Surrendering Love: An

enemies-to-lovers second chance small

town mountain romance (Sugar & Spice
Mountain Series Book 1) Tara L Newby
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Surrendering Love

Tara L Newby

Sugar & Spice Books

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7395179-0-8

Copyright © 2023 by Tara L Newby.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording,
or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.K. copyright
law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or
deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Tom Stych.

 Contents

Notes From The Author

Keep In Touch
Dedication
Part One
1. Ava
2. Thunder
3. Ava
4. Thunder

5. Ava
6. Thunder
7. Ava
8. Thunder
9. Ava
10. Thunder
Part Two
11. Ava
12. Thunder
13. Ava

14. Thunder

15. Ava
16. Thunder

17. Ava
18. Thunder
19. Ava
20. Thunder

21. Ava
22. Thunder
23. Ava
24. Thunder
25. Ava
26. Ava
27. Thunder
28. Ava
29. Thunder

30. Ava
31. Ava
32. Thunder
33. Ava
34. Thunder
35. Thunder
36. Ava
37. Ava
38. Ava
39. Thunder

40. Thunder

41. Ava
42. Thunder

43. Thunder
44. Ava
45. Ava
46. Ava

47. Ava
48. Thunder
Part Three
49. Ava
50. Thunder
51. Thunder
52. Ava
53. Ava
54. Ava

55. Thunder
56. Ava
57. Ava's Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Notes From The Author
On Content Warnings

This book is not a dark romance. However, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t deal with life’s issues, some
of which may trigger some readers. For a full list, visit www.taralnewby.com/books. Most are only
mentioned as part of the characters’ pasts. However, the novel does deal with some mental health
issues, including PTSD. If you are in any doubt, please feel free to contact the author via the website
or on social media.
On British English

I am British, and this series is set in North Wales, a country within Great Britain. I therefore chose to
write in British English. Some of our words differ from those used by Americans. However, I strived,
with the help of American editors to use words which would be understood by both audiences. Note
that I have used British spellings. These are not errors.
On Places in North Wales

The novel is set in a fictitious small town called Nant Falls. It is similar to other small towns around
Eryri National Park (formerly known as Snowdonia) but is not based on any of them. Real lakes and
mountains do feature but some features are fictionalised for story purposes. The mountain rescue team
is also fictional.
Keep In Touch
 Want to keep in touch? Here’s how:
Join the mailing list: www.taralnewby.com
Visit the website: www.taralnewby.com
Join the Sugar & Spice Romance Book Club (my Facebook Readers Group):
www.facebook.com/groups/sugarandspiceromancebookclub/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/taralnewbyauthor
Instagram: www.instagram.com/taralnewby
TikTok: www.tiktok.com/@taralnewby
Threads: @taralnewby
 Dedication

For all the women who’ve embraced their sexual desires, and those who have yet to do so. You’re
such good girls.
Part One
CHAPTER ONE
 Ava

acob leaned forward, his lips brushing against my ear. This was it. He would claim me. My
J
lobe.
knees shuddered as he took a deep breath and held it, his tongue flicking once across my ear

Any moment now.

I pressed my knees together. Pointless. It neither stopped my legs shaking, nor dulled the ache
building between them. My heart raced. Any moment, he would say the word.
The word that would change everything.
The word that would start the hunt.
It would end with him thrusting deep inside me as he pushed me onto the forest floor and claimed
me as his captured prey.
Behind me, the whisper of the trees hushed, as if they too held their breath, waiting, watching.
Closing my eyes, I tried to steady my breathing. And then it came. Jacob’s rolling, rumbling, growl
in my ear, vibrating through my body, touching something ancient, primal. My eyes shot open,
adjusting to the dark. I took a deep breath. And then came the word, “RUN!”
The bell above the door to my shop tinkled, interrupting my reading. A woman stood in the doorway
her eyes hidden behind large sunglasses. She had bright red lips and smooth curls. She reminded me
of one of those 1940s movie stars who sat in open-top sports cars, sprinkling their stardom along
long, windy roads.
The woman’s dress hugged her curves, and a large belt cinched her in at the waist. Her rich, umber
skin glowed. Joyce Bryant vibes, I thought, cursing myself for not taking better care of my pale skin. I
patted down my own curls, which sprung in every direction, and pulled my cardigan around my waist.
 Such glamour was not typical in Nant Falls. We attracted the adventurers and outdoor types who
wanted to climb the mountains protecting our town or explore the old mines which lay below. This
woman belonged to the polished chrome, yachts, and million-pound homes of Abersoch. She was high
heels. We were hiking boots.
Oh god, I was gawping at the poor woman. I closed my mouth and tugged at the sleeve of my
cardigan, willing myself to speak. “Sorry, gosh. How rude of me. Welcome to Sugar & Spice
Romance Books. Is there something in particular you’re looking for, or are you just browsing?” I
smiled, hoping she didn’t think I was a rambling idiot.
“I think I might just have found my new favourite store.” She sashayed into the store, flashing me a
wide grin.
It was only then that I saw the man who had entered the store with her. All hair, beard, and muscles.
When he crossed his arms in front of his chest, it drew attention to his bulging biceps. Thunder. I
flashed him a glare and returned my attention to the woman.
“Is that an American accent I detect?”
“It sure is, honey. Original southern Belle. Although, I’ve spent the last few years on the west coast.
But I needed an escape…” Her voice trailed off.
An escape. I knew all about those. Maybe she had a hidden past, too. And if she did, she probably
didn’t want to talk about it, especially with some weirdo bookshop owner she’d only just met.
She pointed to the Sugar & Spice neon-glow sign on the back wall. “I take it when you say spice,
you mean the type of books which are a one-handed read?”
I almost choked. While it was a term I used, it remained in my head. “Erm…well…yes, they still
have a plot, but… Sorry, I’m not used to people being so forward. I mean, yes, I sell books for all
levels of spice, or you could say I cater for every reading kink.” Oh god. How embarrassing. Reading
kink? Where did I pluck that from? In front of Thunder, too. I took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m
rambling. I’m Ava, owner of Sugar & Spice Romance Books.” I raised my shoulders and offered the
woman an awkward wave.
She removed her sunglasses, came over to the counter, and stuck her hand out. “Hi, I’m Zelda. I’ve
heard the British can be a little reserved, but it’s quite cute to see it in action.” She grinned.
“Ah, yes. We certainly can.” I shook her hand and breathed a sigh of relief. I liked this woman
already. Maybe it was her Chanel perfume. The scent was one of the few comforting memories from
my childhood. “So, you’re taking a holiday here, then? Or are you on a day trip?”
 “Oh no, I’m staying right here in Nant Falls. I rented a place up the mountain. Who knows, I might
even make it permanent.”
I grinned. Zelda oozed fun and glamour. Having her around could be fun. I wasn’t sure why she’d
come to Nant Falls, but I sensed she, too, had a story. “Well, welcome to Nant Falls! I hope we don’t
bore you too much.”
Zelda laughed. “With a bookshop selling spicy reads? I’ll do just fine!” She rubbed her hands
together. “Okay, where do I start? I want some escapism. The more smut, the better. What do you
recommend?”
I smiled. “You’ll find plenty of smut in the ever-popular Men of the Mountains Series on that table
there. And there are a few more I would recommend depending on your particular…tastes.”
“Oh, I’m not fussy. Show me all the goodies. Hot as you like!”
I walked round the counter. “In that case, you’ll want the five-chilli pepper reads. Let me show
you.” I guided her to the hottest reads displayed towards the back of the store and walked back to the
till.
Thunder was still standing near the door, staring out the window ignoring me. Up until three months
ago, he had been one of my regular customers. But he’d not stepped foot in my bookshop since we’d
slept together just before Christmas. We had both agreed on a one-night stand, and we were both
grown ass adults. So why the hell did he feel the need to avoid me?
He probably thought I didn’t know what he’d been doing. But I’d seen him. One time, I was walking
down the High Street, and he was heading in my direction, our paths destined to cross. But as soon as
he spotted me, he dashed inside a women’s clothes shop. I might have thought it was coincidence,
except I’d also seen him on multiple occasions, crossing the road to avoid walking directly in front of
my shop. As soon as he got a little further up the street, he would cross back over. It was weird. And
annoying.
Somewhere towards the back of the shop, Zelda hummed to herself while she perused the books.
“Are you just going to stand there and not even say hello?”
Nothing.
“Thunder!”
He turned his back on me, refusing to engage, and swearing under his breath.
“Why the hell are avoiding me?“
He swivelled round, fixing me with a glare that almost made me wither. “This is why. I knew you’d
be like this, and I can do without the fucking grief. It was one night. Get over it.”
 Shocked, my mouth opened, but I was unable to form a coherent response before Zelda returned
holding a teetering pile of books.
Thunder rushed to her aid, grabbing the books from her. “Hey, let me take them.”
Zelda giggled. “Thank you. You’re such a gentleman.” She brushed down the front of her dress,
looking up at him through her long eyelashes.
“Well, a man can’t stand by and watch a woman like you struggling.” He smiled at her, but there
was something ingenuine about it.
It didn’t stop a surge of jealousy taking me by surprise, though. I reminded myself that it didn’t
matter how good the sex was, or how attentive he had been that night, he had literally just proven he
was a total douche. “So, how did you two meet?” Damn my mouth, betraying me.
Zelda grinned. “Oh, we’ve only just met, in the coffee shop to be precise. He offered to show me
the town.”
I bet he did. “He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he? Especially when you first spend time with him.” I
grinned at Thunder, unsure if my sarcasm was obvious.
He grimaced.
But Zelda didn’t seem to notice. “Did you know he rescues people from the mountains? And he
finds missing people? A real-life, in-the-flesh, hero!” She lay a hand on one of Thunder’s biceps.
“Oh, that’s just one thing he does.” I raised an eyebrow at Thunder. If he thought I was going to let
his behaviour towards me slide, he was wrong. He deserved a little discomfort.
“Ooh, what else do you do?” she asked.
Thunder shrugged. “I’m a carpenter and dancer. The mountain rescue stuff is voluntary.”
Zelda placed a hand on her hip. “What type of dancing? I mean, no offence, but you don’t look like a
ballet dancer.”
Thunder’s cheeks reddened, and I bit the inside of my lip, trying to stop myself from saying it. But
the temptation was too much. “He’s the type of dancer who takes his clothes off.”
“Oh, like the Chippendales or Magic Mike? That sounds fun.”
Blood rushed to my head as I remembered that night before Christmas, watching him on stage. And
in his bedroom. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
Now he stood in my shop, all rugged, rough around the edges, and raunchy as hell…and acting like
a complete asshole. Let’s not forget that. I wanted to both hurt him and have him inside me.
Thunder and I remained silent, our eyes locked together, the air fizzling around us. Whether the
tension was sexual or hatred, I wasn’t sure.
 “Right, I’ll leave you two to it while I find more goodies.” Zelda slipped off amongst the shelves
again.
“Why did you do that?” Thunder stormed over, half-throwing the pile of books on the counter.
Anticipation rolled in my belly. “What? You’re an excellent dancer. You should be proud of your
moves. Talking of which, are you planning on showing any of them to Zelda?”
He clenched his jaw. “And what if I am?”
I shrugged, but didn’t miss the way my tummy squirmed. “It makes no difference to me. Anyway,
you’re clearly lovesick after our night together. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me.”
He raked his hand through his hair. “Fuck you, Ava. I knew you were more trouble than that night
was worth. For the record, I wouldn’t touch you again if you were the last—”
Zelda reappeared carrying another pile of books, which threatened to spill over.
“Here, let me help you.” I rushed over and grabbed half the books before Thunder had chance to
rush in.
As I scanned them through the till, I paused when I reached Prey. “No way! This is the book I was
reading when you came in. I was choosing an excerpt for our Sugar & Spice Romance Book Club
tomorrow night. It’s just a few women who meet at my home, and they’re a little shy, but you’d be
welcome to join us.”
“Sounds perfect. Where do you want me and when?”
“You’ll come?”
“Of course. We can bring them out of their shells a little, show them it’s okay for women to talk
about sexual needs, pleasure and everything that comes with that.”
“Yes, exactly that. Shame-free talk about sex, relationships, healthy boundaries, and desire. And
how to expect a real man to treat you.”
I threw a look towards Thunder, who shifted from one foot to the other, his shoulders hunched up
around his ears, staring out the window.
I turned back to Zelda. “Well, we meet at 7:00pm. I’m the tiny house just behind this shop. It’s a bit
of a squeeze but…”
“I can already tell I’m going to love it here.”
Thunder stormed over to the counter, picking up Zelda’s books. “I’ll see you back at my car.”
He left without saying a word to me. I watched him join the drove of tourists, unsure whether I
hated him or craved him.
Zelda drummed her immaculate nails on the counter. “So, tell me, how long have you liked him?”
 Shocked, my mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. As if I would be interested in a
grumpy ass like Thunder.
“If I’m going to be living here for the next few months, girl code says you need to give me the
gossip. I saw that look. There’s something between you two.”
My cheeks warmed, a mixture of heat from thinking about that night, and anger at the way he was
behaving now. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Thunder. But that wasn’t Zelda’s fault. I liked
her and wanted to make her feel welcome. I smiled. “Okay, yes, we have history. One night of history,
if you catch my drift.”
“And was it good?”
I paused, lost in the memories of that night. “The best in all my thirty-eight years.” I cleared my
throat and snapped myself out of the daydream. “But he’s also rude, obstinate, and immature. Not the
sort of person I want to spend any more of my time with. Besides, the only men I want in my life are
my book boyfriends. Real-life relationships are over-rated.”
She stared off into the distance. “Yeah? The right relationship is what I truly crave. I’d give almost
anything for it. But on the wrong side of forty, I worry my time has passed.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the right man for you one day. Everyone says romance novels have spoiled me.
Maybe they’re right. I wouldn’t settle for anything less than a truly fiery, all-encompassing kind of
love. Anything less is half measures. But that kind of love comes with other issues I never want. You
ever notice those couples who fight as hard as they love?”
“The sort of couple who prove love and hate are much closer than we believe?”
“Exactly. Hate is never far behind love.”
“And you feel nothing for Thunder? I mean, you looked as though you wanted to devour each
other…”
“Oh, he made me feel all kinds of things that night.” I laughed a little too loud at my joke. “But we
only wanted one night together, and the way he’s behaved since, I wouldn’t even want to be friends
with him.”
Zelda put her handbag over her arm. “Well, for the record, should the opportunity present itself
again, I don’t think you should say no.”
“I didn’t say no to him once that night.” I clamped my hand over my mouth. Why did I not have a
filter?
Zelda laughed.
“But in all seriousness, I want absolutely nothing to do with him anymore.“
 Zelda tilted her head to the side. “You might say that now, but I have a sneaky suspicion you would
struggle to refuse him. Anyway, I shall see you tomorrow at the book club.”
“See you then.”
As Zelda left, her words stayed with me. Could I refuse Thunder if the opportunity arose? Of course
I could. But as I imagined doing so, the only thing I pictured was our bodies tangled together.
No. I needed to avoid Thunder at all costs. Three months on, he was still haunting my mind. That
could be dangerous.
CHAPTER TWO
 Thunder

