Just Rewards - Barbara Taylor Bradford

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a French television network, and I wanted to explain … I will be out of Paris for a while, perhaps for several weeks. Possibly a month at the most. I hate to leave you, Tessa, but it is an important assignment I have been offered. I must take it.’

      Relief flooded through her, and she exclaimed, ‘That’s fine, I understand.’ She laughed somewhat weakly, and added, with a slight grimace, ‘I thought you were going to announce something quite awful, like you were finished with me … that it was over … that we were over.’

      Startled by her words, baffled at her lack of faith in him, he looked at her askance, and said softly, ‘That will never ever happen … you must not worry about such a thing. Which reminds me, I have this for you.’ As he spoke he pulled a small leather box out of his pocket and handed it to her silently.

      Tessa took the box, lifted the lid, and her eyes grew wide as she stared down at a glittering diamond engagement ring. ‘Jean-Claude!’ she gasped, surprise echoing. ‘It’s perfectly beautiful.’

      He beamed at her. ‘Do you like it?’

      She nodded. ‘Of course. I love it. And I love you!’

      He took the box away from her, took out the ring, and put it on her finger. As he did so, he said, ‘Do you think I have to ask Shane for your hand in marriage? Or am I being a little old-fashioned?’

      She laughed uproariously, amused at this suggestion. ‘You don’t have to ask him. Or Mummy. I am a divorced woman, after all … well, not quite divorced. Yet.’

      ‘And will you be my wife, Tessa, once you are free?’ he asked, his voice solemn, his face serious, intent.

      ‘Oh yes, Jean-Claude, very much yes.’

      He leaned closer, kissed her on the mouth, and told her, ‘You’ve just made me a happy man. A very happy man, my darling.’

      ‘And I’m a happy woman.’ She held out her hand, gazing at the ring. ‘It’s just beautiful, Jean-Claude. Thank you so much.’

      ‘It’s an old ring, I had it reset. It suits you.’ He smiled at her indulgently. ‘I think diamonds are your stones.’

      ‘And why not?’ she asked gaily, and then sobering slightly, she added, ‘But you haven’t told me where you’re going. Where is your assignment taking you?’

      ‘To Afghanistan.’

      She gaped at him, flabbergasted. For a split second words failed her, but after a moment she gasped, ‘Oh, no, not there. You’re going to cover the war there. You could get hurt. Why, you could even get killed!’

      ‘Non, non. Jamais … never. I will be fine. Remember, chérie, I have done this many times before. I am a war correspondent, Tessa. You must not forget that. I learned long ago not to take risks.’

      ‘But Jean-Claude, being a war correspondent is terribly dangerous, whatever you say,’ she protested.

      ‘That I do not deny. However, I am experienced, and I am not a hot head. I do not put myself in harm’s way, and I have been there before when the Russians invaded Afghanistan. I know the terrain.’

      ‘I shall be frantic with worry,’ she cried, her face paler than usual, her eyes stricken. She began to tremble.

      ‘I know that, but the time will pass quickly. It will be only a month. And thank God for cell phones. We can speak every day.’

      ‘Please don’t go—’

      He held up his hand. ‘My Tess, you know who I am, what I am all about. I must go. I do not have a choice in this matter. It is what I do. And you must learn to live with it.’ His tone brooked no argument. He sounded suddenly tough and very determined.

      ‘You have to go? You really do?’ she said in a low voice.

      ‘I do.’

      ‘Then I shall have to learn to live with it,’ she answered, and blinked rapidly as tears welled.

      Jean-Claude noticed her tears at once, and put his arms around her, held her close. ‘Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise,’ he reassured her. ‘I shall come back to you safely. We shall be married as soon as your divorce is final, and we will be together always.’

      Tessa did not answer. She was too choked up to say anything. As he held her closer she silently prayed that he would be safe, that he would come back to her all in one piece.

      ‘I need to speak with you.’ Lorne nodded, looking across at his twin sister from the window seat, where he had so often sat as a child, here in the old playroom on the top floor of Pennistone Royal underneath the attics.

      Tessa stood near the ancient rocking horse, Gallant Lad, which had been ridden by their mother, aunts, uncles and cousins before them. The vibrant red, green, yellow and white paint was faded now, cracked and chipped, and the black mane had thinned with time, but oh how that beloved horse had been ridden, hugged, patted and enjoyed by so many Harte children.

      Lorne waited patiently for her to speak; he was always patient with her and loving; they were the closest of friends and he knew she was not the ogre so many of the family thought she was. He noticed how pensive she looked, saw the worry flickering in her silvery-grey eyes, so like his own, and he immediately thought of that bastard of an ex-husband of hers. Well, soon to be ex, and he wondered if Mark Longden had been causing more trouble. Whenever he thought of him Lorne saw red, wanted to find him and thrash him within an inch of his life. He had mistreated and abused Tessa, and as far as Lorne was concerned no punishment was too harsh for him. Blackguard, he thought under his breath, using a very old-fashioned word, but one he believed most appropriate.

      ‘Come on, tell me! Speak to me, Ancient One,’ he coaxed, using the name he had invented for her when they were children, and when, at the tender age of five, she had announced to him that she was the elder twin by five minutes and therefore their mother’s heir. Much to her chagrin he had never let her forget that little child’s boast.

      Tessa smiled her special smile, the one she reserved only for him, and giving the rocking horse a little push so that it began to move, she looked directly at Lorne and murmured, ‘Jean-Claude’s going to Afghanistan. To cover the war for a French network.’

      ‘Is he really! That’s great, he’ll be in his element. He’s such a brilliant war correspondent …’ Lorne’s voice faltered as he instantly noticed the pained look crossing her face and quickly he added, ‘Oh God, Tessa, how stupid I’m being. You’re worried, of course, and who wouldn’t be? Reporting a war is dangerous, I know that. But listen …’ Lorne leaned forward, his expression serious, intent, as he swiftly went on. ‘He’s been at this game for years. He knows what he’s doing, he’s a seasoned war correspondent and not a beginner, wet behind the ears. Please try not to worry.’

      ‘Easy to say, brother of mine, hard to do.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘Very hard not to be on the verge of panic.’

      He nodded, compressed his lips, understanding exactly how she felt. ‘Knowing you, I suppose you told him how nervous you are about this.’

      ‘Yes, Lorne, I did. I asked him not to go.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘He told me he had to, and that I would have to get used to it … more or less those words, anyway. He was adamant, so naturally I agreed with him.’ She lifted her slender shoulders in a light shrug. ‘What else could I say?’

      ‘Nothing really,’ Lorne agreed. ‘In reality, you have no choice. You have to go along with him. He’s a fifty-three-year-old man who’s been doing what he wants all his life, especially when it comes to his work, his career. That’s who he is. His own man. I doubt he could be deterred,

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