Forbidden

by Denise Robins

Genres: Gothic; Romance

Synopsis

Two young lovers seeking the atmosphere of peace and tranquillity they were never able to find in London emerge from a car in a sunlit Provençal town square. It is an idyllic setting for a passionately romantic interlude, but the dazzling light and contrasting deep shadows echoed the patter of their own life, for Nat is a brilliant young surgeon with a professional reputation to uphold and Toni is married to a vindictive business tycoon.

Release date: December 5, 2013

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 160

Sample

They neither of them knew the way, but the driver was being briefed by the woman at his side, reading from a letter.

“Once you reach the village of Mougins drive straight through, past the little fountain in the Square, and then down the hill until you come to a sign that says ‘Mas Candille’—your hotel—where you turn left.”

They had reached the Square. Nat pulled in under a sheltering tree.

“Let’s get out and have a nice cold drink in that little place on our left. What’s it called? Hotel de la France. It looks charming and I’m damn thirsty.”

“That goes for two of us,” said Toni.

They were both hot and drenched with perspiration. It was eighty-five degrees today and no wind. They had driven three hundred kilometres from Avignon, having put the car on the train at Boulogne and spent the night in the wagon-lit. An admirable way of skidding over the miles and waking up to the sunlight of Provence.

Oh, thought Toni, this beautiful warm Provençal sunshine. It does something to you. It made you feel better at once. You glow—blissful, glad to be alive. Certainly not as they had both been feeling back in England. But that was another story.

“The Triumph has done us well,” said Nat Olver as he got out and examined his dusty five-year-old car. The fond look of an indulgent parent.

Toni said:

“Well, you always take good care of it. But you take good care of everything,” she added, and held out her hand. He squeezed it. With an arm around her shoulders, he walked to the welcome green gloom of the little restaurant where tables were laid under thick vines and there were trees to keep away the blistering sun. A waitress took their order. Iced beer for Nat; lager for Toni.

They could sit in the cool facing the Square and watch the diamond brightness of the fountain splashing into a round stone basin. The village seemed deserted except for an old woman in black, waddling along with two long loaves tucked under her arm; and a young man who mounted his motor bike, and roared off disturbing the peace of the late afternoon.

They could also see an apricot-coloured house with the word “Mairie” written over it and a low-windowed antique shop with paintings and pieces of pottery displayed outside.

The sky was a clear blue. The sharp contrast between sunlit walls and shadowed alleys was strikingly beautiful. It was a place for artists.

“Oh,” said Toni, “I’m glad we chose to come here.”

“So am I,” said Nat, “It looks enchanting.”

“I must buy a postcard and send it to Chris.”

“Women always seem to enjoy sending postcards.”

“Will it irritate you if I write cards?” she asked.

Now his smile vanished. Nat had a lean rather serious face with hollows under the cheek bones, and blue narrow eyes. Still in his early thirties he looked young in his sports shirt, linen jeans and with an untidy mop of dark brown hair. Ordinarily, Toni remembered, he was a smart, West End doctor, rather careful of his appearance. She preferred him as he was today. She loved him more than anything on earth.

“Why should I be irritated by anything you do?” he asked. “But I don’t quite see who you’re going to send cards to except Chris who is the only one who knows about us.”

Her enthusiasm over the local postcards she generally sent on holiday evaporated. Of course, she knew she had been stupid about that. She could not send any—except to Chris. All her relatives and friends believed that she was with Chris and Joe—in Ireland, where they were on holiday.

Toni felt half ashamed that she had had to go to such lengths to make her story water-tight. She had written a letter to Guy her husband for Chris to post from Connemara. And she had left a card to be sent to Mrs. Millins, her housekeeper, who looked after her country house in Bray.

“You’re so right,” she said. “Nobody else must know we are here.”

“I couldn’t bear anything to spoil your ten days with me.”

“Nothing will. Nothing could.”

Under the table his warm hand pressed one of her bare knees. Toni—christened Antonia—was a striking-looking girl. Not classically beautiful—her nose was too short and her mouth too wide, but she had the sort of childish face with small chin, wide brow and smooth creamy complexion which most men found attractive and endearing. Nat had at first thought her still a teenager and been amazed to find that she was twenty-four and married. As for her eyes—he felt that he had drowned in Toni’s eyes from the very first moment he met her; and a fatal moment it had proved for both of them. Nat knew from the start that it wasn’t too good for a man in his profession to get involved with a married woman. He was and had been a dedicated surgeon since he left the big London hospital where he had qualified and later added the F.R.C.S. to his name.

