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‘Armand will tell you if the operation has worked—and it will work. I know it will. The next time you see me, Lissy,’ she’d said, as they’d bade farewell at the airport, ‘I want to be standing up—walking. I promise you I shall be walking. It will give me added resolve, knowing I’ve promised you.’
She had kept her promise. Lissa could feel tears start in the back of her eyes—familiar tears. Lila had indeed been standing when Lissa had arrived at the villa to be the bridesmaid she had promised she would be—leaning on Armand’s arm. And the tender, loving light in his eyes, the glow in Lila’s, had told Lissa so much more than the brief phone calls and text messages from Armand, which had been all that had kept her going during the weeks gone by.
And now Lila would be happy—Armand, too—and nothing could spoil that.
Lissa emerged from the cloakroom, outwardly calm at least, and made her way into the dining room to join the wedding party seated around the large linen-covered table, covered in crystal, silver and napery, and decorated with exquisite floral arrangements. Her eyes avoided going to Xavier, who had already taken his place. Her place, she thanked heaven, was between Armand and his father. Xavier was between her sister and his mother.
She smiled around the table, murmuring about ‘freshening up’. If her face was still flushed, she could not help it. Out of habit, her eyes went to her sister. But there was no need for the concern that had always been in her regard—and her heart glowed. Since she had joined her sister and Armand, here at his parents’ house, Lissa had seen for herself the miraculous transformation in Lila.
Her throat tightened with emotion again.
Her sister had suffered so much—so much pain—held captive in her wheelchair, in the loss of hope that she would ever walk again.
The click of a knife on the edge of a glass interrupted her and quietened the general conversation around the table in which everyone was participating apart from herself and Xavier. She would not look in his direction, but she could tell he was not taking part—his distinctive tones were absent.
Out of nowhere, memory cut through her. She heard his voice as she had replayed it so often in the hellish weeks that had followed her return to London—his voice throwing at her all the foul accusations that had shattered her like a hammer taken to a precious vase.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of the champagne flute that had been placed in front of her by one of the household staff as she’d taken her place at the table.
Now Armand was getting to his feet, holding his own champagne flute. He waited a moment, then glanced lovingly down at Lila, who was gazing up at him as though he were the sun itself.
‘I want,’ he said, speaking in English, ‘to give a toast. To my adored bride—’ the loving glance came again ‘—for making me the happiest of men. And to my parents, for welcoming her as their daughter. But I also want to toast a very special person.’
He shifted suddenly, and Lissa realised that he was addressing her.
‘To my wonderful new belle-soeur. And she is, indeed, a “beautiful sister,” not just in her own outward beauty—’ he tilted his glass slightly in tribute ‘—but, and so much more importantly, in her inner beauty.’
Armand’s eyes went to his parents, his brother.
‘You know of the terrible tragedy that befell my bride’s family—and my bride.’ His voice had changed, was sombre. ‘I will not dwell on it now, here in the brightness of today, but I will give a toast in spirit to the parents-in-law that I was destined so tragically never to know—and thank them from the bottom of my heart for their daughter, Lila, who was spared for me from the carnage that took her parents’ lives. And thank them, too, for Lissa.’ His voice changed again, sounding resolute now. ‘Whose strength and fortitude and courage and determination did so much to support her sister in her terrible affliction and the injuries she suffered in that fateful car crash. Lissa—’ he nodded at her, tilting his glass again as she sat there, a flush forming on her cheeks ‘—who worked day and night, never sparing herself, to put aside the money that was needed to pay for the specialist operation in America that was her sister’s only chance of escaping from the prison of her wheelchair.’
Armand’s voice changed yet again, taking on a sombre note once more. ‘It has been my immense privilege to have had the good fortune to be able to lift that crushing burden from her—to take Lila to America and make the operation possible and in so doing find my reward …’ His eyes now went to Lila, sitting gazing up at him, lovelight in her thin, pain-etched face, and his voice warmed like the sun as he finished his speech. ‘The dearest love of my life.’ His free hand slid to his bride who took it in hers.
Holding Lila’s hand, Armand raised his glass.
‘To Lissa—’
She sat, head almost bowed, colour flaring along her cheekbones, as the others’s voices echoed Armand’s.
All but one.
She did not hear Xavier’s voice.
She waited as Armand sat down again. Lila was reaching past Armand, her hand freed from his, and was squeezing Lissa’s hand as it lay inert upon the damask tablecloth.
‘The best of sisters.’ Lila’s low voice came, fervent with emotion, and Lissa felt her throat tighten again.
Then both Armand and his father were pressing their palms on her shoulders. Lucien was murmuring something reassuring in French, which she did not catch, and Armand’s mother was beaming at her across the table. Then, with a little gesture to the staff, Madame Becaud signalled that the serving of the meal should begin.
For Lissa, the meal passed in a haze. She ate and drank mechanically, recognising that the food was exquisite, but unable to relish it. Memory intruded painfully—the memory of the last time she had eaten like this in France. Xavier’s rustic villa on the Île Ste Marie might be simple in design and decor, a world away from this beautiful, gracious belle époque villa, with its lovingly manicured gardens dropping in artful terraces down to the sea, but every meal there had been cooked and presented with the care and attention that was the pride of France.
She could not look towards Xavier. Yet as the meal progressed she heard his voice, speaking in conversation. Did it sound strained, tense? She didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to listen. Didn’t want to know.
She only knew she would not let his malign presence spoil, for an instant, a second, her sister’s happiness. A happiness that had come like a miracle—a miracle made possible by the incredible kindness and generosity of Armand. By his love and devotion to her. Armand had fallen in love with Lila, as Li
ssa had prayed he would do.
She felt again her heart squeeze.
