by Marie Laval
Why had she accepted Fabien Coste’s invitation? Right now, mixing in an elegant crowd and making conversation was the last thing she fancied. Then again, it always was. Maybe her sister was right when she said she was a timid old maid at heart.
She kicked her boots off, unzipped her jeans, and pulled her fleece over her head before walking into the bathroom to fill the bath. She didn’t want to think about Chris right now, or the angry, bitter words she had thrown at her before she left Manchester.
Amy took the rest of her clothes off, and poured a few drops of her favourite Bourbon Vanilla essence into the bath. The water was hot, almost scalding, just the way she liked it. She reclined against the tub, closed her eyes, and breathed in the rich, soothing vanilla fragrance that enveloped her. Despite herself, her thoughts turned back to Chris.
‘You are mad,’ her sister had said, disapproval turning her eyes harsh and cold. ‘I can’t believe you sank your redundancy money and your savings into an old house in a remote French village. And what on earth makes you think you can run a hotel? You don’t have the first idea about business and accounts.’
Chris hadn’t been the only one to cast doubts on her venture, almost reducing her dream of a Provence guesthouse to a pile of rubble. Former colleagues at the bank had laughed at first, then shaken their heads with a pitying smile. She knew what they thought. She was a hopeless romantic.
Amy let out an impatient sigh and stepped out of the bath. So what if she was a dreamer? Who had ever achieved anything without dreams? Never mind those who doubted her. She would make a success of Bellefontaine and so, like it or not, she would attend the ball at Manoir Coste tonight, and all the other social events she was invited to.
She dried her hair, put on a little make-up and dressed in the only evening gown she owned – a knee length, sleeveless black gown in slinky black jersey. She slipped her feet into high-heeled pumps, brushed her hair until it fell, shiny and smooth on her shoulders, so pale it almost looked white against the dress. Then wrapping a pale pink cashmere shawl around her, she went downstairs to wait for Frédéric.
He was late.
‘I couldn’t escape any sooner, sorry,’ he said when he arrived at last.
His eyes glistened, dark and hot as they lingered on her.
‘You look lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ Uncomfortable under his insistent stare, she forced a smile and opened the door to let him come in. ‘I’ll just take my purse and keys.’
He followed her into the kitchen. ‘What’s this?’ he pointed to the statue.
‘I’m not sure. I found it today at the bottom of the garden. It looks very old.’
He rolled his eyes and said in a blasé voice. ‘Another Roman statue, no doubt. I know someone who’ll buy it from you.’
‘Oh no, I can’t sell it. I must take it to a museum.’
‘Museums don’t want any more Roman artefacts, they’ve far too many already. My friend is an antique dealer. She’ll get you a good price for it, you’ll see. I tell you what … I’ll pick the statue up tomorrow and get her to ring you straight after.’
Surprised by his insistence, Amy put a protective hand on the statue and shook her head.
‘Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll keep hold of it for now.’
He shrugged.
‘No worries. It’s up to you. Shall we go?’
Frédéric drove fast – too fast – on the winding forest road. The tyres screeched at every turn, the headlights swept across the dark road in a mad dance. Images of her parents’ crushed car flashed in front of Amy’s eyes. Her nails dug into the leather seat and she squeezed her eyes shut, and forced long, calming breaths to fight the sickening feeling twisting her stomach. Oblivious, Frédéric carried on talking. His voice was faint and drowned by the buzzing in her ears. Any second now, she would pass out.
‘Here we are.’
Amy opened her eyes. Gravel flew as the car slipped on a bend of the road leading to the manoir’s car park. As soon as Frédéric stopped the engine, she flung the door open with a shaky hand, jumped out of the car, and took deep gulps of fresh air.
‘Are you all right?’ Frédéric asked, narrowing his eyes to look at her.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied.
‘Good. I know I drove a little fast but I didn’t want Fabien’s guest of honour to be late.’
She turned to him, puzzled.
‘Guest of honour? I’m not important enough to be anybody’s guest of honour, especially not your cousin’s.’
He tutted.
‘His lordship has decided to be your knight in shining armour, rescue you in spite of yourself, and make you see the error of your ways.’
‘What error?’
He shrugged again.
‘I don’t know. Buying that old wreck of Bellefontaine for a start, thinking you can open a hotel when you have no idea about the business …That kind of thing.’
So Fabien Coste had talked about her inexperience. No doubt he’d laughed at her too!
‘What I do is none of his business,’ she retorted as they made their way to the front of the chateau.
Frédéric turned to look at her, serious for once.
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Amy – may I call you Amy, by the way?’
She nodded.
‘Fabien is the Duc de Coste. He owns the place, and sometimes I think he believes he owns the people too. Everything that happens around here is his business. Everything and everyone.’
He sighed. ‘Anyway, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you now. As usual, his lordship gave me a list of jobs to do as long as my arm.’
Shivering in the cold breeze despite her shawl, Amy joined the guests lining up to be greeted by Fabien, who in true lord of the manor style, stood tall and imposing at the top of the steps, with torches burning on either side of him.
