by Sara Wood
She thought of how he’d thrown her those warm glances, made her mind dizzy with the sensual messages in his eyes. Now she knew why. A neat revenge, using physical attraction to divert her while someone vandalised her windows ... Perhaps the blonde woman. She felt a twinge of pain, deep in her chest. How low!
‘Who did you arrange this with?’ she stormed, furious with herself for ogling him while her house was being vandalised. ‘Miss Palazzo Pants herself? How smallminded can you get?’ Her fists clenched tightly as she fought her anger. ‘Why, if I-’
‘Hold it! Tessa, this-’
‘I don’t want to hear your lies! You must be involved. You have the motive! You threatened me. Well, I can repair windows, Guy. And let me make this perfectly clear: I won’t be driven out by you or anyone else, and the more you try, the more I’m determined to stay and be successful!’
Upset and seething with rage, she stomped into the house and slammed the door, hearing the tinkle of glass as the rest of the pane fell out. War, she thought grimly. He’d declared his colours.
Hell. She sat on a pile of cord wood, the coppiced Spanish
chestnut cut for the log fire, and surveyed the mess, suddenly overwhelmed by the tasks she’d taken on. The sale of a cottage. The restoration of two more. Defying Guy and an entire village. Changing hostility into friendship. Impossible. Madness.
What the devil was she doing?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TESSA groaned, wishing that she had someone to confide in, to be her friend when things got tough. If only her mother or her father could have been reached she’d have felt better. She could have talked to someone on her side, someone who cared. Moodily she lit the gas to finish cooking her meal, tied on her scarf and proceeded to hack away at the plaster without much enthusiasm. Her mother might write or phone any day. She’d hang on a little longer.
The trouble was that Guy could jeopardise her income if he prevailed upon the mayor to put some kind of embargo on Oven Cottage. And she didn’t know how to stop him. All she needed was to hear a friendly voice, a consoling word and some advice.
In the morning she flung open the front door and unlocked the postbox attached to it in the hope that there would be a letter from her mother. But the metal door swung open to reveal an empty interior.
‘Oh, Mum!’ she sighed, disappointed. ‘If only you knew how much I need you right now!’
And her feelings of desolation intensified later, when she discovered that her ladder and some tools were missing from the woodshed. Guy again! Or one of his accomplices! Her frustration made her want to scream. Perhaps she would, she thought darkly. At Guy.
Instead, armed with a dictionary and some carefully rehearsed phrases, she went to the mairie, the town hall, since there was no gendarmerie nearby. She hoped the officials might help or offer advice, and she did her best to explain what had happened. As she’d suspected they might, they stubbornly refused to understand anything she said. Eventually she gave up, wearied by their indifferent shrugs and blatant hostility. There didn’t seem to be any point in driving to Lalinde to make a complaint. The police wouldn’t get far in their enquiries, she felt sure.
The villagers were entrenched in their hatred of her, she
thought miserably, making her way back to the cottage. And Guy encouraged them. Her spirits sank and she lost much of her will, working because she had to, not because it was fun any more.
Over the next few days it became overpoweringly hot and sticky. Every morning she expected the threatened thunderstorm. Every day she expected a letter from her mother. No storm, no letter-and no word from the French agent in Lalinde about the sale of her cottage. Every day she tucked into a bar of chocolate for comfort, not caring that her body was rounding out, because she felt more at ease with herself when she couldn’t see her ribs. At the end of one uncomfortably sultry day, she decided to down tools early and go for a cooling walk by the river before she bathed and changed. With sweat plastering tendrils of her hair to her neck and moulding her ancient shorts and carelessly tied shirt to her now curvaceous body, she hurried down the stepped street to the square.
Where she pulled up short, her heart thudding violently. More trouble. Both wheels of her bike were missing. And beside the bike crouched Guy de Turaine. Only one man in Turaine could have such a magnificent back and narrow waist. Caught in the act again! He really was a petty, spiteful kind of guy. And disappointment
overwhelmed her, gluing her to the spot, because that wasn’t how she’d seen him in her dreams.
