‘As a matter of fact, you are,’ he agreed tranquilly. ‘I told everybody about it this morning while you were in the shed looking for extra secateurs and I swore them to secrecy. I wanted to surprise you.’
Jane felt unexpectedly stirred by this simple statement.
‘You mean, you did this just to please me?’ she asked with a catch in her voice.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ retorted Marc with a shrug. ‘I just thought you might object if you knew, so I decided it was easier to do it without consulting you.’
Oh, great, thought Jane. He wasn’t trying to please me at all, just being high-handed and arrogant and acting as if he owns the place. Before she could open her mouth to protest, Marc laid his hand on her shoulder and gave her a little push.
‘Well, go on,’ he ordered. ‘You’d better get washed and changed so that you can enjoy yourself.’
Frowning thoughtfully, Jane made her way into the house. But she did no more than wash her face and hands and run a comb through her hair, which was full of dust and bits of vine leaves. It seemed unfair to put on good clothes when most of the pickers were still in the sweaty, grape-stained clothes they had worn for the harvest.
All the same, she felt at a distinct disadvantage ten minutes later when she arrived in the barn to see that Simone was wearing an expensive silk blouse teamed with a scarlet skirt that clung in dramatic folds around her long, slim legs. Not that Simone had become as hot and dirty as anybody else in any case. She had spent most of the day attired in a cream linen dress and straw hat, sitting under a grape arbour and writing down the weights of each new bin of grapes.
However, Marc, who was standing next to her, looked like a genuine worker. Like Jane, he had washed his face and hands and combed his hair, but his sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular tanned forearms, and the front of his shirt was still stained with grape juice. Beneath the spicy tang of his aftershave lotion, he smelled of sun and earth and hot, crushed fruit. He greeted Jane with a careless smile, then strode away to a side table and returned with a tall crystal glass of champagne in either hand.
‘You get one drink and after that I’m going to put you to work,’ he warned. ‘Here’s to the success of our partnership and our vintage.’
Jane opened her mouth to argue and then thought better of it. This was hardly the moment to quibble about the use of words like ‘our partnership’, not with so many of her friends standing around eager for a really good party rather than ringside seats at a really good fight. She banished her misgivings, touched her glass against Marc’s with a gentle chime and smiled uncertainly.
‘To our partnership,’ she said, and drank. The bubbles tingled on her tongue, then the excellence of the taste suddenly made itself felt and she gave a gasp of surprise. ‘That’s superb, Marc, what is it?’
‘Veuve Clicquot,’ he replied.
‘Veuve Clicquot? The finest French champagne that exists? Have you really provided that for over forty people?’
‘Why not? It’s an occasion worth celebrating. Besides, the rest of the entertainment is pretty simple.’
Looking about her, Jane could see his point, but she also guessed shrewdly that the rustic scene before her had cost quite a lot of money to create. The barn was lit with paper lanterns, which cast a soft, peachy glow over the scene. In this dim light she saw that three long trestle tables had been arranged almost in the shape of a square with the fourth side left open. Two tables were spread with red and white checked cloths and sturdy but attractive maiolica crockery, along with expensive wine glasses of deceptive simplicity. The third table at the far end of the room was laden with an assortment of lavish salads, crusty French bread, potatoes baked in their jackets with sour cream and chives and an assortment of other dishes. A rostrum was set up against the fourth wall of the barn, containing the four members of a bush band. A few feet away from them an impromptu bar had been arranged in a corner.
‘I’m just going to say a few words to welcome everyone,’ murmured Marc, lowering his head so that he could speak into Jane’s ear. ‘After that I want it all to be casual and as much fun as possible, but I’d like you to help me by acting as bartender with me, if you’re agreeable. I’ve got a good selection of wines for our guests to try and you can help answer any questions people might have about them.’
‘All right,’ agreed Jane, beginning to feel intrigued by the prospect. It looked as if this evening might be fun.
