‘I’m perfectly serious. We’ll be leaving in about forty minutes and I’ve come home to pack.’
‘You—and that man? I can’t believe even you would stoop so low.’ Rosina flung out a dramatic arm. ‘Oh, I shall never forgive you for this—you little Judas.’
‘But at least I shan’t be a drain on your resources, Mother.’ Ginny lifted her chin, trying not to see Cilla’s expression of frozen resentment and disbelief. ‘You can’t have it all ways.’
She paused. ‘And maybe some of our problems stem from other causes,’ she added, and walked out, closing the door on another furious tirade.
Packing did not take long, her clothes and other personal possessions barely filling the suitcase she hadn’t used since boarding school.
Not much to show for nearly twenty-two years, she thought wryly, as she added the framed photograph of Andrew with Barney that she’d taken from the desk in the study. Something, she told herself, that only she would value.
As she carried her case downstairs, Mrs Pel suddenly appeared, her face troubled. ‘So you’re really leaving, Miss Ginny? And your mother beside herself, saying things about you and Mr Andre that don’t bear repeating. Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing, my dear?’
Ginny tried to smile. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. After all, Mrs Pel, you were the one who told me to spread my wings and fly.’
‘Yes,’ Mrs Pel said soberly. ‘But only for the right reasons.’
Ginny put down her case and hugged her. ‘I’ll make them right,’ she said, more cheerfully than she felt. ‘And I won’t be gone for ever. I’ll write to you at Market Lane.’ She hesitated. ‘And if there’s any news of Barney, can you let me know?’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Pel sighed. ‘But I’ll be glad to be gone, and that’s the truth. This house will never be the same again.’
What will? Ginny asked herself tautly as the hall clock began to strike twelve, and she heard the sound of a car approaching up the drive.
Head held high, she walked out, closing the door behind her.
* * *
Once the plane had taken off and she knew there was no turning back, she sat stiffly, hands gripped together in her lap, only too aware of the intimacy imposed by the seating, the proximity of Andre’s thigh to hers. Fighting the memories it aroused. Dreading the inevitable conversation.
But Andre said very little. After making sure she was warm enough and ordering coffee, he occupied himself with a sheaf of papers he’d taken from the leather satchel she recalled from their first meeting.
All too soon they were landing at Dijon, where a stocky young man, introduced to Ginny as Jules Rameau, was waiting with a battered Range Rover to take them to Terauze.
Slumped in the back, unable to understand the quick-fire exchanges between the two in the front, Ginny found herself swamped by weariness mingled with depression.
The quarrel with her mother had been inevitable, but she still regretted it. When she returned to England, she would have to find a way to make peace with Cilla too. Perhaps a week or two on a sun-drenched island would make both of them more amenable to reason.
And maybe pigs would fly...
* * *
The jolting of the Range Rover as it slowed, then halted, dragged her back to the here and now. That, and the piercing cold of the night air as she left the car.
There were cobbles underfoot and she stumbled slightly, only to find Andre’s steadying hand under her elbow as they moved towards a lighted doorway.
They walked along a flagged passage and through another door into the kitchen beyond, and Ginny stood for a moment, feeling a blissful warmth surround her. Aware, too, of an equally heavenly aroma from a cast-iron pot on the big stove.
Her gaze travelled from the wide fireplace where logs smouldered and the wooden rocking chair next to it, to the dresser filling an entire wall, its shelves groaning with china and glassware, and on up to the beamed ceiling where strings of onions and bunches of dried herbs hung from hooks.
Through an archway, she could see the gleam of a sink and the shining white of a large washing machine and tumble dryer.
By the time she left, she thought, all this would be totally familiar. But right now, she felt as if she’d landed on a different planet, and she was scared—especially about what tonight might bring.
He said he’d leave me alone, she reminded herself. But how do I know he’ll keep his word—about anything?
Andre’s voice broke into her reverie. ‘I regret that my father is not here to welcome you, but he is in Paris until tomorrow.’
He was briskly ridding himself of his coat and, after a slight hesitation, Ginny did the same, before joining him at the long table covered in oilcloth and set with cutlery and a platter of bread, and watching as Jules ladled stew into bowls and Andre filled glasses from the unmarked bottle of red wine in the centre of the table.