male made her feel a little more secure.

It was a beautiful hot sunny day and she took a green sun-dress from the wardrobe and went for a shower. Christien was so angry with her, so bitter. Would he ever get over that? Would he ever look at events from her point of view and appreciate that she had done what she believed was best? Was Jake to be their only link now? Well, at least Christien seemed keen to form a relationship with Jake, she told herself bracingly. Really that was what was most important. But her eyes ached and burned with unshed tears.

When she heard a car outside, she hurried straight to the door and was surprised to see Manette Bonnard walking up her path with a gaily wrapped parcel clasped in one hand. ‘I wanted to thank you for your kindness and understanding yesterday. I hope you have no objection but I have brought a small gift for your son,’ the older woman said tautly. ‘May I talk to you, mademoiselle?’

In bewilderment, Tabby tensed and then, with a rather uneasy smile of acquiescence, she invited her visitor in.

‘I’m afraid that I concealed my true identity from you yesterday. I was too embarrassed to admit who I was,’ the blonde woman confessed in a troubled rush. ‘My name is not Manette Bonnard. I lied about that. I am Christien’s mother, Matilde Laroche.’

Tabby was betrayed into a startled exclamation.

‘I drove over here to spy on you,’ Matilde admitted tightly, discomfited colour mantling her cheeks. ‘I thought you had no right to be in this house. I thought you had no right to be with my son.’

As Tabby wondered if the older woman was aware that Christien had spent the night with her that weekend that she had first visited her inheritance, never mind passed the night before under the same roof as well, she could no longer look her visitor in the eye. Worst of all, she could not think of a single thing to say to her either.

‘Although I knew nothing about you and had never met you, I told myself four years ago that I hated you because…well, because of who you are-’

As Matilde’s eyes filled with tears Tabby took her trembling hand into a sympathetic hold. ‘I understand…I really do understand-’

‘I was mad with grief and it twisted me. But perhaps I was also afraid that I was on the brink of losing my son to a young woman when I was least willing to part with him,’ Matilde breathed shakily. ‘But that is not an excuse. When I saw how very young you were yesterday, I was surprised, but I was shocked when I met your little boy.’

Christien’s mother removed a photograph from her bag and extended it. Tabby studied the snap of Christien as a child of about five or six with a fascination she could not hide.

‘Jake is the living image of his father,’ Matilde commented.

Thinking of the gift that Matilde Laroche had brought and the acceptance of Jake that that telling gesture conveyed, Tabby just smiled. ‘Yes, he is.’

‘I am so ashamed of the way I have behaved. I felt my punishment when I recognised my grandson, who is a stranger to me,’ Matilde admitted with deep regret. ‘For how long has Christien known about Jake?’

Tabby winced. ‘I’m afraid that I only told him last night.’

‘A long time ago, my aunt, Solange, tried to talk to me about you and Christien and how accidents happen and how we must forgive and go on with our lives, but I was too stubborn and full of self-pity to listen.’ Matilde Laroche’s guilt was etched in her troubled face.

Tabby urged the older woman to sit down.

‘Henri always drove very fast,’ she confided. ‘Far too fast to stop in the event of an accident.’

As the silence stretched Tabby gathered her courage and began talking too. ‘That night my father had a dreadful argument with my stepmother over dinner. She stormed out of the restaurant and caught a taxi back to the farmhouse.’

‘So that was why your father’s wife wasn’t in his car when it crashed.’ Slowly, Matilde shook her head. ‘I always wondered about that.’

‘I’m not making any excuses for Dad but I would like you to know that, until that holiday, I had never seen him drinking to excess,’ Tabby said in a quiet voice. ‘Dad had remarried very soon after my own mother’s death. That summer he was very unhappy. He and my stepmother weren’t getting on and I think he turned to alcohol because he realised that his second marriage had been a terrible mistake.’

‘Was he happy with your mother?’

‘Very…’ Tabby’s eyes watered. ‘They were always talking and teasing each other. He went to pieces when she died. I think he rushed into marriage with Lisa because he was lonely and he couldn’t cope-’

‘I was like that after Henri went,’ Matilde muttered unsteadily and she patted Tabby’s hand as if in gratitude for her honesty. ‘I couldn’t cope either, and since then my grief has been my life. When I saw Jake, I understood that life had gone on without me and that I had caused those closest to me a lot of unhappiness that they did not deserve.’

‘You really don’t mind about Jake, do you?’

Matilde Laroche studied her in amazement. ‘Why would I mind? He is a wonderful child and I am overjoyed that he has been born.’

‘Christien has taken Jake out this morning,’ Tabby revealed.

The older woman stood up. ‘I would not like to intrude by being here when they return. But I am sure you have already guessed that, if you are generous enough to allow it, I would be very happy to have the opportunity to become better acquainted with you and my grandson.’

Tabby grinned. ‘We’d be happy too.’

‘Will you tell my son about what happened yesterday?’

‘No. I think it’s bad for Christien to know absolutely everything,’ Tabby heard herself admitting, before it occurred to her that such facetiousness might not go down well with his parent.

But Matilde’s gaze had taken on a surprised but appreciative gleam of answering amusement and she chuckled as she took her leave of Tabby.

As the morning wore on, and there was still no sign of Christien and Jake reappearing, Tabby became more and more jumpy. She told herself that it was a nonsense to imagine that Christien would have taken off with their son just to teach her a hard lesson, but her imagination was lively and her conscience too uneasy to give her peace. It was noon before she heard a car pulling up and she rushed to the door.

