Inherited by Her Enemy (8 page)

She spoke quickly, fighting the sudden tightening of her throat. ‘I—I didn’t think it would be so big either.’

‘We have over thirty acres, this area planted with Pinot Noir, the grape that is Burgundy’s jewel. From it we produce our Grand Cru Baron Emile, our most valuable wine.’

‘Is that what we had last night?’

He laughed. ‘
Non, hélas.
That was our Bourgogne Villages, although that is also highly regarded, especially by the region’s restaurateurs.’ He pointed. ‘And over there, where you see that wall, we grow the Chardonnay grapes for our white wine, Clos Sainte Marie de Terauze. But I do not expect you to walk that far,’ he added as they resumed their climb, their boots crunching over the frosty grass.

‘Or remember all the information either, I hope.’ She sent him a defiant look, suppressing all the other questions that, to her own surprise, she actually wanted to ask, not least about the dynamics back at the house.

At the same time she found herself registering the almost proprietorial note in his voice. A man who loves his work, she thought, and she could hardly blame him for that.

She went on quickly, ‘Andrew may have bought into this haven of rural tranquillity and charm, but please don’t expect me to do the same.’

His brows lifted. ‘Terauze may be charming but it is rarely tranquil. Making a wonderful vintage is hard work with great risk. It is not easy to work in harmony with nature, when nature so often resists. My father came to understand this. To wish to be part of it.’

He paused. ‘And he intended you to accompany him here to share in it too.’

She gasped. ‘To live here? You mean—with Mother and Cilla?’

‘
Non.
He knew they would never agree to his plan, so he made other arrangements for them, as you have seen.’

She said hoarsely, ‘And he thought I would just—walk away and leave them? I don’t believe it.’

‘He felt,
peut-être,
that they did not deserve such loyalty.’ He allowed her to absorb that then added, ‘He wanted to show you that there were other possibilities in this world,
ma mie.
A different way of living
.
’

‘Well, this will never be mine,’ Ginny said stonily, her clenched fists buried deep in her pockets. ‘Nor do I believe that I’m going to be punished for the rest of my life for one stupid, ghastly mistake.’

‘Is that how you remember it? Because I do not. It was certainly not wise—but ghastly?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Never that.’

Ginny looked away from the sudden caress in his gaze, aware of an unwelcome churning in the pit of her stomach at the memories it sparked. ‘It makes no difference. As soon as I know there’s no reason for me to stay, I shall be out of here and on my way home, as we agreed.’

‘And what home is that?’ He sounded politely interested.

‘I’ll find one.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Because, even if you break our agreement, I shall still leave. Whatever you think, I can find work and—and fend for myself. I’m not like my sister.’

He frowned. ‘I think you do her an injustice,’ he said quietly. ‘She has never had a chance to prove herself—or been required to do so.’

‘Then it’s a great pity you didn’t bring her here instead of me,’ she flashed.

He shrugged. ‘She would have refused. She prefers the safety of an idle marriage to the rich Monsieur Welburn.’

‘But you’re rich now, thanks to Andrew. You could have offered her the same.’ Her voice was suddenly husky. ‘She—clearly found you more than attractive.’

‘Like most pretty girls, she likes to flirt,’ he said sardonically. ‘
Alors,
I doubt she would find working beside me each day, sharing my bed at night and raising our children quite so appealing.’

Pain twisted inside her as if someone had inserted a small, thin knife between her ribs. She said stiffly, ‘Well, when all this is over, and I’m gone, you can look for someone willing to fit into your cosy little plan —if such a person exists.’

‘
Pas de problème,
’ he said softly. ‘As you say, I am a rich man, and one must be a realist about these things.’ He smiled at her. ‘
D’ailleurs,
it may not be necessary. Our agreement works in two ways, so perhaps,
après tout,
you will not be leaving.’

‘Please don’t count on it.’ They had reached the top of the incline, and paused, facing each other, their breath mingling in the chill air. Anger and other less definable emotions crisped her tone. ‘Thank you for the tour, but I have to tell you that one vine looks very like another to me. I’d like to go back now.’

‘If you wish,’ he said. ‘Although there is one last thing I brought you here to see.’

