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‘Bordeaux, my dear chap, not Burgundy,’ he boomed as he filled Andre Duchard’s glass. ‘I hope you won’t see it as a challenge.’
‘By no means,’ Andre returned softly, his gaze meeting Ginny’s across the table. ‘A wonderful wine is always that, no matter where the grape is grown.’
She flushed. ‘I don’t really know much about wine,’ she said untruthfully, and saw his smile widen.
Lady Welburn came to her rescue. ‘Where in Burgundy do you live, Monsieur Duchard?’
‘A village called Terauze, madame.’
‘Terauze?’ Sir Malcolm mused. ‘That name’s familiar. Are you involved with the wine industry, Mr Duchard?’
‘I work in the Domaine Baron Emile, monsieur.’
To Ginny’s horror, the look Rosina sent Lady Welburn could not have stated, A peasant. I knew it, more obviously if she’d shouted it aloud. But her air as she turned to Andre Duchard was gracious.
‘Are you one of the people who tread the grapes, Mr Duchard?’
‘Non, hélas.’ His dark face was impassive. ‘They are no longer crushed in that way. Although still picked by hand.’
‘Ah,’ Rosina said vaguely. ‘Then I suppose you have little to do at this time of year.’
‘Perhaps, at this precise moment, madame.’ He shrugged. ‘But after the feast of St Vincent, the patron of vignerons, in ten days’ time, we begin pruning.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Rosina, and turned back to Lady Welburn with a query about the Women’s Institute.
While Andre Duchard, still smiling, resumed devoting his attention to Cilla.
Or as it was better known, blatantly flirting with her under the nose of her fiancé, thought Ginny furiously. And her ‘beautiful sister’ was responding, all sideways glances under her darkened lashes, and little soft giggles.
She’d once heard flirting defined as ‘making love without touching’ and here was a practical demonstration, as Andre Duchard smiled into Cilla’s eyes. Murmured to her, his lips just a breath from her ear...
Very different, she thought, a sudden strange pain twisting inside her, to the way he treated me. Grabbing me and kissing me—like that.
Which is something I’ve decided not to think about again, and to behave as if it never happened.
The Welburns, she could see, were studiously pretending not to notice what was going on at the other end of the table. However, one glance at Jonathan told her he was wearing his normally pleasant expression like a mask.
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.’
