During the remaining two-mile walk to St Sulpice Jane eyed her companion with exasperation. Sometimes she felt tantalisingly close to understanding just what made Marc Le Rossignol tick, but his maddening refusal to allow any genuine emotional intimacy always cut her off short. All the same, she had a strong suspicion that some woman had once hurt him very badly, leaving him permanently embittered against all others. If that was true, would she ever manage to break through his sophisticated nonchalance and win some kind of emotional response? And where did Simone fit in with all this? Could she really be content to let him have affairs with other women, when he was planning to marry her? But was he planning to marry Simone? Or was that just a blatant lie that she had told to scare Jane off? It made Jane’s head ache even to think about it. I ought to have the courage to ask him straight out, she thought. Yet pride and embarrassment kept her silent.
Fortunately Marc diverted her thoughts by pointing out landmarks as they walked. The elm trees which he had climbed as a boy, the stream where he had fished with his brothers, an old, ruined chapel which made him halt and chuckle reminiscently.
‘I took my younger sister out there one night after we’d been fishing,’ he recalled. ‘I told her it was haunted and then pretended I could hear groans coming from inside. When I asked her to go and investigate with me she practically had hysterics from terror. Little idiot! Of course, it was rather spooky at midnight.’
The chapel looked peaceful enough now, drowsing in the golden morning sunlight with its steep roof fallen in and the scattered rubble overgrown with vegetation so that it looked like a wrecked ship about to vanish beneath a sea of green vines. Yet Jane could see how it might well appear eerie if seen by moonlight.
‘How could you be so mean?’ she demanded indignantly.
‘I wasn’t mean,’ Marc protested with a grin. ‘I was just a normal brother. I’m very fond of Laurette, but you couldn’t expect me to tell her that, could you?’
Jane sighed faintly as they left the path and came out on to the verge of the sparkling white gravel road which wound away beneath an avenue of green poplars. Sometimes she felt as if men were some type of bizarre, alien species who had no understanding whatsoever of women’s feelings. Was Marc’s behaviour really any different now that he was grown up? As a boy he had taken delight in teasing his sister, while now he seemed to derive just as much satisfaction in tormenting and misleading Jane. But what did he really feel towards her? Would she ever know?
‘Look, there’s the village, up on the hill,’ said Marc, interrupting her thoughts.
‘Oh, how pretty,’ exclaimed Jane.
From a distance it looked like an illustration from a children’s book, but as they came closer she saw the details of individual houses with their yellow stucco walls, pale green shutters and orange pantiled roofs which sometimes had incongruously modern TV aerials jutting above them. As they toiled up the steep, cobbled streets several people greeted them from their front doorsteps and each time Jane had to shake hands and be formally introduced. Once a draught horse and cart came clop-clopping down the hill with a creak of leather harness and a rumble of wooden wheels and the driver jumped down with a delighted cry to embrace Marc and shake Jane’s hand. By the time they emerged into the square at the top of the hill, Jane felt as if she had met half the village.
Marc waved her into a chair at a table outside the patisserie which had a fine view of the church and belltower on one side and the closely packed houses and shops clinging precariously to the hillside on the other. A smiling woman came out to serve them and there was the inevitable round of introductions, greetings and the exchange of family news before she produced a handwritten menu.
‘What will you have?’ asked Marc. ‘Coffee, bread, pastries?’
‘All of them,’ said Jane firmly. ‘And some orange juice if possible, please. That was quite a climb!’
‘But worth it for the view, wouldn’t you say?’ demanded Marc, waving his hand at the monolithic stone church behind them and the steeply descending view beneath them.
Jane smiled at the unmistakable warmth in his voice.
‘You really love this place, don’t you?’ she asked.
He nodded.
‘Yes, I do. It’s not just the scenery or the buildings, beautiful though they are, but the people! I know they’re conservative and sometimes drive me mad, but I like the feeling that it’s a community where I belong.’
