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He laughed. 'Carl often - complains about her shopping. He refuses to go with her, but she likes to have company on her treks around town.'
'Thanks for the warning.'
They went out to lunch at a large restaurant near the Seine. The bay windows looked out over the river. The blue sky shimmered in a heat haze and seagulls skimmed low over the water, screaming for fish.
Paul ordered the meal, saying that Leonie could trust him not to order anything she did not like. 'I think I know your tastes by now.'
He had ordered fresh sardines followed by roast beef French style, the meat pink and moist in thick rectangular slices, served with salad and saute potatoes.
Leonie was so hungry
that she would have eaten almost anything, but the superb cooking impressed her considerably.
After lunch they drove into the French countryside for a few hours, lingering at will wherever they saw something interesting. It was an enchanting interlude stolen from the over-sophisticated city life of the night before, like wandering into a fairy tale for a few hours, and Leonie wished it need never end. Paul was a gay, charming companion, gentle and sympathetic, filled with deep enthusiasm for France and its landscapes, telling her old French legends and fairy tales, talking warmly about French food and French wine.
'You really love this country,' she said, watching his handsome face as he fell silent.
Very much,' he agreed, turning his head to smile. A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead in a smooth swathe, and she felt a sudden longing to reach up with her hand and push it back just to feel the silkiness of it under her fingers.
Their eyes met, and Paul's blue gaze suddenly darkened. He reached out for her with one long- fingered hand. Helpless to resist, she let him pull her close, turned her mouth up towards him and was engulfed by a rush of blind passion which shook her to her soul. The warm sunshine, the peaceful afternoon, had lulled her into drowsy content, weakening her power of resistance. She clung to him, pulses clamouring, and knew fatally that if he came to her again tonight she would never be able to send him away.
When he drew back his mouth she made a low moan of protest, her lids tightly closed, her hands still clinging to him. Paul started the engine again and she reluctantly opened her eyes, releasing him. He drove in silence, his brows drawn together in a dark line. She wondered why he looked so angry. Was he furious with himself for making love to her again? His reactions were inexplicable. She had ceased to believe she would ever make sense of him. When they made their original bargain it had been clear between them that their marriage would be one of convenience, yet Paul had now insisted on making her his wife in passionate reality. Apparently his decision had been dictated by a desire to make sure she did not enter into a flirtation with Jake Tennyson and cause some sort of scandal. Yet he had made love to her so hotly; her body had recognised the feel of real passion, even though her mind had doubted him. What did he really feel towards her? Did he still resent their marriage? Had his passionate lovemaking been in some way a punishment, a revenge?
It was difficult to reconcile the curt, angry man who had been her usual companion since they arrived in Paris with the man who had just made love to her, or with the charming, teasing stranger she had known on Comus.
That evening they had dinner with Emilie and Klaus, who lived in a discreetly expensive flat sev- eral streets away from them. Emilie was a cheerful, casual hostess, chattering to Leonie in the corner of a huge white sofa while Paul and Klaus leaned against a bookcase and talked soberly of business.
Look at them,' Emilie said under her breath. 'Like little boys talking about football. Men never grow up, do they? They play their games all their lives.'
Don't women, too? As little girls we play at being mothers, with our dolls. I suppose all children's games are practising for adult life.'
'Ah but with us it is real when we grow up. With men—never. Work is still a game to them. They have to win, whether it is a business deal or a woman. It is all a question of status. But with ; women, the business of having children makes us suddenly adult. Then we have charge of another life and that is a sobering Situation.' Emilie laughed. 'One I shall have to face soon.'
You're expecting a baby?' Leonie was thrilled. 'When?'
'Oh, six months to go yet. We are not telling people for the moment. Once everyone knows I shall start being left out of parties. I've seen it before—a i pregnant woman is treated like an imbecile ... oh, poor girl, they say. She won't want to come in her condition!' Emilie grimaced. 'So don't tell anyone, will you?'
'Of course not. Is Klaus pleased?'
Pleased? He is ecstatic. Anyone would think he managed it all by himself.' Emilie grinned. 'He would like to go around boasting to the whole world. I have had trouble persuading him to keep it to himself. I think Diane suspects, though. Did you notice her little dig at me last night? Diane is a cat, but she has intuition, and of course, she is particularly quick to sense when anyone else is pregnant.
Leonie looked a question.
Emilie leaned closer and lowered her voice. 'Diane cannot have babies. She and George wanted them, but the doctors have said it is impossible, and it is Diane who can't have them, not George.
'I wonder if that's why ...poor Diane!'
'Of course, it explains a great deal,' nodded Emilie. 'But I'm afraid it does not make me like her any better. She is so spiteful.'
'She must be very bitter,' said Leonie, thinking of Diane's curved, pink and gold ripeness. Who would have suspected by looking at her that she was unable to have children? If any woman looked built for motherhood it was Diane. She looked the very essence of fertility.
'It is George I am most sorry for—he would make a wonderful father.'
'Who would?' Klaus asked, approaching on the last words. His face looked blandly teasing as he eyed his young wife.
'Not you, anyway,' said Emilie with a grin.
'Paul?' Klaus turned to give Paul a broad smile. 'Don't tell me you are already expecting a happy event?' His brows rose in amused enquiry.