grabbed the bottle of baby oil, holding it above my chest and squeezing. The oil dripped down
I across my pecs and pooled in my belly button. The young woman in the chair in front of me
screamed and pumped her arms in the air. Her dark hair swung behind her, the lights shining off it. I
could appreciate her beauty, even if she wasn’t my type.
The primary goal of dancing was to ensure the audience enjoyed themselves. After years of
practice, I was good at it. The trick was to remain focused on their pleasure, something I found easier
than the other dancers did. And her excitement told me I was doing a good job.
Grabbing her hands and placing them on my tattooed chest, I straddled her legs. Moving her hands
in small circles through the oil, the pressure from her fingers increased. I thrust my hips back and
forth, ramping up my performance, my dick only a few inches from her breasts.
She licked her lips and slipped her fingertips beneath the top of my black boxers. She wouldn’t be
the first or last to try her luck. In all honesty, it annoyed the hell out of me. There would be hell to pay
if I behaved that way towards a woman. Rightly so. But it came with the territory, and I could stop her
while keeping her happy.
Placing both her wrists in one hand and holding them high above her head, I thrust harder and used
my other hand to cup my balls. I held her gaze and licked my upper lip. Her chest heaved as her
excitement grew. In one swift move, I stepped behind the chair, bringing her hands down and round
behind her back. Holding them in place, I brushed my lips along her clavicle and neck.
The crowd roared their approval. Some women threw money on the stage. But my time was nearly
up. Another dancer would bounce onto the stage shortly.
I dropped the woman’s hands and stepped back, grabbing the oil. Facing the crowd, I pulled my
boxers out and tipped the bottle of oil upside down. It dripped down my dick as my hand slid inside
my Calvin Klein’s. The crowd grew louder. I fondled myself enough to give the women a show.
Timing was everything for the last move. As my hands grasped my boxers, the lights flashed faster.
The crowd whooped and hollered, hoping for a sneak peek. I ripped them away as the lights flashed
off—when they came back on, I was walking off stage, buck naked, with my hands protecting my
assets.
Back stage, Nick gave me a high-five before heading out onto the stage in his fireman’s costume to
close the show. For me, the night was finally over. Seven long years of travelling to different cities
with women screaming, caressing my body with oil, and trying to grope me took its toll. My forty-
three-year-old, six-foot-three inches frame would not keep up the smooth moves much longer. I was
living most men’s dream. Every night women threw themselves at me. I could take my pick. But it got
boring. The harder they tried to please me, the more it turned me off.
And it had only gotten worse since that night with Ava. She had ruined other women for me. But I
needed to forget about her. My usual rule of three nights didn’t apply to a woman like Ava. One night
with her had already proved too much.
As I showered off the night’s baby oil, I focused on the fact the end was in sight. Between stripping
and my day job as a carpenter, I’d almost saved enough to live my actual dream. All I needed now
was a woodland to purchase.
I threw on my grey joggers, t-shirt, and checked shirt before pulling my hair back and tying it up in a
man bun. I readied myself to run the women-strewn gauntlet beyond the back door. There were
always women waiting there, hoping to take the stage performance one step further.
Some dancers took advantage of the harmless fun. After all, the women wouldn’t take a stripper
home to their families. And no-strings sex can be hard to reject when you’re single. But as the years
drifted by, I found less pleasure in hook ups. But I didn’t want a relationship, either. Besides, none of
these women got me or my sexual needs. None except Ava. I was a different breed. Perhaps no one
would satisfy me again the way she had.
“Hey, Thunder. You coming for a drink tonight? We’re hitting the clubs.” Nick had just finished his
routine and stood in the middle of the dressing room, naked, except for the fireman’s helmet.
“Are you planning on wearing that helmet all night?”
“Hell yeah. It’s a chick magnet.”
“I’m going to give it a miss tonight. I’ve got a long drive back, and I spent half of last night traipsing
across fields looking for a missing person. Have fun, though.”
 “Aww, the old man is getting too tired to party with us boys,” teased Flick, the youngest dancer of
the crew.
I shook my head and laughed. “Right guys, I’m out of here. See you next week.” As I pushed open
the side door, the usual stench of urine and vomit greeted me. In a few hours, the nightclubs would
kick out and the smell would worsen. I never understood the attraction of city life. I preferred the
clean air of Welsh mountains and forests.
A few women hung around, clinging onto each other’s arms, giggling. One of them thrust a marker
pen into my hand and pulled down her top, exposing a voluptuous breast. I smiled politely and
scribbled my signature across it, doing my best to avoid my skin touching hers. Further up, another
woman stepped out from a doorway.
“Hey, thanks for the dance.” It was the woman I had pulled onto the stage.
“No problem. Glad you enjoyed it.”
“Enjoyed it? My god, I don’t think my panties have ever been so wet.”
“Right…well, I need to get going.” I didn’t want to be rude; it was women like her who were
making my dream a possibility. I walked past.
“I thought I might return the favour. Here.” The woman grabbed at my arm.
I didn’t appreciate being treated like a piece of meat, but I wanted a peaceful end to my night. “You
seem like a lovely woman but—”
“What? Come on!”
“Sorry, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Oh my god, you don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”
For a second, I considered letting her believe that one. Maybe that was the easy way out. But I
couldn’t be dishonest. The last thing I needed was a rumour that I was unfaithful. When that stuff got
on social media, there was no telling where it would end. I wanted to save a little more money before
I called it quits, which meant protecting my reputation. “No, it’s like I said. I’m just tired.”
The woman placed her hands on her hips. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it. At least be honest.
You don’t find me attractive. Is that why you pulled me from the audience? You felt sorry for me?”
“No, no. Not at all. You are extremely attractive. It’s just been a long day and I need to get—”
“Oh, whatever. Fuck you. You’re just some playboy. No one wants anything more than a quick fuck
with a stripper.” She stuck her finger up at me over her shoulder and marched off down the alley.
I sighed. Those comments were nothing new, but it didn’t mean they hurt any less. Throwing my bag
over my shoulder, I set off along the alley. I needed to get in my car, drive home, and crawl into bed.
Since reaching the other side of forty, my muscles tired quicker. What they needed right now was rest.
Once home, I threw my bag on the kitchen counter and grabbed a glass of water. It took time to
unwind from a performance. Throwing myself into my dad’s old armchair, I grabbed my phone,
checking my emails for the first time that day. Most were junk, but one caught my eye.

