And eventually she heard it—the soft knock on the door and his voice saying her name.
She realised that he was waiting for her to invite him in—to enter her room, her bed, her body.
To complete what that strange storm of emotion had brought in its wake.
She lifted her hands, clamping them fiercely over her mouth so that no sound could escape. Not a word, a sigh or even an indrawn breath. So that he would think she was asleep, instead of lying there trying to conquer the burning, trembling ache of her unfulfilled flesh.
Knowing that her memories of his lovemaking were already a torment, hardly to be endured, and for the sake of her sanity she could risk no more.
Waiting until the heavy silence told her at last that he had gone.
CHAPTER TEN
I HAD TOO MUCH to drink last night.
Ginny rehearsed the words in her head over and over again as she prepared reluctantly to go down to breakfast the following morning.
That was the story she was going to use, treating the whole thing lightly as an error of judgement, embarrassing but not fatal, and she would stick to it like glue, no matter how Andre might respond.
After all, it was more or less the truth, she told herself defensively, the brandy proving the final straw after the wine so generously poured at dinner. Also she seemed to have done him an injustice. The chair, now restored to its rightful place, had been an unnecessary precaution because he would never have entered the room without her consent.
Sighing, she opened the shutters and found that Mademoiselle Chaloux had been right about the weather. The sky was uniformly grey and the view of the vines was concealed by a thick drizzle. Her accuracy in other matters remained to be discovered.
At the kitchen door, she braced herself, before turning the handle and walking in.
But the room’s only occupant was Madame Rameau setting a platter of bread and croissants and a jar of preserves on the table. Even Barney’s basket was empty, presumably because Andre had taken him for a walk.
‘Bonjour, mademoiselle.’ Madame’s shrewd eyes swept her from head to foot. ‘Vous avez bien dormi?’
‘Oui, merci,’ said Ginny, aware that she was lying. That it had been hours before she fell into a restless doze interspersed with dreams that she would much prefer to forget. She took the coffee that Madame handed to her and sat down.
All she needed to do, she thought, spreading a slice of bread with blackcurrant jam, was ask casually for Andre. Simple enough surely, when he was her host, so why did it seem so impossible? As if she was somehow exhibiting their entire relationship for inspection?
‘You look pale, little one, and not happy.’ Madame sounded almost severe. ‘And you will be plus contente, peut-être, when you know more of Terauze and the life here. So, later, when the rain has stopped, you will take a little promenade with me to the village, n’est-ce pas?’
She nodded briskly. ‘And do not disturb yourself, mon enfant, if you are stared at. Everything that occurs here is of interest to the whole of Terauze, and it’s natural that your arrival should cause a brouhaha. But all will be well. Clothilde gives you her word. And now I shall feed the chickens.’ She bustled away, leaving Ginny to finish her tartine. She was just clearing the table when the Baron came in, looking harassed and muttering under his breath in a way that told her he was swearing.
He checked when he saw Ginny. ‘Your pardon, mademoiselle. I did not know you were here.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘A problem with the computer, hélas.’
‘Is it all right now?’
He sighed impatiently. ‘No, it is beyond me. And Monique does not work today.’
‘But Monsieur Andre will be back soon...’
‘That will not be for some hours, mademoiselle,’ he interrupted curtly. ‘And I need urgently to access some figures.’
Giving her an opportunity to justify her presence here.
She said quietly, ‘I used computers at home and at work in England, monsieur, so I know a little about office systems. Perhaps I could help.’
His hesitation lasted less than an instant. ‘If so, I would indeed be grateful.’
He took her across the hall to a door on the other side, opening on to a flight of steep stone stairs, winding upwards.
Good God, thought Ginny as she climbed. I’m inside a tower. And what’s waiting for me at the top? Monique Chaloux crouched over a spinning wheel, hoping that I’ll prick my finger and sleep for a hundred years?
Instead, she found herself in a circular room that had been transformed from medieval austerity into a functional and well-equipped office with a large desk holding a computer stationed right in its centre.
She halted, entranced. ‘What a wonderful place to work.’