After all, apart from occasionally walking Barney, she had little else to occupy her. And at least putting the mistakes right gave Ginny a sense of purpose and stopped her brooding, as well as improving her own computer skills, something which, she told herself resolutely, would stand her in good stead for the future. Back in England. Alone.
But, in turn, she struggled to understand the labyrinthine filing system of Mademoiselle’s devising which seemed, in some inexplicable way, to swallow up letters, invoices and bank statements, never to be traced again. So maybe the end result was a draw, she told herself with a shrug, quelling the odd feeling of uneasiness which could be ascribed to any number of causes.
Including the understandably strained atmosphere at the château.
So when a spell of fine spring weather led to Andre’s suggestion that they should undertake the delayed visit to Beaune, she agreed without hesitation, even if the trip was more for Cilla’s pleasure than her own.
After the peace of Terauze, the sudden confluence of busy main roads with large lorries thundering past as they neared their destination came as something of a shock to the system, but this was soon forgotten as Ginny caught her first sight of Beaune, sheltered securely by its striking medieval walls.
‘Oh, it’s gorgeous,’ she exclaimed impulsively as Andre turned through an arched gateway into a labyrinth of narrow streets, and saw him smile.
‘That was also the opinion of your beau-père when I brought him here,’ he said, slotting the car neatly into an empty parking space. ‘Now we shall walk a little. Nothing is too far away.’
He guided them both through another maze of quaint, cosy streets into a square dominated by a massive building, a spire rising above its forbidding stone walls.
Is this where they dispose of unwanted visitors? Ginny wondered mordantly as they crossed to an entrance made no more cheerful by the massive door knocker depicting a salamander eating a fly.
Will you come into my parlour? she chanted under her breath. And took a step into a different world. One that stopped her in her tracks, gasping with a delight as wholehearted as it was unexpected as she found herself in a cobbled courtyard, staring at one of the most amazing buildings she’d ever seen in her life.
It was clearly very old, its creamy stones almost golden in the early spring sunlight, but it was the colourful design that entranced her, from the slender pillars of the arcade that supported the ornate upper balcony up to the beautiful dormer windows.
And above them the kind of roof she’d never seen before, its tiles glazed and geometrically patterned in spectacular green, rust and black against a golden background, with gilded weathervanes soaring towards the sky.
She turned to Andre. ‘What in the world is this place?’ Her voice was husky.
‘The Hotel-Dieu, built six centuries ago by Nicholas Rolin, Philippe le Bon’s Chancellor, as a hospital for the poor.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps, as the King of France remarked, to make amends for all those he’d helped to impoverish. Whatever Rolin’s motives, it has become a symbol of our region, its decoration reminding Burgundians of their Flemish roots.’
‘Is it still a hospital?’
‘No, a museum. The sick and elderly were moved to modern buildings some forty years ago. But all of them, including the Hotel-Dieu, are still maintained by the Hospices de Beaune charity which Nicholas and his wife established.’
Ginny looked back with awe at the astonishing façade. ‘That must take some doing.’
Andre shook his head. ‘Not when the charity owns some of the greatest vineyards in Burgundy. And in November, during the Trois Glorieuses, their new vintages are sold by auction to buyers from all over the world, raising five to six million euros.’
‘Is that when they light the candle and have to bid before it burns out?’ asked Cilla eagerly.
He grinned. ‘No, that is only for the most important lot—La Pièce de Presidents—usually with a celebrity auctioneer encouraging the feeding frenzy.’
Cilla sighed. ‘Oh, I would love to be there and see that.’
Andre said quietly, ‘Then all you need do is stay here. You know the choice is yours.’
Ginny had the oddest sensation that the brightness of the day had faded as she watched him look down gravely and searchingly into her sister’s upturned face. As she saw the exquisite, brilliant colour rise in her cheeks, and heard her murmur something shy, confused, and most un-Cilla-like before she turned away.
Because she knew all that shy radiance could mean only one thing.
That this time Cilla was genuinely and deeply in love.
And glancing at Andre, she saw him smile with quiet, deep satisfaction as he led the way into the Hotel-Dieu and felt her heart turn over in agony.