THE JOYOUS ADVENTURE

Elizabeth Ashton

"Rupert killed any love I had for him."

Susan felt the time had come to tell Raoul the truth. If there was to be complete confidence between them, he had to know that she had not loved her husband for a long time before he died.

"Eh bien, is that so?" He drew a deep breath of satisfaction. "Then, cherie," he began, his eyes kindling.... Then he stopped. Susan's heart began to hammer against her ribs. She was vulnerable where this man was concerned. Whatever he asked of her she was ready to give, for emotions too long repressed were clamoring to be released.

"Yes, Raoul?" she asked softly, and moved nearer to him, innocent invitation in her eyes and on her lips.

What would happen now? She had betrayed herself utterly. And he... did he care?

CHAPTER ONE

Susan Thurstan licked the flap of the envelope and sealed it firmly. She inscribed upon it in her neat handwriting:

Mr R. Sansterre, and a London address.

She did not expect to receive any reply, but Mary Hall, her friend from college days, had insisted that she should contact this Mr Sansterre. He was, she declared, the right person to help her with her ambitious scheme to save her home. Thurstan Hall was a fine old place but far too expensive to run upon the small income which would be all that was left to her when the taxes and Rupert’s debts had been paid. Sell it, her solicitors had advised, at today’s prices it should bring her a substantial sum, which carefully invested and with what she could earn if she took up the cookery which she had abandoned upon her marriage, would enable her to live in comfort and bring up her twin children.

Her mother-in-law, Livia Thurstan, had protested vigorously against the sale. The Hall had belonged to Thurstans for generations and should be kept for poor Rupert’s son. Susan agreed with her, but did not see how it could be managed.

Her eyes went to the photograph upon her writing table, that of a handsome, laughing face, with fine dark eyes. Feckless, charming Rupert, who had always been about to embark upon some wonderful project which would restore their fortunes, but had never done anything. His father had died from a coronary three years ago and within that short span Rupert had disposed of the Thurstan assets and most of his capital in bouts of reckless extravagance. Susan had adored him; he had seemed to her, ordinary Susan Weston, a small farmer’s daughter, like a romantic prince, until she became disillusioned. Rupert was not only a spendthrift, but incapable of fidelity. A keen yachtsman, he had been drowned in a squall off the coast of Holland.

From the photograph, Susan’s glance swept round the room. It was a beautiful room, built on two levels, with two shallow steps across its width dividing the higher from the lower. The tall latticed windows looked cut on to the garden where a small lake was overhung by weeping willows. Rupert had been going to turn it into a swimming pool, but nothing was ever done about it. The room opened on to a long passage which bisected the house from imposing front door to french windows at the back. An unusual feature was that it was not divided from it by a real wall, but a screen of carved oak, so old that it had acquired a silver sheen.

Susan loved that room and it could be used as a lounge if her scheme materialised. For it had occurred to her that with the large dining room and ample kitchen space she could open a restaurant. She had reached Cordon Bleu standard, and would do the cooking herself. Since :t was near a main road and had historical associations, the place might prove popular.

She had confided her plan to Mary Hill, who had been a little dubious about her friend’s qualifications for the job.

‘What you need is a good manager who knows the ropes,' she told her. ‘The ideal person for you would be my cousin Raoul. Oh yes, he’s half French, but that’s all to the good. He’s a marvellous cook, he could make an old boot appetising, but it’s management that interests him. He’s been running a big hotel in London, but finds ordinary routine monotonous. Building up your place would be just his cup of tea.’

‘But wouldn’t he want an enormous salary?’ Susan demurred.

‘He’d be worth it. Sue darling, you’ve got to splash, you’ll never make a success of it if you try to run it on a shoestring. Get him enthusiastic, and he might bring his terms down. Why don’t you write to him and tell him what you want to do?’

‘It seems such cheek. I don’t think I dare.’

‘You’ll never get anywhere if you're so diffident. He can but say no, and if he sees the place I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Get him to run it for you, and you’ll be made.’ So Susan had written, pointing out that the Hall was in a good position, being the right distance from a town for those who liked to run out into the country to dine.

She stuck the stamp on with some reluctance. It would be trying to have this strange man poking into her affairs and telling her what to do. Probably he would despise her for being a woman. She vowed that she would never allow herself to be overridden. Then she almost laughed, for most likely he would ignore her letter and she would hear no more of Mr Raoul Sansterre.

Susan had been married at eighteen, became a mother at twenty, and was widowed at twenty-four. The Thurstans had not been pleased when their only son had insisted upon marrying a small farmer’s daughter. They begged him to wait, they were both so young, Rupert was only twenty-one and it might be only an infatuation. But Rupert had brushed their objections aside, while Susan had been swept off her feet by her young lover’s ardour.

They had lived with his parents, but the Hall was big enough to accommodate two families and they had separate rooms. Susan had viewed the presence of her in-laws with misgiving, but Mrs Thurstan had the tact not to interfere with the young couple, and when the twins arrived, the grandparents became an asset, for they were always ready to look after the babies when Susan went out with her husband. Rupert Thurstan liked to entertain and be entertained, and congratulated himself upon having married a girl who was so expert in the kitchen. He was very popular, too popular with women, Susan was to discover to her sorrow, and he liked to show off his pretty young wife to his friends. While his father was alive he was kept within bounds, but after his death Rupert indulged all his extravagant tastes, and expostulations from Susan only made him. lose his temper.

Nevertheless his death came as a profound shock to her; it seemed so dreadful that one so full of the joy of living should be suddenly snuffed out. Livia, twice bereaved, withdrew into impenetrable reserve, her only joy being her grandson, and she was determined to preserve his heritage.

Susan was mistress of Thurstan Hall, for the property was not entailed and Rupert on his wedding eve had made a will leaving all he possessed to his wife. Fortunately he had never altered that bequest. Roderick's widow had some claim, but all she said was that the place must be kept up for Rupert’s son and she hoped Susan would give her house room. With a tiny stab at her humble origins, she pointed out that Susan was so practical and capable, having worked for her living, she would be sure to think of some way of maintaining the establishment. Now Susan had, but whether she could make a go of it was another matter. She meant to try.

She did not expect a favourable answer from Raoul Sansterre, if she received one at all. It was only Mary’s goading that had persuaded her to write. She could not imagine that Thurstan Hall would have any appeal to a successful London hotelier, who would be looking for something much more sophisticated. Therefore when she received a typewritten missive signed in a scrawling hand announcing that he would call upon her to inspect the place she was surprised and not a little dismayed. The brief note had a lordly tone as if he were granting her a favour, as possibly he was, but she would, after all, be his employer, if he accepted the engagement, and a little more deference would have been more pleasing.

Raoul Sansterre mentioned a day and an hour and said he would drive himself down. Susan had never met Mary’s uncle by marriage, and she visualised a stout dark man, possibly with a beard, as successful Frenchmen often were. She wished she was not so young, for in spite of all her cares, she hardly looked the chatelaine of the manor. Since the tragedy she had had little heart to care about her looks, but she was anxious to impress this person upon whose engagement so much depended. Looking at herself in the glass while she prepared for the interview, she thought she looked more like Little Orphan Annie than the owner of the house. Her black dress, of discreet calf length, clung to her too-thin figure. Her rich brown hair, drawn off her face and secured in her nape, had lost its gloss. Her blue-grey eyes were dark ringed in her pale face. She wished she had found time to visit the hairdresser.

Livia had taken charge of the children. They were not identical twins. The boy, who was called Roderick for his grandfather, was a bold imp, his sister Lynsey his devoted slave.

Mrs Catch pole, the woman who ‘did’ for them, called up the stairs,

‘Mam! Mam, there’s a gent come asking for you.'

‘Show him into the sitting room,' Susan returned, and with a last despairing glance at herself went downstairs.

Sunlight was pouring in through the tall windows as she came into the room, illuminating the slightly worn furniture, settees, chairs and one of two good pieces, including the Chinese cabinet, the antique writing table, and the huge brass tray used as a firescreen. Vases of spring flowers had been placed here and there, and she thought for the hundredth time what a lovely room it was. Her visitor stood on the upper level, from which two shallow steps stretched the length of the room, and was examining a framed watercolour hanging on the wall. She stopped inside the door and blinked, for the slim figure in casual jacket and slacks crowned by a mass of thick blond hair was not in the least what she had expected to see. This could not be Mr Sansterre, it must be someone else.

