Chapter Twenty-nine
I am walking down a gravel driveway lined with tall plane trees, their trunks mottled with gray, green, white, and yellow bark. Golden rays of sunlight penetrate the thick canopy of waxy leaves, creating lacy shadows on the ground.
I pause in a beam of light so I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I feel nothing. Not the warmth on my cheeks nor the breeze ruffling my hair.
In the distance, I hear the surf crashing against the rocky shore. I lick my lips, hoping to taste the salty tang of sea air. I taste nothing.
I continue walking, suddenly anxious to reach the end of the drive. A strong gust of wind blows through the branches and rattles the leaves so that it sounds as if they are whispering to me—a welcome or a warning, I cannot tell.
Suddenly, the wind plucks the trees from the ground in a great shedding and swirling of waxy leaves. The trees spin around in the sky, roots dangling, bare branches grasping the air like skeletal hands. Through the maelstrom of leaves and branches, I recognize Xavier’s home at the end of the drive just ahead.
“Xavier!” I cry, running toward the château. “Xavier.”
The silhouette of a person suddenly appears in one of the windows—its features too indistinguishable to determine if it is a man or a woman—and my pulse quickens in terror.
I run across the courtyard and up the stairs, into a grand foyer aglow with the light of a thousand slender candles in a tinkling crystal chandelier.
For a second, I wonder if my simple cotton sundress is too plain for such magnificent surroundings, too plain for a man as magnificent as Xavier, but the anxiety passes quickly, as soon as I notice the trail of oleander blossoms leading from the front door and up the stone staircase.
“Xavier?”
He appears at the top of the stairs, looks down, and notices me standing in the foyer. He hurries down the stairs, happy, no, relieved, to see me.
I turn to check my appearance in the cloudy baroque mirror hanging near the door, but it is not my image I see reflected in the glass. It is Marine, dressed in a billowy black gown, her glossy black hair floating around her shoulders—my shoulders—as if weightless.
“Marine, darling,” he says, reaching for me. “I thought you would never arrive. I’ve missed you.”
I try to pull away, but I can’t move my feet. I look down and see the gnarled, earth-encrusted roots of a plane tree wrapped around my ankles.
“Marine, what is it, darling?”
I am not Marine!
I try to speak the words, but my mouth appears to be frozen in a grotesque smile. I look in the mirror again, at my pale, almost lifeless skin, my lips tinged blue like the corpse of a drowning victim, and Xavier standing behind me, his eyes as deep and dark as the sea crashing on the rocks nearby.
He leans forward, as if to kiss me, and I am falling, falling into his eyes, splashing into a black, stormy sea, icy waves washing over my head, pushing me down, down, down . . .
“Xavier!” I cry, reaching my hand out for him. “Xavier, please. Save me.”
* * *
“Wake up, ma bichette.” Xavier’s strong arms are around me, his warm breath on my shoulder, scented with cinnamon. “Wake up.”
“I am drowning,” I gasp, my chest tight.
“Shhh,” he soothes, folding me into him. “You aren’t drowning, ma bichette. You are safe. It was only a nightmare.”
My limbs are trembling and my skin feels cold, so very cold. The memory of the dream is still powerfully present, lingering in such a way as to make me question whether I am truly awake or lost in another, sweeter nocturnal fantasy. I wrap my arms around Xavier’s neck, bury my head against his shoulder, and cling to him so the icy waves can’t drag me to the depths of the ocean.
He holds me against his chest, murmuring words in French I don’t understand, until my tears stop falling and my trembling limbs relax.
“You are safe, ma bichette. I promise,” he whispers in my ear, his lips brushing my lobe. “Now, won’t you tell me what that was all about? What did you dream about that made you cry out for me in your sleep?”
I tell him about my dream, about the angry wind, the swirling trees, the icy sea, but I leave out the part about my inhabiting Marine’s body, taking over her life.
“Have you had this nightmare before?”
“Not this particular nightmare, no, but I have had other frightening dreams about the sea.”
“When did they begin?”
“I don’t remember,” I lie.
“Recently?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” He smooths the damp hair off the back of my neck and leaves his hand there, rubbing the bumpy ridge under my ear with his thumb. “Mon amour, have you been sailing since your father and aunt had their accident?”
“ No.”
“Were you happy when I told you I was going to take you sailing tomorrow?”
“ No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Hot stinging tears nettle my lids and I close my eyes tight because I know if one tear falls, many will fall.
“Manderley? Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I have always loved the sea, felt connected and calm when near it, but ever since my father’s death, I have developed a powerful fear of the ocean. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
He presses his lips to my forehead and his stubble scratches the place between my eyes.
“That you felt a need to hide the truth from me disappoints me far more than a canceled sailing trip. A marriage is like a castle tower. If it is built strong and true, it can stand many assaults. Lies, even small deceptions, weaken the walls.” His touch is gentle, but his tone has a harsher edge to it than it did a moment ago and my heart aches, knowing I caused it. “I don’t want you to be the Manderley you think I want you to be; I want you, the real Manderley de Maloret, fears, faults, and all.”
“Yes, Xavier.”
“You must be honest with me. Otherwise . . .” He tightens his hold on my neck and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to think about what would happen if I discovered you haven’t been truthful with me. Just promise—”
“I promise,” I say, pressing a teary kiss to his chest. “I promise to be honest with you, Xavier. Always.”