It was fun. Marc’s speech of welcome was brief and witty, making everyone laugh. After that he and Jane set to work at the bar and were soon doing a brisk trade in pouring Tasmanian Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Cabernet Sauvignon and Rhine Riesling, while explaining the finest points of each. The food was excellent and, after dessert and coffee were brought in, the bush band struck up some lively reels and jigs. Jane went back for a second helping of lemon meringue pie, but was soon called to the bar by Marc to help him dispense Australian port, Tokay and muscat to go with the coffee. When everybody else had been served she helped herself to a glass of muscat so thick and concentrated that it painted the sides of the glass.
‘Mmm, I love that stuff,’ she said appreciatively as she swallowed the last drop of sweet, sticky liquid.
‘Well, I don’t think we can manage to make muscat here,’ said Marc. ‘But it’s formidable to think that next year we may be drinking our own Chardonnay, isn’t it?’
Next year we may be drinking our own Chardonnay. The words reverberated in Jane’s head. It sounded as if Marc had already made his decision about whether to purchase the property. Yet, looking into his glowing brown eyes, Jane did not feel the pang of dismay that she expected, but only a heady rush of excitement at the prospect that he would still be here beside her in a year’s time.
‘Do you really think you’re going to buy the place and stay here?’ she asked.
‘Why not?’ he replied. ‘It has some interesting possibilities.’
At that moment Jane became aware that someone was standing at the bar waiting to be served. She swung round and saw that it was Simone, with her empty port glass held out and a smile on her face that did not quite reach her eyes.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing you, Marc,’ she said sweetly. ‘But even if you do buy the property, there’s really no need for you to be here yourself. You could put a manager in to run the place. Your own time is far too valuable to waste in a backwater like this.’
Marc refilled her glass and handed it back to her.
‘I don’t know, Simone,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’m rather taken by Tasmania. I think I might enjoy living here for half the year.’
Simone said something sharp in French and once again the conversation stampeded away at a pace that Jane couldn’t follow. But Simone’s flashing dark eyes, tight-lipped smile and rapid, shallow breathing showed clearly that she was becoming upset. At last, with an obvious effort, the Frenchwoman took a deep breath, smiled sweetly and set down her untouched glass of port.
‘I wonder if you could spare Jane for a moment,’ she said in English to Marc. ‘It looks as though I’ll have to fly back to France quite soon, and there are one or two financial details about the property that I’d like to discuss with her.’
‘Wouldn’t tomorrow morning be better?’ countered Marc.
‘Now,’ insisted Simone.
Jane felt a surge of glee at the news that Simone would soon be leaving, but her joy was soon quenched when she followed the other woman out into the garden. Although it had been a warm day, there was now a distinct chill in the evening air and by common accord they made their way down to the glowing fire which had been used to barbecue the steer. In the glow from the leaping orange flames Jane saw that Simone’s face still looked angry and turbulent, although she was obviously struggling to preserve an air of calm.
‘What do you want to talk to me about?’ she asked curiously.
Simone waved to a wooden picnic table and garden benches set under one of the trees. In the distance th
ey could hear the muted uproar of the party in the barn but overhead the night sky was dark and spangled with stars while the sweet perfume of early narcissus hung in the air. Simone seemed to pause and gather her thoughts before she answered.
‘I want to do you a favour,’ she said at last, in an ingratiating voice.
‘What kind of a favour?’ asked Jane suspiciously.
‘I’m an accountant. Marc trusts my financial advice and he has told me all about the way you handed over control of your funds to your father and sank your assets into a property that doesn’t legally belong to you. It was pure madness, of course, but I think I can persuade Marc not to go ahead with the purchase of the vineyard. Naturally you’ll still have to get a good lawyer to regain control of your money, but——’
Jane was no longer listening. She felt a sick, breathless sensation, as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. In spite of her initial antagonism towards Marc, she realised that she had begun to like and trust him. Now she felt a sense of horrifying betrayal to learn that he had discussed her private affairs with an outsider. Even if Simone was an accountant and his close friend, did he have to humiliate Jane by revealing how naiéve and gullible she had been? And what business was it of Simone’s anyway?