She looked at the undulating landscape with its regiments of vines, her brows lifting. ‘You mean I’ve missed something? I can hardly wait.’

‘Sarcasm does not become you.’ He took her by the shoulders and she stiffened, panic rising inside her. Because she could not let him touch her. She dared not...

But instead of pulling her towards him, Andre turned her to face the way they had come, and she saw behind them, sheltered like a jewel by the wooded hills behind it, a broad and stately rectangle of grey stone, its roof tiled in faded red, and a tower like a tall pepperpot at each corner.

She drew a startled breath. ‘My God, it’s not just a house, it’s a castle. Like something from a fairy tale.’

‘The Château Terauze,’ he said quietly. ‘I wished you to see it for the first time from this spot.’

She gestured around her. ‘So as well as being Andrew’s heir, you’re due to inherit all this too.’

‘
Mais oui,
but not, I hope, for many years to come. Papa Bertrand is well and strong.’

She said, ‘Does he—your adoptive father—know about me?’

‘
Bien sûr.
He heard a great deal from Andrew.’

‘Andrew talked about me—here, and to him?’

She looked away. ‘All this was going on—and I didn’t have the slightest idea.’ She gave a brief shaken laugh. ‘Unbelievable.’ She paused. ‘How did he and Monsieur Duchard become such friends?’

‘You mean when they were both in love with the same woman?’

Andre’s mouth twisted. ‘And the answer is—very slowly. Even as a child, I could recognise the awkwardness in my father’s visits. See that my mother found them difficult, at times almost unbearable.’

‘Then why did she allow them?’

‘Her sense of honour demanded it. She would accept no money from him, but she agreed he had a right to see his child. Also, she was grateful that he had not opposed Bertrand’s wish to adopt me after their marriage.’

She said slowly, ‘It sounds a terrible situation. But what I don’t understand is why she chose to come here at all.’

‘She had a friend here in Terauze who had been her
correspondante
from their school days.’ He paused. ‘A penfriend, you would say. There had been visits on both sides, but Maman loved it here and came several times after leaving school to stay with her friend and help with the grape-picking, looking on it as her second home.

‘
Alors,
when she needed help, she came here to find a refuge where she could think calmly and without pressure about her future and that of her child.’

Ginny bit her lip. ‘In which case, history seems to be repeating itself.’

‘
Au contraire.
You have not come to find yourself alone. My mother was not so fortunate. She discovered that, over a year before, her friend had moved away to Provence with her family, leaving no address.’

Ginny gasped. ‘What did she do?’

‘She could afford a room at the
auberge
for a night or two, but on the way she
felt suddenly faint and sat down on the church steps to recover. Papa Bertrand was passing in his car, recognised her, and insisted on bringing her back to the Château.’

‘You mean he remembered her from her grape-picking days?’

Andre smiled. ‘Ah, more than that. They knew each other well. As a child, he teased her. As a girl, he fell in love with her. And when she came back as a woman, he was determined to make her his wife, and raise her child as his own.’ He paused. ‘But she was not easy to persuade. Not least because his father, who had other ideas for him, opposed his plans.’

‘And she didn’t wish to cause trouble in his family.’ Ginny sighed. ‘I can understand that.’

‘So he moved out of the
château
to La Petite Maison, where I was born. But, sadly, his father refused to accept the marriage until the day he died.

‘And for a long time, my mother did not wish to move to the château,
because of the unhappy memories it held for her.’

The fairy tale had its dark side, Ginny thought, glancing back at the château with a quick shiver.

Which he noticed. ‘You are cold? We will go back to the house.’ Adding quietly, ‘But not quite yet.’

Before she realised his intention, he turned her to face him, pulling her into his arms and pinning her against him, while his mouth sought hers.

Sky and earth were tilting dizzily as her senses leapt at the pressure of his lean, hard body, the stark insistence of his lips parting hers in a kiss that she could not withstand. A kiss that she ached for and which made her realise in one devastating moment that if he was to pull her down with him to the frosty ground, she would not be able to resist him. Nor, to her eternal shame, would she want to.

But even as she felt herself melting into surrender, Andre released her and stepped back as if nothing particular had happened.

