Shadows (7 page)

The memory withered all her warm, confident feelings like shadows in the sun.  She got her back to the tiles, straightened, and held up warning hands.

“I’m sorry about that.  I didn’t mean to do it.”  She shook her head.  “I’ve been doing an awful lot of things I don’t normally do.”  She lifted a dripping finger and shook it at him in mock anger.  “It must be your fault.  Or else there’s something about this place…”

His mouth formed a negative smiley.  “How do you make that out?”  He turned on his back and spoke to the deep blue sky.  “What things?”

She bounced up and down and he rocked on the choppy surface of the water.  “Oh, lots of things.  So many spontaneous decisions in the last few days—I feel dizzy just thinking about it.  I left Jonny’s party to go off to dinner with a strange man.  The very next day I agreed to go on holiday with him.  For three weeks.  Alone with him, in a remote old water mill.  Flying on my own.  Driving on the wrong side of the road, sitting outside in the middle of the night.  Though I won’t do that again.  Sit outside again at night, I mean.  I’m sorry if I’m being an idiot.”

Rory folded at the waist, submerged and rose again, blinking water from his eyes.  “I made a complete circuit of the place.  There was no one there, you know.”

Maybe and maybe not.  She frowned.  “Something was there.  I wasn’t dreaming.  It was almost one o’clock, and it was very quiet.  There was no traffic noise, no sirens, nothing of city life to disturb me.  Nothing, that is, apart from the crickets.”

Rory swam two lazy strokes to the side of the pool before he turned to her. “A fox could have woken you.  An owl, out hunting.  Sounds of the countryside rather than the city.”

“It is pretty isolated here,” Melissa agreed.  She pointed.  “Those trees sweep down the hill almost to the door, and the fields stretch away in every other direction.  You admitted you almost missed the place when you first arrived because you couldn’t see it from the road.”

Rory threw himself backward.  There was a mighty splash, another tidal wave rebounded off the side of the pool and threatened to engulf her.  “But that’s the beauty of it.  It’s not as isolated as you think.  You can see the mill at St Pierre a mile away.  There are more farms than you think dotted around, and the monastery up the hill behind us.”

Melissa swam slowly to the other side of the pool and turned, jerking her head aside as Rory splashed water at her.  He could stand anywhere in the pool and still touch the bottom.  “Yes, that’s very true.  But there’s the strange caravan I saw this morning, lurking in the woods beyond the stream.  We haven’t a clue about who lives there and yet it’s barely two hundred yards away.  There may be thieves about.  I’ve seen fishermen prowl along the banks of the river.”  She pointed north toward the stream.  “If anyone ever looked suspicious creeping about in the undergrowth, they do.”

Rory spluttered and went under for a moment.  “They’re only interested in creeping up on the fish, not you.”  Arms brown and gleaming in the sun, he stood upright in shallower end of the pool and flexed his muscles like a man in a body builder’s advert.  “But remember, I’m here to protect you.”  He lifted an eyebrow.

For an instant, her eyes opened wide, taking in the magnificent sight of him. Then she laughed.  She couldn’t help it.  Mimicking his stance she gulped when his eyes opened wide and he surged toward her.  Scrambling away from him, she couldn’t move fast enough.  Serves you right.  She slapped water at him and squealed in mock terror when the wall of the pool slammed cool and slippery against her back.  Trapped, she stood up straight, took a deep, calming breath and held one hand up in front of her face, palm out.

He stopped, and in the hot silence, water crashed against the pool walls.

“I’m hungry.  Do you think it’s time for lunch?”