‘Why don’t you want him to buy Saddler’s Corner?’ she cut in.
Simone seemed taken aback by the sharp edge in her voice.
‘I thought you’d be pleased at the idea,’ she protested. ‘It’s what you want, isn’t it?’
Jane was silent for a moment, thinking about that. Was it what she wanted? Three weeks ago she would have jumped for joy at the thought of getting Marc off her land and never seeing him again. Now she wasn’t quite so sure…
‘Maybe,’ she replied curtly.
‘You don’t sound very pleased,’ complained Simone. ‘I thought you’d be delighted at the idea. Marc was so eloquent about how much you loved this place and how hard you’d worked on it that he brought tears to my eyes.’
I’ll bet, thought Jane fiercely. The only time she could ever imagine Simone having tears in her eyes was if she had lost a million francs on a financial transaction or broken a heel on one of her crocodile skin shoes.
‘What’s in it for you if Marc doesn’t buy the place?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ replied Simone, her eyes widening. ‘I just want to do you a favour and prevent Marc from taking a big financial risk. It would give me great pleasure if I could be of help to both of you.’
‘Well, I appreciate your generosity,’ said Jane with a touch of sarcasm as she rose to her feet. ‘But I don’t think there’s any need for you to use your influence. I’d rather sort the matter out with Marc myself.’
She turned to go, but Simone caught her arm.
‘Wait! I suppose it’s true that I do have a personal stake in this matter. I didn’t want to discuss my private affairs, but you leave me no choice. All right, I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Jane. Marc and I intend to marry and I don’t like the way you’re pursuing him.’
Jane was so angry that she could have slapped Simone’s face.
‘I’m not pursuing him!’ she blazed. ‘If anything, he’s——’
She broke off, unwilling to reveal her own secret. That kiss was something between her and Marc, nobody else.
‘If anything he’s pursuing you?’ finished Simone with a touch of malice. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ asked Jane in horror. ‘But if you’re planning to marry him, surely you don’t expect him to go around chasing other women?’
Simone laughed, a brittle sound like the breaking of crystal.
‘What a sweet, idealistic nature you have,’ she said. ‘He’s a man, after all. Any sensible woman turns a blind eye to these little affairs.’
‘I wouldn’t!’ cried Jane hotly.
Simone shrugged, as if her point had just been proved.
‘No, you obviously take life very seriously, which is exactly why I don’t want you to get hurt by having an affair with Marc, my dear.’
‘Really?’ asked Jane sceptically. ‘You lie awake at night, do you, thinking to yourself, “Well, how can I save poor little Jane West from getting hurt by plunging into a meaningless affair with Marc Le Rossignol?” That’s kind of you!’
‘You’re not quite so naive as you look, are you?’
‘No,’ said Jane stonily.
Simone nodded thoughtfully, as if they had reached a new stage in their negotiations. Then she gestured to the picnic table.
‘Do sit down again and let’s discuss this matter calmly. Would you like a cigarette?’
‘I don’t smoke.’
Jane looked at Simone’s opal-studded lighter with dislike. Why did everything the other woman owned have to proclaim her wealth and status and good taste? Power-dressing to impress the ignorant peasants, no doubt! I suppose she clips her toenails with a pair of gold-handled scissors, she thought sourly.
‘All right,’ said Simone, blowing out a cloud of smoke. ‘Let’s be open with each other. If you have an affair with Marc, you will get hurt. Frankly I don’t care if you do. What I do care about is the thought of Marc wasting time and money here at the end of the world when he should be in Europe with me.’
‘And what makes you think I’m going to have an affair with Marc?’
‘Mainly that look of doggy devotion in your eyes when he comes into the room,’ said Simone in an amused voice. ‘Oh, I don’t blame you. He’s a very attractive man. Scores of starry-eyed young women have fallen for him in the past and he enjoys their admiration. The sad thing is that it’s just a game to him. He’s quite happy to offer them a few weeks of breathless passion, but he always comes back to me in the end.’