Though she had made no sound, he must have sensed her presence, for he turned round and she met a pair of cold grey eves in a brown hatchet face, which stared at her appraisingly.

She advanced into the centre of the room, saying:

‘Good afternoon. I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.'

‘But were you not expecting me, madame?’ His voice was deep and pleasant. ’I come at the right hour and on the right day, do I not?’ As she still looked uncertain he made her a mocking bow. ‘Raoul Sansterre at your service.’

So from the first moment he had her at a disadvantage.

‘Of course …' she faltered. ‘I ... I’m so sorry. Please sit down.’

‘After you, madame.'

She seated herself self-consciously in one of the deep armchairs before the fireplace. She had been thrown off balance by his appearance, which was so very- different from the stout rubicund person she had expected. He sat down opposite to her on the other armchair, negligently crossing his long legs. He was above medium height with a good breadth of shoulder and slim hips, the right shape for a man, she caught herself thinking, and flushed. Men of whatever shape meant nothing to her now she had lost Rupert.

‘You have a very charming place here, madame,’ he went on as she hesitated, plainly at a loss. ‘It pleases me very much, and if the rest equals this room, it is unusually attractive.’

That recalled Susan to the business in hand.

‘That's just it,’ she said eagerly. ‘I’ll be frank with you, Mr Sansterre, this house is all I have and to keep it I must make it bring in an income.’

‘So you said in your letter. You have this madcap scheme to open it to the public as a place where they may eat while they enjoy its amenities. An extremely hazardous enterprise, madame.'

Susan’s heart sank. ‘Others have done it...’ she began defensively.

‘Mais oui, but people I imagine with rather more business experience than you have and a knowledge of the catering trade.’

Nettled, she told him: ‘I have trained, college and courses....'

'College, bah! He snapped long bony fingers. ‘To make a go of this would require rather more than student’s knowledge, and I suppose you have let it drop since ... er …'

'My marriage,’ she returned quietly, ‘but my husband and I did do a great deal of entertaining.' She sighed. If Rupert had not been so wildly extravagant she might be better off now and she had not enjoyed those dinner parties which she had organised. For Rupert’s love had begun to cool and all too often she had had to watch his eyes straying towards the flame of the moment who had been invited by his special request.

Raoul Sansterre looked at her curiously. For a young woman recently bereaved she seemed extremely composed. There had been no quiver in her voice when she spoke of her husband. Either she had iron self-control or she was unfeeling.

But of course there is much more to running a business than cooking and catering,' she went on, ‘that is why I wish to engage a competent manager to take control and ... er ... advise me,’ she finished a little uncertainly.

‘A tall order, madame,' he said drily. ‘You have a good chef?’

'I propose to do the cooking myself. That is something I can do.’

'Mon dieu!’ he muttered below his breath. ‘A good chef is very important,’ he declared emphatically.

‘I’m not incompetent,’ she returned with a flash of spirit.

‘Forgive me for doubting it.' His tone implied that he certainly did. ‘And of course you would give me proof of it, before I assumed complete control. Mais alors, we are rushing ahead. I imagine your family and advisers have told you you would be wiser to sell up and ....' he waved an explanatory hand, ‘remove yourself. They are quite right, a place like this would fetch a fantastic sum, whereas your plan is unlikely to succeed.’

Susan sighed. ‘I don’t know why you’ve come all this way if only to tell me what I already know.’

‘I was curious to see it. Perhaps you would be so good as to show me the rest of it.'

‘But won't that be a waste of your time, and mine?"

'Eh bien, since I am here I might as well.'

She took him through the house. The long dining room with its windows on either side, the huge fireplace, refectory table and oil paintings on the walls would, she hoped, impress him. As she went she forgot his discouraging attitude and began to enlarge upon her plans. The kitchen was fitted with a large Aga cooker, of which he seemed to approve. It was a big airy room with pantries and scullery off it.

‘Plenty of space,' he remarked.

She did not offer to show him upstairs, but she did remark that she had also thought she might in time take residents.

‘Ambitious,' was his comment.

They returned to the sitting room and she offered him coffee, which he declined so hastily that she suspected he feared it would not come up to his standards. He asked if he might smoke.

‘Of course.' She passed him an ashtray. He picked it up and looked at it.

‘Benares ware. You have many nice things, madame. Too nice for the undiscerning public.'

He lit up a small cheroot and his eyes wandered round the gracious room appreciatively. He asked her questions about the various pieces, but it soon transpired that he knew more about period than she did.

‘You’re very knowledgeable,’ she said wonderingly. ‘I’m surprised ...’ and stopped, blushing.

He finished for her. ‘Even a restaurant manager can have culture.'

‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘Of course you did.’ He got up and began to pace the room. ‘It’s a crazy idea, you will lose whatever money you have, and my salary, have you any idea what I'm normally paid?’ She shook her head, ‘I should be very wrong to encourage you in such a crazy venture. What will you do for staff? Waiters? Cook, maids? Even if you do do the cooking yourself, you must have assistants.'

‘There may be someone in the village ...'

‘Rustics? No good.' He continued to roam about the room. ‘A tea room perhaps, but a restaurant, no. The capital expenditure huge—with no guarantee of any return.' He stopped in front of her, his grey eyes piercingly direct. ‘Madame, why did you write to me? Gould you imagine I would be interested in such a crackbrained proposition? A month, two months, and you’d be broke and I ... I have worked at the Hilton, the Dorchester, and you bring me down here and expect me to run a village inn, for that is all it is, why it’s an insult!'

‘I’m sorry. It was Mary’s idea.'

‘Mary?’

’Mary Hill—she’s a connection of yours, isn’t she?'

He dismissed his cousin with a snap of his fingers.

‘Oh, Marie. That cretin! ’

‘She said you had resigned from your last position and might be interested in a new venture.’

'Alors, so you thought I was out of work and would jump at any offer?'

‘Oh no, I just wrote on the offchance, but I didn’t expect you’d bother to turn up in person. I... I'm sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, Mr Sansterre. I quite realise my plan is beneath your notice, but I still intend to try, and perhaps I can find someone less exalted to help me.’ A note of sarcasm crept into her voice, for he had been barely polite to her.

‘Someone to swindle you,’ he growled.

‘I’d have to risk that.’

He turned to look out of the window. ‘What are those trees around your lake?’

‘It’s hardly a lake and they’re weeping willows.'

‘Charmant,’ he murmured, ‘tres, tres jolie.’

Susan looked at him curiously, suspecting the use of a French phrase was to stress his nationality. The French had a reputation for being connoisseurs in all to do with food and drink, so in his trade he might consider it an asset, and did not want it to be forgotten. He did not look like her idea of a Frenchman, in his well cut trousers and jacket he could have passed for an English gentleman until he opened his mouth, and he used his long flexible fingers to emphasise his remarks more than an Englishman would have done.

‘Would you like to look round outside?’ she asked; anxious to compensate him in any way she could for his wasted journey. Many people considered a tour of the precincts of Thurstan Hall a privilege.

‘If I may.’

She took him through the French window at the end of the passage into the extensive grounds. As well as the pool there was a walled vegetable garden and a rose garden in which the flowers were in bud. The kitchen garden with its expanse of red brick walls seemed to interest him.

'It gets all the sun, one could grow vines there,' he observed thoughtfully.

'I never thought of trying.’

He seemed to have forgotten her presence and he looked at her apologetically. ‘Your pardon, madame, naturally you would not, but I come from Bordeaux which is surrounded by vineyards. The Medoc is famous for its red wines and my family are vintners. We have land there.'

'Then why did you leave it?’

He gave her a sidelong look. ‘My family impose too many restrictions. I will not be told what I may and may not do, also I wish to see more of the world.'

He did not look like the kind of man who would rebel against discipline, and she sensed there was another reason which he did not wish to reveal.

They walked back to the house in silence and as they re-entered it, Susan said a little tartly, for the discouragement he had poured upon her enterprise rankled a little:

‘Well, that's that. Since you won't want to waste any more time here, shall we say goodbye?’

