‘All of them, I hope,’ Kate murmured, determined to show she could be as untroubled as he was by The Kiss.
‘Ah, yes,’ Guy said as he replaced the bowls. ‘Your house-warming party in three weeks’ time.’ Planting his hands on his lean hips, he looked at her. ‘I guess that’s my target for getting everything here back to normal for you.’
He was clearly pleased to see what he must have imagined was her return to clear thinking, Kate thought, imposing a smile on her strained features. Lucky for her he couldn’t sense the mayhem in her mind. Suddenly it was all too much for her—the loss of Aunt Alice, the deception, the devastation at the cottage, not to mention Guy’s reminder of the impossible deadline she had set herself. She had to get out of the cottage—into the fresh air.
‘You can cook?’ Guy demanded, oblivious to the storm clouds brewing as he followed her out. ‘If not, don’t worry about it. I’ll arrange something with Madame Duplessis. No one need ever know.’
That suggestion doused the aftershock of his kiss more effectively than any bucket of cold water. As a child, her life had been ordered for her, but things were very different now. She was in charge of her own life. ‘I can manage, thank you,’ Kate broke in, turning her face to the sun as she gulped in air. Perhaps it did sound ungrateful, but she had to put him straight.
‘I’m sure you can,’ he said. ‘But if you need any help, don’t be afraid to ask.’
She couldn’t let him go on. ‘When I knew my career as a dancer was over…’
He broke in, taking hold of her arm for emphasis. ‘I noticed your limp. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
‘I retrained as a Cordon Bleu cook,’ Kate went on steadily in an attempt to avoid discussing something that could only strengthen his impression of her as being the same headstrong character he had known years before.
‘I’m impressed,’ Guy said with a small shrug. ‘But I’m more concerned about the tragic loss of your dancing career. That must have been terrible for you.’
‘Not as terrible as what happened to your father…and Aunt Alice,’ Kate pointed out. ‘Compared to that, it hardly seems worth mentioning.’
‘Of course it’s worth mentioning,’ Guy insisted calmly. ‘You must have been at the peak of your career when it happened. I used to read about you all the time in the arts columns…and then nothing.’
Kate’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘That’s right. But I was too tall.’
‘Nonsense,’ Guy argued. ‘All the critics said you were a dream.’
‘Yes,’ Kate said, forcing out a short laugh. ‘But it was always my mother’s dream, not mine. And in a strange sort of way the accident freed me.’
‘Freed you?’ he said in a puzzled voice.
‘Yes. To be myself,’ Kate explained. ‘To do what I wanted to do.’
‘To start up in business?’
He clearly found the idea bewildering, but for Kate breaking into the world of commerce had fulfilled her dreams however crazy that might seem to Guy. ‘That’s right,’ she confirmed. ‘At first I thought of becoming a chef, but that wasn’t quite right for me. Then one day when I was trawling the Internet to find a holiday I hit on the idea of opening a travel agency with a difference. A one-stop shop which you could access via the Internet, put a package together yourself, but also with the option to ask for advice from staff who really knew what they were talking about. At first I was the only staff member,’ she said with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘But if there was one thing my career as a dancer had given me it was the chance to see the world. So Freedom Holidays took off like a rocket—beyond all my wildest expectations. At last I’d found something I wanted to do—something I enjoyed.’
‘Past tense,’ Guy observed shrewdly.
‘Not at all,’ Kate returned quickly. ‘I still love what I do. But now it’s time to expand.’
‘And expansion doesn’t always mean getting bigger,’ he reasoned out loud. ‘Sometimes it means taking a broader view.’
‘Exactly,’ she agreed, enthusing at his quicksilver grasp of the situation.
‘So, what is your plan?’ he said, surprising her with the accuracy and speed of his lunge into the soft, exposed heart of her deception.
‘I thought you wanted to hear about what happened to me, not my business,’ Kate parried. She never talked about the accident, but right now it seemed the safer…no, the only option. She saw his gaze soften fractionally.
