The Husband She Never Knew(20)
Author: Kate Hewitt

Noelle closed her eyes, her treatment of Ammar as well as the fresh betrayal of her father making her whole body throb with the pain of it all.

‘Noelle,’ her father said, ‘I am sorry.’

She opened her eyes. ‘Will you stop seeing this woman? Will you go to counselling with Maman? Will you change?’

Her father recoiled slightly, saying nothing. And that, Noelle knew, was his answer.

Ammar had changed. Ammar had wanted to change, and every choice he’d made had been a way to live differently. To be the man he wanted to be.

With her by his side.

That was where she wanted to be, right now, for ever. Yet would he take her back? Could he accept and forgive her when she’d shown him how much she doubted him?

The day passed in a haze of misery and the next morning Noelle woke to a swarm of paparazzi outside the chateau. Her parents were both at the breakfast table, stony-faced and silent.

‘I’m going to leave,’ Noelle said quietly. She couldn’t bear the awful tension that had sprung up not just between her parents, but between them all. Every relationship felt tainted now, irrevocably altered, even if her mother wanted to pretend otherwise.

Elizabeth glanced up from her tea. ‘Wait a day at least. The reporters will be crawling all over you.’ She made a little moue of distaste, as if this was unpleasant but bearable. Noelle felt like shaking her.

‘I don’t care about the reporters.’ She glanced at her father. ‘Are you both just going to go on, pretending nothing has happened? What about this other woman, Papa?’

‘Don’t talk like that, Noelle,’ Elizabeth said sharply, and her father just looked down. He was letting her mother cover for him. Her father, she realised bleakly, was a weak man. A kind, loving and horribly weak man.

Not like Ammar. How much strength had it taken to decide to change Tannous Enterprises for the better? To face all his foes—as well as his allies—and state he was going to be different?

Because he was different.

She knew that now, knew that no matter what he had done in his past, no matter what he’d wanted to do, he was different now. Strong and wise and good.

The man she loved.

‘Goodbye,’ she said, her throat aching, and turned towards the door.

The reporters were waiting for her, with their cameras and questions, the flashes and the noise. Noelle blinked and stiffened, every word an assault.

Did you know about your father’s affair? Will your mother divorce him? Do you feel betrayed?

Invasive, awful questions. Noelle tried to ignore them as she shouldered through the reporters, but the cameras went off in her face and for a moment she couldn’t see. She stumbled on the stone steps in front of the chateau and not one person moved to help her. Someone took a photo.

She wished, deeply and painfully, for Ammar to be there. To feel his arms around her, to know she was safe. For she knew that now, had always known it. She was safe, utterly, wonderfully safe with Ammar. Safe and loved.

Tears rose in her throat and crowded her eyes but she blinked them back fiercely. No more tears. Now was the time for action. She would find Ammar, she would tell him how sorry she was—the thought was both daunting and necessary.

She straightened, started making her way through the crowd again. She tried to blank out the barrage of baiting questions when she heard another voice, stronger, deeper.

‘Noelle.’

She looked up and her gaze arrowed straight in on the tall, imposing figure shouldering his way through the reporters. It was Ammar.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE world fell away, the reporters and their questions completely unimportant as Ammar came towards her. Noelle didn’t think she’d ever been so glad to see someone. See him. He had a day’s worth of stubble on his strong jaw, shadows under his eyes. He looked tired, anxious and utterly wonderful.

‘Ammar—’ she whispered, and he reached for her hand.

‘I’m taking you away from here.’ The reporters had fallen back for a moment, stunned by the drama playing itself out right before their eyes, but when Ammar took her hand they started again.

‘Mademoiselle, are you seeing Tannous? Do you know the things he’s done?’

‘Do you approve of your father’s actions? What about Tannous?’

‘Ignore them,’ Ammar said roughly, but she knew from the way his hand tensed over hers that he couldn’t ignore them. Not enough.

