by Penny Jordan
‘“The natural beauty and historical sights of the Dordogne”,’ he read, scanning the cover, his mouth curling into an open sneer as he remarked contemptuously, ‘Hardly your style, I would have thought.’
Too angry to hide what she was feeling, Livvy snatched the book back off him, ignoring the sharp electric tingle that raced up her arm as her fingertips inadvertently touched the hard warmth of his hand.
‘That’s an arrogant and totally illogical statement,’ she told him cuttingly. ‘Despite what you seem to think, you don’t know me or my tastes and personality. I’d be very suspicious of anyone’s judgement if they claimed to know everything there was to know about another human being merely on the strength of twenty-four hours’ very casual acquaintance, but then of course I’m neglecting to take into account the insight into the female psyche which you seem to feel you have…an insight which, as far as I can ascertain, is based almost solely on prejudice…’
Livvy could see that she had surprised him.
‘Are you trying to tell me that you are genuinely more interested in exploring the history of the area than…?’
‘I’m not trying to tell you anything,’ Livvy assured him, adding pointedly, ‘I wouldn’t waste my breath.’
‘I should have thought a man-made cavern of expensive, exclusive shops where you could spend someone else’s money would be of more interest to you than somewhere like this,’ he told her, gesturing towards the open page of the guide and its description of caves.
‘If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’ Livvy told him sweetly.
As she walked past him and into the kitchen, she was surprised to discover that, along with a sweet sense of triumph, she also felt oddly sorry for him. He was obviously a wealthy man; had his cynical attitude towards her sex been the result of a relationship with the kind of woman he now accused her of being?
If so, she confessed to being a little surprised. She would have thought him too aware, too distrustful, too armoured by his own hardness to be vulnerable to that kind of woman; to any kind of woman, in fact, since he seemed so plainly to dislike and distrust her sex.
It pleased her, though, that she had managed to silence him; and to stand up to him.
Her sense of self-respect slightly restored, she went upstairs to collect her jacket and Gale’s list. Slightly restored, but truthfully it would take more than merely walking away from a verbal exchange with him, having the last word, to wipe out the memory of that kiss he had forced on her.
She paused uncomfortably at the top of the stairs, forced to acknowledge that it wasn’t so much the memory of his kiss which jarred, but her own unexpected reaction to it.
When she came back downstairs there was no sign of him, although she could see a fishing-rod and some fishing tackle on the ground next to the BMW.
As she climbed into her own car, she stifled a small pang of envy. As a child she had thoroughly enjoyed the hours she had spent watching her grandfather fish, and later, while she was still young enough not to be aware that fishing wasn’t something that girls did, to listen eagerly and learn from him while he explained its skills.
Beaulieu was everything the guidebooks had promised it would be and more, but Livvy firmly refused to give in to the temptation to start exploring its ancient streets straight away, reminding herself that work must come first, pleasure afterwards.
Even so, she could not resist the temptation of wandering through the market, pausing to enjoy the wonderful aromas from the stalls, admiring the contrast between the sharp, rich colours of the vegetables and fruit on one stall, and the softer, pale colours of the massed bunches of flowers on another.
On impulse, she stopped and bought herself a bunch. They would brighten up the dullness of the farmhouse kitchen, and she thought she had seen a large earthenware jug she could put them in.
Tempting though it was to linger, she forced herself to move on, pausing briefly to check the address of the plumbers’ merchant from the list Gale had given her.
Unexpectedly, when she eventually found it, it was tucked away down a pretty, narrow side-street of ancient houses that looked almost as though they had been untouched since they had first been built, the frothing brilliance of bright scarlet geraniums planted in window boxes outside the upper windows breaking up the weathered softness of the stone.
The contrast between the age of the building and the modern display of goods inside it took her slightly aback at first.
The man who came to assist her displayed all the charm and flirtatiousness for which the French male was so famous, or so notorious, depending upon which side of the sexual fence one looked at it from.
His eyes lit up appreciatively as he studied Livvy with discreet male competence. It said a lot for his savoir-faire that he didn’t drop his slightly flirtatious and flattering manner towards her once she outlined the business which had brought her to him, Livvy reflected to herself with amused appreciation.
‘Yes, I believe I recall madame your cousin,’ he agreed with commendable tact. ‘You say she has supplied you with a list of her requirements…’
‘Yes, but before I give you the order, she wishes me to secure a definite delivery date,’ Livvy told him firmly.
It took them almost an hour to reach an agreement. Provided his suppliers had the goods in stock, he could definitely promise to start work at the beginning of September, he assured her.
Gravely, Livvy told him that she would convey that information to her cousin.
As she stepped outside into the street, he followed her, removing from her the burden of her flowers while she put the brochures and price lists he had given her safely away with Gale’s list.
As she turned to thank him and take her flowers, he surprised her by lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her fingertips with a theatrical flourish. Trying hard not to giggle, Livvy retrieved her hand and started to turn away from him.
As she did so, she suddenly froze with shock at the unexpected sight of Richard Field, watching her with cold-eyed contempt less than a couple of yards away.
