by Sara Craven
She turned to him, nailing on a smile, asking him about the horse she’d heard he was buying.
‘I’m paying a hefty price for it,’ he returned tersely. ‘I just hope it turns out to be worth it.’
Ginny found herself suddenly remembering Andre Duchard’s mocking reference to village gossip about Jonathan paying for his pleasures—which she’d almost forgotten in its disturbing aftermath. Taking a deep breath, she resolved to issue a sisterly warning at the earliest convenient moment.
Every scrap of food disappeared, so Ginny presumed she was the only one who’d felt that the tender flavoursome beef was like chewing old leather gloves. And the champagne jellies decorated with frosted grapes provided a delicate and perfect finale to the meal, with only Sir Malcolm and Andre Duchard opting for cheese as well.
‘Coffee in the drawing room, I think.’ Rosina rose, smoothing down her dress. ‘See to it, please, Virginia dear.’
Ginny suspected she was being got out of the way, but there was nothing she could do about it.
While Mrs Pel made the coffee and set the tray, she cleared the dining room table and loaded the dishwasher before setting off grimly for the drawing room, only to have her worst fears confirmed when she got to the door, and heard Rosina saying in tones of outrage, ‘No? You’re refusing my perfectly reasonable request without even considering it? When it was your father’s express wish that Lucilla should be married from this house? That he intended to give her away?’ Her voice throbbed. ‘Oh, this is disgraceful—unbelievable.’
Heart sinking, Ginny pushed the door wide and went in. Not that anyone noticed her arrival. Everyone was staring transfixed at the furious woman and cold-eyed young man confronting each other from opposite sides of the wide fireplace.
‘My father’s wish, madame?’ Andre Duchard queried coldly. ‘I hardly think so. Perhaps you are not aware that only a few weeks ago he arranged for this house to be leased for three years from the end of next month, or that he himself was planning to move to France. En effet to join me in Terauze.
‘The agreement with the tenants has been signed and it would not be in my power to terminate it, even if I wished to do so.’ He added flatly, ‘Which I do not.’
In the astonished silence which followed, Ginny set the coffee tray down carefully before she dropped it. Keeping her hand steady, she picked up the heavy cafetière and began to fill the cups, her mind whirling.
Somehow, she heard herself say quietly, ‘Would you like cream, Lady Welburn?’
As if a thread had been snapped, the atmosphere in the room changed from high drama to the prosaic.
Lady Welburn said gratefully, ‘Thank you, my dear,’ then turned to her future daughter-in-law, who had started to cry. ‘Calm down, child. It’s hardly the end of the world.’
‘But we’ve ordered this really pretty marquee in pink and white stripes, and we were going to have flowers to match,’ Cilla wailed. ‘Oh, it’s too cruel of Andrew. How could he have done such a thing, and not told us?’
Probably to avoid a scene like this, Ginny thought drily.
‘Well, I don’t believe a word of it,’ Rosina said furiously.
Andre shrugged. ‘Then I suggest you consult Monsieur Hargreaves, who will confirm the details.’
‘Hargreaves?’ Rosina gave a metallic laugh. ‘I’ll find a proper lawyer of my own who won’t let me be cheated out of my rights.’
‘Cheated?’ Andre Duchard echoed musingly. ‘Perhaps, madame, that is the last argument you of all people should pursue.’
Ginny saw the high colour suddenly fade from her mother’s face and Sir Malcolm move quickly to her side.
‘Sit down, Mrs Charlton.’ He led her firmly to a chair. ‘Naturally, this has all been most distressing for you, but I’m sure Andrew had every intention of discussing his plans with you, but sadly had no time to do so.
‘It could have been a most exciting change for you both,’ he added encouragingly. ‘A whole new life.’
‘Live in France? With his bastard?’ Rosina’s voice shook. ‘I would never—never have agreed. As he should—he must have known.’
‘And my wedding,’ Cilla broke in with sudden energy. ‘What’s going to happen about my wedding—all my plans? They’re ruined,’ she added with a sob.