Ammar pushed through the reporters, still holding her hand, and led her to the car he’d parked by the chateau’s gates. He helped her in before getting in on the driver’s side and soon they were speeding away, the reporters far behind still desperate to take a few last snaps.

Neither of them spoke, and when Noelle sneaked a glance at Ammar she saw how tense he looked, even angry. His jaw was bunched tight, his eyes narrowed as he navigated the road towards Lyon.

‘Thank you,’ she finally managed, her voice shaky, and Ammar just nodded tersely. She had no idea what he was thinking, or even why he had come. ‘Where’s Youssef?’ she asked instead of the far more important questions shrieking inside her.

‘Back in Paris. I wanted to come alone.’

‘How … how did you know?’

Ammar lifted one powerful shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘It’s in all the newspapers.’

‘Of course it is,’ Noelle murmured. She stared blindly out of the window; Ammar had turned onto the Route Nationale Seven towards Paris. ‘I’m glad you did come,’ she said after a moment, awkwardly. ‘I … I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see someone.’

‘I’m glad I could be there.’ Noelle couldn’t tell a thing from his tone. ‘I know you loved him very much.’

‘I still love him,’ Noelle said quietly, and she knew it to be true, despite all the disappointment and heartache. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’

Ammar flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘I know what it’s like to learn the truth about your father.’

She glanced at him, saw he was staring straight ahead. ‘Is that what happened to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me.’

Ammar said nothing for a long moment. The small space of the car felt intimate, the silence hushed and expectant. Noelle felt her heart beating hard. ‘I was eight,’ he finally said quietly. ‘Up until then, I had what I think was a normal childhood, playing with my brother, spoiling my little sister.’ Noelle had not even known he had siblings. ‘Then, on my eighth birthday, my father decided to take an interest in me. He’d been a distant figure before, coming back to the island to visit us, give us some ridiculously lavish gifts and then disappear again. I adored him from afar, and so did my brother Khalis.’ He paused, rolling his shoulders as if to rid them of the tension that kept them so painfully rigid. ‘When I turned eight my father called me into his office. I suppose I thought he might give me a present. I remember feeling excited, happy.’ Noelle felt tears rise even though she didn’t know what was coming next. She didn’t want to know. Listening was painful, yet she knew this memory was the beginning and perhaps even the key to understanding Ammar.

‘He hit me,’ Ammar said quietly. He sounded sad rather than angry. ‘Hard, across the face, with no warning. I fell to the floor, my head reeling, my mouth bleeding. I couldn’t believe what had happened.’

‘Why?’ Noelle whispered. From what Ammar had already told her about Balkri Tannous, she knew she shouldn’t be surprised and yet she was. Surprised and horrified.

‘My first lesson,’ Ammar explained with a grim smile. ‘Never trust anyone, not even those you love. Always be on your guard. He stood over me and told me that while I lay on the floor and tried not to cry.’

‘Oh, Ammar.’ Instinctively she reached over and placed her hand on his leg, needing to touch him.

Ammar let out a resigned and weary sigh. ‘I told you that so you’d know I understand what it’s like to have your hero thrown off his pedestal. In that moment the pain of knowing what he was like was worse than any blow he could have dealt me.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I can see that.’

‘But I didn’t tell you so you’d feel sorry for me,’ he continued, his voice becoming hard. ‘I don’t want your pity, Noelle. I’ve never wanted it.’

‘I don’t pity you.’

‘And I’m tired of pointing to my past as the reason I am who I am now.’ He shook his head, his face so bleak Noelle felt her nearly-whole heart start to splinter again. ‘God, I am so tired of it.’

‘Then maybe,’ Noelle whispered, ‘we should think about the future instead.’ Ammar glanced at her sharply, and she gave him a tremulous smile. There was so much more she wanted to say, yet everything felt as if it had lodged in a huge, hot lump in her chest and she wasn’t sure if she could get anything out.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and when Ammar finally broke the taut silence it was in a carefully bland voice. ‘Do you want me to take you back to your apartment?’