Sheathed in black denim jeans that fitted him like a second skin and a trendy shirt, Christien swung out of a scarlet Aston Martin V8 and scooped Jake out of the car seat fixed in the rear. Tabby’s jaw dropped. Last seen, her three-year-old son had been the possessor of a cute mop of black curls. Since then he had had a severe run-in with a barber and not a curl was to be seen.

‘What have you done to him?’ Tabby heard herself yelp accusingly.

Christien angled a look of pure challenge at her. ‘I trashed the girlie hairstyle…you might not have noticed but boys aren’t wearing pretty curls this season.’

‘It looked girlie,’ Jake told his mother slowly but carefully, and he even pronounced it just as his father must have done complete with French accent. Her little boy then carefully arranged himself in the exact same posture as his unrepentant father.

‘Girlie is in the eye of the beholder,’ Tabby remarked.

‘Girlie is girlie,’ Christien contradicted.

Christien, she understood, was staking possession on his son and ready, even eager, to fight any attempt to suggest that he might have overreached his new parental boundaries. But, grateful for their return and blessed with great tolerance, Tabby was willing to overlook Christien’s current aggressive aura for the sake of peace. She surveyed the two males who owned her heart with helpless appreciation. She missed her son’s curls but had to admit that the cropped style was much more boyish. Christien? Christien looked irresistibly sexy and fanciable. Her mouth ran dry. Her breathing quickened. Involuntarily she remembered how she had felt on that sofa and her knees quivered and her face burned with mortification over her own weakness.

‘What time did you get up this morning?’ Tabby enquired, dredging her attention from him.

‘Jake woke up at seven and I took him out for breakfast. Lock up,’ Christien urged. ‘I want to take you for a drive.’

Tabby did as she was asked and climbed into the passenger seat of the powerful car. ‘Where else did you go this morning?’

‘Daddy showed me his cars. I got little cars and he’s got big cars,’ Jake volunteered chirpily.

Jake was already calling Christien Daddy and he said it with such pronounced pride. From the corner of her eye, Tabby watched Christien’s handsome mouth curve with eloquent satisfaction. Evidently the morning had been spent in a male bonding session composed of laddish haircuts and car talk. Tabby did not begrudge them their mutual appreciation. She was delighted that they had got on so well.

When Christien drove through a colossal and imposing turreted entrance, Tabby tensed and dragged herself from her preoccupation. ‘Where are we?’ she questioned even though she already knew, for at the end of a very long, arrow-straight drive lined by trees sat a château.

‘We’re home!’ Jake announced.

‘Sorry?’ Tabby gasped.

‘Duvernay. I needed a change of clothes earlier and I brought Jake back here before we went out for breakfast,’ Christien advanced with the utmost casualness.

She had a delightful image of Christien playing it cool over breakfast in some café while Jake attempted to mirror his every action and expression.

‘It’s very big…’ Tabby went on to remark because, the closer the car got to the ancient building at the end of the drive, the more enormous the château seemed to get.

‘Where will I sleep?’ Jake asked.

‘I’ll show you later,’ his father responded.

Tabby froze at that casual assurance. Christien brought the car to a halt and sprang out. He lifted out Jake. A rather rotund lady with a big, friendly smile was approaching them. Christien introduced Tabby to Fanchon, who had been his nurse when he was a boy. Jake planted a confident hand in the older woman’s and, beneath Tabby’s disconcerted gaze, woman and child headed off into the gardens.

‘I wanted to speak to you without Jake present,’ Christien explained.

Her oval face flushed and set, Tabby came to a halt in the vast marble entrance hall and fixed angry green eyes on Christien. ‘Why is my son asking where he is going to sleep? And why did he refer to your home as his home?’

‘It is a challenge to keep a secret with a chatty three-year-old around.’ Christien pressed open a door and stepped back in invitation.

‘Well, what I heard was more of a fantasy than a secret!’ Tabby retorted sharply, entering a terrifyingly elegant reception room furnished with loads of antiques.

‘Is it? Duvernay is where my son belongs.’

Tabby collided with the cold glitter of Christien’s challenging appraisal and her tummy gave a frightened lurch. ‘At present, our son belongs with me-’

‘Long may that arrangement last,’ Christien remarked softly, and there was something in his intonation that made goose-bumps rise at the nape of her neck. ‘Children need their mothers as much as they need their fathers.’

‘Thank you for that vote of confidence.’ Tabby tilted her chin but her heart was starting to thump very fast and her chest felt tight. ‘Although I have to admit that I haven’t a clue why you should take the trouble to tell me that.’

Christien was very still. ‘I’m prepared to be generous and make you an offer-’

‘I’m not very fussed about the kind of offers you make,’ Tabby declared with complete truth.

‘Either you hear me out or my lawyers deal with this situation. Your choice,’ Christien traded, smooth as silk.

‘We don’t have a situation here.’ Tabby’s hands closed so tight in on themselves that her nails carved dents into her palms. ‘I was the one who told you that Jake was your son and you can see him as often as you like. I’m pleased that you want to spend time with him and I can’t see why you need to talk about bringing lawyers in.’

‘Naturally not. However, I want Jake and you to live with me-’

A disconcerted laugh fell from her dry lips. ‘You can’t always have what you want-’

‘You think not?’ A winged ebony brow quirked in open defiance of that statement. Hard dark golden eyes surveyed her. ‘If you can’t even accept that I have the right to make terms that will enable me to see more of my son, you will leave me with no choice but to challenge you for legal custody.’

This time, Tabby could not have laughed had her life depended on it for she was shattered by that warning assurance.