‘No, Lucilla, they’ll just have to be changed,’ said Lady Welburn. ‘Something we can discuss at another time when you are more composed.’
But Cilla was not to be pacified, glaring up at Ginny who was approaching with her coffee.
‘Did you know about this? I bet you did. And you can take that away. I don’t want it.’ She flung out a petulant hand, knocking the cup from Ginny’s grasp to the carpet, and spilling its contents down the taupe dress in the process.
Lady Welburn’s mouth tightened into a line of disapproval.
She said to her husband, ‘I think perhaps we should be going, my dear.’
Andre Duchard walked forward. ‘Au contraire, madame. Please do not disturb yourself. I am clearly de trop and the one who should leave. My apologies for spoiling a pleasant evening, although the cause of the disagreement was not of my choosing. Bonsoir.’
He offered a tight-lipped smile and walked to the door, where he turned to look back at Ginny, down on one knee retrieving the cup and saucer from the rug.
‘I wish I could regret also the damage to your dress, mademoiselle,’ he said softly. ‘But, hélas, that is impossible. I see it rather as an act of God.’
And, with that, he went.
She should have felt insulted, she realised as she stared after him. Instead, incredibly, she had to fight to control the great gust of laughter suddenly welling up inside her.
‘You see, Lady Welburn.’ Rosina’s voice throbbed into the startled silence, reminding her there was nothing to laugh about. ‘You see how impossible it is to deal with this—creature. God knows what pressure he brought to bear on my poor Andrew. I know he would never have given up this house of his own free will, not when he knew how much it meant to me.’
She rounded on Ginny, who had risen to her feet, holding the unbroken china. ‘This is all your fault. I knew that inviting this Duchard here would be a disaster.’
Lady Welburn rose too. She said quietly, ‘I hardly think Virginia can be blamed for her late stepfather’s decisions, Mrs Charlton. Like you, she probably wasn’t consulted.’ She paused. ‘I feel we should leave you to think quietly about the situation.’ She gave Ginny a kind smile. ‘Why not go upstairs and take off that dress, my dear. Perhaps soak it in cold water.’
Or throw it in the bin, thought Ginny. Quite apart from its lack of appeal, it would always be a reminder of an evening best forgotten.
Up in her room, she quickly exchanged it for the ruby velvet robe which had been Andrew’s last birthday gift. She’d have given anything simply to go to bed, but there was still clearing up to be done, so she waited at the top of the stairs for the Welburns to depart before she ventured down again.
But as she reached the hall, the front door opened and Jonathan came in, white flakes of snow clinging to his hair and dark overcoat.
He checked when he saw her. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Dad forgot his scarf.’
‘It’s there on the hall table.’ She paused as he retrieved it. ‘Jon, please apologise to your parents. I—I had no idea the evening would turn out like this.’
He gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘That goes for me too. What on earth was Cilla doing—coming on to that man like that?’
Ginny bit her lip. ‘She wanted a favour from him. Maybe she was just trying to improve relations—make him more amenable.’ She tried to smile. ‘You know how she is, when her heart’s set on something.’
‘I’m beginning to,’ he said. ‘But after tonight, I’m not entirely convinced that it’s me.’
Ginn
y groaned under her breath. This was serious stuff.
She said, ‘Jon, you can’t really believe that. Cilla interested in someone like Andre Duchard? Never in a million years. She may have behaved unwisely at dinner, but none of us are altogether rational at the moment.’
She added vehemently, ‘Besides, no one in her right mind could ever prefer him to you.’
He said more gently, ‘You’re a good friend, Ginny. Better than I deserve, I think.’
He bent suddenly and to her surprise and alarm she felt his lips touch hers. It was only a fleeting caress, but she stepped back instantly, aware as she did so of a sound like the soft closing of a nearby door.
She forced a smile. ‘And I’ll be an even greater sister-in-law. Goodnight, Jon, and don’t worry. Everything will work out just fine. You’ll see.’