‘I don’t believe you!’ cried Jane hotly. ‘I’m sure Marc’s not like that. And anyway, you can’t possibly love him or you wouldn’t talk about him so scathingly.’
Simone snorted.
‘Love!’ she echoed. ‘There’s a lot more to life than love, as you’ll find out one of these days. My relationship with Marc is not just a matter of love; there are all sorts of things that bind us together. We speak the same language, we come from the same environment, we understand each other. A marriage between us will work, whereas Marc would never dream of having anything more than a brief, meaningless liaison with you.’
‘Well, how do I know that he genuinely plans to marry you?’ asked Jane, her voice rising and growing more rapid. ‘I only have your word for it. I can easily ask him whether it’s true or not.’
For a moment Simone looked taken aback, then she shrugged indifferently.
‘Do so, if you wish,’ she invited. ‘Although he’ll probably deny it anyway. He’s not a man who likes to be hemmed in by possessive women and you’ll only make yourself look ridiculous by pestering him with questions. You’d be much wiser to preserve your own dignity and drop him. I promise that I’ll persuade him to relinquish your vineyard if you do.’
‘No,’ said Jane flatly, jumping to her feet again. ‘I’m not making any deals with you, Simone. Marc’s not some kind of prize for us to haggle over. He’s a grown man who can make his own choices in business or love without any help from you. Besides, I don’t believe any of the hateful things you’ve said about him and I think you’ve got a cheek trying to interfere in my private life. Now please excuse me, I have guests to consider.’
In spite of her defiant words, Jane felt as if a poisoned thorn had worked its way under her skin as she made her way back to the house. The moment she entered the barn her gaze scanned the crowd in search of Marc. When she did manage to locate him a prickle of uneasiness went through her. He was standing in the corner by the bar, talking to an attractive red-headed girl who looked about twenty-one years old. Marc had one arm around her shoulders and their heads were close together. There was a suggestion of intimacy about the two figures which filled Jane with apprehension. Was she witnessing exactly the sort of scene that Simone had tried to
warn her about? Or had Simone’s comments been mere spite designed to make her see harm in a perfectly innocent conversation? She simply didn’t know and the sense of doubt tormented her.
She tried to work her way around the tables unobtrusively so that she could get a closer look at Marc and the girl. Was it her imagination or did he have a sultry expression in his eyes as he came back with fresh glasses of wine for both of them? Jane was just trying to edge closer to see when someone grabbed her arm, making her jump. She swung round.
‘Oh, Brett!’ she exclaimed. ‘You startled me.’
It was a relief to see Brett’s sunburnt beaming face. At least he was open and honest and uncomplicated. If she had any sense, she’d marry him instead of yearning for a ruthless heartbreaker like Marc. Perhaps she ought to invite Brett over for a meal some time or ask him if he’d like to go to a film with her. Or would it be unkind to encourage him when her own feelings were in such turmoil?
‘Brett——’ she began.
She got no further. Reaching out with one massive red hand, Brett dragged a tall, buxom, black-haired girl towards him and grinned at both of them.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Jane,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I want to introduce Karen to you. I met her up in Surfers Paradise while I was away on holiday a few weeks ago. She said she might be coming down to Tassie herself, so I gave her my address. I never thought she’d take me up on it, but here she is! She’s staying at the farm for a few days with me, but she likes the place so much she reckons she might stick around and look for a job. She’s a nurse, so she can probably get employment anywhere. Karen, this is my old mate, Jane. We used to climb trees together and that sort of thing when we were kids.’
Jane felt a brief, ridiculous twinge of self-pity as she shook hands with Karen. The other girl had a wide, engaging smile and from the fond way she was looking at Brett it wasn’t hard to guess that a promising romance was budding between them. Jane was pleased for both of them, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit forlorn as well. It looked as though her one faithful admirer had finally deserted her.
Unwelcome Invader (Harlequin Treasury 1990's) Page 7