“And he has it?”
“I think so.” Michel frowned. “I knew you would understand them, but he’s not like you.”
No, they had nothing at all in common, Catherine thought, and François was evidently capable of making her feel most uneasy. It was an excellent thing he was leaving Vasaro that night. The serenity she now possessed had been hard won, and she did not wish it to be endangered.
Catherine’s uneasiness became even more acute when she walked into the salon that evening and met François’s gaze. He rose to his feet and bowed politely but his stare was as intent as it had been that afternoon.
She suddenly became aware of the bareness of her shoulders gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, the swelling of her breasts above the ivory satin of her gown. “Please, be seated.” She hurriedly sat down in an armchair and looked at Jean Marc. He was dressed for the journey in boots and dark clothing and she tardily realized François was similarly garbed. “Supper will be served in a quarter hour. I hope that will be all right?”
“Perfectly all right. Wine, Catherine?” Jean Marc was at the cabinet across the room, pouring wine into glasses. “You look in splendid health.”
“Splendid,” François echoed softly as he resumed his seat. The warmth of his smile embraced her across the room.
Catherine tore her gaze from François. “Wine? Yes, please. Where’s Juliette?”
“She hasn’t come down to supper yet.” Jean Marc turned and handed a glass to Catherine and then moved across the room and gave the other to François. “I haven’t seen her since last night.”
“I saw her this morning before I left for the fields. She’s probably sketching and forgotten the time again.” Catherine took a sip of wine. “If she’s not down in a few minutes, I’ll look for her.”
“There’s no hurry.” Jean Marc sat down and stretched his booted legs out before him. “Juliette’s seldom on time. Drink your wine.”
Catherine shot him a curious glance. “You’ve discovered that?”
“‘I’ve discovered a good many things about Juliette.” Jean Marc glanced idly at François. “You’re not drinking your wine.”
Catherine smiled. “It’s the Vasaro wine I told you about. You remember?”
“I remember.” François quickly raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply.
“Do you like it?” Catherine asked. “This is a good vintage.”
François nodded, his gaze meeting Catherine’s. “I find the bite more obvious than the sweetness, but sometimes that’s what a man needs.”
“Is it?” Heat began to tingle through her and she hastily averted her eyes. “Philippe said this year’s grapes would be excellent. I hope he’s right. The vineyards are—”
A sharp clatter interrupted her words.
She looked back at François, startled. He was slumped sidewise in his chair and his glass had shattered on the floor, the red wine splashed across the oaken tiles.
Catherine jumped up and rushed toward François in alarm. “Jean Marc, he’s ill!”
“No.” Jean Marc stood up and moved swiftly across the room. He pushed François’s head back and examined his face. He straightened and added with satisfaction, “But he’s very definitely asleep. He didn’t drink it all, but it should keep him out of the way until the ship is under sail.”
“Youdruggedhim?”
“I thought it kinder than hitting him on the head,” Jean Marc said, then shrugged. “I respect the man. I didn’t want to hurt him.” He opened the top buttons of François’s shirt and spread back the stiff collar. “Now he should be comfortable enough. I have a horse saddled and waiting in the stable. By the time he begins to stir, theBonne Chancewill be out of the harbor.”
“This is not well done, Jean Marc,” Catherine said coldly. “He is a guest in my house.”
“My dear Catherine, would you have preferred Iwaited until I got to Cannes and left him lying in the gutter for the thieves to pick?”
“No, but it is not right—”
“Danton set him to spy on me. Iwon’tfind the statue only to have him take it away from me and give it to the republic.Au revoir, Catherine, tell Juliette I—” He stopped. “You probably won’t get a chance to tell her anything when she finds out I’ve left without her. She can be very voluble when she’s displeased.”
He left the salon and a moment later Catherine heard the front door slam behind him.
SEVENTEEN