He groaned.

~~~

After a happy afternoon exploring the mill and its environs, Rory drove her to the nearest village for their evening meal.  She chose a table on the terrace of Jour le Fête, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“The Commune runs this place.”  Rory looked around.

“Communes make me think of the French Revolution.”  Melissa squinted against the sun, looking over the tired lawn and the wilted flowers imprisoned in the narrow, untidy borders.  “It’s still hot for eight o’ clock in the evening.”  She looked down at her sunburned arms and wished she’d either brought a wrap or worn something with sleeves.  Perhaps she should have worn the long sleeves this afternoon as they explored the mill.  As it was, her linen sundress left far too much rosy flesh on view and already her skin burned where the sun caught it.  “You’d have thought that the sun would have lost some of its heat by now.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”  Rory seemed deep in the menu.  His navy polo shirt covered his upper arms and shoulders, and his dark skin took the sun easily.  Melissa lifted her hair off her neck with both hands. She’d only stepped out of the air-conditioned car five minutes ago and already the back of her neck was damp.  There was something terrifying about the heat.

Rory looked up.  “What would you like to eat?”

Melissa shrugged.  “Is there a salad?  I get tired of meat sometimes.”

The waitress brought a dish of olives.  Rory selected one and ate it.  “Not trying to keep the bill down, are you?”  He handed Melissa the menu.

She glanced down the page.  “No.  I’ll have the cheese tart.”

“There’s no need, you know.  I can afford all this.”

Melissa shifted on her wooden chair.  “You said this afternoon you’d moved into a new flat recently.”  She disliked people who boasted about how much they earned or owned, and shrugged again.  “Most people find that curtails their spending for a while.”

“Order what you like, Blue Eyes.  Cheese might give you bad dreams.”

Melissa glared at him.  “Last night wasn’t a dream, Rory.  I was wide awake, and there was something there.  And don’t call me Blue Eyes.  It’s ridiculous.”

Rory sat back in his chair and grinned at her.  “But you do have blue eyes, sweetie, and they’re gorgeous.  I nearly fell into the stream last night, and collected a couple of nettle stings on the way, but—”

“I know you don’t believe me, but there was something there.  It was creepy.”

“You’ll be talking about ghosts soon.”

Oh Lord, should she tell him?  Worry made her link her fingers together in her lap.  Was this a good moment?  Did she need to tell him?  After all, she wasn’t sure there were ghosts at the mill.  Better to wait and see what happened.

The chance to speak vanished as a young waitress clattered across the tiles and hovered over them, pad and pencil poised.  With her hair gelled back from her face, long bare legs and clumsy wooden sandals beneath a short denim skirt, she looked all of fourteen.  “You are at ze mill?  Sometimes, not good there.”  Then, with a swift sideways glance to make sure the proprietor had not overheard her careless remark, she straightened her thin shoulders and offered an engaging smile.  “Bonjour.  You like to order now?”

Rory’s raised brows said quite clearly that this was not what he expected in a neat French restaurant in a rural French village.  Melissa, alarmed at the girl’s words, quelled the ripple of unease that washed over her and smiled at the waiflike waitress.

“Yes, we’re from Moulin Franchard.  You know it?  Vous connais—”

The girl smiled condescendingly at Melissa’s pidgin French.  “Oui.  Très jolie, very pretty.  But—”  The girl clapped her hands to her upper arms, gazed at the ceiling and shivered.

Melissa’s heart sank as she stared at the waitress.  The girl seemed sure that the mill was haunted.

Rory cleared his throat.  The girl turned to him, unfazed by the chilliness of his sharp, repressive glance.  “I’ll have the soup de légumes de maison, le canard and a bottle of the Malbec.  And for Madame…?”

Melissa ducked her head, scanned her menu and made a swift decision.  “Oh, er…the tarte au Roquefort, please.  Et le poisson rouge.”

The waitress wrote busily on her pad.  “D’accord.”  She turned on her heel and vanished into the kitchen.

“Goat’s cheese, Melissa?”  His voice was soft.  “I told you to order whatever you liked.”  He shook his head sorrowfully.

