by Sara Craven
Ginny said politely, ‘I don’t think you need practice, mademoiselle.’
‘How charming of you to say so.’ Mademoiselle Chaloux turned to Andre. ‘I have called, mon cher, to say that Bertrand expects to be here by late afternoon.’
‘That is good of you, Monique,’ Andre said courteously. ‘But he informed me of that himself last night.’
‘Ah,’ she said lightly. ‘Then I need not have delayed my start to the day.’ She nodded in Ginny’s direction. ‘Au revoir, mademoiselle. We shall meet again very soon. This evening at dinner, perhaps.’
‘Non, hélas.’ Andre’s tone expressed polite regret. ‘Tonight we plan to dine en famille, in order to welcome Mademoiselle Mason. I am sure you understand.’
There was the slightest pause, then: ‘But, of course.’
Another glinting smile around the room and she was gone.
Ginny heard Jules mutter something inaudible and with that came an almost perceptible relaxation in the atmosphere.
So I wasn’t imagining things, she thought. She drew a breath.
‘I’m sorry I made that mistake over the names. I hope Mademoiselle Chaloux isn’t too upset.’
‘Ça ne fait rien.’ Andre shrugged. ‘Between Clothilde and herself there has always been friction, for many reasons. Monique’s father was the doctor here for some years, and she acted as his receptionist and secretary. He believed in orthodox medicine and hospital births for all mothers.
‘Clothilde, par contraste, is the unofficial village midwife, delivering babies at home in their parents’ beds and brewing medicine from herbs in her kitchen, and many people turn first to her.’
Jules said grimly, ‘In past centuries, sans doute, la famille Chaloux would have denounced my aunt as a witch.’
Andre’s mouth relaxed into a grin that made Ginny’s heartbeat quicken ridiculously. ‘For myself, I wonder what Clothilde would have called Monique.’
She tried to speak lightly. ‘She sounds quite something.’
‘Judge for yourself,’ he said as a door banged and an instant later a woman surged into the room, talking nineteen to the dozen, with a canvas bag in one hand and several baguettes under her other arm.
The antithesis of Mademoiselle Chaloux, the newcomer was short, clad in a cape like a small tent, her rosy double-chinned face crowned by an untidy topknot of pepper and salt hair. The removal of the cape revealed that she was built on generous lines, full-bosomed and wide-hipped, her ample body supported on sturdy legs in red woollen tights.
As she paused for breath, lively brown eyes discovered Ginny and narrowed. ‘So she is here—the daughter of Monsieur ton père?’
‘Sa belle fille. His stepdaughter,’ Andre corrected with faint emphasis.
She sent him a shrewd glance, the small mouth pursing, then looked back at Ginny, examining her slowly from head to toe. She gave a brisk nod. ‘Soyez bien-venue, petite. Asseyez-vous.’
In next to no time, breakfast was on the table with bread and croissants still warm from the bakery, a choice of peach or cherry jam and café au lait served in cups like bowls.
As she ate, Ginny found herself watching Andre under her lashes, seeing him for the first time on his own territory. Listening to the ebb and flow of his conversation with Jules, the turn of his head, the movement of his hands to stress a point. Everything about him leaving no doubt as to who was the boss here.
And her boss too, she supposed without pleasure as she finished her coffee, then watched, astonished as Madame Rameau began to empty the canvas bag, unloading a patisserie box followed by potatoes, onions, a cabbage, a bunch of carrots and a large chicken together with several jars and containers.
She said, ‘Well, dinner looks good.’
Andre grinned. ‘Except that it is lunch. Dinner will be another affair altogether.’
She closed her eyes. ‘My God.’
Jules had already left and as Andre drained the last of his coffee and rose, Ginny leaned across the table. She said quietly, ‘I came here to work. Perhaps you’d explain my duties so I can start.’
‘Eh bien,’ he said. ‘You may begin by coming for a walk with me. I wish to show you the vineyard.’
She hesitated and he added softly, ‘S’il te plaît, Virginie. Please.’
She was chagrined to feel herself blush and didn’t know whether to blame the coaxing note in his voice or the fact that Madame Rameau was regarding them benignly, hands on hips.
She got up from the table. ‘I’ll fetch my coat.’
He held out a detaining hand. ‘But before we go, you may wish to telephone your mother to tell her you have arrived and are safe.’
‘I already did so,’ she said. ‘The machine picked up my message.’
‘She has not returned the call.’
‘I doubt she’ll want to.’ Ginny looked away, biting her lip. ‘We—we parted on bad terms.’
‘Ah,’ he said and paused. ‘But at least give her the chance to do so, ma mie, or you may regret it.’
‘You sound almost sorry for her,’ she challenged. ‘What’s brought about this change?’
His voice was quiet. ‘I would feel sorry for anyone who has turned away the gift of happiness.’
And what was she supposed to make of that? Ginny wondered as she sat on the edge of her bed to pull on her boots before zipping herself into her quilted coat.
Outside, it was cold and crisp, the sun now a pale globe in the misty winter sky. They left by the rear door, crossing a walled courtyard with empty stone troughs waiting for spring blooms.