To her annoyance, Livvy knew she had started to flush. The owner of the plumbers’ merchants had disappeared and she was alone in the narrow street with Richard Field.
‘So much for this morning’s protests,’ he told her as he drew level with her. ‘It seems my initial judgement of you was accurate after all.’
Livvy gritted her teeth. Of course, after having seen her at the auberge that first night, he would jump to that conclusion. He really had the most fervid and judgemental nature she had ever come across if he could genuinely misinterpret the totally innocent exchange he had just witnessed as some kind of passionate sexual liaison.
‘If you must know, I hardly know the man,’ Livvy told him crossly. ‘He…’
She wasn’t given any opportunity to continue or explain.
‘Since when did knowing your partner matter to a woman like you? It’s the conquest that excites your type, the thrill and danger of the risks you take.’
As she listened to him and compared her cautious and conventional personality to the picture he was drawing, Livvy was almost tempted to laugh, but the anger she could see in his face stopped her.
She could almost feel the tension emanating from him, reaching out to engulf her in its dangerous grip. Instinctively she stepped back from him, tiny thrills of nervous alarm feathering along her sensitive skin.
For some reason her action seemed to increase his anger.
‘It’s a bit too late for the coy virgin act,’ he told her contemptuously. ‘It’s obvious that it’s a role for which you’d be seriously and laughably miscast.’
‘That’s the only way you can see women, isn’t it?’ Livvy retorted suddenly, as angry with him as he was with her. ‘We’re either sexual adventuresses or virgins, bad or good…’ Her eyes flashed, her mouth curling with disdain as she gave full rein to her emotions.
‘I feel really sorry for you. It must be hard work cling
ing on to such antediluvian views. You’re the kind of man who if he marries will insist on his wife’s being timid and totally inexperienced because you can’t stand the thought of her comparing you to anyone else. You’ll be terrified of her growing up and maturing into a real woman because if she does she’ll discover that she hasn’t married a real man. Why am I saying I feel sorry for you? She’s the one I really feel sorry for.’
Livvy’s eyes flashed again as her indignation and anger grew.
‘You know nothing about me or my marriage…’
It wasn’t just the raw fury in his voice that silenced her, Livvy acknowledged, as a peculiar leaden feeling developed in the pit of her stomach and her mouth suddenly went very dry.
‘You’re married…’
Her voice sounded squeaky and slightly shocked.
‘I was,’ he told her harshly, ‘I’m not now.’
It must be the heat and the fact that she wasn’t used to giving way so freely to her emotions that was making her feel so light-headed, Livvy reflected. Giving way to them… She wasn’t even used to experiencing them…
She felt very shaky and sick all of a sudden. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her and she felt as though she wanted to crawl away somewhere quiet and safe.
‘I…I must go. I’ve got some shopping to do…’ Why did her voice sound so weak and hesitant, so emotional almost?
When he made no attempt to stop her, Livvy hurried past him, aware that he was walking in the opposite direction and into the building next to the plumbers’ merchants which advertised office, secretarial and fax services.
Her heart thumping heavily, Livvy paused and turned round, frowning, as she stared at the building. Why had he gone in there? To contact George, perhaps, and alert him to what was happening?
If he knew where George was, he would be acting more in his interests if he persuaded him to get in touch with Gale so that they could sort out their differences, rather than adding further fuel to the dispute between them.
But then a man with his attitude towards women, towards marriage, was hardly likely to advocate reconciliation.
* * *
Her altercation with Richard Field, combined with the length of time she had spent in the plumbers’ merchants, had taken up more time than Livvy had anticipated.
By the time she had completed her shopping, it was midday and too hot to countenance driving around in her car.
She could of course return to the farmhouse, but she didn’t want to do that—not yet; and alternatively she could have a cup of coffee in one of the tempting cafés she had seen in the town and then spend a couple of hours exploring its shady medieval streets.
But if she did so, would she run the risk of bumping into Richard Field again?
Why should she let the thought of seeing him dictate to her what she could and could not do? If he wanted to think the worst of her, to condemn her and the whole female sex just because his own marriage hadn’t worked out, then that was his problem, not hers.
It was not surprising that his marriage hadn’t worked out, she decided, after storing her purchases in her car and retracing her steps to one of the cafés she had seen earlier.
What had she been like, Richard Field’s wife? Livvy wondered as she sipped her coffee. Had she been the naïve, unawakened bride she had accused him of wanting earlier, or had it been a very different kind of woman who had brought him to view her sex with contempt and bitterness?
She put down her coffee-cup, frowning slightly. What did it matter what kind of woman she had been? It was of no interest to her.
Except that… Except that the man who had kissed her so angrily and punishingly yesterday, and who throughout their short acquaintance had treated her with aggression and contempt, had also unexpectedly, inexplicably and totally unwantedly physically aroused her so that, just for a heartbeat of time, while he held her, it had been as though he had been as shocked and confused by the passion which had exploded between them as she had been herself.
