Free The Right Bride? by Sara Craven Page A

partner at the medical centre was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease a year ago, and wished to retire, so Remy returned to take his place.’ She looked at Allie over the top of her glasses. ‘You were surprised to see him, peut-être ?’
    ‘A little, maybe.’ Allie hand-picked her words. ‘I guess I—assumed he would still be in Brazil, or wherever the charity had sent him next.’
    Tante nodded. ‘And you feel, I think, that I should have told you he had come back?’
    ‘No,’ Allie said, then, ‘Well, maybe. I—I don’t know…’ She paused. ‘Does he know that—I’ve come back, too?’
    ‘I saw no reason to tell him.’ Tante shrugged, her face and voice calm. ‘Two years have passed since you parted, ma chère, and the world has moved on—as Remy himself has done. He has dismissed the past and come back to resume his life here, just as he should.
    ‘And you also made a decision—to lead your own life in England, with this beautiful child.’ Her eyes dwelled thoughtfully on Tom. ‘He is the important one now, and that other time, here with Remy, is over and gone, and should be forgotten.’
    She paused. ‘Besides, he may even be married himself when the summer ends.’ She added expressionlessly, ‘No doubt you will remember Solange Geran?’
    No doubt…
    The pain was suddenly back, slashing savagely at her, forcing Allie to stifle her involuntary gasp.
    ‘Yes,’ she returned steadily. ‘Yes, of course I do.’
    How could I possibly forget her — the girl who finally brought my make-believe world crashing in ruins around me?
    And now — dear God—Remy has come back — to her. I did not bargain for this…
    And how can I bear it?
    She drank some lemonade, letting the cold tartness trickle over the burning sandpaper that had once been her throat. She made herself sound politely interested. ‘Her gîte business—is it doing well?’
    ‘It seems that it is. She has converted another barn, and no longer has time to deliver eggs.’ Tante set a stitch with minute accuracy. ‘Although I had already ceased to buy from her,’ she added almost inconsequentially.
    Tom was fast approaching again, clutching his ball to his chest. Allie persuaded him to relinquish it, and rolled it again for him to pursue.
    She said quietly, ‘And now she’s going to be a doctor’s wife, just as she always wanted.’ She forced a smile. ‘It’s—good that things have worked out so well—for all of us.’ She sat up, swallowing the rest of her lemonade. ‘And now, maybe, we should talk about you.’
    Tante shrugged again. ‘I am no longer young. What else is there to say?’
    ‘Quite a bit,’ Allie said crisply. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Why you’ve been seeing the doctor?’
    ‘The ailments of the elderly,’ Tante dismissed almost airily. ‘So boring to contemplate. So wearying to discuss.’
    Allie stared at her. ‘It can’t be that simple,’ she objected.She paused. ‘You do realise that your letter implied that you were practically at death’s door?’
    Tante concentrated on her embroidery. ‘As I told you, I have good days and bad days, ma mie. I must have written to you on a bad one.’
    Allie drew a sharp breath. ‘And when Madame Drouac came to look after you—I suppose that was just a bad day too?’
    Madame Colville looked faintly mournful. ‘All these details—so difficult to remember.’
    ‘Then perhaps I should simply ask your doctor.’
    ‘Ask Remy?’ Tante mused. ‘I wonder if he would tell you. Or if it would indeed be ethical for him to do so without my permission.’
    In the silence that followed, Allie heard herself swallow. She said, ‘I—I didn’t realise. I thought you were his father’s patient.’
    ‘When Dr Varaud left, there was some reassignment.’ Tante waved a hand. ‘I was happy to consult Remy instead.’ She gave a slight cough. ‘To reassure you, ma chère, I have always found him most kind—most understanding.’
    ‘I’m