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‘Oh, it’s gorgeous,’ she exclaimed impulsively as Andre turned through an arched gateway into a labyrinth of narrow streets, and saw him smile.
‘That was also the opinion of your beau-père when I brought him here,’ he said, slotting the car neatly into an empty parking space. ‘Now we shall walk a little. Nothing is too far away.’
He guided them both through another maze of quaint, cosy streets into a square dominated by a massive building, a spire rising above its forbidding stone walls.
Is this where they dispose of unwanted visitors? Ginny wondered mordantly as they crossed to an entrance made no more cheerful by the massive door knocker depicting a salamander eating a fly.
Will you come into my parlour? she chanted under her breath. And took a step into a different world. One that stopped her in her tracks, gasping with a delight as wholehearted as it was unexpected as she found herself in a cobbled courtyard, staring at one of the most amazing buildings she’d ever seen in her life.
It was clearly very old, its creamy stones almost golden in the early spring sunlight, but it was the colourful design that entranced her, from the slender pillars of the arcade that supported the ornate upper balcony up to the beautiful dormer windows.
And above them the kind of roof she’d never seen before, its tiles glazed and geometrically patterned in spectacular green, rust and black against a golden background, with gilded weathervanes soaring towards the sky.
She turned to Andre. ‘What in the world is this place?’ Her voice was husky.
‘The Hotel-Dieu, built six centuries ago by Nicholas Rolin, Philippe le Bon’s Chancellor, as a hospital for the poor.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps, as the King of France remarked, to make amends for all those he’d helped to impoverish. Whatever Rolin’s motives, it has become a symbol of our region, its decoration reminding Burgundians of their Flemish roots.’
‘Is it still a hospital?’
‘No, a museum. The sick and elderly were moved to modern buildings some forty years ago. But all of them, including the Hotel-Dieu, are still maintained by the Hospices de Beaune charity which Nicholas and his wife established.’
Ginny looked back with awe at the astonishing façade. ‘That must take some doing.’
Andre shook his head. ‘Not when the charity owns some of the greatest vineyards in Burgundy. And in November, during the Trois Glorieuses, their new vintages are sold by auction to buyers from all over the world, raising five to six million euros.’
‘Is that when they light the candle and have to bid before it burns out?’ asked Cilla eagerly.
He grinned. ‘No, that is only for the most important lot—La Pièce de Presidents—usually with a celebrity auctioneer encouraging the feeding frenzy.’
Cilla sighed. ‘Oh, I would love to be there and see that.’
Andre said quietly, ‘Then all you need do is stay here. You know the choice is yours.’
Ginny had the oddest sensation that the brightness of the day had faded as she watched him look down gravely and searchingly into her sister’s upturned face. As she saw the exquisite, brilliant colour rise in her cheeks, and heard her murmur something shy, confused, and most un-Cilla-like before she turned away.
Because she knew all that shy radiance could mean only one thing.
That this time Cilla was genuinely and deeply in love.
And glancing at Andre, she saw him smile with quiet, deep satisfaction as he led the way into the Hotel-Dieu and felt her heart turn over in agony.
The interior was just as astonishing and, under other circumstances, Ginny would have revelled in the history of the place, from the neat alcove bedrooms of the Great Hall, all facing towards the painted woodcarving of Christ on the altar at the end of the long room to the enormous painting of the Last Judgement in the tapestried salle specially built to house it.
But now I have to make my own judgement, she thought wryly, pain building inside her as she obediently studied the immense detail of the painting through one of the magnifying glasses supplied to visitors as if her life depended on it.
I know it can never be right to wreck three lives, she thought, so I must be the one to leave, even if I am condemning myself to a hell of regret. But will that be any worse than being with a man who has only married me out of duty?
Yes, Cilla will be shocked and hurt when she finds out about the baby, as she eventually must, but, loving him, she’ll surely forgive him. And loving her, he’ll stay faithful in future. And they’ll be happy together.
I have to believe that. Have to...
When, at last, they re-emerged into the sunlight, Ginny, still wretchedly preoccupied with her bleak thoughts, took a clumsy step and stumbled on the cobbles.