He might wear a black dining suit and a crisp white shirt instead of a suit of armour, but there was something untamed, fundamentally uncivilized and proprietary about the way he surveyed the crowd – as if he truly owned everything and everyone, like Frédéric had said, and Amy was seized by an irresistible, irrational and overwhelming urge to flee. She didn’t want to speak to Fabien Coste, didn’t want to put up with his arrogant ways. He could keep his fancy chateau, his contacts and glamorous guests, she didn’t need him. She would walk home. It wasn’t that far.
She was about to step aside when he looked down and their gaze met. Shadows danced on his face. The torches hissed in the breeze, their flames shooting high in the air and reflecting in his green eyes, giving them a deep, dangerous glow. For the space of a heartbeat, the noise of conversations around her became distant and fuzzy, and all she could see was him.
He walked down, took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Even though his mouth barely touched her skin, a flash of heat reverberated through her body.
‘Mademoiselle Carter – Amy, you’re here at last.’
It was the first time he’d spoken her first name. He made it sound French, sensual and incredibly romantic. Aimée. Beloved.
‘Shall I escort you inside and introduce you to a few people?’
Panic made her heart flutter and turned her brain to mush.
‘Well, it’s just that …’
He arched a dark eyebrow, looked down, and smiled as if he knew exactly what she was feeling.
‘You’re here now. You might as well make the most of it.’
‘Yes, of course, you’re right,’ she breathed out.
He put his hand around her elbow to guide her up the stairs and through the elegant crowd in the hall, where he scooped two flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.
‘You look a little flushed.’
A frown creasing his forehead, he handed her a glass.
‘I hope it’s not too hot in here for you.’
For the second time that evening she lied and said she was fine. She felt odd and unsettled, her feelings confused. Despite herself, sh
e could not help being attracted to him.
And this was absolutely ridiculous!
She lifted the flute to her lips. Champagne bubbles fizzed on her tongue as she swallowed a sip of wine, then another. What was wrong with her? She must be more tired, or anxious, than she’d realised. Even if she was a hopeless dreamer, it wasn’t like her to swoon at the sight of an attractive man, even a man as attractive as Fabien Coste.
This wasn’t a fairy tale or one of those romance novels she loved. This was real life, and it was business. This would be her first contact with members of her new community, and she’d be damned if she’d let an inexplicable attraction for an arrogant man she didn’t even like jeopardise everything.
She tilted her face up, took a deep breath, and followed him into the ballroom. The next half an hour was a blur of new faces and names as Fabien introduced her to dozens of people. With him at her side, she smiled, shook hands, and tried to commit to memory people’s names, titles and occupations. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel as awkward as she’d feared.
She was almost enjoying herself when Claudine glided across the room, stunning in a long, tight-fitting silk cream dress, her black hair tied in a sleek chignon at the nape of her neck, and diamonds sparkling at her ears. Was it possible to look any more glamorous, Amy wondered as the woman approached, and whispered something into Fabien’s ear.
He turned to Amy.
‘I’m afraid I must leave you. It’s time for my welcome speech. Claudine will keep you company.’
Claudine looked down.
‘How are you doing, Mademoiselle … Baker, was it?’
Amy narrowed her eyes. There was no doubt in her mind that Fabien’s PR was being deliberately unpleasant. The question was why.
‘Carter – my name is Amy Carter,’ she replied, forcing a smile. ‘We were introduced this week.’
‘Of course. Silly me.’
Claudine turned away without another word, and Amy watched Fabien make his way towards a stage which was scattered with musical instruments, microphones, and cables. At the back stood a bunch of long-haired, bearded men wearing jeans and T-shirts, and holding glasses of beer – a far cry from the string orchestra she had expected to find at a ball tonight.
Fabien walked onto the stage, shook hands with the musicians. The conversations hushed.
‘Mesdames et Messieurs, mes amis,’ he started, his voice deep enough to be heard throughout the huge ballroom without him needing the microphone. ‘Thank you so much for being here with us tonight. It’s always a pleasure to welcome you at Manoir Coste.’
He carried on talking about the success of the hunting season so far, and promised more excitement with Manoir Coste’s famous boar hunts.
Around her people clapped and cheered. Amy shook her head, appalled. How could they be so excited at the prospect of chasing after poor, defenceless animals?
He went on to say that the restaurant was now serving food, that the ball started at ten and would be followed by fireworks later in the park. When he finally raised his glass and said ‘Santé!’, everybody lifted their glass and cheered.
‘Another inspiring speech, chéri,’ Claudine told Fabien when he was back at their side.
‘I don’t think it was particularly inspiring, but they seemed to like it.’
He smiled.
‘I’m taking Amy to the restaurant now.’
‘But we always mingle together after your speech,’ Claudine objected.
He shrugged.
‘You’ll have to mingle on your own for once. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.’
‘It doesn’t look as if I have any choice.’
Claudine threw Amy a venomous look and walked away.
