Castles Of Sand. Anne Mather

rescuing the handle of the door from her grasp and closing it firmly with a definite click.

      ‘You have no right to do this,’ Ashley protested, gazing up at him tremulously, but Alain did not acknowledge her indignation. As she struggled to compose herself, he returned to his position in the centre of the floor and suggested she take a seat.

      ‘This is my flat,’ Ashley declared, endeavouring to hide the tremor in her voice. ‘I’ll decide when or if I sit down, not you!’

      ‘As you wish.’ Alain’s mouth thinned. ‘You were always an argumentative creature. But what I have to say may make you change your mind, so be warned.’

      Ashley took a deep breath. ‘You—you have a nerve, coming here, trying to tell me how to behave—–’

      ‘I do not propose to get involved in futile discussions of that sort,’ he interrupted her bleakly. ‘You and I have known one another too long to be in any doubt as to one another’s character, and—–’

      ‘We never knew one another!’ Ashley choked bitterly. ‘You didn’t know me, and it’s certain I never knew you!’

      ‘Please try not to be emotional,’ Alain advised her briefly, folding his arms across the waist-coated expanse of his chest. ‘I did not come here to argue the merits of our past relationships. Sufficient to say that you do not appear to have suffered by them. You are still as beautiful as ever—and no doubt duping some other poor fool, as you once did my brother!’

      Ashley’s fingers stung across his cheek, almost before he had finished speaking, and she watched in horror as the marks she had made appeared on his dark skin. She waited in silent apprehension for him to retaliate in kind, as he had once done in the past, but apart from lifting a brown-fingered hand to finger his bruised cheek, he took no immediate retribution.

      ‘So,’ he said at last. ‘Now you have relieved yourself of such pent-up energy, perhaps we can now get to the point of my visit.’

      ‘What point?’ Ashley was sullen, as much from a sense of self-recrimination as from anything he had said. She had made a fool of herself, not him, by her childish display of temper, and it was up to her now to prove that she could be as controlled as he was.

      ‘Perhaps if you were to offer me a cup of coffee,’ he said, indicating her cup nearby. ‘Obviously I have interrupted you. If we were to behave more as—acquaintances than enemies—–’

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Ashley’s nerve snapped again, and she turned away from him abruptly, feeling the hot tears stinging in her eyes. It was no use. She could not be unemotional about this, and she groped for a tissue to wipe away the evidence.

      ‘You are behaving foolishly,’ exclaimed Alain’s voice behind her, and in spite of her confusion at his sudden nearness, she thought she detected a trace of reluctant remorse in his tone. ‘I do not wish to resurrect old hatreds,’ he added roughly. ‘I only wish to speak with you, Ashley, to offer you my help.’

      ‘Your help?’ Ashley spun round to face him then, tilting back her head so that she could look into his eyes. He had always been taller than she was, even though she was not a small girl, but barefoot as she was his advantage was greater. She gazed into those enigmatic blue eyes, so startlingly unusual in such an alien countenance, and her lips parted in disbelief. ‘You want to help me?’ she whispered, moving her head from side to side, and his long silky lashes drooped to narrow the pupils.

      ‘Yes,’ he said curtly. ‘That was my only intention. But you do not make good intentions easy.’

      ‘You? With good intentions?’ Ashley’s lips quivered. ‘I don’t believe it.’

      Alain’s jaw hardened. ‘Have a care, Ashley. You have tried my patience once this afternoon. Do not push your luck. I may not be so lenient the second time around.’

      Ashley held up her head. ‘Then go! I didn’t ask you to come here. I—I want nothing from the Gauthiers. Nothing!’

      ‘Nothing?’

      ‘Except perhaps—my son,’ she conceded almost inaudibly, and then winced when his hands closed on her shoulders, biting into the soft flesh, bruising the bone.

      ‘Do not say that again,’ he commanded harshly. ‘I told you this morning. Hussein is not your son. He has never been your son. He has been brought up to believe he is an orphan, that his mother died along with his father—–’

      ‘No,’ Ashley caught her breath, but Alain was merciless.

      ‘Yes,’ he declared grimly. ‘So far as Hussein is concerned, you do not exist. And you must not exist, is that understood?’

      Ashley tried to pull away from him, but he would not let her go, and her fury erupted into passion. ‘Why are you doing this, Alain?’ she cried, balling her fists and attempting to strike him. ‘Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t I suffered enough, is that it? Don’t you have any pity, any compassion? How do you think I felt, seeing my own son, knowing he didn’t recognise me? What more do you want of me, you bastard!’

      ‘You have a viper’s tongue, Ashley,’ he drawled, but she could tell her insults had annoyed him. ‘However, I am prepared to believe that seeing the boy has temporarily unhinged your brain, and therefore I will not retaliate in kind.’

      ‘How good of you!’ Ashley threw back her head as the heavy weight of her hair fell across her forehead. ‘Well, let me tell you, I was never more sane in my life, and I don’t need your tolerance or your offer of help!’

      Alain’s expression was grim. ‘Nevertheless, you will listen to me.’

      ‘Will I? Will I?’ Ashley deliberately taunted him, knowing she was nearing the end of her nervous reserves, desperate for him to go before she broke down completely. ‘And how will you make me? By—by fair means—or foul?’

      Alain shook her, violently, so that her head rocked alarmingly back and forth, the swinging curtain of her hair seeming to make it almost too heavy for her slender neck to support. ‘I came to the school to withdraw Hussein’s name from the register,’ he grated savagely. ‘I do not know why I brought him with me, except perhaps that he wanted to come. I did not expect to see you. The school is not due to open for two days. How was I to know that one of its teachers—–’

      Ashley’s head lolled back. ‘You mean—you knew!’

      ‘That you were employed there, yes. Since I brought Hussein to London, I found out.’

      Ashley blinked. ‘And—and that was why you wanted to withdraw his name?’

      ‘Of course.’ Alain looked down at his fingers digging into the fine cotton of her smock, and allowed them to slacken slightly. ‘You do not suppose I would permit otherwise?’

      Ashley tried to think, but coherent thought was difficult. ‘A-and?’

      ‘Your Mr Henley explained that you had resigned,’ he replied flatly. ‘For the same reason, one would suppose.’

      ‘One would suppose correctly,’ said Ashley tautly. ‘So?’

      ‘So—Hussein’s name remains on the register. At least, until this matter is settled.’

      ‘What matter?’

      ‘The matter of your employment,’ said Alain, releasing her abruptly to thrust his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers. And as she gazed at him nonplussed: ‘I have a proposition to put to you.’

      Ashley’s tongue came to circle her lips. ‘A proposition?’ she echoed, even as her brain refused to take it in. She was still stunned by the knowledge that he had known of her involvement with Brede School before their encounter that morning, and she knew him too well to trust any proposal he might make.

      ‘Won’t you sit down now?’ he suggested briefly, indicating the couch behind him,