Jane nodded, feeling vaguely envious. In a way she could say the same thing of her own home in Tasmania, but she had certainly never had the strong family ties that seemed to bind Marc to this place. It was something that she yearned for but didn’t really expect to experience. In spite of her envy, or perhaps because of it, she began to bombard Marc with questions about his family and his youth.
His anecdotes were extremely vivid, giving her an unforgettable picture of a closely knit community where work and play were shared against the background rhythm of the seasons. As she watched his eyes light up and saw his mobile features change with the description of past events, Jane felt the insistent tug of attraction more strongly than ever. She loved this man, loved him with a fervour and depth that frightened her. Sitting here in this peaceful village square with him, she could not believe that he was as hardened and cynical as he pretended. Marc Le Rossignol was the product of this community, where people loved and hated and disputed vigorously, where loyalties were deeply felt and emotions still burned white-hot, even after decades. He belonged here and she knew without doubt—but without much hope either—that she wanted to belong with him.
That feeling was only strengthened later in the day by the arrival of the rest of Marc’s family for a festive communal lunch. His mother had arranged a single long table in the shade of the trees next to the old chateau and Jane did her best to earn Brownie points by setting out baskets of bread and bottles of wine, although she hardly dared to handle the beautiful old china and crystal wine glasses which his mother thought appropriate for the meal. When the clan finally gathered, shortly after one o’clock, she was at first taken aback by the exuberant chaos of hugs and shouts and rapid torrents of French. Twelve to one seemed like overwhelming odds, but eventually all the Le Rossignols stopped thumping each other on the back and turned to include her in the uproarious reunion. As Marc drew her into the centre of the circle she tried hard to concentrate and remember everybody’s names. Fortunately he spoke in English.
‘Jane, I’d like you to meet the rest of my family. My brother Paul and his wife Christine, their two daughters Sophie and Colette and, on the other side, my brother Robert, his wife Monique and their little son Pierre. And this is my sister Laurette, and her fiancé Jacques Dussert. I’d like you all to meet Jane West. Jane’s a winemaker and it’s possible that I may buy her family vineyard in Australia.’
Jane felt a little twinge of regret as she looked around at all those smiling faces. Everything Marc had said was true, but there was nothing in his words to suggest that she was anything more than a junior colleague in the wine industry. All the same, she thought she saw a speculative gleam of curiosity in the eyes of the women in particular as they stepped forward to shake her hand and kiss her on both cheeks.
There was a strong family resemblance among all the Le Rossignols. Paul and Robert were both as tall as Marc, with similar colouring, although neither of them had his indefinable, brooding animal magnetism. Only Laurette, who was small and dark, with vivid blue eyes like her father’s, seemed to share that challenging, sardonic quality. For the present, Jane registered only the simplest details about the others. That Christine was blonde and plump with a good-natured smile and that both her daughters closely resembled her, right down to the elaborate dresses they were wearing. That Monique was tall and dark and elegant, too fully occupied in dealing with a screaming, stiff-backed Pierre to do more than offer Jane a few hasty words of greeting. That Jacques Dussert had copper-coloured curls, an engaging smile and could not take his eyes off Lau
rette.
‘Armand, let us first drink an aperitif and then sit down and eat,’ suggested Marc’s mother.
At first Jane felt rather overwhelmed, especially since most of the conversation was in French. However, once the meal began, she found herself next to Laurette, who spoke very good English although her accent was a mixture of French and American. Since Marc soon became engaged in an energetic debate with his father and brothers about blending techniques, it was Laurette who translated snippets of conversation for Jane, passed food to her and asked her questions about Australia. She was a lively and amusing companion and, thanks to her tact, Jane soon felt part of the group and was even brave enough to try out a few halting remarks in French.
Before long she found herself relaxing so much that she genuinely enjoyed the ducklings in rich cherry sauce and the apple galette that followed. From time to time Marc turned to her with a comment or a question, so that by the time the dessert wines were brought out she was beginning to feel like a member of the family. She felt even more at home when Laurette took pity on the two fidgeting little girls and suggested a game of hide-and-seek in the garden. Most of the adults declined the invitation with a shudder, preferring to sit and sip Sauternes, but Jacques jumped up immediately to join in. Rather to Jane’s surprise, Marc also rose lazily to his feet and offered his services to Sophie and Colette.