Her voice not entirely under her control, she said, ‘What the hell was all that about?’

‘Let us call it—a welcome to my world.’

‘Your world.’ She could feel the thud of her heart against her ribs as she challenged his gaze. ‘But not mine. Never in a thousand years.’

She turned and started down the slope, resisting an almost overwhelming impulse to run, as the sudden tightening of her throat muscles warned her that tears were not far away. A self-betrayal she knew she could not afford.

Not then, she told herself, or at any time until she had left Terauze behind her for good.

CHAPTER EIGHT

O
N
G
INNY
’
S
RETURN
, the kitchen was already beginning to fill with the enticing aroma of chicken and vegetables cooking slowly in another big pot on the stove, but she did not linger, but hurried to her room to discard her coat and boots, trying without success to dismiss from her mind that blinding, agonising moment of desire that had devastated her defences against him only a few moments before.

She should have fought him off, she told herself angrily. She’d been mad to expose herself to such danger. Even crazier to try and pretend the danger did not exist.

It had been a shock to discover that Andrew had planned to live at the château.

And I, she thought, swallowing, I would have lived here too—if I’d agreed to come with him—which, of course, I wouldn’t have done. But, if I had, Andre and I would have met under totally different circumstances...

But I won’t think about that, she told herself sternly, aware that for a moment her mind had gone into a curious kind of freefall. I’ll deal with things as they are.

She had just hung away her coat, when there was a sharp rap on the door, and Andre came in, his face set and unsmiling.

He said, ‘Have you spoken yet to your mother?’

‘There’s still no answer. I’ll try again later.’

‘You will be wasting your time,’ he said. ‘Monsieur Hargreaves is also trying to find her. He wishes to arrange for Barrowdean to be cleared for the new tenants. Yet
he has learned that she has flown out to the Seychelles to take a holiday with your sister, and cannot be contacted.’

He paused. ‘You knew of this plan?’

Ginny bit her lip. ‘Well, yes, but I had no idea she meant to leave so soon.’
Or, more worryingly, leave no details of her trip.

He frowned. ‘I find her decision curious. Does she fully understand the terms of my father’s will—its financial implications for her?’

‘I think so.’ Ginny flushed. ‘But you also have to understand how stressful everything has been for her—losing Andrew and—all that’s followed.’
Including my decision to come here...

‘She was probably too desperate for an interlude away from it all to consider the cost.’

‘Then she must learn to do so,’ he said drily.

He paused again, his eyes studying her, travelling from the startled, vulnerable curve of her mouth down to the thrust of her breasts under the thick sweater. Reminding her silently that layers of clothing were no protection at all.

He said, ‘But you chose not to accompany them.’

She looked away. ‘It was never really an option. I—I needed to find permanent work. And, of course, I still do.’

‘So this time at Terauze is your own—interlude,
peut-être
?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘More like being caught between a rock and a hard place. But I came here to work, so if you’ll explain the routine, I can get started.’

‘There is no hurry,’ he said with a shrug. ‘First become accustomed to a new country and a new life.’

‘But I want to do my share,’ she said vehemently. ‘I’ve no intention of being just a—a kept woman, however temporary. I need to know you’re getting your money’s worth.’

His face suddenly relaxed into a wicked grin. ‘
Vraiment?
’ he drawled.

‘Then it is only necessary to have my clothes brought here to this room, and everything arranges itself.’

‘Like hell it does.’ It was difficult to sound positive when she was blushing again, her body burning up. ‘I haven’t the slightest intention of sleeping with you.’

‘Believe me,
ma belle,
sleeping was not my purpose either.’ Andre was laughing openly now. ‘But, if you insist, I can wait until you are my wife.’

‘Something else that is never going to happen,’ she said defiantly.

‘
Alors,
if you wish a task to perform,’ Andre went on as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘then you can come down and make me some coffee and we can drink it while we talk.’

She said quickly, ‘I don’t want any coffee—and I need to tidy my room.’

The firm mouth twisted. ‘Even though we both know that there are things to be said? Questions still to be answered?’

She forced a smile. ‘Even so. I—I don’t want to make more work for Madame Rameau.’