Beyond its double wrought-iron gates the vines were also waiting, no longer invisible in the early morning dazzle, but stretching, rank upon rank of them, as far as the eye could see, and planted, Ginny saw, with almost military precision against the neat lines of wooden posts and wire which supported them, in broad alternating bands of grass and ploughed tan soil.
She paused halfway up the slope, drawing a sharp breath and Andre looked down at her and smiled.
‘You are surprised.’
‘Well—yes. I didn’t expect it to be so neat and orderly.’
He nodded. ‘As my father said—like his office desk.’
She realised that Andrew must have stood here, maybe on this very spot, taking in this very different world. Perhaps formulating the decisions that had led to these tumultuous repercussions in her own life.
She spoke quickly, fighting the sudden tightening of her throat. ‘I—I didn’t think it would be so big either.’
‘We have over thirty acres, this area planted with Pinot Noir, the grape that is Burgundy’s jewel. From it we produce our Grand Cru Baron Emile, our most valuable wine.’
‘Is that what we had last night?’
He laughed. ‘Non, hélas. That was our Bourgogne Villages, although that is also highly regarded, especially by the region’s restaurateurs.’ He pointed. ‘And over there, where you see that wall, we grow the Chardonnay grapes for our white wine, Clos Sainte Marie de Terauze. But I do not expect you to walk that far,’ he added as they resumed their climb, their boots crunching over the frosty grass.
‘Or remember all the information either, I hope.’ She sent him a defiant look, suppressing all the other questions that, to her own surprise, she actually wanted to ask, not least about the dynamics back at the house.
At the same time she found herself registering the almost proprietorial note in his voice. A man who loves his work, she thought, and she could hardly blame him for that.
She went on quickly, ‘Andrew may have bought into this haven of rural tranquillity and charm, but please don’t expect me to do the same.’
His brows lifted. ‘Terauze may be charming but it is rarely tranquil. Making a wonderful vintage is hard work with great risk. It is not easy to work in harmo
ny with nature, when nature so often resists. My father came to understand this. To wish to be part of it.’
He paused. ‘And he intended you to accompany him here to share in it too.’
She gasped. ‘To live here? You mean—with Mother and Cilla?’
‘Non. He knew they would never agree to his plan, so he made other arrangements for them, as you have seen.’
She said hoarsely, ‘And he thought I would just—walk away and leave them? I don’t believe it.’
‘He felt, peut-être, that they did not deserve such loyalty.’ He allowed her to absorb that then added, ‘He wanted to show you that there were other possibilities in this world, ma mie. A different way of living.’
‘Well, this will never be mine,’ Ginny said stonily, her clenched fists buried deep in her pockets. ‘Nor do I believe that I’m going to be punished for the rest of my life for one stupid, ghastly mistake.’
‘Is that how you remember it? Because I do not. It was certainly not wise—but ghastly?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Never that.’
Ginny looked away from the sudden caress in his gaze, aware of an unwelcome churning in the pit of her stomach at the memories it sparked. ‘It makes no difference. As soon as I know there’s no reason for me to stay, I shall be out of here and on my way home, as we agreed.’
‘And what home is that?’ He sounded politely interested.
‘I’ll find one.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Because, even if you break our agreement, I shall still leave. Whatever you think, I can find work and—and fend for myself. I’m not like my sister.’
He frowned. ‘I think you do her an injustice,’ he said quietly. ‘She has never had a chance to prove herself—or been required to do so.’
‘Then it’s a great pity you didn’t bring her here instead of me,’ she flashed.
He shrugged. ‘She would have refused. She prefers the safety of an idle marriage to the rich Monsieur Welburn.’
‘But you’re rich now, thanks to Andrew. You could have offered her the same.’ Her voice was suddenly husky. ‘She—clearly found you more than attractive.’
‘Like most pretty girls, she likes to flirt,’ he said sardonically. ‘Alors, I doubt she would find working beside me each day, sharing my bed at night and raising our children quite so appealing.’
Pain twisted inside her as if someone had inserted a small, thin knife between her ribs. She said stiffly, ‘Well, when all this is over, and I’m gone, you can look for someone willing to fit into your cosy little plan —if such a person exists.’
‘Pas de problème,’ he said softly. ‘As you say, I am a rich man, and one must be a realist about these things.’ He smiled at her. ‘D’ailleurs, it may not be necessary. Our agreement works in two ways, so perhaps, après tout, you will not be leaving.’
‘Please don’t count on it.’ They had reached the top of the incline, and paused, facing each other, their breath mingling in the chill air. Anger and other less definable emotions crisped her tone. ‘Thank you for the tour, but I have to tell you that one vine looks very like another to me. I’d like to go back now.’
‘If you wish,’ he said. ‘Although there is one last thing I brought you here to see.’
She looked at the undulating landscape with its regiments of vines, her brows lifting. ‘You mean I’ve missed something? I can hardly wait.’
‘Sarcasm does not become you.’ He took her by the shoulders and she stiffened, panic rising inside her. Because she could not let him touch her. She dared not...
