It was still early, but a persistent sense of restless unease drove her out of bed and across to the window to open the shutters on another cloudless blue sky lit by a misty sun.
She had not believed, that first morning, that she would ever find the view of the vines so appealing, or how quick she would be to see how they changed with the passing weeks. Or how much she would miss them. Miss everything, she thought. And everyone.
At present, the sap was rising, making the branches look as if they were weeping. Not that she’d seen it for herself, of course. It was one of the pieces of information that Cilla had acquired and eagerly passed on.
When she came to dress, after her shower, she found she was wrestling with the zip on her jeans, a discovery adding to her woes but spurring her into action at the same time.
I need to go online, she told herself. Now, while I have the house to myself. Find out about flights back to the UK. Jump before I’m pushed.
As she made her way up to the office, she became aware of an unfamiliar noise. A vague but persistent whine of machinery in swift bursts, getting louder as she mounted the winding stairs.
The office door was slightly open. She pushed it wider and saw Monique Chaloux on her knees, feverishly feeding sheet after sheet of paper into the shredder, oblivious to the fact that she was being watched.
But she shouldn’t even be here, Ginny thought, startled. This isn’t one of her days. And that stuff she’s shredding looks like bank statements.
So what on earth’s going on?
She said quietly, ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle. Ça va?’
The older woman glanced up, her face as white as the paper she was destroying. She was far from her usual soignée self. Her clothes looked as if they had been thrown on and her hair needed washing.
‘You,’ she said, almost spitting the word. ‘What are you doing here?’
Ginny walked forward, raising her eyebrows. ‘I think that should be my question.’
‘And my own business,’ Monique retorted. ‘You are not mistress here yet.’
‘Nor are these working hours,’ Ginny said levelly. ‘So who authorised you to destroy these documents and why?’ She saw Monique hesitated, and bent, dragging the shredder’s plug out of the wall socket. ‘I’d like some answers.’
‘You would like. You would like.’ Mademoiselle’s voice was harsh and jeering. ‘What are you? Nothing but an interfering English bitch like that other one. Just as pale, just as dull.’
She got clumsily to her feet and even across the room Ginny could see she was shaking.
‘I believed she was my friend, but instead I had to watch while she took the man I loved. Even when she went away, he could not forget her, and when she came back, enceinte with another man’s baby, he married her. C’etait incroyable.’
Her voice rose. ‘He should have loved me. I could have given him children of his own, not the leavings of some Anglais.
‘When she died, I thought I had been given another chance. So I returned, hoping that at last he would see me as the wife he should have taken.’
She gave a strident bitter laugh. ‘And he was grateful to me, ah, oui, and kind. All these years, so grateful and so kind. Until the night of Baron Emile’s birthday when I saw Andre fasten the Baronne’s rubies round your throat, and I knew then I had wasted my life in vain hope.
‘I realised that I would have to see another putaine Anglaise in the place that should have been mine, and once again I would leave Terauze with nothing.’
She shook her head, a trace of spittle on her rigidly smiling lips. ‘But not this time.’ She looked down at the remaining papers crushed in her hand. ‘All these years of devotion deserve a generous reward from the Duchards and I have taken it.’
Ginny stiffened. My God, she thought. She’s been stealing money. Maybe those computer glitches were deliberate. A cover-up. If so, this is real trouble. And I’m not just uneasy. I’m beginning to be scared.
She said quietly, ‘I’m sure Baron Bertrand truly values you, mademoiselle.’ She paused. ‘So why don’t I go and find him, so you can talk things over.’ She added carefully, ‘Before things get serious.’
Mademoiselle’s eyes glittered with malice. ‘You mean before they send for the police? You are a fool. They will not do so.’ She shrugged almost gleefully. ‘Bertrand knows what I am truly owed, and he can afford the loss. Nor will he want the brouhaha of an action in the courts. The Duchard name is a proud one and your sister’s disgraceful affaire is scandal enough for the moment.’
She nodded. ‘En plus, I have been clever, taken care a couvrir ma marche. They will be glad just to let me go.’