She saw him out, and locked up, remembering as she did so the time before Cilla had returned and taken him captive. When she’d hoped that one day he might take her in his arms and kiss her.
And now, suddenly, it had happened. Jon had kissed her—and she’d felt—what? Just a vague embarrassment, if she was honest, plus a deep relief that neither Cilla nor her mother had chosen to walk into the hall at that inopportune moment.
I think quite enough hell has broken loose for one day, she thought.
While tomorrow I have to go to work—and tell Miss Finn the bad news. And, for me, that’s the worst prospect of all.
CHAPTER FOUR
GINNY WOKE THE following morning to find the world covered in a blanket of snow. Not enough to cause major disruption, but sufficient to be annoying, she thought as, wrapped up and booted, she took Barney for an early walk on the common.
He clearly thought the snow was wonderful and bounded round happily. On their return, he shot into the kitchen and through the door into the hall where he was shaking himself vigorously at the exact moment that Rosina was descending the stairs.
‘That dog,’ she exclaimed with real venom as Ginny arrived in pursuit. ‘He’s going just as soon as the vet can come for him.’
‘No, you can’t do that.’ Ginny caught Barney’s collar and quietened him. ‘Andrew loved him.’
‘More than he loved any of us, apparently,’ her mother snapped.
‘At least let me try and get him another home,’ Ginny pleaded.
‘You have a week,’ Rosina flung over her shoulder as she headed for the dining room. ‘Until then, he can stay in one of the outhouses. I don’t want to set eyes on him again.’
And I didn’t want to wake up this morning, Ginny thought wearily, towing the reluctant Barney back to the kitchen. I now see how right I was.
She’d had a restless and miserable night. As she’d guessed, Rosina and Cilla, when she’d re-joined them, had been full of their grievances, admittedly with some justice after this new thunderbolt.
Andrew must have been making his plans for a long time, she thought unhappily, and there was no doubt he’d deceived them all. Yet, at the same time, she could not forget Andre Duchard’s harsh and unexpected riposte to her mother when she’d mentioned cheating.
I should have asked her about it, she told herself, and I will when I get the opportunity.
But at least Rosina seemed to accept the inevitability of Keeper’s Cottage and had even agreed, grudgingly, to look it over, armed with Ginny’s list of suggested refurbishments.
Now Barney, who seemed briefly to have regained some of his former exuberance, had become another addition to her list of problems, she realised unhappily as she changed into a chestnut tweed skirt and a black polo-necked sweater for work.
She had her interview with Emma Finn during her lunch break, and it was just as difficult as she’d feared.
‘There’s been a lot of gossip about Mr Charlton’s will, as I’m sure you know,’ her boss told her unhappily. ‘But, frankly, I discounted it.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s all true.’ Ginny looked down at her tightly clasped hands. ‘I—I have no claim at all.’
‘You don’t think the new heir would back you? If you explained the circumstances?’
Ginny sat up very straight. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t,’ she returned with emphasis. ‘Even if I could bring myself to ask him.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Emma. ‘Well, Ginny, I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but Iris’s offer is on the table and I need to close the deal quickly.’ She frowned. ‘Even though I suspect when I’m gone, it will be all change.’
Like so much else, thought Ginny as she went back to work.
* * *
It was a busy afternoon, the miserable weather creating a high demand for soup and hot chocolate as the comfort foods of choice, and everyone she served told her how sorry they were about Andrew and what a loss it was, and she quietly agreed, thanking them for their sympathy, while trying not to resent the curiosity which accompanied it.
It was only natural, she reminded herself. Andrew seemed the last man in the world to have fathered an illegitimate son, and kept him a secret all these years.
As closing time approached, Ginny was on her own in the café, clearing tables, when Andre Duchard walked in and took a seat in the corner.
For a moment, she stood, frozen, aware of the dull heavy thunder of her heart, and the sudden dryness of her mouth. Real but inexplicable.