He did not reply and to her surprise walked into the drawing room, and took his stance before the window again, the garden seem to fascinate him. She stood inside the doorway looking at him a little wistfully, for she sensed he was a forceful character and whatever he undertook would probably succeed. She had not really anticipated that he would be interested in Thurstan Hall, but if only he had been, what a tower of strength he would have been to her.

Suddenly he swung round to face her and his face broke into an unexpectedly sweet smile.

'Eh bien, let us all be imbeciles together. I have fallen in love with your establishment, madame, and I am loth to leave it. You shall pay me a percentage of your takings and give me my keep; beyond that, nothing. Then if we succeed we will both make money, if we don’t...’ He shrugged his shoulders expressively. Completely taken aback, Susan stared at him.

‘You ... you don't mean ...?’

'Alors, you wished for a manager, he is here to serve you.’ He bowed to her from the waist theatrically. 'And now let us discuss business.’ He came away from the window to stand beside her, ‘Staff ... I suggest Italians.’

‘W-what?’ Susan felt bewildered.

‘We can get them cheap. I know a family—Pappa and the children, boy and girl, to serve in the restaurant, Mamma to help you in the kitchen. There are also two bebes, but they would not be in the way.’

‘They could play with my toddlers.’

He looked surprised. ‘You have little ones, madame?’

’A son and a daughter.'

‘Mon dieu, and you look but a child yourself!'

She drew herself up. ‘They’re twins, and I’m adult, Mr Sansterre,’ she said with dignity.

The hard grey eyes softened. ‘Madame, think again,’ he urged her. ‘The burden you would assume is too heavy for such frail shoulders.’

She smiled faintly; she had become used to carrying burdens during her short married life. Rupert had been so irresponsible.

‘I’m not at all frail,’ she told him, 'and the burden is on my shoulders whatever I do, but you’re going to help me carry it.’

He shrugged again. ‘Tant pis.''

‘About these Italians,’ Susan went on, already planning ahead. ‘They’ll have to live somewhere. I don’t think my mother-in-law would appreciate a whole family in the house.’

‘So you have a belle-mere also? She is difficult, perhaps?’

‘She’d agree to anything if it means we can carry on,’ Susan explained. ‘But Italian babies...’

‘You have outbuildings that could be converted? Perhaps a chauffeur’s flat?’

‘There are a couple of rooms above the stables.'

‘Excellent, and myself?’

‘Oh, you must have the best guest room,' she said, laughing.

He looked at her severely. ‘I would not be a guest. Some small plain apartment will serve. Now, cutlery, tableware, linen?’

‘We’ve quite a lot put away.’

‘Let us list them and see what more will be required.' For the next few hours Susan followed him round with a pencil and writing pad listing what they had and what more was needed. He went through the house like a dynamo, this for that, that for this, exclaiming joyfully at some of the china and fine tablecloths that had been stored for years.

‘We will make of all this a place most exquisite,' he said with satisfaction. Susan hoped her mother-in-law would not object to the things being used, but after all they were serving no good purpose stacked away in cupboards. Standing in the kitchen, he stared at the Aga with a furrowed brow.

‘I still think we should engage a good chef to make the food worthy of its environment.’

‘He would be terribly expensive.'

‘But the food is terribly important, and since you are obtaining the services of a manager cheap.’ His eyes glinted mischievously. ‘Why not invest in one?’

‘Because I’m quite capable of doing it myself; and I must do something, since you’re doing all the business.’ His eyes slid disparagingly over her slight figure. 'Perhaps you are adequate for an ordinary dinner,’ he conceded, 'but this restaurant is to be something of which all the county will talk, and for the prices we must charge, the eating must be out of this world. People will always pay for good food. To eat is man’s first basic urge, because it is founded in self-preservation. To live, one must eat, but we have come a long way from smoked dinosaur ...'

'Just a moment,’ Susan interrupted, diverted by his pontifical air. ‘Man came after the dinosaurs.’

'You split hairs, madame, dinosaurs sounds picturesque. My point is that out of this primitive urge has evolved the gourmet. From mammoth steak we have advanced to coq an vin.'

‘Possibly there were epicures among the cavemen.’

‘Probably, since man is fundamentally greedy. Eh bien, having established that the appetite for good food is more universal than original sin, we must pander to it. Like all appetites the palate can become jaded. We must titillate it.’

Susan assumed this digression was to impress upon her her own inadequacies, but she refused to be discouraged.

‘All this is very profound, Mr Sansterre,’ she said, 'but I’m confident I can provide the titillation.’

He frowned, at the Aga, and Susan wondered anxiously if he were about to withdraw his offer unless she employed a chef of his choosing, but she knew she had a flair for cooking, and she wanted to do it; as she had said it was the only worthwhile contribution she could make to the venture.

‘I see I shall have to prove myself,' she told him. ‘May I ask you to dinner?'

‘Madame, I will be delighted to accept,' he returned, but he looked dubious. 'And I warn you, if you fall short, I shall insist for both our sakes that you ... er ... resign.' He brightened. 'As it happens I know of a very good chef who is at present out of a job, he would not be very expensive, for he would like to work with me. Would you be prepared to interview him?'

‘Only if you're not satisfied with your dinner,' Susan insisted firmly. ‘You've challenged me, Mr Sansterre, and it only remains to fix a date.'

That was arranged for two nights ahead, and Susan watched her new manager drive away feeling as if a tornado had passed over her. Surely it had been the strangest interview between employer and employee on record. There were still certain formalities to go through. She would need references from him and they should have some sort of agreement, but she was certain that if anyone could make a go of Thurstan Hall it would be he. Meanwhile she had to convince him of her culinary skill and show him how beautiful the dining room could look. She felt more stimulated and hopeful than at any time since Rupert’s death.

CHAPTER TWO

It was only after Raoul Sansterre’s car had disappeared through the gateposts of Thurstan Hall that it occurred to Susan she might have offered him tea and to meet her mother-in-law, since it was nearly four o'clock, but, she reflected, afternoon tea was an English habit and Mr Sansterre doubtless scorned the beverage. Her brain was in such a whirl it was not surprising that she had overlooked this courtesy.

Contrary to all expectations, she had obtained her manager, but now she became assailed by misgivings. He had called her ambitious, but he evidently had large ideas himself. Being related to the Hills, a highly respectable family, she could not doubt his integrity, and Mary had strongly recommended him. His discretion was another matter. He was so unlike the personality she had imagined, she could not envisage him settling down to the rustic peace of the Hall, but that was the whole point about engaging him. Thurstan Hall could not afford to continue to drowse in placid serenity. It had to be woken up to earn its keep and he would certainly do that.

As for her own position as chef, that depended upon this dinner which she had offered to cook to prove her worth. She felt a flick of resentment as she recalled his dubious comments upon her aptitude. Though he might be prepared to give his services upon very generous terms, she was still the boss, and if she considered she was adequate, it was her decision, not his. He had a forceful personality which might be an asset in getting their venture going, but she was not going to allow him to overrule her, however experienced he might be, and that she would make plain to him at their next meeting. Meanwhile it was essential that the dinner to which she had invited him be excellent in every detail.

She looked at the shelf on the wall where her cookbooks were set out, eager to consult them before she compiled her menu. Asking Mrs Catchpole to take in Mrs Thurstan’s tray of tea, she took down several volumes in search of inspiration.

Later on she would have to tell Livia what had transpired that afternoon, and she hoped she would approve. But at that moment she wanted to concentrate upon Raoul’s dinner. She seated herself at the table with the books in front of her, but she had been optimistic to hope to be left in peace. Through the kitchen door which Mrs Catchpole had left ajar the twins came clattering in, eager for her attention.

Knowing the significance of a cookbook, Rod announced:

‘Mummy going to cook ... I help,’ and looked at her expectantly.

Susan sighed. Upon occasion she did allow her son to ‘help’, but his assistance usually consisted of dropping flour on the floor, and over every flat surface. She could imagine Raoul Sansterre’s disgusted expression if his ‘chef allowed her offspring to play havoc in the kitchen. No, those days were past if she were to take her duties seriously, but she loved the twins and hated to have to thwart them. It seemed she would have to employ someone to lock after them, another expense, but perhaps Sansterre’s Italian woman would oblige. Italians were supposed to love children, or was that merely a cliché?