‘Continues, Kate.’
‘It was stupid really…’ Now it had come to it, she knew it sounded nothing less than lunatic. ‘I accepted a dare…’ She stopped. His face had adopted an all too familiar look. ‘It was my twentieth birthday. I know.’ She said it for him. ‘You’re thinking I should have grown out of my daredevil phase long before then.’
Guy managed to confine himself to a wry shrug as he waited for her to go on.
‘There was a gantry over the flies,’ she explained, referring to the iron structure that spanned the space high over the backstage area in the theatre where she had been working.
‘And the dare was?’ he pressed when she hesitated.
‘To walk across it à pointe.’ She could only wait a few moments when his imagination took flight and he groaned. There really was no way to explain what she had been doing all that way off the ground, tiptoeing across a six-inch beam in a pair of ballet shoes. ‘My fall was broken by the ropes and—’
Guy’s face tightened with concern as he held up his hands to stop her. ‘It sounds like the most horrendous accident. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed.’
‘I know,’ she said softly.
‘Well, now you’ve returned here to Villeneuve, I hope you can assure me that your days of risk-taking are well and truly over.’
How was she supposed to answer that? Kate thought, as her mind drifted back to his kiss. How did that rank on a risk scale from one to ten? However cool Guy might be choosing to play it now, safe men didn’t kiss like that—and cautious girls didn’t let them. ‘It’s not always obvious at the time that you are taking a risk,’ she argued sensibly.
‘It is to me,’ he said vehemently. ‘And now that’s out of the way,’ he said, as if her compliance was a given, ‘I want to take another look at the damage so I know just who to send round to put it right.’
Guy had been as good as his word, Kate thought as she stood outside the cottage watching the decorator putting the final touches to the wooden shutters. Guy’s business interests might have taken him abroad, but the work had continued just as he had promised it would. And his absence had allowed Kate to concentrate on her own plans, rather than waste time on dreaming up fanciful possibilities between them—even if that didn’t stop her from gazing down the lane umpteen times a day—just as she was doing now, she realised, pulling herself together.
She walked briskly back up the path to attach the last tie to the vigorous rambling rose she had managed to rescue. Now it was securely fastened around the newly painted front door it was already showing brand new clusters of hectic pink blooms after its violent upheaval. She had placed two large terracotta pots on either side of the door, each containing a miniature palm whose delicate fronds whispered a sibilant tune as the light summer breeze played through them. And the path had been repaired and then edged with every fragrant species of plant she could lay her hands on.
Standing back, Kate gave a sigh of satisfaction. On the outside, at least, she was satisfied that La Petite Maison looked as welcoming as it possibly could. But now it was time to clean her fingernails and move indoors, where the real work still had to be done. She felt a rush of excitement as she remembered that there was just a little over a week to go before her first guests arrived. And it was only a week to the famous house-warming party.
Guy had sent a brief handwritten note apologising for the fact that he was unable to give any indication as to whether he would make it back in time. But there was no risk if he did attend, Kate consoled herself.
As far as Guy de Villeneuve was concerned, the many improvements to the cottage had been made for her benefit alone. And the party for the village was just what it seemed to be—a chance for her to get to know everyone a little better. And it was a fact that she would need to integrate herself fully in village life if everyone was to reap the full benefit from her new business venture.
Pushing open the front door, Kate kicked off her flip-flops and relished the fresh clean smell. It was hard to imagine that this was the same place Guy had brought her to after the fire. And now that she was able to look at things calmly and objectively, she could see that the damage had given her the chance to make some real improvements. Once she had taken him into her confidence the builder had come up with some of his own ideas. Knocking down the wall between the kitchen and the morning room, for instance, had given her at least three times the space. And when he had installed the island unit with a cooking hob where she intended to hold some of her demonstrations, he had suggested the addition of a part-mirrored wall behind the other work-surfaces, allowing food preparation to be seen clearly.