‘Come on, Jane,’ he ordered. ‘These wicked children can’t be trusted on their own. We’ll have to play too.’
‘Hooray, hooray,’ shouted Colette. ‘Uncle Marc plays a special kind of hide-and-seek, Jane. He pretends he’s a monster, hunting little girls to eat them up.’
It gave Jane an odd, wistful feeling to see how well Marc got along with his nieces. All his sophistication and arrogance seemed to vanish as he stalked them around the shrubbery and outhouses, pouncing on them and sending them running with squeals of terror and delight. What a wonderful father he’d make! thought Jane as a frenzied little girl came running out of the bushes and hurtled headlong into her, almost knocking her down, with Marc in roaring, looming pursuit. Hugging the child, Jane chuckled reproachfully.
‘Stop it, Marc!’ she protested. ‘You’ll give her nightmares.’
‘Rubbish! She loves it,’ he replied, his eyes twinkling.
For a moment they stood gazing, laughing at each other over Colette’s head. A current of warmth and understanding seemed to flow between them and Jane felt a surge of hope that the rift between them might soon be healed. Then abruptly the expression on Marc’s face changed, as if he had seen something over Jane’s shoulder. Instantly he was his old self again. Suave, cool, faintly mocking.
‘Well, look who’s here,’ he said softly.
Jane swung round, following the direction of his gaze, and gave a soft gasp of dismay.
‘Simone!’ she breathed.
It was as if the sun had just gone in behind a cloud and a chill shadow had settled on her skin. It sent a pang of uneasiness through her to watch Marc walk across to Simone and kiss her on both cheeks. She tried to tell herself that this was just normal French courtesy and meant nothing in particular, but the rest of the family also seemed to be greeting Simone eagerly, as if she was a frequent guest. Only Laurette showed an unexpected reserve, offering her cheek reluctantly for Simone to kiss and greeting her in a subdued voice that was quite unlike her usual exuberance. A momentary flash of hostility gleamed in Simone’s eyes as she caught sight of Jane, but she advanced towards her with her hand outstretched and a disarming smile playing about the corners of her lips.
‘Why, Jane,’ she said. ‘What a surprise! How do you happen to be here?’
‘Marc invited me,’ retorted Jane defiantly.
Simone’s plucked eyebrows arched at that and she turned to Marc with a humorously indulgent expression on her face.
‘What a good idea, chén,’ she said. ‘That long flight from Australia is unspeakably dull and exhausting, so I think you were very wise to bring a companion to lessen the tedium. Besides, it will be nice for Jane to see a little more of the world before she goes home.’
This made Jane feel as if she were some kind of X-rated video, guaranteed to offer a brief escape from boredom, but Marc scarcely seemed aware of any insult to her in Simone’s words. A thoughtful frown came over his face and he turned to his parents.
‘You must excuse Simone and me,’ he said abruptly. ‘We’ve got some very important matters to talk about which may take a long time to sort out. I think we’d better go inside at once. If you can keep Jane occupied for me, I’d be grateful.’
‘Of course they can,’ muttered Jane under her breath. ‘Laurette and Jacques can play hide-and-seek with me.’
She caught Laurette’s glance of startled amusement, and realised that Marc’s sister must have heard her words. Surprisingly the other girl intervened on Jane’s behalf.
‘Can’t your business discussions with Simone wait, Marc?’ she asked mildly. ‘Jane’s come such a long way to visit us that it seems a pity to spoil her time here with financial matters.’
Jane gave Laurette a brief, grateful smile. It was kind of Marc’s sister to support her, and doubly tactful to hint that his discussion with Simone would be purely financial in nature. All the same, her intervention did no good. Marc simply gave his sister a weary sidelong look, as if she were an ignorant child interfering in adult affairs.
‘It can’t be helped,’ he said dismissively. ‘Simone and I have urgent matters to discuss. You will have to excuse us.’
