The Eden Inheritance by Janet Tanner Page B

disgracefully, producing a meal that made his mouth water just thinking about it. ‘Actually I could stay for a couple of days since I won’t be seeing you for some time if I get the job,’ he added.
    â€˜What about Wendy? Won’t she want to spend some time with you if you are going away?’
    â€˜She’s going to her parents in Yorkshire. You don’t have other plans, do you?’
    â€˜No – I’ll look forward to having you.’
    â€˜I’ll see you on Christmas Eve, then. Early evening.’
    â€˜Yes. Take care, Guy.’
    â€˜And you.’
    She replaced the receiver and sat for a moment with her hand still resting on it.
    So – it was still going on, this relentless journey into the past. She had prayed it would stop but it had notstopped. There was still the chance that Guy might not get the job in the Caribbean, of course, and always the chance the man might not be von Rheinhardt. But in her heart she was already quite certain that he would get the job and very afraid the man was von Rheinhardt. If that was the case then she had no choice. She would have to tell him at least something of what had happened in France. She couldn’t let him go blundering blindly on, oblivious of what he was about to uncover. But she didn’t relish the prospect. In fact, it horrified her and she knew that it would horrify him. Perhaps, she thought, she could still stop him from going on with this. With all her heart she hoped so. But she couldn’t help feeling that only the full facts would achieve that objective, and giving him the full facts was not something she was prepared to do.
    Kathryn ran a hand distractedly through her hair. The ghosts of the past were very close now, filling the small room she used as an office, leering at her from the filing cabinet and the pile of catalogues, winking in the flame of the paraffin heater that was the only source of heat.
    She had not wanted to face them. They reminded her too sharply of things she would rather forget – of a time when she had lived with terror and frustration, disgust and dread. France under the jackboot had not been a pleasant place to be, but that had not been the worst of it, for her at any rate. The worst had been the disillusion that had come from seeing the people she had loved and respected stripped of the niceties of their normal façade. When fear and desperation reigned the veneer of civilisation was thin indeed. She had seen those around her naked, defensive and afraid and she had not liked what she had seen. She had experienced extremes of emotion, learned both the treachery of betrayal and the extraordinary depth and meaning of true and selfless love. When it was all over there had been no going back for her. She had been affected too deeply for anything to be the same ever again. The ingenuous girl who had married Charles de Savigny and come to Charente as his bride had gone for ever, just as those who had died were gone.
    Yet now, once again, they were with her in the small office behind her shop just as they had been through all the years. Charles and Christian, Otto von Rheinhardt and the man she had known as Paul Curtis. Most of all, Paul Curtis …
    For a long while Kathryn sat quietly, lost in her memories.
    â€˜I think perhaps we should have a talk, Guy,’ Kathryn said.
    It was Christmas Eve; Guy had arrived, his car stacked with presents, and they had eaten a delicious meal of cold ham and jacket potatoes.
    But along with the presents, he had given her the unwelcome news that his job with Air Perpetua in the Caribbean had been confirmed, and Kathryn had realised that she could no longer put off telling him at least part of the true story.
    â€˜About von Rheinhardt?’ Guy stretched comfortably in the fireside chair. ‘Can’t we forget him for tonight at least? It’s obvious it upsets you, and it is Christmas!’
    â€˜No, Guy, we can’t forget it,