By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ her heart. She turned away from it. Family photos had never interested her, anyway.

      As it happened, she knew enough about Manon, since naturally, after the Luc debacle, she’d come across a few things on the Internet about Manon and her sensational affair with Jackson Kerr. Not that she was all that interested in Kerr and Manon at Cannes, or Kerr and Manon in LA. There’d been a million articles about Kerr’s discarded actress wife, with the usual wild gossip over the trashing of the marriage.

      The tabloids had been pumped with it all when the affair was fresh, though now after all this time it had gone off the boil.

      Luc hardly came in for a mention, except she saw his name mentioned in a couple of French newspaper articles about business. Who cared, anyway?

      She buried herself in work. Anything to blot out reality.

      She was involved in mapping out paintings one morning for her owl story when a magnificent bouquet of flowers was delivered to her door. Wow. It must have been ruinously expensive. Carrying the fragrant mass in to join her accumulating hothouse, she opened the card.

      And felt a rapid pounding in her temples.

      To Shari. Sincere condolences for your tragic loss from my heart. Luc Valentin.

      She sat at her kitchen table, staring at the card, smarting. What did he mean by it? He knew enough about Rémy. He’d seen her bruise. Was he using this occasion to needle her?

      Meantime, Neil continued to pour information into her unwilling ears. While Rémy had recently made his home in Australia, he’d still kept his French citizenship. His true heart had always been in Paris, according to the family. He must be transported there and buried in the family tomb.

      ‘Emilie’s devastated that she can’t go, Shari,’ Neil’s voice issued down the phone. ‘Not with the twins so close.’

      ‘Oh, of course. I know. It’s such a shame.’ Shari felt so sad for poor Emilie, and helpless. ‘Poor Em. It’s a horrible tragedy. But what can she do?’

      ‘She thinks someone must go in her place.’ Neil’s voice faltered a little. ‘We er … we know you’ll want to be there, Shari. So we’re—counting on you.’

      Shari blenched to the soles of her feet. ‘What?’

      The image of Luc Valentin, backed by a phalanx of hostile aunts, turned her hoarse. ‘Neil, no. Rémy and I didn’t even part as friends. Far from it. He wouldn’t— They wouldn’t want me there. I don’t even know Paris. I—I—I … Neil. You know I can’t afford it.’

      ‘Don’t worry, lovie,’ Neil said with surprising gentleness for a brother who was usually fairly brisk. ‘We’ll buy your ticket. We insist. It’s the least we can do for you.’

      ‘But … Please, Neil, tell Em I’d love to represent her, but I can’t. You of all people know I’m no good with funerals. And I’m too … Lately I’ve just been so tired. And I haven’t a thing to wear. Anyway, I hardly know a word of French. Neil, Neil—I couldn’t bear that long flight.’

      There was a long silence. Then Neil’s voice came through again. Serious this time. Kindly. ‘Sis … Listen to yourself. You need to do this. Em and I have seen how down you’ve been these past weeks. You’re not yourself.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Though she knew as soon as she said it she’d probably been tetchy and miserable. How could she have been anything else? Rémy had died, for goodness’ sake. She’d never been able to handle death.

      As well, she’d been shamed by a man she’d offered herself to, she was struggling to create a book, and if all that weren’t bad enough her PMT crisis had gone on for so long her boobs were exploding out of her bras.

      ‘Emilie and I have talked it over. You’re in denial, we think.’

      ‘Neil.’ She laughed hollowly. ‘Don’t be silly.’

      Typical of her brother to come up with some pop psychology. If only it were possible to explain to a man without him immediately leaping onto the bandwagon of sexist propaganda about hormones affecting women’s intelligence.

      The truth was, stress had always given her menstrual problems, right back to her high-school days. Crushes, exams, falling in passionate love with her English teacher … The pangs of adolescence had thrown her querulous body clock out of whack every time.

      She knew from experience that once her period started, she’d feel better in every way and be able to cope properly and be a decent, loving support to her sister-in-law.

      ‘Come on, Shar. The truth is you’ve been grieving over Rémy and the engagement a long, long time. We think you need to make this pilgrimage to properly close this episode in your life.’

      Oh, right. Where did they get their psychiatric expertise from? Doctor Phil?

      A few retorts jostled on her tongue, but most of them would only add fuel to Neil’s assertion that she wasn’t being herself. Her mousy, frumpy, slutty, hormonal self.

      ‘We absolutely insist on sending you first class,’ Neil persisted, enthusiastic since it didn’t have to be him. ‘See? You can sleep all the way. It’ll be a rest. And don’t worry about Paris. The family will look after you. Look how well you got on with Luc.’

      Visions of the boathouse, their hot, panting urgency, Luc’s hard length filling her up, making her cry out, making her wild, making her yearn every night since, sent Shari’s knees weak. ‘No,’ she said faintly. ‘You’re wrong about that. We detested each other.’

      ‘Are you sure? It hardly seems like a week since you were here fluttering your lashes at him.’

      Shari wanted to shout Stop. If only he knew what he was saying. Every word was a spike in her heart. Considering that Luc Valentin was the only person now living who knew the shame of her battered woman status …

      Considering she’d actually had sex with him …

      Considering he thought her the lowest, most pathetic creature he’d ever laid his aristocratic eyes on …

      And how recently she’d snarled at him on the phone like a wild animal.

      She shuddered to the core. She could never face him again.

      ‘Come on, Shar. Please. If not for yourself, do it for Emilie. Em wants to ask you herself, but she’s afraid you’ll think she’s imposing on your generous nature.’

      Right. Fine. The Big One. The Emilie card.

      Emilie was fragile, Neil reminded her. The twins could be distressed. Any further disturbance could bring on a premature birth situation. They could lose the twins. They could lose Emilie.

      Shari’s conscience twinged. She loved Em as much as she loved Neil. With sinking resignation it dawned on her she didn’t have a chance of wriggling out of it unless she wanted to feel shame and self-reproach for all time.

      Succumbing to the intense and excruciating pressure by painful degrees over days, she accepted that this was what family members СКАЧАТЬ