And there was nothing she could do, pride forbidding her to pick up her loaded tray and scuttle with it into the kitchen, leaving someone else to deal with the unwelcome customer.
She drew a deep breath, then walked across the room, acutely aware that he was watching her approach every step of the way, his hard mouth smiling faintly as he leaned back in his Windsor chair.
As she reached the table, he said softly, ‘So this is how you pass your days.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Ginny lifted her chin, thankful for the steadiness of her voice. Even investing it with a note of tartness. ‘Is that what you came here for—to satisfy your curiosity?’
‘Pas entièrement.’ He gave the menu a cursory glance. ‘Un café filtre, s’il vous plaît.’
‘Certainly.’ She wrote on her order pad, then paused. ‘Milk and sugar?’
He grimaced slightly. ‘Merci. But, perhaps, a cognac.’
Ginny shook her head. ‘We aren’t licensed to sell alcohol.’ She added coolly, ‘Not even wine, if you were hoping Miss Finn might be a potential buyer.’
‘Quel dommage,’ he said lightly and looked down at the menu again. ‘But then, this is a very feminine establishment, n’est ce pas?’
‘Not exclusively,’ she denied swiftly. ‘Our food appeals to men as well.’
Although it reluctantly occurred to her that none of their other male customers brought this kind of presence—this raw energy into the place, making it seem somehow—diminished.
She found the realisation disturbing, and hurried into speech again. ‘Maybe you should stick to the Rose and Crown.’
He shrugged. ‘Its coffee does not deserve the name. But it serves its purpose in other ways. I have found it une veritable mine de renseignements.’
He paused, observing her puzzled expression. ‘A mine of information,’ he explained. He gave her an ironic look. ‘Also the girls who work there smile more.’
Ginny stiffened. ‘Perhaps they have more to be happy about. You seem to forget that I have lost someone I looked on as a father for a lot of years.’
‘As I did not,’ he said with a touch of harshness. ‘For most of my life, he was just a name. And when that changed, at first I did not welcome it.’
‘Whereas we weren’t even aware you existed.’
He said drily, ‘And you wish it had stayed that way, n’est-ce pas?’
‘I certainly wish we’d been prepared,’ she returned stonily. ‘Instead of being subjected to one shoc
k after another.’
‘And you hate him for this?’
She gave him a startled look. ‘No—no, of course not. How could I?’ She paused. ‘I just don’t understand how he could have kept all this from us for so long.’
He said softly, ‘But we all have our secrets, do we not? Matters we prefer to keep from the world?’ For a second his reflective gaze lingered on her parted lips, as if reminding her of those brief devastating moments in his arms, and to her fury, Ginny felt her skin warm in a response she was unable to control.
‘As for my father...’ He shrugged again. ‘Perhaps, he believed there would always be more time—to explain the past and talk of his plans for the future. A lesson we should value, peut-être.’
‘Just as I should remember I’m here to work,’ she said curtly, still feeling off-balance and hating him for it. ‘I’ll get your coffee, Monsieur Duchard.’
‘And bring one for yourself. I wish to speak with you.’
‘That’s against the rules. We don’t sit with the customers.’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Oh là là. Not even when it is with a member of the family?’
‘You and I are in no way related,’ she said. Adding, ‘Thankfully.’
‘Then we agree on something, enfin.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now, for once, break this rule that I do not believe exists, and drink coffee with me.’ He added drily, ‘On the understanding, bien sûr, that we do not throw it over each other.’
Ginny sent him a fulminating glance then went reluctantly to the hotplate behind the counter and poured two black coffees, aware she was under scrutiny through the glazed panel at the top of the kitchen door.
There was a large mirror on the back wall, and she caught a glimpse of herself as she turned, all shiny face and hair in lank wisps.
She looked like someone who’d been on her feet all day—and in a menial job at that, while the butcher’s apron made her feel suddenly like a badly wrapped parcel.
But what the hell, she thought. He has no illusions about me. He came here to talk, that’s all.