Hi Thunder

Finally, something suitable has come up. It’s a ten-acre ancient woodland site,
with a stream running through the middle. It also comes with the benefit of
being in your local area. There is road access, but the location is remote, so
there won’t be much traffic noise, as per your stipulations.

It is a little over your budget, but being offered at a great price, and the owner
is insisting the buyer use it for social good – he’s having it written into the
deeds. If he likes your plans, you might swing a deal? Details are attached.

Call me if you’re interested.

John Crawley – Nant Falls Estate Agents.

It sounded perfect. The price was high, but maybe I could apply for a loan or make a deal. It would
be worth the financial stretch.
Just as I clicked to download the details, my phone screeched into life, a siren ringing out at full
volume. A callout. I groaned. The mountain rescue team was everything to me, and helping those in
need gave me satisfaction. But callouts always came in at the most inopportune moments. It had
already been a long day, with ten hours on the building site and tonight’s dance show, all that on top of
last night’s call out.
I headed to the door where my kit stood ready. I pulled on my waterproofs, tied the laces on my
walking boots, and slung my rucksack over my shoulder while scanning the details provided.

FULL TEAM CALL OUT. Male. Terry Smith. Aged 53. P lanned to walk the Glyderau loop. Not yet returned to the
campsite. Mobile has no signal or it’s switched off. Meet at Ogwen Cottage car park.
My heart sunk. It was dark and snow still lay on the unforgiving Glyderau peaks. Anything could have
happened to him. But this is what I did. Saved people. I took a deep breath and headed out to the car.
This one we would save.
CHAPTER THREE
 Ava