There was a silence, then he said quietly, ‘As you wish. Then we shall meet again at lunch,
a midi et demi
.’

As soon as he’d gone, Ginny got out her mobile phone and keyed in the Welburns’ number. To her surprise, the call was taken not by the housekeeper but Jonathan, who seemed equally astonished to be hearing from her.

‘Where on earth are you?’ he demanded.

‘In France,’ she said over-brightly. ‘Visiting Andrew’s other family.’ Which, she hoped would confer a kind of respectability on the trip. She paused. ‘But there’s rather a snag. I need to speak to Mother and Cilla fairly urgently and I can’t remember the name of their hotel. Can you remind me?’

‘Your solicitor has already asked me, and I have no idea.’ There was a chill in his voice. ‘Your sister left me a message as brief as it was uninformative. And Mrs Pelham says that neither Cilla nor your mother took their phones. So we’re all in the dark.’

Ginny said uncomfortably, ‘I think it was all last minute and very rushed.’

He said bluntly, ‘I’m afraid I don’t find that much of a consolation. Not when Cilla and I are due to be married in a few months. But it seems on a par with everything else that’s been going on. Now you must excuse me. I’m on my way out.’

Ginny sank down on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone as if it might grow teeth and bite her. Because this was certainly not the response she’d expected.

What on earth had possessed her sister to put herself out of touch and out of reach on the other side of the world? And from her fiancé of all people?

Everything else that’s been going on...

The words had an ominous ring about them, she thought, recalling Jon’s open discontent at the dinner party.

Of course Andre had never actually admitted having an intimate liaison with Cilla. But nor had he denied that their mutual and very public attraction over dinner had continued in private, she thought, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.

But how could Cilla—when she loved Jonathan?

Maybe she couldn’t help herself, said a small annoying voice in her head. Just like you.

She sighed and put her phone back in her bag. If there were to be many more calls to England, she would need to top it up with money as well as recharge the battery.

But maybe that wouldn’t be necessary if, as she hoped and prayed, she would soon be on her way back to a new life and a worthwhile career. If Andre kept his part of their bargain.

And as long as she didn’t have to keep hers...

She looked down at herself. Pressed a hand against the flatness of her abdomen, telling herself that everything would be all right and she had nothing to worry about. That Fate wouldn’t play her such a dirty trick.

Telling herself, too, that she needed to stop brooding and find something else to occupy her mind.

She’d offered an obvious fib about her room, which was already immaculate, so she retrieved the thriller she’d bought at the airport, stretched out on the bed and began to read, keeping an eye on her little clock as she did so.

When she presented herself punctually in the kitchen, she found the meal more than lived up to its promise, the chicken falling off the bone and the vegetables perfectly cooked in the rich and subtly flavoured sauce.

To her own astonishment, Ginny ate every scrap of the generous portion she was given and still found room for a large slice of
tarte tatin
under Madame Rameau’s indulgent gaze.

In faulty but robust English, she informed Ginny that she was too thin. That a breeze of the most small would carry her away,
enfin,
and a man liked a woman that he knew he was holding in his arms.

And no prizes for guessing what man she was referring to, thought Ginny, avoiding Andre’s sardonic glance across the table, and furious to find herself blushing again, as if she was going for some all-time record in embarrassment.

When the meal was over, Andre said, ‘I have to go back to Dijon this afternoon, Virginie, so there is no need for you to hide away in your room again. Clothilde, who believes you need rest, has lit the fire for you in
le petit
salon,
which you will find more comfortable.’ He paused. ‘Also some of my mother’s books are there. Please choose anything you want.’

‘Thank you,’ she returned stiffly.

‘That is, of course, unless you wish to come with me. You might enjoy seeing Dijon in daylight.’ He added softly, ‘And it could appeal in other ways.’

‘That’s kind of you.’ She tried to ignore the swift unwelcome shiver of her senses at the thought of what they might be. ‘However, I’d prefer to wait until I take the flight home.’

‘As you wish.’ His shrug was unperturbed. ‘Although you may wait a long time. But the choice is naturally yours.’

As if I’m here of my own free will, Ginny thought rebelliously as she returned his ‘
Au revoir.
’

Once he’d departed, Madame Rameau decisively rejected any help with clearing away, and conducted Ginny through another door into what she realised was the main entrance hall.