The thought brought only dread. ‘How far are we from Paris?’

‘About an hour.’

‘Do you think the press will have discovered where I live?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

Noelle let out a groan. ‘I can’t bear the thought of fighting through more crowds, or having them snap my picture.’ Or listening to their awful, slyly mocking questions.

‘We don’t have to return to Paris,’ Ammar said quietly, and Noelle felt a thrill of expectation ripple through her.

‘Where would we go?’

‘There’s a place near here. A few more minutes.’

‘A place?’

‘Just a place I know.’ He stared straight ahead, not looking at her. Curiosity added to her adrenalin-rush of anticipation.

‘All right,’ she said, and Ammar glanced at her, his expression an unguarded mix of wariness and hope.

‘All right?’

‘Take me there.’ And really she didn’t care where he took her. She’d go anywhere with him.

They drove in silence down the motorway, and after a little while Ammar turned off onto a narrow country lane. Noelle gazed out of the window as they drove through several sleepy villages, their deserted squares indolent under a noontime sun. Then he turned down an even narrower lane, with just one house at its end. Noelle sat up straighter, her curiosity truly piqued.

Ammar pulled in front of the house and killed the engine. Noelle gazed in bemusement at the rambling house, a riot of flowers climbing over its yellow stone walls. ‘What is this place?’

‘Come and see.’

Still curious, she got out of the car. The house was utterly charming, with the wrought iron railings in front of each shuttered window, the happy clutter of terracotta pots filled with geraniums by the long, smooth stone that served as a front step. She loved it all, but she still didn’t know where she was. Was Ammar taking her to visit someone?

He slid a key out of his pocket and opened the front door. Holding her breath, Noelle stepped inside. The house was comfortably furnished, with scattered sofas arranged around an inglenook fireplace and a pair of French windows leading out to a terraced garden. Sunshine spilled into the room, bathing everything in gold. Noelle turned around slowly in a circle, taking it all in, then turned to Ammar.

‘Where are we?’

He stood by the door, the key still in his hand, a funny, sad sort of smile on his face. ‘Don’t you recognise this place?’

‘I’ve never been here before.’

‘I know.’

‘But—’ She stopped suddenly, realisation dawning … the way the sun crept over the horizon, slowly, spreading its healing light. ‘It’s our house,’ she said slowly, ‘isn’t it? Our little house outside Paris.’

Ammar nodded and she shook her head, still hardly able to believe it. ‘I didn’t even think you remembered.’

‘Oh, I remembered.’ And she knew from the throb in his voice that he’d held hard to their dream. ‘In any case, I bought this house years ago.’

‘You bought it? When?’ But of course she already knew. Ten years ago, when they were to be married.

‘It was your wedding present,’ Ammar said quietly, and Noelle let out a choked cry. He was so wonderfully thoughtful, so achingly tender, and yet she couldn’t bear it. She felt the weight of her own guilt like a stone inside her, bearing her down.

‘Noelle—’ He took a step towards her, his eyes shadowed. ‘We don’t … you don’t have to like it, or live here. I didn’t bring you here for that. I just wanted to show you … how much …’

She shook her head, flung out one hand. ‘Don’t.’

He stopped, his whole body tense. ‘What?’

‘I need to say something first.’

He looked so guarded, so uncertain, and that was her fault. ‘What do you want to say?’

‘That I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘For leaving the way I did. I didn’t … I didn’t want it to be like that.’

Ammar still looked wary. ‘It is a small matter,’ he said, and her heart twisted inside her. She’d wanted him to help her, to acknowledge what had happened back in Paris, and yet from the veiled look in his eyes and the tension in his body she knew he wasn’t going to—and she understood why. He was guarding his heart, just as she had been. She’d hurt him, just as he’d hurt her all those years ago. No wonder he was wary. How could she not understand that?

‘It isn’t a small matter,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s a big one, at least to me, and I think it is to you as well. I admit, I started feeling scared when we were in Paris—’