If she had two of her own she could as easily supervise four as a couple. Susan sighed again. She could not do everything, but she hated the thought of handing her children over to a stranger.

‘No, I’m not going to cook now,' she said, closing the book. ‘Let’s go out for a little, and you can have a swing before bedtime. It’s such a lovely evening.'

After slippers had been removed, shoes found, Teddy, Lynsey’s inseparable companion, located, the three of them wandered out into the grounds. The April sun was still warm and for once no cold east wind blew to chill the air. Susan had brought a pad and pencil with her to make notes for her dinner party, and answered the children’s prattle absently. To begin with she considered an elaborate meal with rich sauces and several courses. Ruefully on reading it through she tore it up, thinking that the children's bedtime would come in the middle of her creations and things would either curdle or burn, possibly both. She decided it would have to be something fairly simple that could be prepared in advance except for the finishing touches.

In the kitchen garden they came upon old Percy, Mrs Catch pole’s father-in-law, who had always worked in the Hall’s garden. When Rupert had died, she had told the old man that she could no longer afford to pay him with considerable regret.

‘Don’t you worrit about that, my little old dear,' he had replied—a form of address of which she was sure Livia would heartily disapprove. ‘I’ve allus worked at the Hall and I allus will. I’ll just help meself to a few vegetables now and then and that’ll be all right by me.'

Now he straightened himself as she appeared and touched his forehead. ‘Afternoon, mum.'

Susan enquired if he had any vegetables she could use in the house, and he shook his head dolefully. Maybe he could find a few sprouts the frost had not spoilt, but it was a difficult time of year. Peas and beans were only just coming up. The warmth of the sun on her face reminded her of Raoul Sansterre’s remark about vines.

‘Percy, have vines ever grown here?’ she queried.

'Only in’t greenhouse, mum. Frost ’ud get ’em out of doors.’

‘Just what I thought,’ Susan said. She could not foresee how vines were going to play an important part in her future.

'Them’s unnatural things hereabouts,’ Catchpole declared. ‘They belongs to furrin’ parts.’

After the children were in bed and they were eating their evening meal together, Susan told her mother-in- law of Raoul Sansterre's offer.

‘He’s being very generous,’ she declared. ‘The only point we haven’t decided is whether I’m going to be allowed to work as chef.’

‘Isn’t that for you to decide?’ Livia enquired. ‘I know you cook beautifully, so he couldn’t better you. You mustn’t let this fellow get above himself. You’re the mistress here, so don’t allow him to impose upon you. It’s possible he’s out to feather his own nest.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s not,’ Susan cried quickly, not pausing to consider why she was so certain. ‘Anyway, the Hills will vouch for him. Mary thinks he's just the man for the job.’

'I always thought Mary Hill was a bit of a nitwit,' Livia said scathingly. ‘However, I’ll reserve judgment until I've met him. That is if I’m to be permitted to attend this dinner with which you intend to impress him.'

‘Of course, if you’d like to.’

‘I would. And I think my presence is necessary.'

Susan looked at her doubtfully, and Livia's fine dark eyes, that were so like those of her lost son that Susan sometimes found their gaze painful, twinkled. 'You should have a chaperone.'

‘Oh, that’s nonsense.’ To her annoyance, Susan felt herself blush. ‘Mr Sansterre is coming to discuss business and he doesn't see me as a woman, only a prospective cook.’

‘Nevertheless he is a Frenchman, and not, I gather, exactly middle-aged,’ Livia remarked drily.

‘As if anyone would look at the frump I’ve become! ’

To Susan this conversation was oddly embarrassing. True, Raoul was quite a young man and she had found him disturbing, but to dream that anything romantic could creep into their relationship was absurd.

‘Need you look a frump?’ Livia asked. ‘You’ve got a load of pretty dresses put away, and nobody bothers about mourning nowadays.’

Susan instantly decided that she would wear the plainest black gown she possessed. She had no intention of dressing up for Raoul’s benefit. She said crossly:

‘There’ll be no glamour in the kitchen. He’d better get used to seeing me as I’ll look every day.’

‘Wrong tactics,’ Livia declared firmly. ‘Since you’ve decided you need this man’s co-operation, you should set out to charm him. Believe me, a good appearance goes a long way with a man if you want to get your own way.’

Susan’s big eyes filled with tears and she gazed at her mother-in-law reproachfully.

'How can you talk so heartlessly so soon after ...’ She choked.

‘He's been gone over six months,’ Livia said calmly. ‘And if he’d had any foresight we shouldn’t have been in this mess. God knows I'm not heartless, but we’ve got to be practical.' Her dark eyes suddenly glowed. ‘To save his heritage for Rupert’s son.'

Susan knew that had become Mrs Thurstan’s theme song, but she shrank from the suggestion that she should make herself attractive to persuade Mr Sansterre to her way of thinking. Surely he was not the sort of man to be influenced by women's wiles? It seemed to her to be degrading and unnecessary for what was purely a business deal. She said disdainfully:

‘I want to impress Mr Sansterre as a cook, not as a candidate for his bed.'

Livia sighed. ‘You young people are so crude. I didn’t mean that, of course, but it’s still very much a man's world, and a woman’s strongest weapon is her femininity.'

‘Tell that to Women's Lib,' Susan laughed, thinking that in some ways Mrs Thurstan’s outlook was very old-fashioned. She did not want to appear feminine to Raoul, but. competent. As a concession, she decided, she must find time to wash and wave her hair.

The day of the dinner party dawned bright and fair, the sunlight enhancing the beauty of the old Hall, draped with Virginia creeper from which much twittering indicated birds’ nests. The garden, in which spring flowers made a blaze of colour, looked at its best.

Susan awoke with the apprehensive feeling that something momentous was about to happen and with the return of recollection, sprang out of bed eager to get through her ordinary chores so she could prepare for the evening's ordeal. She was confident that she could make that arrogant Frenchman recognise her capabilities.

Mrs Catch pole had volunteered to stay at the Hall all day and during the evening as well to help with the children, for, as she phrased it, she knew that something ‘was a-goin’ on’, and was eager to assist the young mistress. The villagers were anxious to see the big house remain in the family and not be pulled down or turned into some strange institution; for like most country people they disliked change and the Thurstans had always been helpful to them.

Susan and her henchwoman spent the morning cleaning and polishing with unhelpful assistance from the twins. They put fresh flowers in the dining and sitting rooms and laid fires in both rooms, for the evenings were chilly. Also Susan felt the firelight was more in character with the atmosphere of the old house than the electric stoves which they used between seasons. For the same reason she intended to use candles in the handsome silver candelabra to light the dining table, besides which she knew such mellow illumination was becoming fashionable in the best restaurants.

After a scratch lunch, Livia volunteered to keep an eye upon the twins while they played in the garden and Susan started upon the all-important dinner.

For a starter she had been fortunate to be able to obtain some" ripe avocado pears from the not very reliable local greengrocer. These she split in half and removed the stone, then mashed them until they were smooth. She added spices, seasoning and finally prawns. When all the ingredients were well blended, she put the mixture back into the avocado shells, covered them and placed them in the fridge until needed. The garnish of parsley and prawns: the latter shelled but with their beaks on, she would add at the last moment, for to serve Raoul with a dish with a tired finish was unthinkable.

Tournedos en croute was Susan’s choice for the main dish, as she had some home-made pate in the freezer which could be used to spread on the steak with a mixture of mushrooms, shallots and wine, before encasing the whole in puff pastry. Over the pastry she did cheat to save time, using a packet of frozen variety she had put out earlier to thaw.

Mrs Catchpole had peeled potatoes for her, and she washed watercress and lettuce for a green salad to accompany the beef, which would keep crisp in the fridge; later it would be tossed in vinaigrette dressing at the last moment before serving.

She spent a lot of time over the sauce to go with the tournedos, the basis of which was an espagnade, but after this was made she added wine, shallots and various herbs. She reduced it and strained it until it was to her liking. She was proud of this special sauce, for it was something she had created herself, but she would have been at a loss to provide a recipe for it. She could only say that she did what she did by instinct. She hoped very much that Raoul Sansterre would be impressed by it. Sauces were a test of a good cook.