ednesday evenings were a time for food, fun, and friendship. And discussing spicy books.
W Daisy and Maria were first to arrive for the Sugar & Spice Romance Book Club. They came
into the kitchen via the back door, kicking off their shoes so they lay next to my scattered array of
walking boots and wellies. After hugs and hellos, we set about getting ready for the evening ahead.
Daisy grabbed a pile of mismatched bowls from a cupboard. Well, it was more like a few bits of
driftwood knocked together than a proper kitchen unit. But I liked the rustic charm of the cottage.
Meanwhile, Maria shook various snacks into the bowls. I uncorked a bottle of wine and reached up to
the shelf for the large wine glasses. No book club evening was complete without food and drinks.
Daisy narrowed her eyes. “Why are there five glasses? There are only four members of the Sugar &
Spice Romance Book Club.”
“And I’m not sure Penny’s going to make it tonight. She and Alex got back together,” continued
Maria.
I put the bottle of wine down, my glass only half full, and stared at Maria. “What? Weren’t they
over? What’s the point of dragging the agony out further?”
Maria shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just got a vague text. Anyway, can we get started? I
need to talk about that last book!”
“Not quite. We have someone new joining us. I met her earlier today.” Avoiding eye contact, I
grabbed some bowls and motioned for the others to follow me through to the lounge.
“A stranger? You invited a stranger? I can’t talk about sex and stuff with someone I’ve never even
met. What if she blabs?” Daisy sunk into the corner sofa, pulling the cushions around her.
“She won’t. But it’s also not terrible for people to know you have desires. What’s the worst that
could happen? An incredible orgasm?” I threw another log onto the fire.
 “Okay, okay. I get your point. But it would mortify me. It shouldn’t, but it would. I still find it
embarrassing talking about it here.”
Maria raised an eyebrow. “Embarrassing or mildly uncomfortable? Because you were more than
happy to talk at our last meeting, and you’ve been sending me texts about our latest read.”
I gave an internal fist pump. This was progress. If sex-talk became a part of their everyday chat,
they could talk about anything, challenge anything.
Daisy crossed her arms and pouted. “Okay, fine. Mildly uncomfortable and becoming less so each
month. But a stranger? Who is she?” She glared at me.
“Zelda. She’s American and renting a house nearby, so make her feel welcome. I think you’re going
to love her. She came right out and asked me for the spiciest reads. And remember, uncomfortable
conversations—”
“Bring us closer to happiness,” finished Maria and Daisy in chorus.
At exactly 7:00pm, a knock sounded at the door. Opening it, I felt briefly dazzled. Effortless
glamour and style floated in with Zelda. She smelled as good as she looked. After a brief hug, I
introduced her to the other women. Ten minutes later, she had both Daisy and Maria howling with
laughter as she shared a story about a hopeless American she once had in bed.
I smiled to myself, but it contained more sadness than contentment. Zelda was bound to make an
impression on the other women. But I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. She could talk about her
past so freely. My book club friends already knew more about her upbringing than they did mine.
Feeling a little glum, I changed the topic and got the book club started. “Okay, so how about we talk
about last month’s book? Maria, could you give Zelda a little recap of the story?”
“This one was excellent. It was about Ffion, who grew up in a religious household. She thought sex
and masturbation would lead her to hell. Of course, her family gave her brother a totally different
message. Anyway, she was very shy and strait-laced, until she met Evan, who was her total undoing.”
Daisy sniggered. “That’s one way of putting it!”
“Let me guess, Ffion learnt that a great orgasm took her to heaven rather than hell?” said Zelda.
Daisy laughed so hard she fell sideways on the sofa, holding her left side. The giggles signalled her
discomfort with talking about sex, but she was becoming more relaxed. At least now she laughed,
rather than cringing and blushing.
“So…” Maria hesitated for a moment. “If your upbringing has made you shy in the bedroom, how
do you overcome that? Theoretically, of course.”
 Zelda put her wineglass on the coffee table and leaned forward. “The first step is an awareness of
what you want in the bedroom. Then you communicate with your partner.”
Daisy pulled her legs up, curling into the corner of the sofa. “Oh god, I could never tell a man what
I wanted. I’m not sure I even know.”
“Why is it women can get to their thirties, forties, or even fifties, without learning what brings them
pleasure? How is that right?” Maria grabbed a handful of nuts and shoved them into her mouth.
“Well, I think the book you’ve just read gives you a good clue,” said Zelda.
Maria looked off into the distance. “I guess you’re right. It comes back to our upbringing, the way
society has taught us to behave, what they deemed acceptable. History has held women to different
standards than men.”
“Exactly.” I popped a crisp in my mouth.
“What was your upbringing like then, Ava? How come you’ve had the confidence to open your book
shop? Were your parents more liberal?”
I froze, staring at Zelda. At the corner of my eye, Maria and Daisy exchanged uncomfortable
glances.
A bang sounded from the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Penny!” I jumped up and hugged her as she came into the room.
“Wow, Ava, are you okay? That’s quite the welcome. Have I missed much?”
“Not at all. Sit down and I’ll grab you a glass. I was about to introduce the new book. Maria, could
you introduce Penny and Zelda?”
I escaped the living room, seeking solace in the kitchen. I raised my hands to my cheeks. They were
burning up. Splashing some cold water on my face, I grabbed the extra wine glass and slowed my
breathing before walking back into the living room.
As I opened the door, a hush descended. Had they been talking about me? What had they told Zelda?
But it’s not like they could have told her the truth, because no one knew about my upbringing.
I filled Penny’s glass with wine and handed it to her, deciding to get their focus back on books. “I
have to admit I was a little hesitant about introducing you to our next read…”
Maria’s eyes lit up, and she rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, this sounds juicy. Spill!”
“It’s not something we’ve seen in any of our previous books. Before I share, keep an open mind. It’s
not for everyone. But it is most definitely for some. And many more enjoy reading about it in novels
or bringing an element of it into their sex life.”
 Daisy shifted in her seat, rearranging the cushions so they made a wall around her. I sat cross-
legged in the armchair next to the fire and read aloud the passage from Prey I’d found yesterday.
As I finished, the women were silent. I wasn’t sure if they were imagining themselves being chased
by the man of their dreams or planning their escape. Daisy’s cheeks were flushed, and she sunk even
further into the sofa.
Zelda leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “There’s something delicious about
the chase. I mean, let’s face it. The idea of men chasing women is as old as time. The expectation of
not knowing when or where your pleasure will come is exciting.” She placed a hand over her heart.
“I tell you, it does things to me just thinking about the prey and predator dynamic. Personally, I
couldn’t stand the mud. And the risk of any insects getting inside my clothes means it’s not something I
would want to act out.”
An unease settled in. My heart beat faster, as if it was trying to break out of my chest. Men chasing
women. Prey and predator. A flash of the past crashed into my present. How had Zelda’s words taken
me right back to the terror? My fingers gripped the wine glass so tight I worried it might smash.
When I’d first read the passage in Prey, a thrill had run through my body, lighting a fire between my
legs. Thunder’s unexpected appearance had only made my desires more intense. There was no
denying that the idea of being caught and overpowered turned me the fuck on.
But there in lay my problem. Those same thoughts also had the power to shred me into pieces,
leaving nothing but fear and terror. I had two versions of myself: one controlled by deep weeping
wounds, the other longing for freedom from them.
While Daisy chewed her lip, Maria and Penny seemed lost in their own thoughts. Fortunately, none
of them had noticed my lack of words.
Daisy took a breath. “You mean…” She stopped.
I took a large gulp of wine. “Go ahead, Daisy. You’ve got something to share, and we want to hear
it.”
“You mean, people do this for real? They’re chased by someone through the woods and when
they’re captured…”
“Yes,” said Zelda. “And it’s perfectly healthy as long as it’s consensual on both parts. Done
properly, they agree on boundaries well in advance.”
“Ooh, talking of woods, have you seen Old Man Jones has put some of his up for sale? Apparently,
it’s conditional on the new owner using it to benefit the community.” Maria bit her bottom lip.
“Although, I’m not sure chases through the woodland, acting out cardinal desires is quite what he had
in mind.”
Laughter rang out around the room. But the talk of woodlands reminded me of my mum and spun me
in another direction. She had loved the woods. They were her slice of tranquillity amongst the hell in
which she’d lived. There, beneath the canopy of beech trees, she could relax, and her smile would
return. The seed of an idea took root.
As the laughter died down, Maria put her empty wineglass on the coffee table. “I can see the
attraction. We spend much of our time in charge. We live in that masculine energy. It must be
liberating to relinquish control for a bit. It allows us to live in our feminine energy for a while.” She
smiled at Daisy.
“I guess so,” Daisy replied.
I squirmed in my seat, feeling conflicted. My friends often joked that I was a control freak. But if I
controlled everything in my life, there was less likelihood of someone else destroying it. But it got
tiring. That night with Thunder, I had allowed him to take control. It had been more than refreshing. I
had orgasmed like never before. Repeatedly. Damn it, I needed to stop thinking about him and focus
on the book club.
I glanced over at Daisy and saw something was happening. A dawning realisation. Both Maria and
Zelda caught my attention, and I nodded. They saw it, too. Daisy was unearthing something hidden
deep inside her for years. Something she wanted.
Despite the fear which had risen in me tonight, I was over the moon for my shy friend. It had taken
her a long time to discuss the books she read, let alone sex. And now she was discovering her buried
desires. I created the book club for this exact reason. But I wanted to do more.
A comfortable silence fell between us. Again, I mused about my mum. Normally, I pushed away her
memories because they were too painful to bear. But tonight, they reminded me that Sugar & Spice
Romance Books was not just about women owning their sexuality. I had also wanted to give women a
space to escape. Trapped in her own home, my mother had found solace in books and trees.
The seed of an idea which had rooted earlier sprouted and unfurled. It would fill the hole in my life.
I could do more for women, and more to honour my mum. Excited, I blurted it out.
“I’m going to buy Old Man Jones’s woodland.”
“A woodland? What do you want with a woodland?” Penny leaned forward, grabbing a grape, and
popping it into her mouth.
 “Okay, hear me out. Imagine relaxing in a woodland, enjoying the surrounding nature. You could
come and read a book and enjoy the tranquillity. Maybe attend a workshop on healthy relationships,
explore who you are, journal through your experiences, find some peace. There would be a library
and I could ‘prescribe’ books for people’s problems. You could hire a caravan for an afternoon of
relaxation or a week’s deep dive.” I grinned, lost in the growing vision.
“You want to run relationship retreats? You? The commitment phobe?” Penny let out a hysterical
laugh.
“Penny!” Maria gawped at her. “That was way too harsh.”
“Was it? Or does the truth hurt? Take Thunder as an example. You didn’t shut up about him. Yet, you
refuse to pursue anything.”
“Thunder was just sex!” I plonked my glass of wine down on the coffee table. A few drops spilled
over.
“Penny, please. I don’t like arguments.” Daisy had curled up into an even smaller ball, her eyes
wide.
Penny sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling out of sorts. But Ava, I can’t keep watching you chuck away a
chance of happiness because you’re too scared to face your feelings.”
A quivering in my chest made me want to gulp at the air and shift in my seat. But I needed to keep
my composure. “You’re all aware that I don’t want a relationship, right? There’s nothing between me
and Thunder.”
“But he was different, right? You were different after being with him.” Maria spoke not much louder
than a whisper.
“Your face was lit up brighter than the Christmas trees for the entire holidays.” Daisy glanced at me,
then hunted around in her bag for something.
Wow. None of my friends understood me. Not one bit. But I could hardly blame them. I hadn’t told
them about my past. They didn’t know what made me tick, why I made the decisions I did. Suddenly, I
felt lonelier than I’d ever been in my life. “You know a woman can find happiness in no-strings sex,
right? Relationships aren’t compulsory, whatever society might have told you.”
Zelda shifted forward in her chair. “There was definitely tension in the air when you saw him
earlier. But if you don’t want a relationship, I respect that. And I’d love to hear more about your
woodland idea.”
I smiled, a warm glow spreading through me. “The details are still forming, but I’m really excited
about this. It could make a real difference.”
 “And what about Sugar & Spice Romance Books? Are you going to close it? Because you can’t run
both. You already spread yourself too thin. If you ask me, you’re just filling your time, so you don’t
focus on what’s really missing from your life.” Penny folded her arms.
I snapped. “But I didn’t ask you, did I? If needs be, I can hire staff to help at the shop or the
woodland. Would it hurt you to share in my excitement rather than piss all over it? This means a lot to
me.”
“Will you listen to yourself?” Penny threw her arms up in the air. “Hire staff. Buy a woodland. As
much as I love your shop, you can’t be making that much. Is it worth getting yourself into debt over?
And that’s assuming you can even find someone to loan you money for such a crackpot idea. Be honest
with yourself, you have neither the time nor money for this.”
I stared in disbelief at my friend, tears stinging the corner of my eyes. “A crackpot idea? Is that what
you really think? I’ll have you know, my finances are in tip-top shape, and I’d rather spend my time
making a difference than fawning over some man.”
Maria gasped.
The dig slipped out before I could stuff it back into my mouth. I regretted the words straight away.
Not everyone had the same outlook. I liked to focus on the positive, figure out how to make something
possible. Others preferred to turn away from barriers and obstacles, believing their dreams were
simply unrealistic. Penny belonged in the other camp. I should have had more patience. But as soon as
I heard the word ‘crackpot’ all reason had slipped from my brain. This entire plan was about my
mum. About making a difference. There was nothing crackpot about that.
Penny stood and spat out words with venom. “I would rather spend my time fawning over a man and
living happily, than burying myself in work, running away from my problems and ending up a lonely
old spinster like you. I’ll see myself out.”
Soon after, the other women left leaving me alone. None of the women really knew me. They knew
the Ava who had arrived in Nant Falls ten years ago with secrets buried so deep no one would ever
find them. A sob wracked my chest. Exhausted by the evening’s argument, I climbed the stairs to bed,
wondering if Nant Falls was my forever place after all.
I slumped on the floor, reaching underneath my bed for the small box. Taking off the lid, I pulled out
the scarf which lay on top and wrapped it around my neck. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled. Mum.
The Chanel no.5 scent had faded, and the mustiness had grown. But if I concentrated hard enough, I
could still smell her. My fingers found the locket lying around my neck. It had once belonged to mum,
too. And her mum before that. Keeping her memory alive became harder each year, especially when I
couldn’t share her with anyone. I owed my life to her, and heeding the warnings she gave me was the
least I could do.
My friends could go on about Thunder as much as they liked. It wouldn’t make any difference. My
mum had taught me better than to give myself over to a man. They would grow bored with the idea in
time.
I wiped away my tears, not wanting them to spoil the scarf, and picked up the only photo in the box,
its two pieces joined by a strip of Sellotape. My mum lay beneath a tree in the middle of the
woodlands, her favourite tattered old book lying by the side of her, bulging with history and
memories, a smile on her face. It was how I always remembered her…when other memories didn’t
force their way in.
The rest of the box was filled with documents the solicitor had given me after her death. Most of
them related to the family’s investment portfolio. But they meant nothing. However much they might
be worth, they would never bring back my mother or my childhood.
I clicked on the banking app on my phone and stared at the balance. Most people would never be
this rich. But the money didn’t interest me. It only reminded me of the past and the circus that had
circled me after mum died. Money could do good. But money could also do a lot of harm.
When I’d arrived in Nant Falls, I’d already learned to hide my past and my wealth. When you had
money, people asked questions. And when they found the answers, the ensuing circus left me no
choice but to move on. It had happened in every city and town I had settled in. Until Nant Falls.
The Welsh town had been different. Quiet. The locals welcomed me with open arms, and I fell in
love with the place. I never wanted to leave. So, I hid the truth and blended into the town.
But the truth now weighed heavy. No one understood me because they didn’t know the ingredients
that made me. I only had myself to blame.
Removing the scarf from around my neck, I placed the objects back in the box and slid it underneath
my bed. What good was my bank balance doing just gathering interest and dust in my account when I
could use it to help other women? Women like my mum, who’d never been able to live her dreams. I
already made anonymous donations to various charities, but I had to do more. The woodland was the
answer. Other women yearned for a relationship. I craved to make a difference.
Pulling off my clothes, I climbed into bed and curled into a ball, putting the night behind me. But the
bed suddenly felt vast.
CHAPTER FOUR
 Thunder