All nonsense, of course. She doubted that Richard Field would ever allow himself to admit that anything could shock or confuse him, and most especially not a woman.
She ordered another cup of coffee and drank it slowly, savouring its rich flavour, content simply to sit and enjoy her surroundings. A tiny smile twitched the corners of her mouth as she remembered the theatrical gallantry she had been treated to earlier. The French tradesman’s equivalent of a British building site worker’s wolf-whistle? Richard Field obviously hadn’t seen it in that light.
Richard Field—there she went again, thinking about him.
Drat the man, she had come to Beaulieu to get away from him, not to waste time thinking about him.
It was mid-afternoon when Livvy eventually arrived back at the farmhouse. The BMW was parked in the yard but there was no sign of its owner anywhere, she discovered with relief.
She found the jug she had recalled seeing standing next to the dresser.
She had noticed a pretty French Proven;alal-style dinner service in one of the shop windows in Beaulieu, the central motif of the design a variety of farmyard animals, the border a soft mingling of pink and yellow checks. It would look good on the dresser’s empty shelves.
She smiled ruefully to herself, half deriding her feminine homemaking instincts.
One day she hoped she would marry and have a family, but for now she was perfectly content as she was, enjoying her independence and her career.
As she stored her purchases away in the fridge, she frowned, noticing that Richard Field had bought exactly the same local cheese as she had chosen for herself. Wryly she acknowledged that he would be even less pleased to discover that they shared a taste in common than she was herself.
It wasn’t as hot as it had been, and the view of the river from her bedroom window tempted her to explore. She set off through the farmyard, following a footpath which seemed to go in the general direction of the river, obscured from view now by the trees.
The path led quite steeply downwards through the trees and when Livvy first broke through their cover and saw the river she couldn’t help giving a small gasp of pleasure.
It was wider and deeper than she had expected and beautifully clear, so clear that she could see the speckled skins of the trout beneath the surface. Watching them, she was instantly reminded of sitting on a very similar riverbank with her grandfather, solemnly watching him cast his line, listening as he explained to her the skills required to lure his prey.
Smiling to herself, she walked upriver, pausing every now and again to study and admire her surroundings.
It was so peaceful here. Too peaceful for two almost teenage children? She frowned to herself, and then shook the thought off. Gale knew her children and their tastes far better than she did—and yet somehow or other she could not shake off the awareness that city-bred, sophisticated youngsters might not find the same pleasure in wading thigh-deep in crystal-clear water, tickling trout as she had once done.
As she had once done?
A wide grin curved her mouth as she looked at the river. Impulsively, before she could change her mind, she quickly stripped off her trainers and jeans, firmly knotting the ends of the cotton shirt she was wearing above her midriff. The water was probably deeper than it looked.
As she stepped down into it, she suppressed the gasp of shock that rose in her throat. She had forgotten how cold river water could be, but as she gritted her teeth and carefully waded deeper into the river the icy cold became a warm glow.
There was nothing, nothing quite like the pleasure and attraction of running water, she decided, nor the feel of water-smoothed stones beneath one’s feet. It took her back almost instinctively to her childhood, to all the happy hours spent gathering very similar stones and using them to construct a series of complicated dams.
She and her cousins had whiled away many happy hours in such pursuits, vying with one another as to who could build the strongest dam.
Still smiling to
herself, Livvy waded into the middle of the river and then stopped, surveying the water.
Ah, there was a likely spot. A nice, still, natural basin with a couple of good-sized rocks overhanging it. With any luck…
Carefully she waded back to the bank. She had been right about the depth of the water. It had been well over halfway up her thighs. Luckily, her briefs were still dry.
Leaving her clothes where she had removed them, she walked silently upstream until she reached the overhanging rocks she had seen from the middle of the river.
Once there, she lay down carefully on them, making sure she was safely balanced before leaning over and peering down into the water.
Yes, she had been right… She could see the trout quite clearly, basking lazily in a sunlit patch of water half under the protection of the rocks.
Holding her breath, she leaned over very, very carefully. The trick was to get her hand into the water without disturbing the fish.
Slowly now…
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Startled, Livvy tried to turn round and then realised that she was too precariously balanced and that she was going to fall into the river, but before she did her body was grabbed from behind, two strong male hands gripping her waist as Richard Field hauled her back and lifted her on to her feet.
‘What do you think you’re doing? Let go of me,’ she demanded crossly as he swung her round to face him.
‘What do I think I’m doing?’
He suddenly seemed to become aware of her semi-naked state, his eyes narrowing as his gaze skimmed her body, his hands tightening momentarily on her waist so that a sharp frisson of sensation raced over her skin. She could feel the rough maleness of the pads of his fingers. It was an almost caressive abrasiveness, an awareness of the contrast between the softness of her female flesh and the hardness of his maleness. Disturbed by her awareness of him, Livvy pulled against his imprisonment of her, her face flushing with self-consciousness.
No wonder he was looking at her like that. She must look a sight, clad in a pair of white briefs, with her shirt knotted up round her middle.