Once during one of the most tricky processes, she heard with apprehension the children’s voices outside, shouting for ‘Mummy! ’ She was totally absorbed in her work, and would have had little patience with them, but fortunately Livia was able to divert them.

The sweet was to be a lemon soufflé, which she had always considered was a good follow-up for a rich meal. She had made so many of them that its concoction had the ease of long practice. It was a favourite dessert of Rupert’s.

To conclude, Susan had decided that croutes aux tomates would be more correct than a cheese board. This was comprised of skinned sliced tomatoes on toast topped with asparagus tips. The garden contained a long-established asparagus bed, which Catchpole tended assiduously, and she had some frozen from last year’s crop. That bed had been one of the few things in the garden in which Rupert took an interest, she remembered with a pang. He had been very partial to asparagus. This dish could be placed low in the oven to heat through after grated cheese had been sprinkled over it, while the dinner was in progress and she would have to trust Mrs Catchpole to keep an eye on it.

It was a meal designed to appeal to an epicure and show off her skill.

Time slipped by only too quickly. Mrs Catchpole gave the children their tea in the summerhouse in the garden and said she would see them to bed. Even so, Susan found she was-behindhand, it was getting late and she still had to lay the table and see to the wine before she changed; there would not be time to shampoo her hair, she thought ruefully as she sped towards the dining room. There she found Mrs Thurstan putting the finishing touches to the table.

‘Oh, thank you, Mother,’ she exclaimed, touched by this gesture.

‘Well, Sue, we're both in this together, aren’t we?’ Livia observed. 'I want to make my small contribution.'

Susan’s eyes filled with tears which still came far too readily to her eyes. She had feared opposition and had won support.

‘I’m so glad you feel like that,' she said.

Livia Thurstan was a tall woman with definitely the grand manner, so that Susan had always been slightly in awe of her, and when she had first come to live at the Hall, the elder woman had held aloof. Even their common bereavement had not really drawn them together. Now it occurred to her that Livia’s withdrawal had possibly been due to a fear of being accused of interference and she was secretly eager to share in her daughter in-law's life. Livia pointed to the bottles of wine on the polished oak sideboard which she had brought up from her husband’s depleted cellar,

‘I’ve chosen the best we have left and I hope they’ll meet with your approval, and we’ve still got some brandy. Roderick always liked me to leave him to port and cigars when he had business to discuss.’ Again the dark eyes twinkled. ‘Shall I depart when we’ve finished, or will you join me for coffee in the drawing-room? The gentleman will, I expect, take brandy with his.’

‘Of course we’ll join you,’ Susan cried emphatically, feeling she would be glad of Livia’s support in her negotiations with her new manager. ‘This isn’t the Edwardian era.’

‘Far from it, gracious living died out after the war,' Livia said sadly, then added briskly: ‘But you’d better hurry up and get ready. Your hair looks a mess.'

Mrs Thurstan had already changed and her grey hair was beautifully coiffured. Her still slim figure was robed in a dove grey gown, a ruby at her throat giving a touch of colour to her ensemble. Though only in her sixties, she subtly suggested the elegance of a past age when manners were formal and correct dressing obligatory. Susan was sure that Sansterre would find her impressive.

As she still lingered, Livia told her sharply: ‘Hurry up, girl, and make yourself presentable or you’ll spoil the picture.' She indicated the attractive table appointments.

While she bathed and dried her hair with an electrical drier, Susan admitted the truth of that statement.

If she obeyed her first impulse and wore severe black, she would spoil the gracious picture. She had plenty of beautiful dresses, for Rupert had always insisted that she dress well to do him credit when they entertained or he took her out. He liked other men to admire her, though his own attention was quickly diverted if there was another pretty woman present. She had been wildly in love with him when they married and their romance seemed to be a kind of fairy tale, so that until she became pregnant she had been happy and thrilled. But Rupert had no patience with the discomforts attendant upon her condition and when she lost her figure he sought other company.

That was when she became disillusioned. Whether he was actually unfaithful to her she was not sure, though the expensive presents he gave her, which she now knew he could not afford, were suspiciously like an easing of his conscience. She found them a poor substitute for his presence. After the twins were born he took her about again, but now it was obvious how often his fancy strayed. At any gathering he would instantly be drawn to the best-looking woman present, leaving her to the attentions of his friends. She suffered jealousy and humiliation, but she was too proud to upbraid him, nor could she reject him when he returned to her for a brief period between his affairs, for he was one of those gay, charming personalities which women find irresistible, and she still loved him. She found consolation in her children and had he lived she might eventually have become indifferent to him, but dying when he did, she mourned him sincerely.

Looking through her wardrobe, she chose a dress with a gold crochet top and a long cream skirt with a frill at the bottom. The sleeves were fitted, flowing ones would have got in the way while she served up her sauces. She slipped it on and brushed her hair, trying to revive its former gloss. Sorrow and anxiety had taken their toll of her looks, and there were shadows beneath her eyes, she noticed disparagingly, not realising they gave to them a hint of mystery. A gold chain about her neck completed her toilet and she slipped through the communicating door into what had been Rupert’s dressing room, where he had often slept when returning from some carousal. Now the children were installed in it, and she found them in bed but not asleep. They were waiting for her goodnight kiss.

‘Ooh, Mummy, you look lovely,’ Rod exclaimed. He had all his father’s charm and promise of his good looks.

'No nasty black,’ Lynsey commented. The children had not been much distressed by their father’s death, for he had had very little to do with them. Occasionally he would take them out, give them too many sweets and ices, and return them sick and peevish to their mother for her to clean them up, remarking that kids were a bore, and went on to his next inamorata.

‘No more black,’ Susan agreed, and kissed each smooth plump cheek.

Returning to the kitchen she found Mrs Catchpole in all the glory of a black dress and starched apron with bib and braces, which she said had belonged to her mother when she was in service. She had volunteered to wait at table, an offer Susan had accepted with some misgivings. The sweet was set, the savoury ready for the oven and the main course complete except for finishing touches. They were putting the starters in place when the front door bell rang. It heralded the arrival of their guest, and Susan’s heart seemed to turn over. She was counting so much upon the success of the evening. Mistress’s and maid’s eyes met, and Susan realised that Mrs Catchpole was nearly as excited as she was.

'I'll go,’ the latter said, as the doorbell pealed again impatiently, but as Susan followed her into the hall, they found another had been before them. Livia had opened the front door, and as the last of the spring dusk outlined the dark male figure upon the threshold, Susan experienced a moment of panic. Fate, doom, success and failure seemed to hover on the doorstep embodied in that ominous figure. Then Raoul Sansterre stepped forward into the light and her apprehensions vanished. He was only a man, though a very presentable one; how much so she had not realised until she saw him again. He wore his evening clothes with an air of elegance and he looked about him with the arrogant assurance that she had found so disconcerting. The hall light found a gleam of gold in his fair hair and his keen grey eyes rested curiously upon Livia’s imposing figure. Remembering they had not met, Susan hurried forward to introduce them, while Mrs Catchpole melted into the kitchen. She saw surprise in Raoul’s eyes as he turned his gaze upon her. Instead of the waif in black he had met two days ago, he beheld a well dressed, poised young woman in a model gown with a becoming flush tinging her formerly too pale cheeks, her rich hair shining above her shadowed eyes. For a second they stared at each other lost in mutual admiration, for Raoul appeared exceptionally good-looking, and Susan felt her pulses stir.

‘Well, Susan, aren’t you going to introduce us?’ Livia asked with a slight edge to her voice; she was a stickler for formality.

Susan hastily recovered herself and repaired her omission. Raoul raised the finger tips Mrs Thurstan extended to him to his lips with French gallantry, and Livia smiled wryly. She foresaw Monsieur Sansterre would be a great success with their female clients, but she hoped his business acumen was as great as his looks and manner.

‘Come this way,’ Susan invited, indicating the sitting room which Livia called the drawing room. She felt a touch of pride as she ushered him in. It did look charming with the velvet curtains drawn over the tall windows, the fresh flowers in their crystal vases., the shabbiness of the furniture not discernible in the mellow side lights, and the log fire glowing in the grate.

