Only to find herself just as suddenly released.
‘Oh, God,’ she choked when she could speak, caught between anger and something dangerously like disappointment. ‘How dare you?’ And, her voice rising, ‘How bloody dare you?’
‘Sois tranquille.’ He had the audacity to grin at her. ‘It took courage, sans doute, but what experiment does not?’ He paused. ‘So, ma douce, do I still have that invitation to dinner, or have I offended too deeply?’
Ginny was in a cleft stick. The dinner party was being held at her insistence. How could she cancel it without involving herself in truly hideous explanations? And if she claimed he was unavailable, she had no guarantee he would not find some way of letting the truth be known.
She swallowed hard. ‘The invitation stands.’
He said slowly, ‘You surprise me. Your family must want something very badly.’
She walked past him to the front door, and paused. ‘A truce,’ she said. ‘Is the most that’s hoped for. So, we’ll expect you at seven-thirty.’
His smile still lingered. ‘I shall look forward to it. À demain.’
Her hair had been loosened in the encounter, and whipped around her face as she walked to the car. She slid into the driving seat and gripped the wheel, waiting for the fierce trembling inside her to subside a little before starting the engine. As she probed her throbbing mouth with the tip of her tongue, it occurred to her that she could still taste him and felt her body clench harshly in response.
Get a grip, she adjured herself tersely. You’ve been kissed and by someone who knows how. You tried to hit him. He taught you a lesson. That’s all there is to it.
But it was a learning curve she could have well done without.
She drove off with exaggerated care until Keeper’s Cottage was a long way behind her, then pulled into a lay-by just outside the village and sat there until she felt calmer and more focused.
You have a dinner party to prepare for, she told herself. Concentrate on that. Forget everything else.
She’d discussed a possible menu with Mrs Pelham that morning, and they’d settled on salmon mousse, followed by Beef Wellington with roasted vegetables, and ending with white grapes in champagne jelly, and some good cheese.
She had returned the key to Mr Hargreaves’ office, and was just emerging from the speciality cheese shop in the High Street, when she saw Sir Malcolm and Lady Welburn leaving the Rose and Crown, and waved to them.
As she reached the opposite pavement, she said breathlessly, ‘I’m so glad I’ve seen you. I know it’s terribly short notice but my mother would be delighted if you’d come to supper tomorrow evening, with Jonathan if he’s free, and meet Andrew’s son and heir, Andre Duchard.’
‘My dear Virginia, what a very nice idea.’ Lady Welburn’s slight air of constraint fell away, and she smiled with her usual warmth. ‘We were just inquiring for him at the hotel, but he’s out.’
She lowered her voice. ‘I confess I was a little worried by Lucilla’s attitude yesterday evening, so I’m very glad that Rosina’s decided to do absolutely the right thing. Such a difficult situation for everyone otherwise. Thank your mother and tell her we’ll all be there.’
Ginny smiled back, well aware that Lady Welburn was under no illusion whose scheme it really was.
‘She’ll be so pleased.’
Two hours later, she returned to the house, laden with bags from the supermarket at Lanchester. In the hall, she met her mother.
‘Hi, she said. ‘I’ll just unpack this stuff, then I’ll tell you about the cottage.’
‘No need,’ Rosina said airily. ‘Because I’m not moving there.’
Ginny put down her carriers. ‘Then where are you planning to live?’
‘I’m staying right here. It’s the obvious solution.’
‘To what problem exactly?’
Rosina waved an impatient hand. ‘To the future of Barrowdean. This Duchard individual will go back to France soon. He doesn’t belong here and he must know it. But—he owns this house and he needs someone to look after it in his absence. Hiring resident caretakers would cost him a fortune, so I continue to live here rent-free and, in return, I make sure Barrowdean flourishes. I’d say it was a no-brainer.’
‘I would too, but my definition of “no-brainer” is rather different.’ Ginny shook her head. ‘How did you dream up this fantasy?’
‘It’s a matter of hard practicality,’ Rosina said sharply. ‘You seem to have forgotten Cilla’s wedding. The marquee and the caterers have already been booked, and well over two hundred people will be coming.’