He straightened then, and turned, searching the square angrily as if hunting for someone. His gaze alighted on her and he stiffened, watching her with narrowed eyes as she forced her reluctant legs into motion towards his elegant figure. ‘I’m sure you have an explanation,’ she said coldly, halting a few feet away from him. ‘I’m dying to hear it. Don’t tell me-you found it like this?’
‘Yes, I did. I was on my way to the post office when I noticed the wheels had gone.’ Seeing her scathing expression, he frowned. ‘It’s true. I don’t know how it happened. I’m as puzzled as you.’
‘Puzzle no more!’ she said with bitter sarcasm. ‘Oh, Guy, how could you? This is my only transport! I can put up with having my windows broken and my ladder pinched, but this is plain vicious!’ She thrust grubby fingers through her damp hair in exasperation. ‘I rely on my bike. I need it, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. You know I have to shop in Lalinde because nobody will serve me here. If I can’t use my bike, I’ll starve. Is that what you want?’ she cried wildly.
There was a pause while he considered the likelihood of that, his gaze roaming over her smooth, bare shoulders, her lush breasts fighting the tight top and resting for a moment on her now comfortable hips. Tessa felt mortified. OK. She was plump again. Did he have to rub it in? Miserably she met his eyes, and saw to her astonishment that they smouldered with an earthy hunger.
‘Please don’t starve,’ he said huskily. ‘You’re perfect as you are.’
Mockery, she thought contemptuously. Brute! She tossed her head and planted dirty hands on her bare waist, leaving oily marks. ‘Don’t try to flatter me!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not falling for that! All I want is for this harassment to stop. Hell, I’d rather you dumped a dead pig in my lap any day!’
‘I don’t go in for teenage tricks-’
‘What kind do you favour, then?’ she demanded.
He frowned. ‘Did you say your ladder had been stolen?’
‘Please! Give me some credit and don’t act the innocent,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘You must know what’s going on. I’m being victimised. And this-’
She stopped in annoyance. Her voice was cracking. Not only was she stamping mad and upset about the bike, but she really hadn’t imagined in a million years that he’d stoop so low. What a rotten judge of character she was! Her teeth chewed her lower lip.
‘Put it right,’ she croaked. And she lifted distressed eyes to his. ‘Return my wheels. Go search for dead pigs instead and hurl them at me. At least I could barbecue and eat the damn things!’
‘I can’t put it right,’ he said gruffly. ‘I don’t have your wheels because I didn’t remove them.’
He sounded very stilted. Tessa stood helplessly, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth or not. In the end she decided it didn’t matter. ‘No. But you know who did.’ He shifted. ‘I might,’ he conceded.
‘Whoever’s responsible,’ she said jerkily, ‘has turned one or two minor incidents into a nasty vendetta. Do you encourage this sort of thing? Turn a blind eye? Is only one person involved or
does everyone take turns at harassing me? Is it amusing to see an uneven struggle between a single woman and a whole village plus its obsessed despot owner?’ she flung at him furiously.
Quite poker-faced, he studied her for a moment: her belligerently thrust-out chin, her hurt and angry eyes, the defiant stance of her tanned legs. There was the faintest hint of admiration in his eyes when she
continued to stare him out despite a treacherously quivering lower lip.
‘Tessa, I regret what has happened. I agree that things have gone too far. I’ll show my good faith by replacing your wheels,’ he offered quietly.
‘I accept your offer,’ she retorted, not at all mollified. It was ghastly knowing how much she was loathed, and her face must have shown that because he said quite gently, ‘I am very sorry you’ve been upset. It’ll be the last time, I promise.’
‘You’re going to stop tormenting an innocent woman?’ she muttered truculently.
He winced. ‘I’ll make it known that I won’t tolerate this kind of behaviour,’ he corrected her.
‘While you’re about it, make it known that I’m not a monster,’ she shot back. ‘That I have a right to be here, a right to work on my houses-mine, Guy! You can change the way I’m treated in this village.’
‘That’s true,’ he said evenly.
