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‘As for my father...’ He shrugged again. ‘Perhaps, he believed there would always be more time—to explain the past and talk of his plans for the future. A lesson we should value, peut-être.’
‘Just as I should remember I’m here to work,’ she said curtly, still feeling off-balance and hating him for it. ‘I’ll get your coffee, Monsieur Duchard.’
‘And bring one for yourself. I wish to speak with you.’
‘That’s against the rules. We don’t sit with the customers.’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Oh là là. Not even when it is with a member of the family?’
‘You and I are in no way related,’ she said. Adding, ‘Thankfully.’
‘Then we agree on something, enfin.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now, for once, break this rule that I do not believe exists, and drink coffee with me.’ He added drily, ‘On the understanding, bien sûr, that we do not throw it over each other.’
Ginny sent him a fulminating glance then went reluctantly to the hotplate behind the counter and poured two black coffees, aware she was under scrutiny through the glazed panel at the top of the kitchen door.
There was a large mirror on the back wall, and she caught a glimpse of herself as she turned, all shiny face and hair in lank wisps.
She looked like someone who’d been on her feet all day—and in a menial job at that, while the butcher’s apron made her feel suddenly like a badly wrapped parcel.
But what the hell, she thought. He has no illusions about me. He came here to talk, that’s all.
Her hands were shaking, in an echo of the foolish inner turmoil she seemed unable to control, but she managed to get the cups back to the table without spilling any of the liquid in the saucers.
‘What did you want to discuss?’ she asked, perching awkwardly on the edge of her chair.
‘Let us begin with your extraordinary wish to buy this business.’
She put her cup down quickly. ‘How did you know about that?’
‘My father told me.’ He paused. ‘Please understand that he did not wish to disappoint you, but he did not favour the proposal.’
‘He told you that?’ Mortified, Ginny swallowed. ‘But—why?’
‘He did not want you to be the next Miss Finn. He thought you too young to bury yourself in such a future.’
She bit her lip. ‘Well, it hardly matters. The café’s being sold to someone else.’
‘So you will be looking for a fresh start, away from here, peut-être.’
She said shortly, ‘I haven’t decided.’
His mouth curled slightly. ‘No doubt there is much to consider. But I advise you to ignore your mother’s hopes of having my father’s will set aside in her favour. It will not happen, no matter what avocat she chooses to employ in place of Monsieur Hargreaves.’
‘In his place?’ Ginny was bewildered. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘They spoke on the telephone today. She was angry he had not warned her that the house had been rented. He explained that he had not wished to immediately burden her with more bad news. That he awaited only a convenient opportunity. But it made no difference. She no longer wishes him to act for her.’
Stifling a groan, she said, ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it. I’ll talk to her.’
‘I think it is too late for that. She blames him, tu comprends, for obeying my father’s instructions about the disposal of his estate. For not, as she says, making him see reason.’
The note of faint derision in his voice flicked Ginny on the raw. She said hotly, ‘Clearly you don’t understand how my mother feels. How bewildered—how hurt she is—to be treated like this—after eleven happy years.’
‘That is how you see it? Une vraie idylle?’ The mockery was overt now and it stung. ‘Which is how it began, n’est-ce pas? The deck of a ship beneath the stars—a man and a woman in each other’s arms, overcoming past tragedy, finding new hope together?’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Ginny demanded defensively. ‘Lots of people begin lasting relationships on holiday.’
He said softly, ‘And many more treat it as an enjoyable interlude, and never think of it again on their return to the lives they live each day. Perhaps that is the wisest course.’
She stared at him. ‘And that’s what you think my mother should have done?’
His tone hardened. ‘I cannot speak for her. But my father—certainement.’
She said, ‘I think you’re being insulting.’
He shrugged. ‘I would say—truthful.’