‘Mon Dieu!’ exclaimed Marc’s mother. ‘At least let poor Simone have a glass of wine before you carry her off, Marc.’
Simone gave a small, triumphant smirk as she sat down with a glass of Sauternes, but Marc’s impatience was obvious. All the while that she sat tranquilly sipping her wine he was drumming his fingers on the table, and the moment she swallowed the last drop he rose to his feet.
‘We may be occupied for several hours,’ he announced. ‘So it’s probably best if I say goodbye to you all now. Thank you for coming—it was good to see you again.’
That was a signal for a general move, as Christine and Monique also began to murmur that they must get home. Soon they were all on their feet, rounding up children and retrieving scattered belongings. A cold, aching sense of misery settled in the pit of Jane’s stomach as she watched the ritual of kisses and handshakes being repeated. To her surprise, as she stood gazing unhappily after them, Laurette touched her on the shoulder and smiled.
‘Jacques and I are staying here overnight,’ she said. ‘And I’d like to get to know you a little better. Won’t you come to my room and have some more coffee?’
‘Thank you,’ replied Jane gratefully. ‘But shouldn’t we help your mother with the washing up?’
Madame Le Rossignol clicked her tongue.
‘Don’t worry about it, child,’ she urged. ‘Marie has a girl coming up from the village this afternoon to help her. They’ll take care of it together. You go away and talk to Laurette.’
Laurette led the way through the eighteenth-century part of the chateau into a huge, beautifully proportioned room overlooking the terrace and the vineyards beyond. The walls were exquisitely decorated with almond-green and white plasterwork, while the heads and feet of the two vast canopied beds were carved to match. Yet Laurette treated her sumptuous surroundings quite casually.
‘Take off your shoes and relax,’ she invited. ‘Just because this place looks like a museum, you don’t have to behave as though you’re in church. Lie on one of the beds and get comfortable. That’s what I’m going to do as soon as I’ve made the coffee.’
She crossed to one of the beautifully carved wardrobes built into one wall and flung open the doors, revealing a complete miniature kitchen with gas ring, sink, refrigerator and a cupboard full of supplies. A moment later the aroma of ground coffee beans filled the air as she screwed the percolator together.
‘Are you sure I’m not intruding on your time with your fianc�
�?’ asked Jane, obediently kicking off her shoes and perching on one of the beds.
‘Of course you’re not,’ said Laurette with a grin. ‘Jacques is planning to go fishing tonight. He says it helps to keep his mind off other things when we’re staying here. Even though we share an apartment in Nantes, my mother practically had a heart attack when I suggested we should sleep together here. She’s totally medieval in her outlook.’
‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Jane in a worried tone. ‘I had a feeling we might be offending her. Marc and I——’
She broke off, suddenly realising that it might be more discreet to say nothing, but Laurette’s eyes were dancing.
‘I know!’ she announced in a stage whisper. ‘Maman told me the dreadful secret of how you were sleeping together in one of the tower rooms. Well, Marc’s more ruthless than I am, so he probably just rode over her feeble cries of opposition. But, I have to warn you, she’s expecting a wedding announcement any day now to make it all right.’
Jane flinched.
‘Is she really?’ she asked in horror. ‘Your poor mother. How embarrassing! Look, I might as well tell you the truth, Laurette. Marc and I have had a fight and I’ve moved out of his room. Besides, even when we were sleeping together he never said anything to me to suggest that it was serious.’
‘You mean you’re not planning to get married?’ asked Laurette in a perplexed tone. ‘I felt sure that you must be. When I saw you looking at Marc after lunch today I could have sworn you were in love with him.’
A shadow crossed Jane’s face.
‘That doesn’t mean he’s in love with me, does it?’ she asked bitterly.
Laurette gave her a thoughtful look.
‘It must be pretty serious for him to bring you here to stay. He’s never done that with any of his other women before, except Simone. And I’m willing to bet that it’s ages since he really cared about her. I don’t think he ever forgave her for marrying Gilles.’
‘You mean Simone is married?’ asked Jane in astonishment.
Unwelcome Invader (Harlequin Treasury 1990's) Page 13