Toni’s eyes were remarkable—more golden than hazel. Her long dark hair curved smoothly to her shoulders. On first meeting he had found her warm and friendly. He had gone home from the party remembering her. She was strangely immature for a married woman, even shy.

On further acquaintance he had discovered that she had been badly hurt by life. She hardly mentioned her husband and she was not at all the ordinary rich girl who marries money. Yet she was wearing a ring with one of the biggest emeralds he had ever seen.

It was not until later that he had found out that she hated that ring and regarded it as a badge of slavery, but because her husband wanted her to show it off, and to avoid argument, she had given in.

Now Nat knew so much more about her.

Normally, he had excellent health and had never really been ill. But during these last couple of months—ever since he realised that he was desperately in love with Toni—he had felt off-colour and nervy, and lost nearly half a stone. He was a man who always attracted women. He had had minor affairs. But with his mind and heart set on his profession—the hospital, and his gynaecology taking up most of his time and energy, he had so far avoided marriage.

He removed his hand from Toni’s knee and said abruptly:

“This all seems unreal. How come we are just about to check in at an hotel in Mougins as Mr. and Mrs. Gray?”

“I don’t know. It seems pretty unreal to me, too—but wonderful.”

“I don’t mind for myself, but it does rather weigh on my conscience that you are taking such a frightful risk, Toni.”

“The risk’s greater for you. You’re a surgeon—a well-known gynaecologist.”

“Even if we were found out they couldn’t strike me off, because you’re not my patient.”

“But a scandal wouldn’t do you any good,” she cut in, and drained the cool foaming liquid from her glass. Then she shook her head. “Nat, Nat, why did it have to happen this way? Why didn’t we meet before?”

“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, my love.”

“The right people never seem to meet in time, if at all.”

Nat fixed his eyes on the glittering fountain.

“I know. My mother was very unhappy,” Toni added.

“Poor sweet. My own parents met and married at the right time. They loved each other till the end. But things were always difficult for my mother. She was half-Jewish, you know. I was christened Nathaniel after her father who was in fact a Rabbi. But my own father was one hundred per cent Gentile. He ran a small radio and T.V. business in London. They were always either broke or flourishing. Finally Mother had to go out to work. Eventually she ran a dress-shop. Then the war came. Father sold his business and joined up. He was rather a splendid fellow. I got a scholarship, and a small legacy from my Jewish grandfather which just about covered my years of training in medicine. Incidentally, my Rabbi grandfather died in Dachau—just one more victim of the Nazis.”

Toni looked at him with passion and tenderness.

“I adore that touch of Jew in you—it’s given you brains as well as subtlety. I think the Jewish people are so artistic and sensitive.”

He laughed and ordered two more drinks.

“It’s pleasant here. Let’s go on drinking and talking. I’m just beginning to cool off, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And remembering what you’ve said about the dangers we’re facing—I really don’t think you need worry about us being here. Darling Chris will cover up for us.”

“She’s a good friend to you, Toni.”

“We were terrifically friendly at school. We were in Switzerland together. Joe is an accountant. They have a flat in Ovington Gardens. You like my Chris, don’t you, Nat?”

“She’s very nice indeed—but without your attractions.”

“I think she’s very sweet to look at,” said Toni loyally, “and she sort of radiates good humour, she’s so happy. She adores her husband and they have the sweetest baby boy.”

He sat silent, smoking, relaxed. Then she said:

“Listen, darling, before we go any further I want to make sure you believe as I do that there is no real danger. I mean for you. I’ve really reached a point where I couldn’t care less if Guy divorced me tomorrow—I hate him so much.”

“You’re angelic. I hate to think of you living with Guy. It’s an insult to any woman to be forced to go to bed with a man she feels that way about.”

“Please don’t think about it today.”

“And you’re sure he won’t be back in London until the week after we get back?”

“Sure. He’s definitely gone to Rio. I saw him off. I’ve had orders to take the Rolls and chauffeur down to Heathrow and meet him when he comes back. I’ve already got the date and the flight number. You know—I’ve always told you—Guy is the most meticulous person. He rarely changes his mind. He isn’t likely to come back until the day he said he will. Besides—this South American trip is important to him. His firm is insuring the building of a huge dam somewhere out there and it will be worth millions. Money—money—ugh! I hate it—”

“You’re an amazing girl. Dollars seem to mean nothing to you.”

“Neither do jewels. It’s marvellous for me to be wearing none,” and she held out her slender ringless hands with satisfaction.

He wished—as he had been doing ever since he fell in love with Toni—that he was not a well-known surgeon, and that he could have just taken her away altogether and given her the happiness she wanted. So far he had been entirely absorbed in his profession. He had a large private practice. He shared a consulting room with a colleague—a heart-specialist—Keith Lucas-Wright. Nat could hardly forget all these things, much as he desired Toni.