ust fourteen minutes after the callout came through, I arrived at Ogwen Cottage, the Glyderau
J Mountains looming over me. It was a place full of memories that I loved and hated in equal
measure.
The wind picked up, blowing in a chilly air. I tugged the gloves from my pocket, shoving my hands
in them, just as the rain fell. Despite being almost April, it would fall as snow further up the hills,
adding to the inches already lying in wait for us. The Welsh landscape could be as harsh as it was
beautiful. But I wouldn’t live anywhere else. People travelled the globe to climb these mountains, and
I woke to them every morning. Volunteering for the mountain rescue team meant I spent even more
time amongst them.
I switched my boots over, checked I had my winter gear packed, and joined the team for the
briefing. DT, the team leader, waited for us to focus.
“Terry Smith left his campsite at midday to spend the afternoon on the Glyderau. He planned to
summit Glyder Fawr first, before heading to Glyder Fach. He was then going to scramble down
Bristly Ridge before climbing Tryfan. Currently, we have no confirmed sightings of him, but we’re
working on that. I’m going to split you into two teams. One will head towards Tryfan, the other
Glyder Fawr. The weather is against us and visibility is poor. But let’s see what we can do. The
storm will hopefully pass in the next few hours.”
After he separated us into two teams, we gathered the ropes and equipment we might need, adding
to our already heavy loads. Adrenaline pumped through my body, quickening my heart rate, and
fuelling my muscles for the task ahead. I visualised the climb up Devil’s Kitchen to the Glyderau,
mentally ticking off the places we might find the man. There were many scenarios and we’d
experienced them all, from sprained ankles that prevented a descent, to people dying from the cold.
The possibilities were endless. But there were a few notorious spots more likely to cause problems.
Without further information, we would need to check each one. Whatever had happened to him, I was
determined we would find him.
DT rested a hand on my shoulder. “If you would rather stay here and run the job, just say.”
“I’m fine.”
He furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?”
Clapping my gloved hands together, I hollered to my teammates, “Come on, let’s do this! Let’s go
find him!”
DT sighed. “For the record, you don’t always have to play the hero. Putting yourself first doesn’t
make you a bad person.”
I slapped him on the back. “Thanks for your concern, but it’s been two years. Like I said, I’m fine.”
We set off as a party of ten along the path towards Llyn Idwal, a large lake which attracted crowds
during the day. We walked in groups of two or three, chatting about everything and nothing. By the
time we reached the lake, morale was high. Half the team took the clockwise path, while the rest of us
walked anti-clockwise. Our torch beams scanned the ground and flashed out across the water’s
surface. But we found nothing out of place.
The wind picked up, lashing icy raindrops against my face. I pulled my hat down further and
tightened my hood, the storm’s roar savaging my ears as we began the steep scramble up Devil’s
Kitchen.
As our altitude increased, the rain shifted to snow.
George cupped his hands round his mouth and shouted to the team. “Take it steady, everyone.”
We picked our way along the path, helping each other to climb the boulders and rocks, working as
one towards our common goal. The team was a family. Our lives depended on each other. While we
all had personal reasons for volunteering, none of us denied the adrenaline rush a callout gave us.
A little further on, the path disappeared below a blanket of snow and ice. It became deeper and
more compact. Fortunately, I knew it by heart, having climbed it in all weathers over the decades. But
that didn’t mean I could lose concentration. I took nothing for granted on these mountains. Everything
could change in a flash.
It was time for the winter gear. “Okay, time for crampons everyone, and remember, have your ice
axe in hand, ready.” I didn’t need to explain further. We trained for this every winter. Anyone
climbing in this weather risked a fatal fall, and an ice axe provided a chance of survival.
 I clipped on my crampons and tied them to my boots. We continued our climb up the scree path.
From here, it was a slog to the Glyder Fawr peak. Everyone grew quiet, the chatter of earlier
replaced with concentration. One wrong foot and it was all over. With a heavy blanket of snow
falling, visibility was poor. We continued our slow ascent up the mountainside in single file. I brought
up the rear while George led from the front.
Eventually, we reached the top of the mountain range, the ridge stretching out in front of us. Up here,
large groups of spiked rocks rose from the ground like the spines of a stegosaurus. It was an other-
worldly landscape. Hostile. Harsh. With the weather getting increasingly worse, the monolithic
spikes waited in the fog and cloud for us; fascinating rocks which formed millions of years ago, more
suited to an alien planet. We fumbled our way along, waiting for them to loom out of the dark.
After reaching Glyder Fawr’s peak, we headed along the ridge-top path towards Glyder Fach. Still
no sign of the missing man. As we approached the notorious Arthur’s Point, George and Caz fell into
step alongside me.
“Feeling okay?” asked Caz.
I clenched my jaw and fists. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because of Lightning.” George never shirked away from tough conversations.
But I had no intention of having this one. It had been two years since Lightning’s death. They needed
to stop treating me with kid gloves. “Let’s just get on. I have a positive feeling about this one.”
“Except we can’t see a thing,” muttered Caz. “It’s pointless in this weather.”
“Yeah, I don’t like it,” said George.
They were right. We worked in all weathers, but team safety came first. I considered our options.
“With visibility so low, the path ahead is much safer than descending Devil’s Kitchen. But that’s
assuming the storm blows over.”
George radioed down to DT. “EMSAR 102 to EMSAR 101. How long will the storm last? Over.”
The radio crackled into life. “EMSAR 101 to EMSAR 102. It’s likely to be another half an hour.
The worst is with you now. Over.”
Terry Smith was somewhere up on this mountain range, alone. We weren’t a team who gave up
easily, but we didn’t endanger ourselves, either. I reached for my radio.
“EMSAR 103 to EMSAR 101. If the storm’s blowing through, I would rather we headed down in
better visibility. We’re near Arthur’s Point, and I think continuing to Glyder Fach would be the safest
option. There’s a slim chance we might spot him. We can reassess when we reach Glyder Fach.
Over.”
 DT paused, probably weighing up the options. Mine was the sensible one, but it came down to a
matter of trust. He didn’t want me up here. If only he knew how often I visited this spot.
“Okay. The other team is still tackling Tryfan, although I may need to call them back down if things
don’t improve soon. Check back in when you’re at Glyder Fach. Over and out.”
Caz held out a flask of water. Despite the freezing conditions, the climb had left me thirsty, and I
took a gulp, grateful.
“Thunder, if you feel funny at any point, there’s no shame. You can say.” Her down-turned mouth
and worried eyes made me grimace.
I should be thankful I was surrounded by people who cared. Instead, I resented the concern, the lack
of trust. “I’m not stupid, Caz. If there’s an issue, which there won’t be, I’ll let you know, personally.”
I handed her flask back and turned away, immediately regretting the harshness of my tone.
We walked along the ridge pathway, sweeping the ground with our flashlights, looking for any sign
of the missing man. But with more snow falling, the likelihood of finding anything was vanishing fast.
Inching ourselves along in the dark and cold, I kept my hopes up. Though, as we approached Glyder
Fach’s summit, hope slipped away. The most treacherous parts of the circular route lay ahead. The
chances of finding him were diminishing.
A crack of lightning whipped through the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder, taking us by
surprise. Danny, one of the other team members, scanned the sky and surrounding mountains. “It’s
okay, it’s over the valley and heading out to Yr Wyddfa.” Another flash of light streaked to the south
of us. Danny was right. The storm would rage in Nant Falls, but we’d seen the worst of it.
Thinking about the small town made me daydream about Ava, her red curls tumbling down her back.
What was she doing now while I traipsed across the mountains? No doubt she would be curled up in
a warm, comfy spot, book in hand, listening to the rain falling outside. How I would love to curl up
next to her after finishing a job, to have her fingers trace over my skin. Ava had a strange grip on me.
She was never far from my mind. But I needed to maintain focus in this environment.
Putting my hand out, I noticed the snowflakes were now lighter, smaller. And the entire team was
visible for the first time since our ascent up Devil’s Kitchen. From Glyder Fach, the jagged edges of
Bristly Ridge jutted out below. Another flash of lightning lit the skies, illuminating the landscape.
Something caught my eye. “What’s that?” I pointed below.
The team shone their torches down towards the rocks, just as the wind moved the mist along.
Something was down there. I had spent hours scrambling over Bristly Ridge’s rocks. The shape did
not belong. Another flash of lightning raced across the sky, illuminating the mountainside. Caz also
stood near the edge.
“Did you see it, too?” she said.
I nodded and pressed the button on the radio, my eyes continuing to scan the rock face below as the
mist moved away with the storm. “DT, I think we found him. Looks like he’s fallen off Bristly Ridge.”
DT’s voice turned solemn. “Okay, get a rope system set up. But Thunder, let someone else go
down.”
I surveyed my teammates. Many had less than a year’s experience. Unlike George and me, they had
not dealt with many fallen bodies, let alone recovered them.
“EMSAR 103 to EMSAR 101. No point in fucking others up. I’ll go down with George.”
George nodded.
“I could go down?” offered Caz. She didn’t let on, but heights were not her favourite thing. She was
better suited to water rescue.
“I need to do this, Caz. It may as well be now.” I flashed her a reassuring smile. “Like getting back
on a horse, right? Two years is long enough.”
“EMSAR 101 to EMSAR 103. The other party is still trying to reach you. Thunder, are you sure
about this? I’m sure Caz has already volunteered…over.”
“It’s time DT.”
Handing my radio to Caz, I set about giving instructions for the rope system set up. The sooner I
reached Terry Smith, the better. He might still be alive. But safety always came first. After triple-
checking the system, George and I stepped into our climbing harnesses and rigged ourselves up. With
our teammates above holding our lines, we tiptoed over the edge of the cliff and began our descent.
With the rocks slippery and covered in snow, progress was slow. But twenty metres down, the body
came into view. Another ten metres and our hopes faded.
I hung from my rope, staring, the memories drifting back. George swung over to the body and put his
two fingers against Terry Smith’s neck. A protocol rather than a need. He looked at me and shook his
head. He spoke into his radio. “EMSAR 102 to EMSAR 101 and 103. Body found thirty metres down
from Bristly Ridge peak. Injuries are incompatible with life.”
“Fuck!” I shouted into the abyss. Another one gone. Another life needlessly lost.
We didn’t need to talk through a plan. We’d been here before. When I’d gone down to the body at
Arthur’s Point, I hadn’t known it was Lightning. Someone had reported a body, and it wasn’t until I
drew level with his face…
 I needed to focus. We had a body to recover. Like clockwork, the team worked to lower the
stretcher. We packaged him as best we could. “It’s alright, mate. We’ll get you out of here soon
enough. I’m sorry we couldn’t save you. But we’ll look after you now.”
George glanced at me as he covered the man’s body with a blanket, tucking him in like a child he
was putting to bed. “Short ride up the cliff, mate, and then we’ll be on firmer ground. We’ll get you
down soon, don’t you worry.”
The clouds parted, and the odd star shone through. The storm had passed. “Hey, you may even be in
luck and get a helicopter ride.”
As we made our way back up the cliff face, we continued talking to Terry, reassuring him he was
safe. We always talked to the bodies. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. Maybe it normalised what
we were doing.
By the time we reached the mountain top, the familiar buzz of the helicopter’s rotors echoed through
the valleys below. Other team members took over, winching the man into the helicopter which flew
him off the mountain.
As we walked down, pictures flashed in my mind. First, Terry Smith’s body. Then, Lightning’s
mangled limbs. His eyes staring at me, unmoving. The smell of iron. The stickiness of the congealed
blood as I reached out and touched him.
When the curve of Ava’s smile surfaced too, I stopped in my tracks. If anything ever happened to
her, I wouldn’t survive. I had never needed to protect someone so much. I closed my eyes, steadying
the tremor in my limbs. Plunging my hand into the icy snow, I used the cold to shock myself back to
reality, demanding my legs to keep moving me down the mountain.
I focused on the details, trying to force myself to stay in the present: the way the handle of my axe
sunk into the snow as I used it to steady me; removing my crampons and carefully packaging them
back in their bag; the red coat with reflective strips of the teammate in front of me.
The others chatted, but I did not hear a word. It melted into the background beyond the words
rushing through my head. Yet again, we were too late. I had failed to make a difference, to keep
someone safe.
As we crossed the small bridge and headed back into the car park, DT stood next to the van. He had
been there my whole life. My dad’s best friend. But it didn’t stop the lava bubbling inside me,
threatening to spill over. I sensed the darkness descend as he approached me and slapped a hand on
my back.
“Thunder. Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Pour moi seule
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Title: Pour moi seule