The mirrors had the added advantage of reflecting the light, so that what had once been a cosy but decidedly shady area had been transformed into a spacious, airy room with plenty of natural light. To this Kate had added a number of comfortable chairs in mellow wood made snug with plump cushions in her chosen colours of egg-yolk yellow, white and blue. Lined white voile curtains billowed out from the open windows and on the freshly scrubbed floor she had placed a huge new rug in neutral shades to soften the appearance of the original stonework. It only remained to unpack all the equipment she had ordered and the kitchen was ready.
‘I’ve got the old range going for you.’
Turning to thank the builder who had made it a matter of pride to see that she would be as comfortable as possible as quickly as possible, Kate returned his smile of achievement. Husband of the affable lady owner of the local fruiterie, Giles Dumas was a walking advertisement for good diet and the outdoor life. His healthy complexion frosted with silver stubble housed a clear topaz gaze that seemed to see beyond his latest achievement and on to the next task. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Kate told him.
‘The bathroom’s next,’ he murmured, confirming her supposition that he was already planning his next job.
Giles had made sure that she had water, even if the electricity supply was proving more of a problem. But the old range was most important of all. It would heat the water and provide cooking facilities until the mains supplies could be connected. As yet there was no sign of this happening, a matter that had been referred back to the Villeneuve estate office to sort out.
‘Monsieur le Comte is your friend?’ Giles said as he rolled down the sleeves of his red and white checked shirt and rebuttoned the cuffs.
‘That is correct,’ Kate said, wondering where this was leading.
As Giles settled his omnipresent black beret to a more secure position on the crown of his head he beetled a look at her. ‘Monsieur le Comte will speak to the authorities on your behalf when he returns and then you will have electricity.’
Kate smiled at his blind faith. ‘I’m sure you’re right, Giles. But I’m quite capable of doing that myself. And I have no idea when Monsieur le Comte is returning.’
‘Allow me to put you out of your misery.’
‘Guy!’ Kate exclaimed accusingly. ‘You startled me!’ But the sight of him, darkly tanned in a casual linen suit over a simple white T-shirt, striding in through the open doorway was enough to make anyone jump, she reassured herself, swallowing deeply.
‘My word, Giles,’ he said, clapping the builder on the back. ‘What a transformation!’ Then, turning to Kate, he executed a mock-bow. ‘Allow me to apologise for the intrusion, mademoiselle. And for causing you to jump, however elegantly, into the air.’ But then he spoiled it all by adding sardonically, ‘I haven’t known you so timid before, Kate—or so feminine,’ he finished, looking her up and down.
Kate could see he was clearly in the mood for tormenting her. His gaze lingered on her working uniform of bare feet, flower-sprigged cotton skirt from the village store and the same white blouse that had let her down once before.
‘I would have changed if I had known you were coming,’ she said acerbically.
‘Mais non. I like it,’ he declared with a touch too much relish. ‘I can see La Petite Maison is bringing out the best in you.’
Did he mean dishevelled and decidedly grubby while she toiled at what he clearly considered were suitable tasks? Kate’s lips tightened as she squared her shoulders. ‘Don’t go there, mister—’
Now it was Giles’s turn to jump with alarm. Clearly embarrassed at finding himself between his Count and a disrespectful maiden, the elderly builder, having snatched his beret off his head, was attempting to back his way out of the room.
In a trice, Kate was standing between him and the door. ‘No, Giles, I must insist that you share a glass of lemonade with us. It’s freshly made,’ she added, fluttering around him in decidedly un-Kate-like mode as she tried appealing to the older man’s chivalrous inclinations.
‘Well, if you insist,’ he said hesitantly, gazing anxiously at Guy and then back again to Kate.
