Outside, it was cold and crisp, the sun now a pale globe in the misty winter sky. They left by the rear door, crossing a walled courtyard with empty stone troughs waiting for spring blooms.
Beyond its double wrought-iron gates the vines were also waiting, no longer invisible in the early morning dazzle, but stretching, rank upon rank of them, as far as the eye could see, and planted, Ginny saw, with almost military precision against the neat lines of wooden posts and wire which supported them, in broad alternating bands of grass and ploughed tan soil.
She paused halfway up the slope, drawing a sharp breath and Andre looked down at her and smiled.
‘You are surprised.’
‘Well—yes. I didn’t expect it to be so neat and orderly.’
He nodded. ‘As my father said—like his office desk.’
She realised that Andrew must have stood here, maybe on this very spot, taking in this very different world. Perhaps formulating the decisions that had led to these tumultuous repercussions in her own life.
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.’