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“How long have you been sitting here?” I asked, startling him.
His eyes flew open, wide and wintry blue.
“I don’t know, maybe an hour,” he said. “Are you done?”
I nodded.
He stood awkwardly and brushed himself down.
“You’re a very patient man.”
“I’m learning.” He smiled, a trace of self-mockery at the corners of his mouth. “Back to the house?”
“Please, and thank you.” I stretched up and kissed him on his cheek.
He smiled warmly, surprised, and put his arm around my shoulders, leading me out of the church.
At lunchtime, Madame Gombert prepared chicken salad for Dylan and Lulu. For me, she made her special chicken broth. She sat down beside me and implored me with her sincere amber eyes to eat it, all of it.
How could I refuse?
It was tasty, and I cleaned the bowl. She was so delighted that she kissed my forehead.
After lunch, I retired to my room. Dylan and Lulu were having a siesta, and Madame Gombert went… wherever Madame Gombert went. I had to remember to ask Dylan. She didn’t sleep in the house, so I assumed she must live close by. I lay down, and within moments, I was asleep.
When I woke, it was late afternoon. I made my way downstairs, but the house was deserted. I went outside, and Dylan was checking over two mountain bikes.
“Hi,” he said, watching me intently, and I knew he was trying to gauge my mood.
“I’m okay,” I answered his unspoken question.
“Do you want to come for a cycle through the estate?” he asked.
“Estate?”
“Yeah, the property’s quite big—three hundred hectares. It’s mostly agricultural land, but there’s a wood too. There are vineyards, and of course the farm. Monsieur Gombert farms all the land, with his son, and his brother makes the wine.”
“Wine?”
“Yes. The estate has a label.”
“Manoir Des Noyers. And this all belongs to you?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes and yes. It belonged to my aunt. I think I told you. She had the house in Chiswick and a huge flat in Bordeaux too. Actually, she owned the whole building where she lived. But I sold that to pay death duties and to help restore all the properties here. She’d really let the place go.”
“Madame Gombert is a tenant?”
“Yes, I suppose she is. Why?”
“Sounds very feudal.”
He laughed. “It’s not like I have droit du seigneur, Emily!”
“What does that mean?”
“Google it,” he said, and he shook his head at once embarrassed and amused. He continued, “My arrangement with the Gomberts is very equitable. They pay a peppercorn rent, and I get a share of the profits on any harvests. So far, it’s working well. Better than under my aunt. She’d really neglected the estate and the people who worked it. I just hope I can get this place to be self-sustaining. Maybe in a year or two. We’ll see.”
Wow. Doctor Dyl, the feudal lord.
