Bright Hair About the Bone (14 page)

She turned again to the model. “And where, Mr. Paradee…very well, Charles…given a clear area, would you have placed your villa, had you been a colonising Roman?”

“It wouldn't have been exactly clear even in the first century. As a colonising Roman, let's say a soldier being pensioned off with a parcel of land here in the Burgundy hills, I'd have thanked the gods and the emperor for their generosity and I'd have set about clearing my land of indigenous and, no doubt, unfriendly tribesmen. Probably some of my old army buddies would have come along to help me. Anyway, I'd have been pleased with what I found here. Good river providing links to Provence, which was already Romanised, and beyond to the sea. Good rolling land that would produce better wine than the old vineyards back home, as well as grain and fruit. Plenty of wood and easily worked local stone for building. Game in the forest, fish in the river. No shortage of Celtic slaves to do the hard labour. Time, at last, to marry, perhaps the daughter of a good friend back home, perhaps a local woman…time to settle down and raise a family. Sons to continue the line…”

Into Letty's mind flashed, unwelcome, the memory of the aggressive stranger of the previous evening. She remembered his dark looks, his springing black hair, his aquiline nose, its majesty somewhat reduced by the trail of green liquid dripping from the tip. Did Edmond d'Aubec trace his aristocratic blood-line back through the centuries to some energetic and prolific Roman settler now no longer even a race memory?

Paradee was talking on with enthusiasm. “There. That's where I'd have settled,” he said, pointing. “It's perfect. It has everything—a high promontory of a site…easily defensible…commands a view down two valleys. Fresh water and grazing.”

“But there
is
a building there,” said Letty, leaning over the model. “It's a castle, isn't it? Thirteenth century, by the look of it.” She took in the tiny but detailed keep surrounded by a double curtain wall; she could even make out a formal garden in the courtyard.

“That's right. Thirteenth century and still impregnable, I'm afraid,” said Paradee. “We've tried. What wouldn't I give to be able to do a little digging around up there! But that's Brancy le Château, ancient seat of the Counts of Brancy. They were almost as rich and powerful as the Black Monks of Fontigny for centuries, but they've weathered somewhat better than the monks. The castle is more or less intact and remains the stronghold of the latest in the line, who lives there with his old hag of a mother and a small army of retainers. Edmond d'Aubec.”

“D'Aubec? Ah, yes…I believe I may have caught a glimpse of him last night.”

Paradee allowed her half-truth to hang in the air. “So I heard. Now listen, Stella—you keep away from that man. You're part of my team now and my team has strict orders to stay clear of him. D'Aubec's trouble.”

“He's an arrogant bully and a very suitable subject for a study by Herr Freud,” she countered lightly.

“He's not a man you can dismiss like that. His cavalier style may seem outrageous and from another age, but this is no worn-out aristocrat pathetically hanging on to the shreds of his pedigree. He's got the clout to back up his pretensions. He's got a lot of money—not an inherited fortune, but new money, money he's made himself. He's a businessman with a finger in every pie in Burgundy—and beyond. And he's in my way.”

Letty was startled by the vehemence in his words, the intense dislike he made no attempt to conceal. Sensing this, Paradee grinned apologetically but seemed unwilling to abandon his warnings. “And something else, Stella—just in case you were thinking I'm being overly concerned…d'Aubec has a certain reputation…um…” He floundered and seemed unsure how or, indeed, whether, to continue.

“Let me guess,” she said, helping him through his confusion. “This being the land of the troubadours, I should not be at all surprised to hear that the man shows an interest in the Art of Courtly Love. Am I right?”

“Nothing
courtly
about it,” he replied, “not the way he plays the game. Exercising his
droit de seigneur
is more his style.”

“Crikey!” Letty said unguardedly. “Who needs to dig a trench to turn up fossils in this neck of the backwoods? The fossils parade about the streets for all to see!” She began to shake with laughter.