Pleasantries were exchanged, dry sherry drunk, and with a quickening heart, Susan excused herself and went to give the finishing touches before serving the meal. Some of her confidence had begun to evaporate; was she being presumptuous to imagine that this expert would be impressed by her cooking? True, Rupert's friends had always been appreciative, and they were men about town, but they might have been trying to be polite or were too drunk to be critical. Giving Mrs Catchpole her last instructions, she drew a deep breath and returning to the drawing room announced:

‘Dinner is served.'

She led the way into the dining room. Raoul offered Livia his arm and they followed her. Glass and silver gleamed in the soft light of the candles and Susan glanced from the attractive table towards her guest, hoping he would make an appreciative comment. She saw he was not surveying the table but looking at her with an expression in his eyes with which she was familiar. Rupert’s men friends had been all too ready to console her for her husband’s neglect. Instantly it was gone as he met her gaze to be replaced by a bland mask so that she wondered if she had been mistaken.

‘Charmante, madame,' he murmured, but she was not sure if he referred to the table or to herself. T he possibility that he might admire her personally was an exciting thought, but she instantly dismissed it. If they were to work together she must repress any intimate feelings towards him, or the situation would become impossible. Besides, there were bound to be other women in his life, he was not the type to be indifferent to them, and she had had her fill of emotional entanglements with Rupert.

He sat on Mrs Thurstan’s right hand and Susan had laid her place opposite to him. Throughout the meal she watched his face surreptitiously for any reaction, but it remained inscrutable, though she saw him wince slightly at Mrs Catchpole’s clumsy handling of the dishes. As far as she could judge everything was perfectly cooked, but only when her special sauce was served did she detect a sudden gleam In his eyes, but he said nothing.

When they had finished, he escorted Livia back into the sitting room, while Susan went to fetch the coffee. When she returned carrying the tray she found them discussing art and politics. He sprang up to take her burden from her, setting it down on a low table in front of Mrs Thurstan, who proceeded to pour it out, while Susan fetched a glass of brandy which she handed to him.

When they were all served and seated, Raoul smiled at both ladies benignly.

‘Now, mesdames, let us get down to business.'

Mrs Thurstan made a movement to rise, saying, ‘I’ll leave you to it.'

‘No, Mother, please stay,’ Susan protested. ‘This is your home and what we do here will affect you as much as anyone.’

She glanced at Raoul, noticing how well he fitted into his surroundings, lounging gracefully on the green velvet chesterfield, one hand warming the brandy glass, the other holding a cigar, which he had asked permission to smoke. Mrs Thurstan was eyeing him critically over her coffee cup, sitting upright in a button-backed Victorian chair; she never lounged. Susan clasped her hands over her crossed knees, feeling tension in the air.

Raoul expounded. He proposed that they turn the restaurant project into a private business and issue shares, Susan, since she owned the house> would be the chief shareholder—he assumed she had a little capital? She nodded. He also had some capital which he was prepared to sink into their venture. At this point, Mrs Thurstan intervened; she too had a little money saved from a legacy from her mother which she would like to invest in the new company. When Susan protested, she said:

‘I want my grandchildren to keep their birthright, and who knows?' she smiled wryly. ‘If it turns out well I may increase it.’

Raoul lifted his head arrogantly.

‘Madame, if I have anything to do with it, it will be a success. It must be a success, but there will be need for an extensive outlay.' He glanced at the log fire. ‘We must for a start install central heating.'

‘That should have been done long ago,' Livia agreed, ‘but my husband never got round to it.'

Typical of the easy-going happy-go-lucky Thurstans, who never did today what could be put off until tomorrow, but Raoul Sansterre was of a different breed.

From central heating he passed on to kitchen requirements, and his list of necessities made Susan gasp. For large-scale cooking they would need electric stoves, hot cupboards, grills, the list went on and on. Finally he suggested the kitchen be tiled in white throughout. ‘We must be clean and look clean.'

He paused to finish his brandy and Susan looked at her mother-in-law in comical dismay. The spare blond man on the chesterfield was a human dynamo, full of energy and resource. Livia winked at her and smiled. Raoul Sansterre had imbued her with his confidence and enthusiasm. He was what the Hall needed, and Susan’s spirits rose.

But there was one question in her mind which she hesitated to ask. Raoul was going to invest in the Thurstan Hall Company which was what it would become, but had he no personal ties, no female connection who had a right to have a say in the matter? The same thought had occurred to Livia, and she enquired bluntly:

‘Forgive me for seeming impertinent, I don’t mean to be, but we must be frank with each other. Have you no wife or fiancée who might not approve of your residing here?’

A shadow crossed the Frenchman’s face, and his vivacity was suddenly quenched. There was a short awkward pause, while Susan waited tensely for his reply. Then he said shortly:

‘I’ve no encumbrances of that nature, nor do I intend to assume any.’

His tone warned that this was an unwelcome subject, and Susan’s feminine curiosity was aroused. Such an attractive man must surely have had involvements. Possibly like herself he was recovering from some great loss. She shot a meaningful glance at Livia, for this statement would reassure her that he had no mercenary intentions towards herself, and saw Mrs Thurstan looking very thoughtful.

Raoul changed his position, his face cleared, becoming almost boyishly eager, and he was off again as if he had never been interrupted.

‘To begin with I suggest we do dinners for only four nights a week. When we are successful we can expand.’

Susan nodded in agreement. She could manage that.

‘Now staff.’

Susan stiffened aware of battle in the air. Raoul smiled at her disarmingly, and her heart gave a lurch, but she was not going to be diverted by easy charm.

‘Tonight, Suzanne,’ the name slipped out quite naturally, ‘you gave us a superb dinner, but be honest, could you do the same for four nights a week, every week, and not just one meal, we must have several choices on the menu.’

‘Oh, I think so.'

‘You must know so.' His voice came sharp as a pistol shot. Susan straightened herself in her seat and met the challenging grey eyes defiantly.

‘I know so. It’s my job, Mr Sansterre, and I’m quite capable of performing it.’

He looked at her sceptically and Susan’s resentment grew. She would not allow him to dictate to her.

'We’ll return to that later,’ he said ominously. ‘The Italian family I mentioned are prepared to come. Lucia will look after the children, including yours, and cook for the family. Marco and Roberto will wait at table, Francesca will serve at the bar. I, to begin with, will serve the wines.’

‘Can I do anything?’ Livia asked eagerly. ‘I’d like to help.' Susan was surprised, she had not expected that Mrs Thurstan would want to take an active part in the venture.

‘You, madame?’ Raoul flashed her his charming smile. ‘But naturally you’re too decorative to be ignored. Perhaps you'll receive our guests for us? You would give tone to the place, and first impressions are important.’

Livia laughed. ‘Flatterer!’ she exclaimed. ‘I see you know how to get your own way, monsieur, but I’d be very pleased to act as receptionist for you.’ She stood up. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to retire. I'm not as young as I was and all this excitement has tired me.’ Raoul jumped to his feet and hastened to open the door for her. As she passed him she paused and looked closely into his face,

‘I hope you’ve done your sums correctly, Monsieur Sansterre. This house means a lot to Susan and me. It would break our hearts to lose it.’

‘Trust me, madame,’ he said quietly. ‘You will not lose it. Goodnight—and dormez bien.’

‘Goodnight.’ The door closed behind her and Raoul came back to Susan. She had risen from her chair and her mouth was set in a resolute line. If she did not assert herself now, she would be completely under the thumb of this arrogant stranger who was ordering her life.

‘You will have to have help in the kitchen,’ he said firmly. ‘Not just someone to wash up and do the vegetables but a qualified cook. What if you’re ill, or the children are ill?’

‘That's a hazard in all professions,' she pointed out. ‘I’m not having some supercilious stranger telling me what to do in my own kitchen. I assure you I can manage.'

'Mon dieu, you can manage!' He shrugged his shoulders. ‘You must do more than manage—you must create.'

Susan drew herself up, and her eyes sparkled irefully. Must, must ... who did he think he was? but she said with deceptive calm:

‘Wasn't the food to your satisfaction tonight?’