Her face became earnest. This could be her chance, her only chance to improve the situation. Stepping a little closer, she fixed him with her liquid green eyes and said huskily, ‘It’s in your power to make life bearable for me. As the seigneur, the man everyone respects, you can change the whole way I’m treated merely by showing that you don’t bear me a grudge, that you’re not blaming me for hanging onto what is legally mine.’
Impulsively she touched his arm. ‘Guy,’ she said softly, pleading with her entire body, ‘all you have to do is to drop a word here and there, make sure people see you smile at me when we meet, pass the time of day with me-’
‘You’re asking something I’m not prepared to do,’ h interrupted curtly.
‘Why? You owe me! It wouldn’t cost you anything!’ He glowered at his shoes. ‘It would. Too much-’
‘Oh, your pride!
Your honour!’ she scathed.
‘No. Not that.’ And his tone was odd, as if something else prevented him. ‘Let’s take one thing at a time,’ he said heavily. ‘I must go to the post office. I’m overdue. After that, I’ll organise your set of wheels. My mechanic can fit them.’
‘Not on your life!’ she muttered. ‘I wouldn’t trust him. I’d rather do it myself.’
There was a hiss as Guy’s breath was drawn in sharply. ‘You’re not suggesting I’d deliberately arrange an accident for you, I hope?’ he queried, tight-lipped.
She stood her ground. ‘What am I supposed to think? How could I know? I can’t take the risk. You have to admit that you’d be glad to see the back of me.’
The ensuing pause stretched and stretched uncomfortably, a million thoughts seemingly chasing through Guy’s mind. ‘I will admit that you are a complication I could do without. And that I’ve contemplated ways of making you leave,’ he said eventually.
Her muscles went rigid. In his own, guarded way, he had revealed his complicity in the harassment, even if he hadn’t been personally responsible. Suddenly wanting to howl, she turned her back on him and listened to the slow tread of his feet as he walked to the post office.
She had to pass it on her way to the river. As she did so she noticed that the door was locked, with a notice on it which declared, ‘Service minimum. A cause de la tristesse’. Clear enough, she thought. Through the glass window, she could see Guy’s tall figure, his face solemn, his body in an attitude of sympathy as he listened to a frantically gesturing woman. Suddenly her face crumpled and Guy drew her into his arms, his expression tender and gentle. The scene touched a chord in her, reaching deep into her emotions, and she wanted to cry too.
He cared so much for the people of Turaine. And he saw her as a threat to them. But she wasn’t! How could she make him realise that? She clenched her fists, determined to do so and yearning to be accepted. It wouldn’t be long, she promised herself, once she’d spoken to her mother and learnt the truth.
Before she could move on Guy emerged, looking sad and drained. Tessa felt a lurch in her heart and realised her emotions had been dangerously engaged. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked quickly when he saw her. Hastily she rearranged her face.
‘Only... I saw you in there with a woman,’ she said. ‘Has someone died?’
‘Yes. Her husband. Very suddenly. They’ve been married for forty years. She can’t come to terms with it.’
‘How awful. Poor woman. Does she have family?’ Tessa asked, full of concern.
‘The village is her family. We’ll all support her,’ he answered shortly.
‘It’s upset you, hasn’t it?’ Extraordinarily, she wanted to touch his hand, to offer him her sympathy because he’d taken the woman’s unhappiness to heart, and she struggled with her desire to soothe him.
‘Her husband organised the funeral for my father when he died. He persuaded the villagers to pay their respects, despite the bad feeling, and eventually he traced me m New Orleans. I owe my homecoming to that man. I’m sorry that he hasn’t lived to see my plans for the village fulfilled.’
‘Oh, Guy!’ she sighed. It hurt her-physically hurt in her chest-to see him so upset. And that worried her. Guy’s dark eyes seemed to melt into hers. ‘I don’t like to see people unhappy when I care about them.’ He inhaled and exhaled slowly. ‘Love!’ he muttered under his breath. ‘You can be very kind,’ she said in a small voice. She valued kindness. And she wished he’d be compassionate to her. His jaw tightened. ‘To those who deserve it.’