‘Of course she insists. We both do,’ Guy said, putting an arm around Giles’s shoulders as he led him to one of the well-upholstered benches. ‘You’ll share a glass with me, won’t you? And then you can fill me in on all the latest gossip,’ he insisted with a wink to Giles, sparing a look of amused triumph for Kate.
Kate’s hands were trembling when she reached for the pitcher of juice she had left cooling in the shady depths of the vast porcelain sink. It would be nice to pretend it was righteous indignation at the way Guy always assumed control that gave her the shakes, but she knew his arrival was all it took to set her trembling. Already his presence seemed to pervade every atom of the home she was trying to build for herself. She might be tough and shrewd in business, but in business there wasn’t this degree of emotion to contend with, she realised as she reached for the tumblers.
‘Let me help you.’
She hadn’t even realised Guy was right behind her until she heard his voice. Turning, she saw Giles comfortably ensconced on the bench where Guy had been sitting, whilst Guy had picked up one of her new beech trays.
‘I’ll serve,’ he offered, nodding towards the heavy jug she had balanced on the side of the sink. ‘That looks heavy. Let me take it.’
‘I can manage.’
‘You don’t have to manage when I’m here,’ he pointed out. ‘Come on, Kate,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Don’t make a scene. Why should we make Giles feel uncomfortable? Give me the jug.’
Loading the tray as he asked, Kate made a detour to the old meat safe she had pressed into service until the electricity was restored before following him back to the table.
Guy had already poured the lemonade and she watched Giles begin to gulp it down. She knew he would drink quickly. He was clearly eager to be anywhere but where he found himself right now. But as Guy relaxed back against the table to take his first sip, Giles stopped drinking and stared at the glass in astonishment.
‘This is delicious, mademoiselle.’
And then Guy’s eyes flamed with approval too. ‘This is seriously good, Kate,’ he murmured.
‘Well, don’t sound too surprised,’ she murmured to Guy, raising her brows in gentle reproof. But all the same she took real pleasure watching the two men enjoying the drink she had prepared. ‘Try a few of these to go with the lemonade,’ she suggested, pushing the bowls and plates she had brought from the old-fashioned cooler across the table. ‘Tell me what you think. And be honest. They’re a trial run for the house-warming party.’
Both looked equally impressed as they surveyed the rainbow selection of sauces and neatly prepared salad vegetables.
‘Absolument delicieux,’ Guy declared after he had tried a few and exchanged several glances of appreciation with Giles.
‘What else needs to be done now, Giles?’ Guy cut in.
Giles continued to tuck in as he spoke. ‘Nothing major on the building front, Monsieur le Comte. But the electricity is still not connected…’
‘Not connected!’ Guy exclaimed. ‘How can that be? I left instructions before I went away that the reconnection of all the main services here was to be a priority. Why didn’t you say something, Kate? How on earth have you been managing?’
‘I’ve managed just fine, thank you.’
‘But I don’t understand. How could you?’
‘With your oil fire and lots of candles,’ she said, reminding him of the offer he had made and that Madame Duplessis had thoughtfully ensured was carried through.
‘But before I went away I told my estate office to inform the authorities that La Petite Maison was being lived in once more.’
Did he mean the same secretary who had tried to prevent her from seeing Guy in the first place? Kate wondered. ‘Don’t worry,’ she insisted. ‘I shall take up the matter myself. I’m sure it’s only a question of time…’
‘But you do not have much time, mademoiselle,’ Giles exclaimed, immediately looking contrite when he realised that he had nearly let the cat out of the bag now he was sworn to secrecy over her plans for the guest house.
Instantly Kate felt guilty for having embroiled him in her plans too—plans that were rapidly getting out of hand. Laying her palm across his gnarled fist, she hurried to reassure him. ‘There’s really no need for either of you to be concerned. It’s something that I can take up myself now that the worst of the damage has been put to rights.’
‘But Monsieur le Comte can make things happen,’ Giles protested anxiously.
‘So can I. So can I, Giles,’ Kate told him firmly.
The French Count's Mistress Page 7