‘Superb!’ He kissed his fingers. 'That sauce, where did you get the receipt?’

‘It was my own creation.'

‘Indeed? We must make it a feature of the house. Sauce a la Suzanne. But that was only one meal.’

‘You think I’ll fall below standard in subsequent ones? Mr Sansterre, I mean to be chef in this establishment and that’s final.’

‘The man I have in mind wouldn’t undermine your authority.'

‘He certainly won’t, for he's not coming here.'

Raoul turned away with a muttered imprecation. Susan was not sure why she was opposing him so strongly. Instinctively she knew that if she did not make a stand somewhere he would dominate her completely. Under his surface charm she sensed ruthless purpose, and though deep within her her femininity stirred in response, she was determined to keep him in his place.

But when he turned back to her, he was smiling gently and his grey eyes were kind.

‘Madame ... Suzanne, forgive me, I offend your professional pride, yes? But please listen to me. Visualise one evening that might quite often occur. The little ones have been bad all day, one perhaps is ailing, needing his mother. You have a headache, the Aga goes out, no hot water! The restaurant is booked solid— twenty, thirty perhaps people. They are coming to dine and are expecting the best we have to offer. They are paying, and how they are paying, for perfection which you and you alone have got to give them. Would it not be better to have another pair of shoulders to share the burden? It would still be your kitchen, you would be Number One, but you would not have to ... what you say, go it alone.’

Susan's defiance began to evaporate. She could well imagine such a situation, her worst nightmare come true. Nor had she quite realised what she would be undertaking. Raoul made it sound very formidable.

‘We can't afford ...’ she began, knowing she was beaten.

‘Ah, bah!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘You've got a manager working for board alone, so we can run to another chef. I will see this man tomorrow and send him to see you.’

‘Thanks for that concession,’ she returned drily, ‘but I haven’t agreed.'

‘Why do you fight me, Suzanne?’ he complained. ‘I know best.’ He smiled almost tenderly. ‘You wouldn’t want to give me heart failure wondering if you were managing to cope?’

‘We must avoid that at all costs,’ she observed, ‘though I deplore your lack of confidence in me. I’d cope if I were dying.’

That also is something to be avoided,’ he retorted. ‘There is no need to wear yourself out. This is to be a joyous adventure, Suzanne, not an ordeal.’

He poured brandy into a couple of glasses, and handed one to her. ‘Let us drink to a long and successful future together.’

‘The joyous adventure,’ she responded, lifting her glass.

As they drank, she felt an unexpected thrill down her spine. Together! What an evocative word. But he only meant their business partnership, and her experiences with Rupert had inoculated her against masculine advances. Nor, she was sure, would Raoul dream of making any in her direction. If he needed feminine diversion he would look for something more sophisticated than her ingenuous self.

‘Now you must rest,' Raoul told her, ‘and I will say au revoir.' He took her hand and kissed it in the French manner, and to her annoyance the touch of his lips on her skin caused Susan’s nerves to tingle. Was she more vulnerable than she believed possible? He departed before she could wholly collect herself, letting himself out of the front door with his usual swift impetuosity. She heard his car start up and on impulse she ran to the window, drawing the curtain aside a chink to watch his tail lights vanish through the gateway.

He had gone, leaving her in a welter of mixed emotions with an uneasy conviction that she had lost control of her own destiny.

CHAPTER THREE

Susan awoke next morning in a coldly critical mood. Her dinner had been highly successful, but she was bitterly contemptuous of her reaction to Raoul Sansterre. He was right about employing another cook, she had to admit, but she felt she had capitulated too easily, and to be affected by the touch of his lips upon her hand was sheer juvenile idiocy. She was no susceptible teenager to be swayed by the courtesies of a handsome man of the world, but a woman who had been married to a still handsomer and attractive man and was the mother of two children. The truth was that being a young and healthy girl, she had missed Rupert’s love-making, for in spite of his philanderings he had always declared she was the only one he had really loved, and she had tried to kid herself into believing him, hoping that each affair would be the last, until he strayed again and the cycle of humiliation, pretence and reconciliation repeated itself.

But however deprived she felt, she must not allow herself to fall for Monsieur Sansterre’s gallantries. She did not even like the man, he was too domineering, and his love life was something quite separate from their business connection. She suspected there was some girl in France who had caused that bleak look to come to his face when he had said he had no encumbrances. He might some day return to her, and she only hoped he would not have the urge to be reconciled until Thurstan Hall had become a going concern. Mean while it would be a relief to have someone upon whom she could unload her problems and worries. Rupert had always brushed difficulties aside and told her not to worry, though it was obvious that someone ought to do so if they were to survive. Raoul had the drive and efficiency which she needed, but she would keep him very much at arms’ length. He might be the manager, but she was the mistress of Thurstan Hall.

After breakfast she had a phone call from Mary Hill, who had seen Sansterre between his first interview and the previous night, so that she knew what had transpired.

‘Well, you’ve landed him!’ she exclaimed jubilantly. ‘He’s quite crazy about the place. Good for you, Sue, you’ll be made now.’

‘I hope so,’ Susan said soberly. ‘He’s certainly a fast worker. I suppose you can vouch for him?’

‘Vouch for him?’ Mary almost squealed. ’My lord, Sue, are you crazy? His character is impeccable, and he’s financially sound if that’s what you mean. He has a wide connection in the catering trade and clients who’ll patronise any place under his control. You’ve been damned lucky to get him.’.

‘And his family are agreeable?’

‘His family ? He broke away from them long ago. He’s much younger than the other brother, and they’re rather a stuffy lot. Think only of their pockets, and I should know because I’ve met them. I believe there was a row over some woman they wanted him to marry. Marriages are still very much arranged in France, you know, but no one dictates to Raoul.’

‘I realise that,’ Susan agreed, laughing, longing to ask more about the girl he had not wanted to wed, but refraining because she knew she was motivated by an unworthy inquisitiveness. It was enough that he had repudiated her.

The next morning Monsieur Reyniere came to be interviewed, or rather, Susan felt, to interview her. He was a middle-aged man, the picture of what a chef should be, round without being obese, ruddy, and he wore a pointed beard. Susan had to summon all her courage not to allow him to intimidate her, he seemed so sure of his own consequence, but she stood her ground. It would be her kitchen and she was the chef de cuisine. She saw annoyance in his beady eyes, but he accepted the post stiffly and terms were agreed. She wondered what carrot Raoul had held out to him to induce him to come, for it was obvious he resented being subsidiary to her. Then the plumbers and builders descended upon her to install the central heating and make the alterations to the kitchen. It was amazing that Raoul had persuaded them to start work so quickly, for it took her three weeks to get someone to fix a tap, but that this was a large order might have something to do with it.

The children were wildly excited by this upheaval and got in everyone’s way. Raoul was here, there and everywhere, supervising, and she was surprised at his patience with her offspring. He actually seemed to like having them around.

One lovely spring morning, that was almost like summer, Susan sickened of the noise and confusion and decided to take the children out for the day. Mrs Thurstan was immured in her own rooms which were not to be touched and Susan was weary of the chaos.

‘Where shall we go? Where shall we go?' Rod was rushing around in circles chanting. Lynsey quietly took her bucket and spade out of the play cupboard; for a child of her age she was meticulously tidy, almost to the point of worrying her mother.

‘I want to go to the sea,’ she said firmly.

‘Please.' Susan automatically corrected her.

‘I want to go to the sea, please.'

‘Then we will. We’ll buy fish and chips for lunch and build sandcastles.' Susan felt the strain of the past few days beginning to lift.

‘Want to take Fred, want to take Fred!’ shouted Rod Fred was a large red setter adored by the children, but less so by the adults. He was always into everything and causing trouble wherever he went.

‘Well…' Susan began doubtfully.

'Please!’ Lynsey added her request to her brother's.

Eventually they collected their paraphernalia, including towels, though Susan thought it would be too cold to bathe, and the inevitable Teddy. Then they had to search for Fred, and discovered he was quietly chewing some vital piece of flex in a corner of the kitchen. The party at last complete, they made their way to Susan’s Mini. As she opened the door for them to climb in, Raoul’s beautiful immaculate Mercedes glided up. He halted the car within a few feet of them, and jumped out.

