The Frenchman's Love-Child

mairie for the civil ceremony as though she were a queen. The church blessing followed in the little chapel down the street. Holding hands, they posed for photographs afterwards, her eyes shining, his eyes resting on her with pride and a love he couldn’t hide.

The reception was held in the Ritz Hotel in Paris. Alison Davies and her boyfriend looked on in surprise as Tabby took all the luxury and the attention in her stride. Indeed, the bride’s bubbly personality and assurance were much admired and, in her radius, the groom was less cool than his reputation suggested. His less discreet relatives hinted that parental opposition had kept the young couple apart. Their guests began talking of the match as a ‘grande passion’. That Tabby was penniless and neither stick-thin nor a classic beauty had been noted. That Christien looked at his bride as though she were as irresistible as Cleopatra was also noted. That Tabby had succeeded where the much-disliked Veronique had failed was sufficient to ensure that she would become a great social success.

Before leaving the hotel, the bridal couple entrusted their son, Jake, to the care of his grandmother, Matilde. A limo whisked them to the airport where they boarded Christien’s private jet for their flight to a honeymoon hideaway in the Tuscan hills.

Only when the jet was airborne did Christien remove a letter from his inside pocket. ‘This was delivered to me just before the reception. It’s from my great-aunt, Solange-’

‘Solange?’ Tabby echoed in disconcertion. ‘How could it be?’

‘Solange wrote it the same day that she changed her will so that you could inherit the cottage. She instructed the notaire that her letter was only to be given to me in the event of our marriage.’

Tabby was challenged to translate the letter written in the old lady’s spidery handwriting.

Christien came to her rescue. ‘In opening, Solange apologises to me for leaving a part of the Duvernay estate outside the family-’

‘She does?’ Tabby exclaimed.

‘And goes on to congratulate me for marrying you, thereby reuniting the cottage with the estate again-’

‘Oh, that’s magic!’ Tabby was tickled pink. ‘Obviously you only married me to get the cottage back.’

‘Solange concludes by advancing the hope that we enjoy a long and happy life together and states that she always knew we were made for each other.’ A rueful charismatic smile curved Christien’s handsome mouth. ‘She must have guessed even then that I loved you.’

Tabby’s eyes stung. ‘I wish I had,’ she muttered. ‘I’d have stormed past Veronique and confronted you that day. You’d have been too drunk to play it cool and you’d have admitted that you had seen Pete kissing me…and we’d have got it all sorted out there and then.’

With a sigh, Christien pulled her into his arms and held her close. ‘I was a real smart ass in those days and I was fighting loving you. I’m more mature now-’

‘I suppose I was too young to get married then.’

With incredible tenderness, he kissed the sprinkling of tears off her cheeks. ‘I adore you. I appreciate you so much more now. Think of all the time we have ahead of us, ma belle.’

Her sunny smile began to blossom again and his own slow-burning smile broke out, stunning golden eyes lingering on her with intense appreciation. She found his mouth, dallied there with deliberate provocation, listened to his breathing fracture.

‘Make mad, passionate love to me,’ she whispered.

‘Hussy…’ Christien growled adoringly, and he carried her into the sleeping compartment because she was laughing so hard that she could hardly walk.

Lynne Graham

***