Fabien led Amy to the restaurant and they sat at a table overlooking the garden. He poured out two glasses of red wine and gestured for a waiter to take their order,
‘So, what do you think of the ball so far?’ He looked at her as if she was the only woman in the room. The flame of candle at the centre of the table cast a glow on his face and made his eyes a deeper, warmer green.
She picked at her bread roll to give herself something to do even though her throat was so tight she doubted she could swallow even a crumb.
‘People seemed to be enjoying themselves. You must be pleased,’ she remarked.
‘I am. I would be even happier if you relaxed a little and told me about yourself.’
‘About me?’ she asked, genuinely surprised. ‘There isn’t much to tell.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ he answered. And as they ate he asked her about her job at the bank, about Manchester which he’d never visited, and other parts of Britain he had been to. Surprisingly, she found that he was easy to talk to – maybe too easy – and that she could eat after all.
‘You must be looking forward to your family visiting you at Bellefontaine,’ he said after a waiter brought a selection of desserts over.
At once tears filled her eyes and her throat tightened.
‘There won’t be any visits, I’m afraid. My parents died in a car crash. A collision with a truck on the motorway, just over a year ago.’
‘I am sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
He held her in an intense, unwavering gaze. Her heart beat faster, so loud she was sure he could hear it.
She was the first to break eye contact. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into her pot of crème brûlée.
‘You weren’t to know. The thing is, their death was the catalyst for my buying Bellefontaine. It made me realise it was time I lived my dreams. My sister disapproved. She said I was mad to bury myself in a derelict old house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think she will be coming here any time soon.’
She let out a half-hearted giggle.
‘So for now, I’m here all my own, and I actually quite like it – which is probably why Chris says I’m an old maid at heart.’
‘An old maid, really?’ Fabien said in a low voice. His eyes looked deep into hers, searched and probed her very soul.
‘I find it hard to believe that there isn’t a man in your life.’
‘Well, there isn’t.’ And there hadn’t been for quite some time.
Her cheeks red hot, she dropped her gaze, scooped a generous spoonful of crème brûlée and gulped it down, then ate another.
‘Are you enjoying that dessert? I’ll get the chef to give you the recipe along with the one for the brioche.’
Looking up she met his amused glance. What must he think of her? Not only did she babble like a scatterbrain and told him her life story in under fifteen minutes flat, but she ate like a glutton too.
She took a deep breath.
‘It’s delicious. I seem to have told you all there is to know about myself, but what about you? Does your family live here, at Manoir Coste?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘My mother lives in Paris.’
‘Doesn’t she like it here?’
He sighed.
‘Not really. This place holds bad memories for her.’
‘Does your father prefer Paris too?’
A shadow passed across his face.
‘My father was killed in a hunting accident before I was born.’
He pushed his chair back, rose to his feet. Suddenly he looked as if he couldn’t wait to get away.
‘I have to leave you now. Some last minute arrangements to make before the dance. Please take the time to enjoy your coffee and join me in the ballroom when you’re ready.’
The ballroom was already heaving when she got there. She stood in the doorway, hesitant. There was no sign of Fabien. A finger tapped her shoulder and she swung round to face Frédéric.
‘I’m free at last, let’s make the most of it!’ He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to the dance floor as the band started a fast-paced java.
The java was followed by several tangos and frenzied rocks. Frédéric guided her through the steps, leaving her every so often to fetch more champagne from the ba
r. After a few dances Amy’s feet ached and she found that she needed fresh air and a rest.
‘No problem. I’ll come with you,’ Frédéric said.
They were about to step onto the terrace when his phone beeped. He glanced at the screen and frowned.
‘Sorry. An emergency. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Secretly relieved to be on her own, Amy followed the path that meandered across the lawn to the old fountain. Even though Frédéric was good fun, right now she wanted some time alone. She sat on the edge of the stone basin. Myriads of stars glittered in the crisp night sky, and the moon cast a silver light onto the fountain and the grounds. Muffled echoes of music, conversation and laughter drifted across the lawn towards her, but she was far enough to enjoy the quiet and the crystalline sound of water trickling through the moss.
She bent down to dip her fingers into the basin, enjoying the feel of the icy water on her fingers. So this was her spring now – hers and Fabien Coste’s. It was lovely to think that the water came all the way from the top of the hill and would travel down into the valley.
Sounds of footfalls crushing the gravel broke the quiet of the night. She turned round, expecting to see Frédéric, and stiffened when she saw the tall, broad-shouldered figure standing in front of her, obscuring the moonlight.
It was Fabien. She must have drunk too much champagne because his very presence made her heart beat too fast and heat rushed through her veins.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry I had to leave earlier …’
‘I was fine,’ she answered as she rose to her feet. ‘Your cousin looked after me.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Did he now?’
She nodded. ‘He was actually very kind, and dancing with him was fun. I guess my sister is right when she says I’m an old maid at heart, I was never one for discos and wild parties.’
Stop babbling .
‘In fact, I always used to make up excuses not to go out when I lived in Manchester. Not that I didn’t enjoy my friends’ company but …’