The gentle way he spoke went straight to her heart, but then he shook his head in mock resignation, and her temper lifted a notch.

“Roquefort is not goat’s cheese, and there’s no need to throw money around to impress me.”  She was tempted to add that it was ungentlemanly of him to do so.

Rory’s brows lifted.

“Now you’re looking at me as if I’m an exasperating child.  You might be a successful solicitor who earns a terrific salary but that doesn’t give you the right to lord it over people.”  Melissa smiled and opened her eyes wide, knowing she was about to dent his confidence.  “Roquefort is made from ewe’s milk, and it’s very expensive, so that should make you happy.”

Rory laughed aloud with such genuine amusement Melissa couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face.

“Touché.  It’s nice to know I can depend on my very own personal librarian to keep my facts straight.”  He leant across the table, seized her hand and kissed it.

Melissa gasped.  A rush of pleasure brought heat to her face.

“I’m sorry.”  Rory's mouth stretched in a smile.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.  I want you to have a good time, that’s all.”

“I am having a good time, so relax.”

The young waitress brought their first course.  Rory spooned up soup and moaned as he savored the taste.

Melissa rolled her eyes at him.  Why did he have to be so extravagant in his gestures?  “The soup is good, I take it?”

“Wonderful.”  He picked up the wine bottle and filled her glass.  “We’ll eat this wonderful meal, enjoy our wine, then we’ll go back to the mill and perhaps we’ll make love to the sound of the crickets.  How does that sound?”

He’d obviously forgotten all her reservations about sleeping together before they really knew each other.  Had he really forgotten, or was he teasing her, testing her commitment?  Melissa wrinkled her nose and smiled across the table.  “It sounds beautiful, but whether it happens or not is another matter.”

His smile died away.  “How long, do you think a courtship should last before—”

Melissa trapped his gaze and held it, determined he should not persuade her against her better judgment.  “Consummation?”

Rory nodded and ripped apart his bread bun and dropped the pieces into his soup.

Melissa couldn’t decide if he was annoyed with her or simply lost for words.  “You can say the word, you know.”

He shrugged.  “Consummation sounds a little cold for what I have in mind.  There must be an average and lots of variation in courtship.  You obviously prefer to take your time before—”

“Is this a courtship?”  Melissa assumed rounded, innocent eyes and popped a small piece of tart into her mouth.  Why not tease him a little?

Rory hid his sudden grin with a mouthful of soup.  “Oh, I think so, don’t you?”

“That’s good to know.”

“But seriously, how long?”

He was determined to have an answer, but she was equally determined to resist.  “Who knows?  And why is time so important?”

“Well, it…I find that…”  He grimaced and put down his spoon.  “Normally, girls don’t want to wait.”

“Oh, I see.”  Had he just delivered an insult?  She sat back in her chair.  “So now you’re saying I’m not normal?”

“Of course not.  I just need to know how long.”

He wasn't joking.  He wanted a precise number of days.  “I don’t know.  I suppose it will depend on you.”

“On me?  What have I got to do with it?”

“Everything.  And that was a silly question for a lawyer.  Who else is involved in this but you?”

“You.”

“Oh, yes.  Me.”  Melissa smiled across the table and tried to hide her rising irritation.  “It is a two-people-thing, isn’t it?  I hope you didn’t ask me here simply as someone to sleep with during the holiday.  If you did, you can drive me to the airport tomorrow.  I’ll pay for my own ticket home.”

The spoon in Rory’s hand twitched.  “If you believe that,” he snapped, “I have nothing more to say.”

Melissa let the silence linger while she considered her answer, which had pleased her.  His flash of temper told her he didn't like what she'd said.  That meant he wanted more than a holiday bed-mate.  She took up her knife and fork again.  “I don’t know you, Rory.  I won’t sleep with you until I do.  I made that mistake once before, and I’m not about to repeat my errors.”  She gauged him as he finished his soup.  “You may be a work driven lawyer with a social conscience, a man who thinks little of women, or a fanatical gambler.  I don’t know yet.  Why don’t you tell me who you are?”