roman

Author: André Corthis

Release date: December 13, 2023 [eBook #72393]

Language: French

Original publication: Paris: Albin Michel, 1919

Credits: Laurent Vogel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/Canadian Libraries)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POUR MOI

SEULE ***
 ANDRÉ CORTHIS

POUR MOI SEULE

ROMAN

PARIS
ALBIN MICHEL, Éditeur
22, RUE HUYGHENS, 22
 DU MÊME AUTEUR

Chez FASQUELLE, Bibliothèque Charpentier.

Gemmes et Moires (poésies).

Mademoiselle Arguillès (roman).
Le Pauvre amour de doña Dalbine (roman).
Le Pardon Prématuré (roman).

EN PRÉPARATION :

L’Entraîneuse (roman).

Chez PIERRE LAFFITTE.

Petites vies dans la Tourmente

A PARAITRE :

Les Rameaux rouges (roman).

 IL A ÉTÉ TIRÉ DE CET OUVRAGE

10 exemplaires sur papier du Japon

numérotés à la presse de 1 à 10

25 exemplaires sur papier de Hollande

numérotés à la presse de 1 à 25

Tous droits de traduction et reproduction réservés pour tous pays. Copyright by

Albin Michel 1919.
A ma chère Maman
je dédie ce livre
 POUR MOI SEULE

Sur le toit de tuiles rousses que je vois de ma fenêtre, une fumée

voudrait monter, que rabat le grand vent. Elle bouillonne au sortir de
la cheminée noire comme un jet d’eau sans force ; elle se couche et
s’échevèle. En la regardant, je pense à beaucoup de choses que je
ne saurais pas bien dire. Certes, j’ai de l’instruction. A Paris, j’ai suivi
des cours. Je lis quelquefois. Et l’on m’a toujours affirmé que je fais
bien les lettres. Mais il est difficile de connaître ce que l’on éprouve
et de l’exprimer exactement.
Je voudrais cependant m’y appliquer. Les journées sont longues
et ma sœur Guicharde me décharge de tout le soin de la maison. En
ce moment (c’est aujourd’hui samedi), elle s’occupe en bas à
changer le papier bleu sur les planches du buffet. Elle est prompte
dans ses gestes, et les vaisselles déplacées font en se heurtant un
tapage qui inquiéterait bien mon mari, plus ménager que moi-même,
et qui devrait peut-être m’émouvoir.
Seule dans ma chambre, devant ce papier que je viens de
prendre, je me trouve toute sotte, comme on dit ici. Et qu’est-ce que
je vais raconter, puisqu’il ne s’est rien passé qui ne fût au dedans de
moi ? Cependant, je voudrais essayer… Ce sera bien ordinaire sans
doute, et tourné maladroitement, mais personne n’en pourra rire et le
feu seul connaîtra ces pages, quadrillées de bleu, après que mon
écriture les aura couvertes.
 … Notre maison est sombre et froide avec un seul étage et de
très grands greniers. Point de jardin. Une cour seulement, par
derrière, nous sépare de la chapelle désaffectée d’un ancien
couvent ; un acacia maigre y puise un peu de vie. Ses branches
balancées touchent à nos fenêtres et s’allongent de l’autre côté
jusqu’aux petits vitraux jaunes et bleus ; ses fleurs, flétries presque
en naissant mais cependant odorantes, recouvrent au printemps
avec la même abondance notre toit aux fortes lucarnes et le toit
ovale que surmontent encore la cloche et la croix. Pas de vue de ce
côté et pas de vue sur la rue, qui est étroite. Elle s’appelle la rue des
Massacres en souvenir d’horribles choses qui s’accomplirent là
pendant les guerres de religion… Mais ce n’est pas ainsi que je dois
commencer.
Il y a cinq ans que je suis venue dans cette ville, il y en a quatre
que je suis mariée et que j’habite cette maison. Les premiers jours…
Ah ! ce n’est point encore cela. Vais-je enfin y parvenir ? Tout à
l’heure ils m’appelleront pour le souper et je n’aurai pas écrit quatre
lignes. Il me faudrait les premières phrases ; le reste sera bien
facile… Cette fois, j’ai trouvé ; voici qui est vraiment pour moi le
commencement de tout :
Je me souviendrai ma vie entière du jour où maman nous
raconta son histoire.