Baronial, Ginny thought as she looked around her, doesn’t get near it. There was an enormous fireplace, easily able to accommodate an average ox at the far end, while the centre was occupied by the biggest table she’d ever seen, its length measured by a series of elaborate silver candelabra. If that was where dinner would be held, any conversation would need to be shouted.

Nor was the
petit salon
particularly small. And although the furnishings were definitely more shabby than chic, the room
looked inviting, with the pale sun coming through the long windows and logs crackling in the grate.

In the centre of the marble mantelpiece was a charming ormolu clock, clearly dating from a different century, flanked by two exquisitely pretty porcelain candlesticks, and a photograph in a silver frame.

A family group, she realised, with a slender dark-haired, brown-eyed woman at the centre, her tranquil features lit by a glowing smile, her hand resting on the shoulder of an adolescent boy, while a broad-shouldered man stood protectively behind them.

Even at half his age, Andre was unmistakable, she thought. And now that she’d had her first look at his mother, she could see what Mrs Pel had meant. No beauty, certainly, but with a sweetness about her that shone through.

While Bertrand Duchard, whom she would meet that evening, had a tough, uncompromising face which seemed to warn ‘Don’t mess with me’.

And I was hoping for twinkly-eyed benevolence, she mocked herself as she turned away, deciding that before she left Terauze for ever, she would offer Andre the photo of his father she’d brought with her to fill the space on the other side of the clock.

This, after all, was where Andrew had really wanted to be, in exchange for his beautiful, luxurious home and his standing in the community. His marriage...

He might never have persuaded Rosina to get this far, she mused wryly. But she’d been his wife, for better, for worse, and surely she’d deserved, at least, to be given the option.

Yet, for some unfathomable reason, she thought restively, he believed I’d fit right in. In heaven’s name why?

She’d intended to continue with her thriller but it was upstairs, so she wandered over to the tall glass-fronted bookcase to see if she could find something more engaging. She discovered a mixture from Dickens, Hardy and Tolkien to modern detective stories mingling with some interesting literary fiction.

In addition she found Flaubert’s
Madame Bovary
and several novels by Honoré de Balzac and Dumas both in the original and in English translations, plus a well-thumbed French grammar, suggesting that the late Madame Duchard had been working to improve her knowledge of her adopted language.

A worthy ambition which I’ve no wish to emulate, she told herself with determination. It smacks too much of making myself at home—which I’m not and never will be.

In the end, out of sheer nostalgia, she picked
The Hobbit
and retired with it to the elderly but still comfortable sofa facing the fire.

But perhaps she knew the story too well because, after a while, she found her mind drifting.

The result, she thought, pulling a cushion under her cheek, of the warmth of the room and the large lunch which had preceded it. Whatever, it would do no harm to close her eyes for a minute.

When she opened them again with a start, the room was in darkness and the logs in the fireplace had burned away to ashes.

My God, she thought, struggling upright and pushing her hair back from her face. I must have slept for hours.

And she’d dreamed. Dreamed she was back at Barrowdean, walking through a series of empty unfamiliar rooms, searching desperately for—something. Eventually hearing in the echoing distance the deep-throated bark of a dog, and calling ‘Barney’ begun to run.

I must have said it aloud, she told herself, and that’s what woke me.

Only there it was again, the sound of a bark, gruff, excited and close at hand. She turned to stare towards the door. It opened and light flooded the room at the press of a switch. Then, with a scrabble of paws, Barney was there hurling himself across the room at her, paws up against her chest and licking every inch he could reach. No dream, but solid golden reality.

‘Barney. Oh, darling boy.’ She was off the sofa, kneeling on the rug with her arms round him, her face wet with sudden uncontrollable tears.

She looked over his head at Andre lounging in the doorway, his face inscrutable. ‘Oh—how did you find him?’

‘He was never lost.’ He paused. ‘Or did you believe I would leave him in England?’

‘But surely there are rules and regulations about taking dogs abroad. Vaccinations—paperwork—stuff like that.’

‘Already completed by my father. I had only to change the dates of Barney’s collection and flight.’