He looked at her rather enviously—she seemed so blissfully happy—living for the moment. Women are capable of that—so much more than men are, he decided.

“Oh, darling,” said Toni, “I can’t think of anything except the fact that we’re going to be together as Mr. and Mrs. Gray for a whole ten days—alone, day and night. Won’t it be gorgeous?”

He nodded, smiling. They had chosen the name Gray because it had been her mother’s maiden name. As he paid the bill and they drove away, Nat remembered the first night he had ever spent with Toni.

Guy was away on business in Paris. Nat had dined with Toni in their penthouse—in a huge block facing the river. There were no servants to spy. It was a service-flat. It had seemed to the lovers quite safe. But the small risk they ran, nevertheless, spoilt some of the rapture.

During the last two months, there had been other meetings—equally unsatisfactory and nerve-racking. Nat had his work to absorb him. She had to go back to a husband she loathed. And she wasn’t the type to enjoy pretence and deception. Nat had little or no conscience about Guy. He was a sadist. A man who had enjoyed destroying his young wife’s innocence. He treated her without tenderness or understanding. She was one of his valuable possessions—like the paintings he collected. Nat’s concern for Toni made the position almost unbearable. But when at last his feelings ran away with him and he said “to hell—let’s get a divorce”, Toni stoutly refused to agree—for his sake. And she never wavered from that.

One of her chief attractions for Nat was the fascinating mixture of strength and weakness in her character, and the strong side dominated.

* * *

Once they reached Mas Candille—the hotel Chris had chosen for them—Nat doggedly turned his back on all their problems.

The small hotel was enchanting. Once a private house, it was built of stone, and half-covered in flowering creepers. Three tall trees stood at intervals flatly against the façade, like green sentries stiffly on guard. There were white painted chairs and tables on a broad terrace under white umbrellas from which there was one of the most beautiful views in the district. One looked far up the misty mountain side toward Grasse or down the valley in the direction of the sea.

Everywhere there were big tubs of vivid flowers. In the restaurant one incredible tree, looking as though it had grown out of the stones, was a solid mass of exotic pink blossom.

The patron and his wife were charming. M. et Mme. Gray were given just the sort of room they wanted. At the back of the hotel, their french windows opened on one side out into a garden. They could walk up a few steps, then a path to the small swimming pool. The room was spacious and essentially French with bare polished wood floor and antique furniture. A heavy carved wood chest of drawers, a painted cupboard, and a wide double bed with a white quilt. There was an atmosphere of tranquillity, simplicity and peace—all they had longed for and never been able to find in London.

After Nat had parked his car and the young waiter who had brought in their cases departed and closed the door behind him, Nat went to the windows at the further end of the bedroom and pushed open the shutters. In the heat of the day they were shut. It kept the room cool and dim. But with the Englishman’s essential longing for the sun, Nat felt compelled to let its warmth pour upon him. It was a truly beautiful view. The sky was incredibly blue and pure. Far below he could just see the white curve of the Auto-route leading to Nice.

Nat pulled the damp shirt over his head, flung it on the floor and threaded his fingers through his thick dark hair.

“God, it’s hot, I must have a bath.”

Toni examined the bathroom with feminine appreciation.

“It’s sweet—so clean and shining.”

“Sweet,” he echoed, jeering, “What a description of a bathroom.”

She giggled.

“I’ll run a bath for you, doctor.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said suddenly, jerkily, “I don’t want to be reminded of it or anything back home.”

“Nor do I,” she breathed and ran to him, and pressed her cheek against his naked chest, brushing the brown curling hair with her lips. “Monsieur Gray,” she whispered, “it seemed so funny to hear them call me Madame Gray.”

His arms enfolded her; with his right one he gently pulled down the zip of her cotton frock and began to push the dress off her bare shoulders. As it fell at her feet he pressed his lips to her long throat.

“Don’t let’s start having a conscience about anything. It’s too late,” he said and pressed her whole body against his.

She felt his strong heart-beats against her breast. Suddenly she came alive, tingling from head to foot. When she opened her eyes he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful, they were so large, so expressive of her roused passion. He knew that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He let her go for a moment, walked to the windows and drew the shutters together again, reducing the room to its former cool darkness. With his lips fiercely demanding upon hers, he pulled her to the big white bed.

In the night Toni woke up. For a moment she did not know where she was. She thought she must be back in her own Empire bed—the splendid one Guy had bought for her in Paris—a magnificent affair with taffeta-silk ribb. . .