“For goodness' sake! You'll have to pay closer attention than this!” he said stiffly, angered by her wilful misunderstanding. “Maybe I should have known better than to take on a woman…If I'm honest, Miss St. Clair, I should admit that, after receiving your testimonials, your warm letters of recommendation from the highest quarters, I was expecting someone…well…more on the lines of Gertrude Stubbs…an embryo Ada Hepplewhite…a budding Isadora Bell…You know—a Daughter of Empire with a bullwhip in one hand and a Bible in the other. Instead of which I get…” Her raised eyebrow confirmed his suspicion that he was making matters worse. “Okay, I'll spell it out. A girl who looks like you do, arriving in this town, is a surefire target for this reprobate. You'll be a challenge to d'Aubec. You've landed on his turf and he'll see you as all the more tempting a trophy because you're working for me—a man he dislikes. Now do you understand?”

She nodded. She understood. And she was repelled by the thought that she might be seen as no more than a lioness to be fought over by two warring lions stalking the same territory.

“I want a promise from you,” Paradee continued. “You must consider yourself under my protection for the duration of your stay here in Burgundy…. You won't be surprised to hear that certain assurances were sought by your mentor, Professor Merriman…No, don't frown like that, young lady! Perfectly proper in the circumstances—I would have expected nothing less…And I intend not to let him down! I want to hear you say you'll go nowhere near this man.”

He waited for her reply.

Letty's thoughts were grim. Rebellious. Any child who'd read her
Fascinating Animals of the World
knew that, when it came to hunting skills and killing power, it was the lioness who was the more effective. While the lazy lions shook out their manes, roared, and posed about impressively on rocks disputing territory, the lioness, with a weary sigh, would shoot off into the bush in pursuit of the next kill.

But the face she turned toward Paradee was alight with humour and honesty. Her voice, to his ears, was innocent, warm, and deferential: “Thank you, Charles, for speaking so openly. I really do appreciate and welcome your concern. And, of course, I'll pay careful heed to all that you say.”

CHAPTER 14

G
unning was in the parlour, book open in front of him at the desk, when Letty slipped in at the end of the working day.

“Good Lord!” he said, faintly, at the sight of her. “What
have
you been up to? Taking out a contract on the Augean stables? You look frightful. Don't you think you should take your boots off at least—this is rather a good carpet.”

She found she welcomed the sound of his dry voice. “Yes, William,” she said dutifully, and sat on the floor to unlace her boots. “Aren't you going to ask me how I got on? This
was
my first day…”

He sighed, put a finger on his page to mark his place, and turned to her with an interested smile. “Tell me, my dear, how did you enjoy your first day? Did you learn anything? Did you make any nice friends?”

She was eager to share her excitement with someone—anyone—and Gunning would have to do. Taking his questions at face value, she tried to catch his genuine attention. “We uncovered a Roman drainage system,” she said. “Problem was, when we tried to dismantle it—it gushed into life! It poured suds—very modern suds, lavender-scented—into the trench. The good townsfolk of Fontigny are still using the system! Paradee wants you to come down and make a sketch tomorrow.”

“What on earth did you do about it?”

“What do you expect? We called in the local plumber and had it put back again.”

Gunning chortled. “You summoned the
plumbarius
! The worker in lead. I wonder if he knows his name's the same after more than two millennia?”

“Yes, he did, as a matter of fact. And he had some disparaging remarks to make about the skills of our assembled company. But now, William, I've got less than two hours to turn myself from sewer rat into siren. Listen. Paradee had already heard about our little altercation last night when I met him this morning. He would seem to have an effective information service in place.”

“Telephone,” said Gunning. “It's called the telephone. There's a public one in the post office and old Huleux has one somewhere about the place. I've heard it ring.”

Letty ignored him. “He's a clever man and ambitious, I'd say. And he runs a tight ship. He could strut the deck with Admiral Collingwood! ‘Yessir, nossir, three bags full, sir,' I'd guess are the words he most likes to hear. His staff seem very loyal. He's the kind of man who inspires loyalty, I'd say. Our new boss is a good-looking man—for his age—don't you think?”

“Is he? Pretty average, I'd have thought,” said Gunning, eyes straying back to his book. “If I were kind I'd give him the name of a good barber.”

“Huh! A Mr. S. Todd, care of The House of Correction, Cambridge, would that be? For a down-and-out you don't half give yourself airs, William!”

He closed his book with a bang and, flushing with shame at her careless remark, Letty stuck out her chin and waited, ready to accept his justified reprimand.

But he smiled. “True enough. It's many a year since the gentlemen at Trumpers had the honour of wantoning with my locks. Black as a raven's wing they were in those days.”

“Sorry, Reverend! I'm truly sorry. Was that a lesson in turning the other cheek you just gave me?”

