Page 34 of Inherited by Her Enemy

He shrugged. ‘I have seen you wearing less.’

‘I don’t need any reminder of that.’ She lifted her chin. ‘What do you want?’

‘I thought you would need this.’ He tossed an adapter plug on to the bed beside the dryer. ‘I do not wish you to add a bout of pneumonia to the list of grievances against me you are undoubtedly preparing.’

‘Thank you.’ She bit her lip. ‘That was—thoughtful.’

His brows lifted in faint amusement. ‘You said that, chérie, as if you were chewing broken glass,’ he observed. ‘I had hoped you would be more grateful.’ He paused. ‘I would welcome as little as a smile.’

She said in a low voice, ‘Perhaps I haven’t much to smile about. And on the subject of pneumonia, I’d like to get dressed in peace.’

‘Hélas, I can only offer privacy,’ he said sardonically, his eyes travelling over her in frank and unhurried reminiscence. ‘Peace, ma mie, is a very different matter.’ And added, ‘For both of us.’

It wasn’t until the door closed behind him that Ginny realised she was holding her breath.

She fumbled her way into her clothing with hands that shook, but the necessity of wielding dryer and brush to restore her hair to its usual shining curtain gave her a modicum of composure.

Making her way downstairs, she paused at the kitchen door, silently rehearsing an apology for being late, then marched in only to find that preparations for breakfast had apparently not yet begun.

Instead she was immediately conscious of an odd tension in the silent room as if her arrival had halted a conversation, she thought as she registered the woman standing by the fireplace.

She was tall with silver-grey hair cut in a sleek angular bob and a striking, even beautiful face, and Ginny found herself struggling to make a connection between the newcomer and Jules with his distinctly sturdy build and blunt, slightly pugnacious features.

She summoned a smile and walked across the room, ready to shake hands. ‘Bonjour, Madame Rameau? Comment allez vous? Je suis Virginia Mason.’

‘Madame Rameau,’ the other woman repeated wonderingly. Adding in English, ‘Is this perhaps a joke?’

‘Au contraire, it is a mistake on my part, Monique.’ Andre, standing with Jules at the window, spoke coolly. ‘We were not anticipating the pleasure of seeing you at this hour and Mademoiselle Mason was expecting to meet Clothilde.’ He came forward to Ginny’s side. ‘Virginie, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Chaloux.’

The other woman smiled, showing perfect teeth. ‘And Clothilde, naturellement, is late. Occupied with some little medical emergency, no doubt. But it is an unexpected pleasure to find Mademoiselle Mason among us. I had assumed...’ She broke off, her smile widening. ‘But enough of that. I shall now look forward to practising my English as I once did with your dear mother, Andre.’

Ginny said politely, ‘I don’t think you need practice, mademoiselle.’

‘How charming of you to say so.’ Mademoiselle Chaloux turned to Andre. ‘I have called, mon cher, to say that Bertrand expects to be here by late afternoon.’

‘That is good of you, Monique,’ Andre said courteously. ‘But he informed me of that himself last night.’

‘Ah,’ she said lightly. ‘Then I need not have delayed my start to the day.’ She nodded in Ginny’s direction. ‘Au revoir, mademoiselle. We shall meet again very soon. This evening at dinner, perhaps.’

‘Non, hélas.’ Andre’s tone expressed polite regret. ‘Tonight we plan to dine en famille, in order to welcome Mademoiselle Mason. I am sure you understand.’

There was the slightest pause, then: ‘But, of course.’

Another glinting smile around the room and she was gone.

Ginny heard Jules mutter something inaudible and with that came an almost perceptible relaxation in the atmosphere.

So I wasn’t imagining things, she thought. She drew a breath.

‘I’m sorry I made that mistake over the names. I hope Mademoiselle Chaloux isn’t too upset.’

‘Ça ne fait rien.’ Andre shrugged. ‘Between Clothilde and herself there has always been friction, for many reasons. Monique’s father was the doctor here for some years, and she acted as his receptionist and secretary. He believed in orthodox medicine and hospital births for all mothers.

‘Clothilde, par contraste, is the unofficial village midwife, delivering babies at home in their parents’ beds and brewing medicine from herbs in her kitchen, and many people turn first to her.’

Jules said grimly, ‘In past centuries, sans doute, la famille Chaloux would have denounced my aunt as a witch.’

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