‘I deserve it,’ she said with quiet insistence. ‘Even if my mother is all the things you claim she is, that’s nothing to do with me. And you can’t condemn me for wanting to provide an income for myself-’
‘I condemn you for your method,’ he said in a hard tone. ‘It was underhand and cruel. You gave me hope where there was none.’
‘I told you why. Besides, that’s no reason for people to break my windows or steal my belongings or ruin my bike,’ she muttered.
He gave her a sharp look, then frowned. ‘I told you you’d get hurt if you stayed here. It was bound to get rocky.’
‘And now you’ve said it will become smooth again,’ she reminded him hopefully.
‘Not smooth,’ he denied. ‘I promised that you wouldn’t be harassed any more. I can’t guarantee you an easy life. You’ve too many problems for that.’
She gave a sigh. ‘Tell me something new!’ She decided that she’d try ringing home. Right now. There was a remote chance that her father might be back. ‘Guy... I need some change for the phone. I wonder if-’
‘Here.’ He thrust into his pocket, took her hand and poured coins into her palm. One or two heavy spots of warm rain fell on his outstretched arm and they both looked up anxiously. ‘I’ll go to the garage now,’ he said abruptly. ‘Are you by any chance trying to contact your mother?’ When she nodded, her eyes huge on his, he hesitated then said very softly, ‘I’ll wait a moment, then.’
She blinked in surprise. ‘Why?’
‘In case you need me.’
The soft warmth of his voice made her breath ragged. But she knew how unwise it would be for her to encourage him. Too much about him pulled at her heartstrings and threatened her protective defences. Every time he came near, her pulses went into overdrive. Her body leapt into life as if opening for him. She
lowered her head and blushed at her thoughts, knowing that she must keep them to herself. ‘No, Guy.’ He’d promised that the vendetta wouldn’t continue. With that out of the way, everything would be fine. With difficulty, she lifted her head and looked him straight in the eyes, almost wavering when she saw the tenderness lurking there. Why? she thought in panic.
‘Stick to your promise to bring the vendetta to a close and I won’t need you,’ she said quietly. ‘Now or at any time in the future.’
And with that she walked back to the phone box to phone home.
‘Dad!’ she cried in relief, when he answered at long last. ‘It’s me, Tessa! Are you OK?’
‘No, I’m not OK!’ he replied crossly. ‘I’ve been waiting to hear from you. I need some help around here. When’s your mother com
ing?’
She went ice-cold. ‘She-she’s with you ... isn’t she?’
‘No! Don’t you think I’d have noticed?’ he asked irritably.
‘Oh, Dad, she must be there!’ Tessa gasped. ‘She said she was-she rang me from home and said that you were paying for the call!’
‘Of course she’s not here. I’ve been waiting all this time for news. Some American rang, asking for her.’
‘Guy!’ she muttered.
‘And,’ continued her father, not hearing her, ‘I’m getting in a bit of a state. There are things I can’t manage on my own.’ Guilt swamped her. Her father had been alone all this time! She’d left him with prepared meals and promised it wouldn’t be for long... ‘Oh, Dad! This is awful. I-I didn’t call because I thought Mother was with you and that the two of you had gone away,’ she said faintly. ‘And...’ Her stomach rolled as she remembered what her mother had said, her sense of panic making her voice
rise half an octave. ‘Mum said there wasn’t any point in ringing-’
‘It’s no use giving me excuses. I’m going to Edith’s across the road. I can’t manage on my own any longer,’ her father said grumpily, mentioning a friendly neighbour. He began to speak again but the pips obliterated whatever he was saying. Then the connection went dead. Automatically Tessa replaced the receiver, her face ashen. Her father had been trying to cope on his own. And she’d only felt able to stay away because she’d thought her mother had been with him!
Her mother knew he was disabled. She’d known that Tessa couldn’t leave him for longer than a few days. Appalled, she realised that her mother had deliberately and cheerfully lied. Everything she’d said had been a lie. Everything? Dazed and bewildered, she pushed open the door and stumbled out, unable to grasp what had happened. The shock had disorientated her. She didn’t know what she was doing or where she was going. And then she realised that it was raining heavily and she was already soaked.