“No. Your moral education is outside my remit. Thank Heavens! It was not specified in my employment contract with Sir Richard. ‘Return sound in wind and limb' was the extent of his requirement, I remember. And now, if I may have your cooperation in satisfying his caring concern…? And risking a further knuckle-rapping for interfering…Did you notice, I wonder, that yon sharp-eyed Philip was not in the least taken in by your rubbish in the matter of the count's little present to you this morning? And he took a very long look at that drawing.”

“It wasn't mentioned again,” said Letty uncertainly. “But Paradee made me promise not to have any contact with the count.”

“Ah. And yet you're planning to flout orders on your first day? You'll be in for a keelhauling tomorrow, then. Anyway, I stand with your boss on this. From all I hear, that young Edmond is not a suitable playmate for you. There'll be tears before bedtime. Stay at home tonight.” Momentarily doubtful of his authority to speak to her in this way, he added: “I'm sure your father would expect me to hand you some good advice at this point and here it is—stay at home and play an exciting game of backgammon with the vicar.”

“How can you say that? You saw as clearly as I did what that drawing meant! It was a direct and very personal slap in the face! D'Aubec was flinging down a challenge I can't ignore.”

He sighed. “Yes, I do see that. Bit of a mystery there and one ought to try to get to the bottom of it. I thought you'd insist on going. Ah, well…I shall be on hand.”

“What! You'll be sitting in the hotel, watching me eat my dinner? Your presence will cramp my usual dashing style somewhat.”

“No. But I shall be in the environs. If you've not left the Lion d'Or by ten o'clock I shall come in and give your new friend the benefit of my right hook this time, wherever he is and whatever he's doing. Clear?”

“Clear. Environs? You're not thinking of spending the evening in the café, are you?”

“I've not been wasting my time here. I've been reconnoitring—digging in. In fact, I've set up a fox-hole. When I arrived, I sought out the local priest and introduced myself. Luckily Father Anselme is a genial fellow and we have much in common. I'm invited to spend all my evenings at the vicarage if I wish. He has a good library and a reputation as a local historian. I'm helping him to improve his English. If ever you should need me and I'm not at home, you should go to the priest's house in the rue Tellier. It's only a few strides from the square. I shall spend a convivial hour or so with my confrère and then stroll across to the hotel to make certain you've come away. Intact!”

“Well, don't leave it too late, will you? I've had a completely exhausting day and I shall most likely nod off and collapse into my pudding.”

“In such stimulating company? I doubt it! Ten o'clock, then! Off you go!” he finished firmly, and turned back to his book.

         

Letty stood in front of the cheval mirror in her room. Bathed and scented, hair washed and towelled dry, she'd slipped on the one evening dress she'd packed as an afterthought for France. The Lion d'Or looked rather smart and she thought the simple black silk sleeveless dress would be perfect. Silk stockings, strapped shoes, and a light cashmere wrap completed the outfit. No, one more thing. Defiantly she put down the pearls she had been about to put on and picked up the plain gold necklace she usually wore, a modern design from Asprey's, a twenty-first birthday present from her father. She smiled at the effect. Well, that at least ought to start a conversation.

The Huleux family had accepted her excuses, exchanging knowing glances. Marie-Louise had hurried to iron her dress; Capitaine Huleux had even volunteered to leave his dinner before the dessert to escort her down to the hotel. In the understanding that this was a very thoughtful way of stamping the occasion with the seal of his respectability, she thanked him gracefully for his offer and accepted it.

He gave her his arm as they set off together, an unlikely pair, to walk the short distance to the hotel, greeting several friends and neighbours along the way. On leaving her at the door to the hotel, Huleux informed her that she was not to hesitate to telephone to let him know when he should come to collect her. His crisp voice was directed as much to the maître d'hôtel, who stood smiling a welcome, as to herself. Letty squeezed the old officer's arm in silent acknowledgement of the air of propriety he was conjuring up. She hurried to confirm that she wouldn't be late and that the Reverend Gunning was standing by to assume escort duties.

         

“Mademoiselle St. Clair? Please come this way. The Count is expecting you.”