But instead of pulling her towards him, Andre turned her to face the way they had come, and she saw behind them, sheltered like a jewel by the wooded hills behind it, a broad and stately rectangle of grey stone, its roof tiled in faded red, and a tower like a tall pepperpot at each corner.
She drew a startled breath. ‘My God, it’s not just a house, it’s a castle. Like something from a fairy tale.’
‘The Château Terauze,’ he said quietly. ‘I wished you to see it for the first time from this spot.’
She gestured around her. ‘So as well as being Andrew’s heir, you’re due to inherit all this too.’
‘Mais oui, but not, I hope, for many years to come. Papa Bertrand is well and strong.’
She said, ‘Does he—your adoptive father—know about me?’
‘Bien sûr. He heard a great deal from Andrew.’
‘Andrew talked about me—here, and to him?’
She looked away. ‘All this was going on—and I didn’t have the slightest idea.’ She gave a brief shaken laugh. ‘Unbelievable.’ She paused. ‘How did he and Monsieur Duchard become such friends?’
‘You mean when they were both in love with the same woman?’
Andre’s mouth twisted. ‘And the answer is—very slowly. Even as a child, I could recognise the awkwardness in my father’s visits. See that my mother found them difficult, at times almost unbearable.’
‘Then why did she allow them?’
‘Her sense of honour demanded it. She would accept no money from him, but she agreed he had a right to see his child. Also, she was grateful that he had not opposed Bertrand’s wish to adopt me after their marriage.’
She said slowly, ‘It sounds a terrible situation. But what I don’t understand is why she chose to come here at all.’
‘She had a friend here in Terauze who had been her correspondante from their school days.’ He paused. ‘A penfriend, you would say. There had been visits on both sides, but Maman loved it here and came several times after leaving school to stay with her friend and help with the grape-picking, looking on it as her second home.
‘Alors, when she needed help, she came here to find a refuge where she could think calmly and without pressure about her future and that of her child.’
Ginny bit her lip. ‘In which case, history seems to be repeating itself.’
‘Au contraire. You have not come to find yourself alone. My mother was not so fortunate. She discovered that, over a year before, her friend had moved away to Provence with her family, leaving no address.’
Ginny gasped. ‘What did she do?’
‘She could afford a room at the auberge for a night or two, but on the way she felt suddenly faint and sat down on the church steps to recover. Papa Bertrand was passing in his car, recognised her, and insisted on bringing her back to the Château.’
‘You mean he remembered her from her grape-picking days?’
Andre smiled. ‘Ah, more than that. They knew each other well. As a child, he teased her. As a girl, he fell in love with her. And when she came back as a woman, he was determined to make her his wife, and raise her child as his own.’ He paused. ‘But she was not easy to persuade. Not least because his father, who had other ideas for him, opposed his plans.’
‘And she didn’t wish to cause trouble in his family.’ Ginny sighed. ‘I can understand that.’
‘So he moved out of the château to La Petite Maison, where I was born. But, sadly, his father refused to accept the marriage until the day he died.
‘And for a long time, my mother did not wish to move to the château, because of the unhappy memories it held for her.’
The fairy tale had its dark side, Ginny thought, glancing back at the château with a quick shiver.
Which he noticed. ‘You are cold? We will go back to the house.’ Adding quietly, ‘But not quite yet.’
Before she realised his intention, he turned her to face him, pulling her into his arms and pinning her against him, while his mouth sought hers.
Sky and earth were tilting dizzily as her senses leapt at the pressure of his lean, hard body, the stark insistence of his lips parting hers in a kiss that she could not withstand. A kiss that she ached for and which made her realise in one devastating moment that if he was to pull her down with him to the fro
sty ground, she would not be able to resist him. Nor, to her eternal shame, would she want to.
But even as she felt herself melting into surrender, Andre released her and stepped back as if nothing particular had happened.
Her voice not entirely under her control, she said, ‘What the hell was all that about?’
‘Let us call it—a welcome to my world.’
‘Your world.’ She could feel the thud of her heart against her ribs as she challenged his gaze. ‘But not mine. Never in a thousand years.’
She turned and started down the slope, resisting an almost overwhelming impulse to run, as the sudden tightening of her throat muscles warned her that tears were not far away. A self-betrayal she knew she could not afford.
Not then, she told herself, or at any time until she had left Terauze behind her for good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ON GINNY’S RETURN, the kitchen was already beginning to fill with the enticing aroma of chicken and vegetables cooking slowly in another big pot on the stove, but she did not linger, but hurried to her room to discard her coat and boots, trying without success to dismiss from her mind that blinding, agonising moment of desire that had devastated her defences against him only a few moments before.
She should have fought him off, she told herself angrily. She’d been mad to expose herself to such danger. Even crazier to try and pretend the danger did not exist.
It had been a shock to discover that Andrew had planned to live at the château.
And I, she thought, swallowing, I would have lived here too—if I’d agreed to come with him—which, of course, I wouldn’t have done. But, if I had, Andre and I would have met under totally different circumstances...
But I won’t think about that, she told herself sternly, aware that for a moment her mind had gone into a curious kind of freefall. I’ll deal with things as they are.