*
* *

Nous étions à Paris alors, quelques mois après la mort de mon

père, et nous occupions rue des Feuillantines ce petit appartement
propre et triste où j’avais toujours vécu. Un brouillard vert, traversé
d’or, flottait entre les branches des arbres lointains où commençaient
de naître les premières feuilles. Penchée à la fenêtre ouverte, je les
regardais ; je regardais le ciel, bleuâtre sous ses voiles gris étirés
déjà et prêts à se rompre, et je dis tout à coup :
 — Maman, n’est-ce point cette année que nous irons à la
campagne dans votre pays ?
— Ferme la fenêtre, Alvère, dit maman. Je m’enrhume et tu vas
prendre froid.
— Mais il ne fait plus froid… c’est le printemps.
Cependant j’obéis. Guicharde, avec des ciseaux qui grinçaient,
taillait sur la table un corsage d’étoffe noire. Nous étions dans la
salle à manger où se passaient nos journées, car il n’y avait pas de
salon et nos deux chambres étaient obscures et petites. Je me
rappelle ces pauvres meubles que nous avons dû vendre, car ils ne
valaient pas ce que leur transport eût coûté, le bureau de mon père,
dans un coin, avec le papier à lettres et les livres de comptes, les six
chaises dont le cuir très usé commençait à blanchir, et la petite
étagère à côté du buffet bas où les vieux journaux étaient rangés
soigneusement, près de quelques boîtes ayant contenu des poudres
ou de la mercerie, vides, mais fort nettes, et qui pouvaient servir un
jour.
— J’aimerais bien aller dans votre petite maison, maman. J’ai
rêvé cette nuit des trois figuiers autour du bassin et du potager en
terrasse d’où l’on voit toute la plaine avec le Rhône, et les Alpes au
loin quand l’air est bien limpide, après les grandes pluies.
— Avec nos pauvres rentes, dit Guicharde, nous pourrions là-bas
vivre mieux qu’à Paris. J’ai payé les œufs quatre francs ce matin et
nous n’aurons pas de dessert à dîner parce que les châtaignes se
finissent et que les confitures ont augmenté encore.
— Hélas ! soupira maman, ce serait mieux sans doute. Oui, ce
serait mieux…
Elle secouait la tête. Une détresse profonde qui montait de son
cœur serré à son pauvre visage faisait trembler et se crisper chaque
muscle sous la peau mince et pâle. Des larmes montaient à ses
yeux toujours beaux.
— Ce serait mieux, je me le répète souvent. Mais je n’ose pas
retourner là-bas. J’ai peur de « les » revoir. « Ils » lui ont fait trop de
mal. « Ils » m’ont trop fait souffrir.
 Elle parlait des parents de mon père, nous le savions. Nous
savions que la misère de notre vie était due à cette laide colère qu’ils
avaient sentie en voyant un des leurs épouser une fille pauvre et de
naissance presque ouvrière. Et, sans les avoir jamais vus, comme
nous les haïssions, ces Landargues, de Saint-Jacques, directeurs
des grandes carrières de Saint-Jacques au bord du Rhône où mon
père aurait dû faire sa fortune comme chacun des fils de cette
famille y faisait la sienne depuis plus de deux cents ans ! Cependant
nous ne redoutions point de nous trouver en leur présence.
Guicharde, rancunière et point timide, souhaitait le plaisir insolent de
les bien regarder et puis de détourner la tête en gonflant une bouche
méprisante, et moi je ne jugeais pas qu’ils valussent ce sacrifice que
nous leur faisions, de n’occuper point une maison qui nous venait
des parents de maman et dont le loyer ne nous coûterait rien.
— Vraiment, dit ma sœur, interrompant son ouvrage et
s’asseyant au bord de la table, le temps serait venu, je crois, de
prendre une décision. Pourquoi nous obstiner à rester ici et que
pourrions-nous regretter de Paris ? Nous ne voyons jamais
personne, nous ne prenons pas un plaisir, et nous mangeons très
mal, quoique dépensant pour notre nourriture beaucoup d’argent.
— Je sais, continuait de soupirer maman, je sais bien.
J’insistai à mon tour.
— Le jardin nous donnerait quelques légumes. Nous pourrions
porter des souliers de toile avec des semelles en corde, qui ne
coûtent pas bien cher. Et le bon air de Lagarde nous ferait à toutes
tant de bien !
— Oui, oui, disait maman… l’air est bon… mais les gens ne le
sont pas…
— C’est ridicule, s’exclama Guicharde, tout à fait ridicule. Ces
Landargues, en somme, ne sont pas tout le pays.
— Mais, dit maman, et jamais elle ne m’avait paru si humble et si
découragée, ce ne sont pas seulement les Landargues, c’est tout le
pays que je redoute.
 — Tout le pays, répéta Guicharde, — et comme elle n’éprouvait
rien qu’avec violence, elle n’était pas en ce moment surprise, mais
stupéfaite. — Vous redoutez tout le pays !… Et pourquoi cela ?
— Parce que tu étais déjà au monde depuis plusieurs années
quand je me suis mariée, ma petite fille, et que là-bas, les gens le
savent bien.

Maman dit cela sans baisser la voix. Elle avait porté son secret
trop longtemps et maintenant elle le laissait aller devant nous,
simplement, parce que le cœur s’ouvre de lui-même comme font les
mains quand elles sont trop lasses et que toute la volonté ne peut
plus servir de rien. Elle ne parut pas gênée du silence qui suivit ses
paroles, et le petit soupir qu’elle poussa était comme de
soulagement… Je la regardais, et, dans cette seconde, me
rappelant toutes les sévérités de notre éducation, les livres
défendus, les coiffures sans fantaisie, les belles phrases
impérieuses sur l’honneur féminin, je sentais, je le crois bien, plus de
trouble encore que de désespoir et je ne pouvais plus rien
comprendre… Mais Guicharde avait dix ans de plus que moi. Elle
posa doucement ses ciseaux. On eût dit qu’elle écoutait quelque
chose, et sûrement se lamentaient autour d’elle toutes les détresses
qui s’étaient un jour levées autour de notre mère. Et puis elle se jeta
vers elle, l’enveloppa de ses deux bras, et glissant sur les genoux :
— Oh ! maman, ma pauvre maman ! gémit-elle, sur un ton de
tendresse que n’avait jamais eu sa voix un peu rude.

*
* *

Maman appuya sa tête sur l’épaule de Guicharde et se laissa

bercer ainsi. Dans le silence, j’entendais rouler une lente et lourde
voiture sur les pavés de notre rue. Un fouet claquait allégrement,
mais on devinait bien qu’il ne touchait pas aux bêtes et rythmait
seulement au-dessus de leur fatigue une chanson entraînante. La
fenêtre était demeurée ouverte. Un petit souffle faisait doucement
trembler sur la table l’étoffe que tout à l’heure taillait Guicharde.
— Vous comprenez, disait maman rêvant à mi-voix, tout
inconsciente et apaisée, quand je suis entrée à l’usine pour y tenir
certains comptes, ils étaient tous très aimables pour moi. Il y avait le
père Landargues qui vivait encore ; mais il ne s’occupait plus de
grand’chose et il n’a pas tardé à mourir. Et puis Mme Landargues qui
faisait tout marcher. Elle avait déjà les cheveux blancs, à cette
époque, et aussi étincelants que peut l’être au soleil la cime du mont
Ventoux, et la figure bien fraîche, mais pas trop bonne, avec une
bouche toute serrée et sans lèvres, et des yeux gris, très durs. Il y
avait aussi Robert, le fils aîné qui était veuf et déjà bien malade, et
puis son fils à lui, le petit François.
Elle réfléchit et calcula :
— Il doit bien avoir plus de trente-cinq ans aujourd’hui. C’est lui
qui sera l’héritier de tout.
Je m’étais rapprochée d’elle, moi aussi ; je m’appuyais
maintenant à son fauteuil et, moins effrayée, quelquefois,
doucement, j’embrassais ses cheveux. Elle continuait, lentement et
comme heureuse que nous fussions enfin ses confidentes :
— Ils étaient bien aimables pour moi au début, oui, et même ils
avaient l’air assez simple et de ne pas trop s’en croire. Ils m’ont
invitée deux fois à déjeuner… Mais après, oh ! après ! quand ils ont
vu que Georges devenait amoureux de moi…
Tout maigre et consumé que fût son visage, tout enveloppé de
misérables cheveux gris, qu’il paraissait jeune en ce moment, avec
cette flamme qui se levait soudain au fond des yeux, ces yeux de
maman, un peu gris, un peu bleus, verdâtres quelquefois, d’une
couleur indécise, hésitante, eût-on dit, et timides comme l’était ce
cher être tout entier ! qu’il paraissait jeune, ce visage, à ce tourner
ainsi vers l’amour d’autrefois !
— Alors, voilà, vous comprenez, mes petites… Moi, vous le
savez, j’étais la fille d’un menuisier, bien artiste, c’est vrai, et qui
aimait les livres, et qui savait parfaitement réparer les vieux
meubles, avec leurs pieds tordus et toutes leurs petites sculptures,
mais enfin, un ouvrier tout de même, et qui employait seulement
deux ouvriers. Et Georges, c’était M. Georges Landargues, le
second fils des Landargues, de Saint-Jacques… Alors, ses parents
à lui, n’est-ce pas, c’était bien naturel qu’ils ne soient pas très
contents… Après seulement ils auraient pu être moins méchants.
Oh ! oui… après… parce que voilà… Quand Guicharde a été sur le
point de venir au monde, nous sommes partis tous les deux pour
Paris à cause du scandale… tout le monde savait… et nous ne
pouvions plus rester au pays. Ma mère était bien en colère. Elle
m’aurait gardée cependant, je le crois, parce que… le mal, c’est
avec un Landargues que je l’avais fait, et les Landargues, dans notre
région, vous ne pouvez pas savoir ce que c’est comme
importance… Mais c’est mon père qui ne pardonnait pas… Une fille
bien élevée comme j’avais été, avec de l’instruction et toutes ces
habitudes de dame qu’on m’avait données…
— Maman, disait Guicharde quand elle se taisait, la tenant
toujours serrée comme un enfant et lui caressant la joue de ses
lèvres, ma petite maman.
— … Oh ! ma grande… si tu savais… la honte… comme ça peut
faire du mal, mal comme de se couper ou de se brûler, aussi fort…
seulement ça ne guérit pas… Alors nous sommes venus à Paris,
dans une petite chambre d’abord, presque misérable. Georges
n’avait pas voulu demander un sou à ses parents parce qu’ils lui
avaient dit sur moi et sur lui de trop vilaines choses… Il a travaillé,
mais il connaissait seulement les carrières et comme il faut
commander à trois cents ouvriers. Dans les tissus, il n’y entendait
rien, et dans la porcelaine non plus, ni dans l’ameublement. Il a
essayé de tout ça. Il ne gagnait pas grand’chose. Un hiver nous
étions trop malheureux. Il a écrit à sa mère. Elle a répondu : Si tu
renonces à tes droits sur mon héritage, que tu ne mérites pas, et si
je dois n’entendre plus jamais parler de toi, je veux bien te donner
cent mille francs… Naturellement il a renoncé à tout… Cent mille
francs… pensez donc…
— Tout de même, dit Guicharde qui était pratique.
 — Ah ! il fallait voir où nous en étions… A cause de ces cent mille
francs, pendant quelques mois nous avons été bien heureux.
Georges me disait : je cherche une bonne affaire, et j’y entrerai
comme associé. Je ne sais pas bien être employé. Je n’ai pas été
dressé à ça… mais comme patron, tu vas voir… Et il a bien trouvé
l’affaire : seulement, elle était mauvaise et les cent mille francs ont
failli être perdus. On a pu en sauver la moitié ; mais nous avions eu
si peur… si peur, que nous ne voulions plus risquer rien. Nous les
avons placés en fonds d’État pour être tranquilles et votre père a
trouvé chez Marpeau cette petite place de caissier où il est resté
plus de vingt ans, jusqu’à sa mort…
Nous savions certains de ces détails, mais les plus familiers
aujourd’hui étaient pour nous comme les inconnus et nous écoutions
avec un étonnement triste et passionné cette histoire nouvelle…
Guicharde baissa la voix pour demander :
— Et alors, maman… votre mariage ?…
— Voilà, dit-elle. C’est quand mon père allait mourir. Il ne voulait
pas me revoir et j’en avais du chagrin… Georges, — il était si
doux… et un : peu craintif aussi… comme moi ! — il espérait
toujours que sa mère pardonnerait, et qu’elle autoriserait notre
mariage. Comme il avait été très bien élevé, et ne pouvait pas se
passer de ce consentement… Il me le disait et je le comprenais bien.
Mais il a fini par se rendre compte qu’elle le détestait pour la vie et
que sa colère contre lui, rien ne pouvait la faire plus grande. Alors,
un jour, après en avoir bien parlé, nous sommes partis tous les deux
pour la mairie et pour l’église sans rien dire à personne. Comme à
Paris on m’appelait déjà Madame Landargues, ça n’a rien changé ;
mais tu te rappelles bien, Guicharde ? c’est ce matin où, quand nous
sommes rentrés, nous t’avons apporté la belle poupée avec sa robe
rose, et il y avait un gâteau pour le dessert tout couvert de crème
glacée et de fruits confits.
— Mais oui, dit Guicharde, je me rappelle très bien… J’étais si
contente !… Ah ! c’était pour cela le gâteau et la poupée… On ne
sait pas comprendre quand on est petit.
 Maman se redressa dans son fauteuil, et regardant par la fenêtre
le ciel et ces vilains toits gris qui commençaient de devenir bleus :
— Voilà, dit-elle encore… voilà… Vous comprenez, mes petites,
pourquoi je vous ai élevées comme j’ai fait. Deux heures tous les
matins dans une petite pension du quartier. Et je vous conduisais
moi-même, et j’allais vous chercher. Comme instruction, c’était bien
suffisant puisque je ne voulais pas que vous fassiez aucun travail qui
vous aurait éloignées de moi… Ah ! non ! j’avais trop peur… Dans
toutes ces maisons où l’on emploie des jeunes filles, dans tous ces
bureaux, c’est mon histoire qui recommence… Non !… non !… Je ne
voulais pas… J’aimais mieux que vous ne gagniez aucun argent.
J’aimais mieux notre misère et vous garder là, près de moi,
toujours… Alors, si je vous ai élevées bien sévèrement, si j’avais
peur de tout, des amies, des livres, des théâtres, de la rue, si vous
vous êtes toujours bien ennuyées, vous comprenez, maintenant, il
ne faut pas m’en vouloir…
Elle n’avait pas su nous dire de bien grands mots et elle
n’attendait pas que nous lui en disions. Mais je crois que depuis
longtemps elle éprouvait un grand besoin de ne plus nous mentir sur
elle-même, et presque vieille déjà, languissante et affaiblie, de se
remettre entre nos mains. Elle se pressait maintenant contre
Guicharde, et quelquefois contre moi, avec une tendresse touchante
et rassurée. Nous étions désormais ses confidentes et son soutien.
Et quand, ce même jour, un peu plus tard, ma sœur, dans sa
sagesse, eut décidé qu’un passé aussi lointain, suivi des années les
plus honorables, ne pouvait vraiment nous empêcher d’organiser
notre vie selon la raison et l’économie, elle approuva aussitôt,
obéissante et résignée.

