Dawn Song (20 page)

Margot drew her chair up beside
madame'
s and began to chat vivaciously.

For someone who'd just been jilted by the man she loved, she appeared in

good form, but Meg detected a certain fixity in her blue eyes, and lines of

strain and discontent round her mouth.

Livid at Steven Curtess's defection she might be. Heartbroken she certainly

wasn't. She'd suffered a reverse, but she'd soon be back, clawing her way to

the top again. And, in her version, of course, it would be Steven Curtess

who'd lost out.

Meg swallowed her coffee past the lump in her throat. And she, it appeared,

was going to be a loser too. Margot had got her story in first with the utmost

skill, and there was no way now in which she could explain to
madame
why

she'd practised such a deception, or make amends for it.

'Would you excuse me?' she asked, as Margot eventually paused for breath.

'I have my packing to see to>She hesitated. 'After all, there's no reason for

me to remain here any longer.' The words felt as if they'd been wrenched out

of her.

'None at all.'
Madame'
s expression was remote. 'There is a taxi service in

Arignac. If you ask Philippine, she will telephone them for you. Shall we say

half an hour?'

Meg nodded tautly. 'Thank you.'

Aware of Margot's gaze following her, she held her head high as she left the

terrace, but her legs were shaking under her. The reprieve she'd prayed for

had not been granted, but what else could she reasonably have expected in

the circumstances? Madame de Brissot was obviously deeply offended, and

who could blame her?

She relayed the message about the taxi to Philippine who was clearly

bursting with suppressed curiosity, collected her robe from the tower room,

then went upstairs.

In a way, she had to be glad that she wouldn't be spending another night

there, she thought, averting her gaze determinedly from the big bed. It held

too many associations—searing and poignant—Jerome's hands on her body,

Jerome's kisses on her mouth.

She shut down the images in her mind with a little gasp of pain. Concentrate

on practicalities, she told herself—and there were enough of them. She

supposed, counting the money she had left, that she'd better get the taxi to

take her to Albi, and then find some form of public transport to Toulouse.

She had the return half of her flight ticket, which presumably she could

change for an earlier plane, even if it meant going on stand-by. With a sigh

she tucked the ticket and her passport into her bag.

'Make sure you don't leave anything behind,' Margot said from the doorway.

She strolled in, wrinkling her nose expressively as she looked around.

'If this is the guest room, God knows what the rest can be like,' she remarked

disparagingly. 'But beggars can't be choosers, I suppose. And it's somewhere

to hole up until the dust settles.' She glanced at Meg. 'I suppose you've heard

about my little local difficulty?'

'Yes,' Meg said levelly. 'But I hardly expected you to show up here, as a

result.'

Margot shrugged. 'Where better?' she retorted insouciantly. 'Did you know

that bitch had sicked her ghastly kids on to us? Talk about the ultimate

revenge.'

'Except that Nanny seems to be bearing the brunt of it all.' Meg paused. 'And

speaking of that, where does this leave our agreement about the cottage?'

Margot yawned. 'God, you can be boringly obsessive sometimes. Let it

stand. Who cares?'

'I do,' Meg said harshly. 'In fact I care about a lot of things. Your godmother,

for instance, and this house for another.'

Margot pulled a face. 'Both crumbling into extinction as far as I can see. I

thought the old girl had money.'

She's going to have, Meg thought grimly. You've come at just the right time.

She said, 'Nevertheless, it's been the nearest thing to a home I've had for a

long time.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Margot snapped. 'You only just got here.'

'It doesn't always take forever to discover that you belong,' Meg said. To a

place, or a person, she thought with a pang of sheer yearning. Sometimes a

day, or even an hour. But in her case it had been the wrong time, the wrong

place, and definitely the wrong man from the very start. She should never

have got involved even marginally. Now she had to go home, and,

somehow, put the pieces of her life back together again.

Philippine tapped on the door. 'Your taxi is here,
mademoiselle.
And

madame
is waiting to wish you goodbye in the
salon.'

'Then I'll leave you to it, and have a look round,' Margot said. She hunched a

shoulder. 'What the hell do they do for night life round here?'

Meg carried her bags down to the hall, where the driver, a short man with a

drooping moustache, was waiting to stow them in his cab. Then, reluctantly,

she went into the
salon. Madame
was standing by the empty hearth, her

hands folded in front of her, her face remote and unsmiling. The pose was

studiedly formal. Lady of the house dismissing unsatisfactory employee,

Meg thought unhappily.

She said quietly, 'I wish to thank you,
madame,
for all your kindness to me.'

She lifted her chin. 'I'm sorry I—misled you as I did. And I wish I could have

told you about it myself.'

'I think too little can be said on the matter.' It was the
grande dame
speaking.

She held out her hand. 'A pleasant journey, Miss Langtry.'

Meg clasped her fingers, searching in vain for some softening in the older

woman's face. She said, 'I—I haven't kept the brooch you gave me. I restored

it to Monsieur Moncourt. I hope you don't mind?'

Madame
nodded. 'That was probably the best course.' She released Meg's

hand and turned away with a kind of finality.

Meg murmured something and got herself out of the room. Philippine was

waiting at the front door, and Meg found herself engulfed in a hearty

embrace.

'Don't look so sad, little one. Everything arranges itself in time.' Philippine

produced a flat package from her overall pocket with the air of a conjuror.

'
Madame
told me to give you this.'

'I think there must be some mistake.'

'No, no.' Philippine shook her head vigorously, and thrust the package into

Meg's unwilling hands. 'It is for you. You must take it.
Au revoir.'

