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‘Papa is waiting for us in the grand salon,’ Andre informed her. ‘Tonight the Château Terauze is en fête in your honour, ma belle.’
He snapped his fingers and Barney uncurled himself from his basket and came to join them, padding sedately between them as they crossed the great hall.
Suddenly nervous, Ginny cast about for something to say and came up with, ‘Does Jules have a girlfriend?’
‘A new one every week,’ he responded. ‘Why do you ask? Are you thinking of adding to their number?’
She wondered how he’d react if she said, Actually, I fancy him rotten, but decided not to take the risk.
Instead, she said caustically, ‘Out of the frying pan into the fire? Hardly. I was just—curious.’
‘You are not the only one. According to Clothilde, his mother despairs that she will not live to see her grandchildren.’
‘Is she very ill?’
‘Only in her imagination,’ he returned laconically and she was startled into a giggle.
He smiled too, then reached down and took her hand. His clasp was light, but she felt it in every curve and every hollow of her body, as if they were, once again, naked, their bodies locked together in the ultimate intimacy. In the act of madness which had brought her here, she thought restraining a gasp, along with the impulse to wrench herself free.
Then he pushed open a door and, as they entered the brilliantly lit room beyond, Ginny realised that this time a gasp might not have been out of place.
Imposingly furnished with pastel silk wallpaper and formally grouped chairs and small sofas, all striped satin and narrow gilded legs, this room was as far removed from le petit salon as it was possible to get.
In fact, thought Ginny, it was more like a showcase of a bygone era than a sitting room.
Even the fire seemed elegant, burning modestly in its elaborate marble fireplace.
And beside it, languidly occupying one of the small armchairs, shapely legs crossed and looking as if Chanel had invented the little black dress solely for her, was Monique Chaloux.
For a moment, Ginny felt Andre’s fingers tighten round hers, then he released her as the man standing on the other side of the fireplace came forward, smiling. He was of medium height and trimly built with broad shoulders, his rugged features set off by a mane of silver hair, but still recognisable from the photograph.
‘Andre, mon gars,’ he said with open affection and embraced him.
As Andre returned his stepfather’s greeting with equal warmth, Barney wandered forward to explore these new surroundings.
‘Mon Dieu.’ Languor forgotten, Mademoiselle Chaloux was on her feet. ‘A clumsy, dirty animal in the Baronne Laure’s beautiful salon?’ She looked at Ginny. ‘Is the dog yours, mademoiselle?’
Andre said quietly, ‘He belonged to my father, Monique, therefore he is mine. And he has perfect manners.’
A commendation instantly spoiled by Barney’s low, menacing growl aimed straight at his detractor.
Mademoiselle Chaloux recoiled. ‘And dangerous too,’ she accused shrilly. ‘Bertrand—I insist the animal must wear a muzzle.’
‘Please, no.’ Ginny intervened hastily. ‘He’s never growled at anyone before.’ Not even Rosina at her worst, she thought. ‘Truly. He—he’s had a trying day.’
The other woman snorted. ‘Quelle bêtise.’
Bertrand Duchard extended a hand for Barney to sniff. ‘I would not call him a danger,’ he said calmly. ‘More—a new friend who needs a little time.’
He turned to Ginny. ‘And now, mademoiselle, permit me to welcome you. Je suis énchante de faire votre connaissance.’
Not that enchanted, thought Ginny, aware that his smile no longer reached his eyes.
She said quietly, ‘You’re very kind, Monsieur le Baron. Your home is very beautiful.’
‘You have heard about it, perhaps, from your beau-père?
‘No,’ she said. ‘He—he never mentioned it.’
There was a silence, then the Baron inclined his head courteously. ‘Then it is good we meet at last, as he wished. Andre, you must make sure your guest’s stay with us is a pleasant one. Burgundy, mademoiselle, has a fascinating history and some exquisite architecture.’
He turned to Mademoiselle Chaloux. ‘Ring the bell, will you, Monique, and Gaston will bring the aperitifs to toast our visitor.’
It all sounded very hospitable and pleasant but Ginny wasn’t fooled.
‘He doesn’t want me here,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I’m getting a subtle warning not to outstay my welcome.’
Maybe she had an ally at last, yet somehow she couldn’t rejoice, because suddenly it was being brought home to her, coldly and bleakly, that she no longer belonged anywhere.
