She said urgently, ‘Andre—I have to speak to him. There is something he must know. Quelque-chose très importante.’
He clicked his tongue reprovingly. ‘It is more important that you rest and recover, mademoiselle. But,’ he added, his face softening, ‘I will allow you a few moments with your fiancé, if first you must take the painkiller and the sedative the nurse will give you, so that you sleep when he has gone.’
And how many tons of the stuff would it take to knock her out at nights when he’d gone for ever? she asked herself wretchedly as she swallowed the proffered pills.
When Andre came in, he looked as if he was wired to snapping point. Maybe his doctor friend should prescribe a sedative for him, thought Ginny, her heart turning over as he brought the chair close to the bed and sat.
He said, stammering a little, ‘Philippe said—that you have asked for me. That you have something to tell me.’
His hand went out as if seeking hers, and she withdrew it quickly, knowing that his lightest touch, especially if offered only in compassion, could cause her more pain than any bruise.
She said breathlessly, staring down at the white coverlet, ‘It’s Monique Chaloux. I found her in the office shredding bank statements. She’s been stealing money from you—probably quite a lot. I—I was coming to tell you about it when I—fell.’
There was an odd silence, and when she ventured to look at him, she saw that he was white beneath his tan, his eyes bleak with shock, and a kind of desperate disappointment.
Small wonder, she thought. After all, it was the last thing you wanted to hear about someone you’d known and trusted for so long.
At last, he said quietly, ‘I think you mean when you were pushed. Monique has admitted to that too.’
‘Admitted?’ she echoed.
‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘At this moment, she is, as you would say, helping the police with their enquiries.’
‘But you mustn’t let her!’ Ginny tried to sit up and wished she hadn’t. ‘She’s going to say foul things in court about Cilla.’ She looked away, swallowing. ‘About her getting married. It will be dreadful—for everyone.’
He shrugged. ‘Monique est terriblement snob, as all the world will tell you. And if Papa welcomes the marriage, as he does, what else can matter?’
She said in a low voice, ‘Of course, you’re quite right.’ And paused, taking determined control of her emotions. ‘How did you find out about Monique?’
‘Jean Labordier from Credit Regional notified us that a new account had been opened in the name of the Domaine, and he wished to check the letter of authorisation. This, of course, was false,’ he added with a grimace. ‘But we arranged for the account to be left open to see what would happen. We discovered that Monique was quitting her appartement, so Papa tried several times to talk to her—almost to warn her, but it was of no use.’
‘But how could she do this to your father, when she claimed to love him?’
‘Because her love was not returned,’ he said with sudden harshness. ‘And she never learned to understand how that can happen—or to forgive.’
She said haltingly, ‘That’s—not an easy lesson.’
‘I do not need to be told that.’ Andre paused. ‘Yesterday, Jean telephoned to say that one hundred thousand euros had been transferred to the new account. This morning she was arrested, with attempted murder added to the charges against her.’
Ginny gasped. ‘Isn’t that going much too far?’
‘You think so?’ he demanded roughly. ‘When you could have fractured your skull—broken your neck? Do you know the agonies I suffered when you did not immediately regain consciousness? When I realised that Philippe was trying to warn me that because of the blow to your head, you could be brain damaged or suffer a fatal haemorrhage?’
He added, his voice shaking, ‘And you could have lost our child.’
Yes, she thought. It could have happened. My one precious link to you taken from me. Leaving me with less than nothing.
She braced herself. Kept her tone spuriously bright. ‘Yet here I am, safe and soon to be well again. Well enough to leave, anyway, and let you get on with your life.’
‘A thousand thanks,’ he said with intense bitterness. ‘And now, unlike Monique, I suppose I must learn to forgive you. Even to hope you will find the happiness that I have been denied. All that I dreamed, if I was patient, I would discover with you, the love of my heart.’
In spite of her bruises, Ginny sat upright. ‘You dare to say that to me?’ Her voice was incredulous. ‘To speak as if I am to blame for ending our mockery of an engagement? When you’re planning to marry my sister?’