Free Never to Love by Anne Weale Page A

liqueurs put down more than one hundred years ago and reserved for only the most favored customers. Andrea had heard about the speciality de la mais o n, a delectable pressed duck dish, and Jacques explained that every duck was numbered.
    The meal was a lively one and Andrea soon forgot her earlier fear that the Bechets would think it strange for a honeymoon couple to seek company. Jacques obviously adored his wife, and she wondered if theirs was one of the practical partnerships to which Justin had referred on the night of their arrival. But whatever the foundation of their marriage, the Bechets were plainly very happy together.
    Leonie was what the French call une jolie laide, meaning a woman who is really rather plain but who contrives to give an impression of beauty by having great charm and style. In her simply cut dinner dress of stiff midnight-blue silk with a skein of mocha-tinted river pearls at her throat, she epitomized the famous Parisian elegance.
    During the evening Justin suggested that the two women spend the following day shopping together while he and Jacques went to the races at Longchamps, and it was arranged that Leonie would call for Andrea about ten o’clock.
    After dinner they went to the Folies Berg e re, and Andrea, who had always disliked revues in London, found herself dazzled by the whole glittering extravaganza.
    Leonie, noticing the rapt childlike attention with which she was watching the tall shapely showgirls in their scanty spangled costumes and towering plumed headdresses, touched Justin’s sleeve and nodded at Andrea’s intent face. He smiled, but Leonie reflected that the smile had not touched his eyes, and she recalled several other seeming trivialities that struck her as being unusual.
    The evening ended at a quiet nightclub and the party broke up at two o’clock in the morning.
    “Did you enjoy yourself?” Justin asked as they reached their suite.
    Andrea dropped her stole onto a chair and stretched her arms above her head. The exhilarating effect of the wines they had had was still with her, and. the music at the nightclub lingered in her head.
    “It was a wonderful evening,” she said gratefully. “I like the Bechets very much. It is nice of you to ask Leonie to take me shopping. I must admit I’m longing to explore the shops, but it would be rather boring for you.” She smiled. “I’ll try not to be too extravagant.”
    To her consternation Justin’s face hardened into a mask of coldness.
    “I wouldn’t worry on that score. The facility to be extravagant is one of your advantages under the terms of our agreement, ” he said stiffly.
    If he had rounded on her in a fury, he could not have shocked her more deeply. For a moment she stared at him aghast, and then, very pale and with all the sparkle gone from her eyes, she said tightly, “I wasn’t thinking of it like that. It’s time I went to bed. Good night, Justin.” Without waiting for him to reply, she snatched up her wrap and hurried into her room.
    The next morning they exchanged a few terse words and then ate in a constrained silence. In spite of the ruinous end of the previous evening, Andrea had slept heavily. But there were faint shadows under her eyes that she had had to hide with more than her usual makeup.
    She w ondered if it was too late to cancel the expedition with Leonie, for she was in no mood to enjoy it with the echo of Justin’s bitter reminder of her reason for marrying him ringing in her ears.
    Why had he chosen that moment to fling her mercenary motives at her? That was the thing she found so hard to understand. Was he already regretting their bargain, or had she said or done something to annoy him so strongly that he had responded in the most brutal way possible? Unconsciously she gave a deep sigh and pushed her half eaten croissant to the far side of her plate. Shortly afterward she excused herself and went to her room to tidy her dressing table.
    She was listlessly buffing her nails when