*
* *

La maison de mon grand-père le menuisier était au cœur même

de la très vieille ville. D’autres maisons la pressaient ; son toit se
confondait parmi des toits inégaux. Le soir de notre arrivée, au sortir
de la petite gare, quand maman étendant le bras nous dit : c’est là !
nous ne vîmes rien d’abord au flanc de la colline qu’un
enchevêtrement de tuiles, couleur d’amandes brûlées, sur de petits
murs couleur de rouille et de miel. Le clocher carré de l’église portait,
visible à tout le ciel dans une belle couronne de fer forgé, sa plus
grosse cloche, et toutes les cheminées des maisons s’élevaient vers
lui, surmontées chacune de deux briques, inclinées et unies par leur
pointe comme sont les doigts roides des saintes en prière dans les
sculptures primitives et dans les tableaux d’autrefois.
C’était à la fin d’avril et, comme le vent soufflait, il faisait encore
froid. La nuit tomba dans le temps que nous gravissions le chemin
qui monte. Par les petites rues tournant sous des voûtes, par les
petites places qui s’empanachent d’un gros orme ou de trois
acacias, nous gagnâmes la ruelle où s’ouvre notre maison. Le vent
plus fort y coulait comme une lame et déchirait les poumons. Nos
valises liées de cordes et le gros sac de moleskine où étaient nos
provisions de route, tout alourdi de verres et de bouteilles qui
résonnaient à brinqueballer ainsi et à se heurter les uns contre les
autres, nous coupaient les doigts. Et personne ne nous attendait que
la simple maison mise en état par une servante de quinze ans que
Guicharde avait engagée par lettres adressées à la mairie deux
semaines auparavant.
Il fallut heurter trois fois, et cette fille enfin se décida à nous
ouvrir. Elle avait l’air niais et bon, la gorge déjà hardie dans un
corsage à raies roses, et de fausses pierres vertes, enchâssées de
cuivre, pendeloquaient à ses oreilles. En nous voyant, elle demeura
bêtement à rire sur le seuil sans même songer à nous débarrasser.
Mais déjà, dans les autres maisons, des rideaux se soulevaient
derrière les vitres verdâtres des petites fenêtres. Une porte
s’entr’ouvrait. Quelqu’un, d’un balcon, se penchait vers nous. Une
voix souffla :
— La femme de Georges Landargues, avec ses deux filles.
— Entrons, dit maman, entrons vite.
 Et elle passa la porte, toute roide et violente de gestes, avec une
sorte de courage désespéré. Mais Guicharde, sur le seuil, demeura
derrière elle : elle fixa les fenêtres derrière lesquelles frissonnait
sournoisement une curiosité sans bienveillance et j’eus l’impression
que son dur et hardi regard faisait se détourner, derrière les rideaux
fanés, d’autres regards invisibles. Ensuite elle entra à son tour et la
petite servante referma la porte. Je dis tout bas :
— Nous sommes chez nous.
Je regardais le couloir que remplissait l’escalier de bois, les deux
portes ouvertes, à gauche sur la salle qu’enfumait une lampe coiffée
de jaune, à droite sur la cuisine où flambaient de menues branches
dans une large et noire cheminée… Déjà Guicharde relevait la
mèche de la lampe, ouvrait les placards, s’inquiétait de la façon dont
passeraient par l’escalier trop étroit nos malles que l’on devait porter
le lendemain. Maman se taisait. Il me semblait qu’elle baissait la tête
et serrait les épaules. Elle s’approcha d’une fenêtre qui devait
donner sur le jardin et regarda la nuit. Elle tremblait doucement.
Peut-être elle pensait à ces rideaux soulevés sur son arrivée, et
peut-être ce qui se chuchotait à cette heure, dans les maisons
obscures, venait jusqu’à elle.
— Je n’aurais pas dû revenir ici, dit-elle.
— Mais puisqu’il était impossible de faire autrement, remarqua
Guicharde, avec son bon sens un peu brusque.
Et elle demanda une bougie pour monter aux chambres.
Maman soupira :
— C’est vrai !
Résignée, elle s’assit devant la table où le couvert était mis. Elle
avait retiré sa jaquette noire garnie de faux astrakan, mais elle
conservait son petit chapeau de crêpe tout déformé et déplacé par le
voyage. Je le lui fis remarquer.
— Enlevez-le, maman. On dirait que vous n’êtes pas chez vous,
et que vous allez repartir.
Aussitôt elle obéit avec une tranquillité douce.
 — C’est vrai, tout de même, dit-elle, que je suis chez moi… m’y
voici donc revenue, dans ma maison.
Elle me montra dans un coin une chaise de paille, très basse,
dont le simple dossier portait en relief trois abeilles sculptées dans
une couronne d’olivier.
— Tu vois, c’est là que je m’asseyais quand j’étais toute petite.
Et elle me montra encore, près de la fenêtre, une table carrée
avec des pieds en torsade qui luisaient sous la lampe :
— C’est là que j’écrivais mes devoirs. J’y ai préparé mon
certificat d’études. Après, je faisais surtout des comptes. C’est mon
oncle Jarny qui m’apprenait. Il avait été caissier à Paris dans une
grande maison de tissus.
Elle se tut, regardant de nouveau la fenêtre, et ce qu’elle voyait
maintenant, je le savais bien, était au delà des meubles et des
murs… Sa tristesse, en ce moment, me pénétra jusqu’au désespoir.
Son pauvre cœur saignait et pleurait dans mon cœur, et, doucement,
je passais ma main sur la petite main si pâle. Mais Guicharde entrait
à grands pas. Parlant des malles, elle déclara :
— Elles passeront, mais il faudra prendre garde à ne pas érafler
le mur.
Derrière elle venait la servante Adélaïde portant la soupière et
nous prîmes place pour le repas. Nous n’avions pas grand’faim. La
lampe continuait de fumer et d’éclairer mal. A travers l’odeur de sa
mèche grésillante l’odeur humide et morte des vieilles pierres et des
vieux plâtres tenus trop longtemps dans l’ombre nous devenait
sensible. La grande force du vent, se pressant contre les murs,
menaçait de faire crouler cette pauvre demeure. Dans son
grondement des lanières claquaient, qui, semblait-il, retombaient sur
nos cœurs tressaillants. Par instant, il semblait s’apaiser. Mais de
ces silences nous venait une oppression plus grande, car nous
sentions bien qu’il était toujours là, couché sur la maison,
l’enveloppant de sa force pour bondir et siffler de nouveau dès qu’il
aurait bien pris son repos effrayant. La fatigue maintenant pesait sur
nous au point que nous ne pouvions plus parler. Et cependant il