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Ella looked up at the two-storey building stretching across and beyond the top of the driveway. Several outbuildings loomed in the distance, drawing her gaze beyond the estate, down a sloping bank of grass and across to the forest, where sunlight glinted against a copper dome she couldn’t quite fathom.
‘It is the gazebo down by the spring-fed lake that borders the property lines.’
The gentle tones of a French-accented female drew Ella’s gaze back to the property with a snap. Expecting to meet the stranger’s eyes, Ella frowned as she took in the immaculately dressed woman who apparently had directed her statement to the man who would naturally have known what his money had bought.
‘Dominique Delvaux,’ she said with a feline smile, directed at her husband. ‘I am the estate’s guardienne.’
Ella just about managed to restrain the growl she felt vibrating within her throat. Dorcas, apparently, had no such self-control as a low warning rumbled from the beast in spite of the look of disdain the beautiful Frenchwoman cast in the dog’s direction.
Ella looked down at her clothes, creased and crumpled and slightly damp from the journey, despite the powerful air-conditioning that had at first sent shivers across her skin. At the time, Ella had allowed herself that small lie, pretending her body’s reaction had nothing to do with the impossibly handsome man beside her.
A handsome man whose charms were apparently not wasted on the guardienne. Ella had dressed for comfort, where Ms Delvaux seemed to have dressed for a fashion show. And now, as she looked at the other woman, she felt the slightly tight press of the waistband of her linen trousers and wished that she had listened to Célia’s suggestion that she think about purchasing a new wardrobe for her slowly developing bump.
She followed her husband as the guardienne beckoned them into the building and the enticing cool interior of the hallway. A small table by the entrance held a jug of water with cucumber, mint and ice, the white linen tablecloth beneath soaking up the condensation forming on the glass. Ms Delvaux filled two glasses and Ella nearly smiled as decorum finally won out over desire and the other woman offered her a glass before her husband.
‘Merci,’ Ella said overly graciously, while taking the glass with one hand and gently pressing her other to her abdomen, unnecessarily soothing the almost indistinguishable shape beginning to form there. The guardienne’s eyes snapped back and forth between Ella’s hand and face and Ella practically preened under the dawning realisation she could read in the other woman’s face.
Message received and understood, Ms Delvaux retreated into professionalism and began to outline the impressive attributes of the house.
‘The main building dates from the seventeenth century, when it was the heart of a growing estate. The charmingly renovated façade reveals large and light interiors. As you can see, the dramatic ninety square metre reception hall has a grand fireplace—as does the master suite on the floor above at the other end of the house. It is one of seven bedrooms and the restoration brought about an additional two bathrooms, bringing the number to five. Below you’ll find a garage and a generous wine cellar...’
Ella let the woman’s voice recede into the background as she drifted off into the large living area she could see on the left, Dorcas nuzzling her hand and keeping her company while her husband and the guardienne remained behind in the ‘dramatic ninety square metre reception hall’. It was impressive, but it made her only think of Vladimir’s hall, the one she had spun in the night that Roman had revealed his deceit.
But all thoughts of that night fled under the beautiful streams of light filtering in from the windows as she took in the soothing cream tones of the living area, centred around an incredible fireplace that she thought she might actually be able to stand within. Two sprawling sofas stood sentinel either side of it and the terracotta stone flooring beckoned her further into the large room. Rounding a corner, she came to a stunning open-plan kitchen, connected by beautiful aged oak beams running across the ceiling, giving the space a warmth and cosiness despite its size. Utility rooms sprang off to the side, her eyes eating up every inch of the incredible space.
She looked to Roman, sensing the heat of his gaze. The smug look of satisfaction across his features at having recognised that she’d fallen in love with the house took the wind out of her sails somewhat.
Ella approached the staircase and moved through the rooms slowly, as if scared that she’d miss something or move too quickly, in case it would all disappear. It was everything she’d ever wanted. There was enough to remind her of her grandmother’s cottage, a homeliness and simplicity that could only be afforded by extreme wealth. A wealth that her husband had brought to bear against her. Or for her? She simply couldn’t tell any more.
She felt overwhelmed, confused and strangely hurt by the fact that he’d found a home that was almost straight out of the fantasies she’d discussed during their engagement. Because she was desperately trying to see Roman as two different men—the fantasy she had fallen for and the man who had destroyed all that she had known. But this blurred the lines—this confused her because it meant that she could not keep them separate. She loved the house immediately and her heart ached. Because it meant that she would have to admit that he knew her. He knew her well enough to give her this house—her dream house. But, more importantly, she didn’t know him at all.
* * *
Roman dismissed the overly attentive guardienne and, as he waited for Ella to return from inspecting the rooms upstairs, he stood in the living room, trying to imagine what his life would look like in a month’s time, a year’s time, five years’ time even. Would there be a child’s toys scattered about this room? Would there be the subtle touches of Ella on the walls and in the rooms as she placed her own mark upon the house? And what traces would there be of him? Would there, his inner voice questioned, be any trace of him?
His thoughts were cut off as he heard the click of Ella’s heels coming down the staircase. And suddenly he didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know what she thought of the house he had conjured from the descriptions she had given him during their engagement. Because if he had got it wrong...
But when he turned he saw neither love nor disappointment. No. His wife surprised him yet again with her anger.
‘What is wrong?’ he demanded, his voice rough and guttural, resisting the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. He had been so sure of it. So sure of her.
‘Nothing,’ she said bitterly, causing him to frown. ‘Absolutely nothing is wrong with it. You’ve apparently thought of everything.’
‘And that is a bad thing??
?
She glared at him mulishly. And suddenly he wanted nothing more than to kiss away that anger, to use it, to bend it to his will. But he couldn’t. Because she was his wife and she deserved more than that. Even if she was glaring at him with a strange combination of anger, resentment and hurt. The former he could handle, the latter not so much. Because he was beginning to think that even a lifetime’s worth of compensation wouldn’t atone for his sins. Sins he was apparently still committing, though he couldn’t quite fathom what this one could have been.
‘Words,’ he bit out.
‘What?’
‘You’re going to have to use them to tell me what I’ve done wrong this time.’
She scowled again and Dorcas chose wisely to vacate the room. For there was a storm brewing, one of quite spectacular proportions if he wasn’t mistaken. One he felt echoing in his own chest for release.
‘I...’ she said as she paced the length of the room and then turned on her heel. ‘You...’ she said, trying again, as if she were afraid of what would be released if she lifted the lid on the ferocity of what she was clearly struggling with.