Meg forced a smile.
'Adieu,
Philippine.'

She didn't look back as the taxi drove away. She couldn't believe how

quickly it had all happened. But that had been the pattern of life ever since

she'd arrived in the Languedoc—a series of lightning changes.-From

sunshine to storm, she thought. Passionate love, and passionate hate. And I

can't say I wasn't warned.

She settled back in her corner and looked down at the package she was still

holding. She hoped it wasn't money. That in some weird way would be the

ultimate ignominy—worse than being practically turned off without a

character, she thought wrily.

She tore off the wrapping paper, and stiffened in disbelief. It was
madame'
s

poetry book. She opened it at the flyleaf and read again the faded inscription.

'To Marguerite. My whole heart. J.'

Oh, she thought, but how could she bear to let it go, after all this time—and

how can I bear to keep it?

She began to flick through the pages, and the book fell open as if at an

accustomed place. The opening line, with its quaint spelling, seemed to glow

up at her once more.
'Ma doulce amour, ma plaisance cherie,'
she read,

before it was blurred under a mist of tears. 'My sweet love,' she thought, 'My

source of all delight.'

Perhaps
madame
had known that words on a page were all that she too

would have to remember, and had made sure they were the right words.

Not an
aubade,
of course. But how could there ever be another?

She was startled out of her reverie by a sharp blast on the taxi's horn, and a

muttered expletive from the driver. 'This species of imbecile,' he addressed

the world at large. 'What does he think he's doing?'

Looking past him, Meg became aware of a car totally blocking the road in

front of them. Theremust have been some kind of accident—a tyre blowout

maybe—for it to end up at that angle, she thought, hoping that no one was

hurt.

And then she recognised the car. Carefully she closed the book, aware that

the palms of her hands were suddenly damp, and shrank back into her seat,

as if willing herself to be absorbed into its worn upholstery and vanish.

The car door was pulled open. '
Nous retournons a zero,''
Jerome remarked,

almost casually, over a stream of invective from the driver. 'Back to square

one. Where we began,
ma belle.
Out you get, before more traffic arrives.'

Meg glared at him. 'I'll do nothing of the kind.'

His brows lifted. 'You wish to be carried yet again?' He turned to the

incensed driver, said something quiet which Meg couldn't translate, and

handed him some money.

Meg, scrambling into the road, saw her bags being unloaded from the boot.

'What are you doing? Leave them there.' She stamped her foot.

The driver shrugged. In view of such largesse, she was given to understand,

monsieur
was free to block the road and hijack his passengers until the seas

ran dry. He gave Jerome an approving wink, kissed his hand at the sky,

reversed into a convenient gateway and drove off.

Meg's hands clenched into fists. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

'Taking you home.' Jerome tossed her luggage into his boot and slammed it

shut.

'To England?' This was being seen off the premises with a vengeance.

'I'd hoped to the
mas—
if you can begin to think of that as home. The chateau,

of course, remains Marguerite's for her lifetime.' He looked at her with that

slanting smile which twisted her heart. 'Well, can you make a life with me at

Goncaud?'

The sun was warm gold. In the thick grass at the side of the road, cicadas

were whirring. A breeze stirred the trees, bringing with it a scent of ripe

fruit.

She said, 'No,' and, helplessly, 'This is crazy.'

He opened the passenger door of his car, and Meg got in. She didn't really

have an alternative now that the taxi had gone, and maybe, when Jerome had

recovered from his brainstorm, he'd drive her to Albi.

She said, 'How did you happen to be here?'

'Madame Marguerite telephoned the
mas
and told me you were leaving, and

the time of your taxi. I gambled that he'd bring you this way. Otherwise I

intended to blockade the airport at Toulouse.'

For a maniac, he sounded quite reasonable. Except for what he was saying.

She said, '
Madame
told you? But that's impossible. She's just thrown me

out.'

He said patiently, 'She thought it would be better for you to be with

me—until she has had time to deal with Margot.' He flicked a smile at her.

'You are not the only one who can play a part,
ma belle.'

She was silent for a moment, then she said in a small voice, 'I know what you

did with those estimates—and why.'

'I hope you did not share your knowledge with
madame
? She has great pride.

She would think I was offering charity.'

'But it isn't,' she said slowly. 'If everything had worked out and she'd married

your grandfather, he'd have made sure she was happy and comfortable

always. You're just—repairing the damage.'

He said gently, 'You understand. I knew you would.'

Meg bit her lip. 'But you couldn't know,' she protested. 'Not after I'd

misjudged you so dreadfully—said all those terrible things.'

'Perhaps I deserved them,' he said. 'For misjudging you, and saying so many

more terrible things myself.'

'But I did pretend I was Margot,' she said. 'Nothing can alter that. Whereas

you were only guilty of kindness.'

Jerome pulled the car on to a place where the verge widened, and stopped

the engine.

'I was not very kind to you,
mon ange,'
he said softly. 'I thought it would be

so easy to hate you, for what you had done to Corinne. She's so warm, so

gentle, and she loves her husband so much.' He shrugged. 'Although none of

our family can understand why. Then I met you, and there was

something—some spark I've never known before. I knew I couldn't let you

slip away out of my life, and then I saw the name on your luggage.'

He shook his head. 'I think it was the worst moment of my life—to admit to

myself that I'd been attracted to the little bitch who was trying to ruin my

cousin's life.

'I told myself I'd be just as cold-blooded in my pursuit of you. But every time

I came near you, touched you, it seemed to tear me apart. I wanted o take you

without mercy, and cherish you for the ■ st of my life, all at the same time.'