With an uncomfortable feeling that a net was closing around her, she followed the maître d'hôtel down a carpeted corridor to the dining room. It was with a rush of pleasure and relief that she turned the corner and caught sight of the dining room. Nothing could have been further from her worst imaginings of a gloomily lit, red plush seduction scene. Chandeliers twinkled reflections off polished silver; starched white cloths gleamed on tables lit by candles around which nestled small posies of pink flowers. The places were almost all occupied by elegantly dressed diners. Plain white walls were studded at intervals with large dull paintings of Burgundian scenes and, at the far end of the long room, she caught sight of a portrait of a very handsome fellow in nineteenth-century dress, a face and figure she'd seen before: Lamartine, the Romantic poet, born hereabouts.

Another dark, romantic figure rose from the table below the portrait and stood waiting, motionless, while the maître d'hôtel led Letty between the tables, running the gauntlet of enquiring gazes. Thirty pairs of eyes watched as the count took her hand and kissed it, thirty conversations resumed as he handed her into her seat opposite.

“Ah,” he murmured, mouth twitching with amusement, “what have we? How would you express it? ‘A Talbot, passant, sable, collared or.' Heraldically correct, Miss, er, St. Clair.”

His eyes ran mischievously over her black dress and gold necklace.

“I'm relieved to see that your vision at least is unimpaired by last night's episode,” she said coldly, in English, as he had addressed her in her own language.

“I am desolated you should have seen me in such a bad light at our first meeting. I would have liked to have made a better impression.”

“You made an impression on that boy you were beating. He will bear the scars for some time.”

He replied stiffly, “I had my reasons. Believe me, I had my reasons.”

Rapiers were temporarily sheathed when the waiter advanced to show d'Aubec a bottle of wine chilling in a silver ice bucket and then to pour out a glass for each. As the silence spread between them, she despaired of coaxing from the count the information she was sure he had. In other circumstances she would have been flattered to be dining with such a man. The intrigued glances cast surreptitiously in his direction by several ladies in the room were indication enough, had she not trusted her own judgement, that her companion was attractive.

He was younger than she had at first assumed, and she now guessed that he must be less than thirty. She had been misled by his decisive manner and frowning brow. His thick, silky hair was tidily brushed across his forehead, his strong-boned face was dark-complexioned and flawless, though she was gratified to see that the firm jaw was marred by a purple bruise. When he glanced aside to make a comment to the waiter she stared, fascinated, at the sharp profile of his nose. He became aware of her scrutiny.

“I trust it meets with your approval?” he asked, turning to her. “Oh, yes. Quite divine! Full of flinty character and just exactly what I appreciate.” She waited for his look of incredulity and then added slyly: “A local wine?”

He smiled. “I had feared it might be a little dry for your taste. But—yes—it is from my own vineyard.”

“You appear to be well informed as to my taste, monsieur. The roses you sent this morning were most appealing.”

“And I'm sure you will enjoy the
fruits de mer,
” he said as the first course was served.

Letty ate her shellfish in silence. She was rapidly tiring of this cat-and-mouse game. As it was cleared away she asked sweetly, “Well, I wonder what you're going to surprise me with next? Since I am not to be consulted as to the menu, wonder is all I may do.”

“No surprises,” he said. “We're to have breast of duck and with it we'll drink a bottle of Gevrey Chambertin.”

There was no possibility of a mistake, no possibility of coincidence. This was the wine and the dish she'd always chosen as their first meal whenever she had come to France with her father and Daniel. This man knew her. Not only her identity but her habits and preferences, and he could have learned them only from Daniel. But what link could there be between two such uncongenial men? And how could she get the handsome menace sitting opposite to tell her? Outwardly, his behaviour was perfectly correct, charming even, and she realised with some resentment that the smiling attention he paid to her every response was a deliberate show. She had no doubt that the whole town was aware of the part she'd played in the farce the previous evening, and no doubt that the town's grandees were now noting that all was well. The pretty stranger who'd insulted the local lord was accepting his hospitality. And this show of dignity reinstated was, it seemed, the sole object of his invitation.

She chose a chocolate mousse from the trolley while d'Aubec waved away the shining display of fruit tarts, sorbets, and gâteaux, content with a slice of hard mountain cheese. The coffee arrived and, despairing at the opportunity rapidly wasting away, she leaned towards him. “Very well. You've demonstrated that you know who I am. I'm impressed and intrigued. But was this farce necessary? Couldn't you just have sent me a note?”