‘What's going on? An expedition or a mass exodus?’

‘We're going to the sea, we're going to the sea,' chanted Rod.

‘Is it a private party, or would I be permitted to come?’

Susan looked dubiously at his tailored trousers and jacket; they had probably been sold to him as casual wear, but her Mini was dusty and the upholstery covered with dog hairs. Possibly he guessed her thought, for he suggested:

‘We could use my car, there’s more room in it.’

Rod always had his eye on the main chance. He was across the intervening space and clambering into the Mercedes like a flash, when Susan grabbed him.

‘Oh no, we couldn’t possibly,’ she declared. ‘I mean, thank you for the offer, but we’ve got the dog and we’ll get covered in sand.’ She eyed the speckless interior of Raoul’s car apprehensively.

‘It doesn’t matter; it can be cleaned up afterwards.’

‘But it does matter, and I’m sure you’ll be bored stiff. You won’t want to build sandcastles and eat fish and chips.'

‘I build the best sandcastles in the world, and I adore fish and chips. There’s something so delightfully primitive about them,' Raoul declared solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘So please let me take you.'

‘Oh come on, Mummy!’ from an impatient Rod.

‘Very well,' Susan said ungraciously, ‘but don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is the children's day out.’

Raoul opened the front door and indicated the passenger seat to her, but she shook her head.

‘If you don’t want your car to become a complete shambles, I must sit in the back and control the children,’

After endeavouring to persuade Rod not to push the electric buttons to open the windows and Fred to sit on the floor, and being unsuccessful on both counts, the car glided away, with Rod promoted to the front seat beside the driver, and Fred sitting between Susan and Lynsey, peering out of the rear window. Susan tried to relax, but she foresaw a difficult day ahead. So often expeditions with Rupert had started off like this, with everyone full of enthusiasm to end in tears for the twins, and to be truthful often herself as well, when Rupert swore at the children for squabbling and putting ice-cream all over the car. Unconsciously she sighed deeply.

‘Why the sigh?'

Susan started, then realised Raoul could see her in the rear view mirror.

'I'm afraid you're going to be terribly bored and will regret your kind gesture.’

‘Not at all, I’m used to children and I know what to expect. Also I need a break.’

Used to children? Whose children? Susan was instantly alert.

‘I thought you said you weren’t married,’ she probed.

‘One doesn’t need to be to produce offspring,' he observed with a wicked glint in his eyes., which she saw reflected in the mirror.

‘Really, Mr Sansterre, and in front of the children! ’

‘They don’t understand. But I haven’t any of my own, that...’ again the wicked gleam ... ‘I know of.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to have a little girl?’ Lynsey enquired, betraying that she had understood quite a lot.

‘I'd adore to have one, if she was like you,' Raoul returned.

‘Perhaps Mummy could give you one,’ Lynsey said innocently, and Susan was quite glad that at that moment Fred tried to get on to her Jap and thus create a diversion.

They were not far from the coast, and were soon driving through a small town that ended in a pebbly beach.

The coastline of Suffolk follows an irregular pattern of low cliffs falling to marshy flats where a river enters the sea, and rising again until the next inlet. For the most part the beaches are covered with shingle except at low tide, but here and there sandy stretches are to be found, and there is usually a breeze blowing. Having parked the car they set forth in search of sand, Raoul carrying most of their gear, and came upon a boat being winched up on to the shingle. Several people had come down to meet it.

‘What’s going on here?' Raoul demanded.

‘That’s one of the local fishermen,' Susan informed him. ‘They sell their catch as soon as they land. You can’t get fish fresher than that.' She looked at him tentatively. ‘We could make a feature of that in our restaurant—fish fresh from the sea.’

Raoul instantly became enthusiastic. ‘What sort of fish, and how often do they go out?’ he wanted to know.

Susan gave him all the information she could. ‘They also catch the occasional lobster,' she added, and then wished she had held her tongue, If she had an Achilles heel it was lobsters. The thought of having to put a live creature into boiling water was something she could not contemplate.

‘You make good lobster thermidor, yes?’ Raoul demanded.

‘Yes.’ Then she added bravely: ‘But the lobsters have always been dealt with by the fishmonger.'

‘You’re squeamish?’ But Raoul’s glance was kind. ‘Reyniere can deal with anything that is distasteful to you.’

Susan had to admit then that the French chef might have his uses.

They came upon a large patch of sand, and Raoul erected the canvas windshield they had brought so that Susan could sit in its shelter. Although the spring sun was gathering strength and was shining brightly, Susan reiterated that it was too cold to bathe. The children insisted that they wanted to paddle, but after putting their toes in the water and shrieking at its chill, decided to confine their activities to the beach. Not so Raoul. He undressed in a cleft in the cliff and was soon only a blond head bobbing in the water. Susan, who was an indifferent swimmer, was glad she did not have to betray her lack of expertise to this ace performer, nor expose her winter-white limbs in contrast with his bronze ones. He did not stay in long, and upon his return donned a tee-shirt and went to assist the twins with their digging. Under his direction they erected a magnificent castle, and Susan, watching them, had to admit lie got on with them wonderfully well, restraining Rod’s exuberance and encouraging Lynsey’s neat handiwork. Nor did he mind when Fred got carried away and dug an enormous hole just behind him, spraying him with sand.

Susan lay full length on the sand, sheltered by the canvas screen from the inevitable breeze. She had taken off the cardigan she had been wearing under which she had on a sleeveless knitted tank top, and the sun was warm on her bared neck and arms. Feeling relaxed and tranquil, she closed her eyes and soon was sound asleep.

She awoke with a start and found Raoul Sansterre was lying stretched beside her, half on his side, turned towards her. She had an uneasy feeling that he had been watching her face. The sunlight turned his hair to gold, and his length of brown legs were shapely and muscular. His chin was supported on one bare arm. and the wind ruffled his thick locks so that he had a faunlike appearance. No longer was he the immaculate maitre d’hotel, but a pagan being, at one with the wind and water, calling to some primitive depths in the woman beside him.

Susan lay still, as if mesmerised by his intent regard. He seemed to have laid some spell upon her compounded of the sunshine and the waves, blue sky, blue water and a sensual stirring in her blood. She had no wish to move, to break the magic that was being woven about her, but the thought of the children intruded upon her enchantment.

‘The twins ... are they all right?’

She would have risen, but he placed his hand upon her breast, pushing her gently down again. His hand was slim but strong, well shaped and very brown. He did not remove it as she lay back, and her every nerve seemed to thrill at its touch.

‘The little ones are busy filling the moat of the castle with water. They can come to no harm, I have half an eye on them, the other is on you. You are weary, lie back and relax! again.’

His voice was low and caressing, infinitely soothing to her taut nerves. He edged himself a little nearer and before she could realise his intention, he bent over her and kissed her on the mouth, a kiss so sweet and gentle that her senses swam.

‘Cherie, you have looked so lost and alone ever since I have met you, but now at last you are at peace.'

Oddly enough she was. She should have felt outraged and incensed by his action, but she was lulled into a trancelike acceptance of his caresses. And he was caressing her, his fingers roaming softly over the flesh of her shoulders and arms, his body almost touching hers. Her heart began to pound and her pulses race, and she wanted him to kiss her again, not so gently this time, but with the same passion that was rising like sap in her veins. Since Rupert’s death she had been lonely, not consciously wanting to be with a man, but that was at the root of her discontent. Now with Raoul lying close beside her she felt the dark tide of desire rise within her.

At the same time she was shocked into realisation of what was happening. Raoul was not Rupert, he was almost a stranger to her, and he was taking unpardonable liberties. Abruptly she sat up, pushing away his hand.

‘I think you're forgetting yourself, and I don’t flirt.’

He lay looking up at her, his grey eyes alight with mischief.

‘Then you should learn to do so, Suzanne, it is a most rewarding exercise. Let me teach you.’

‘Certainly not! ’ She looked towards the children, but did not see them. Lynsey was resting from her labours, but Rod was prancing round their castle uttering a sort of war-whoop. Sooner or later he would start to destroy it and then there would be tears. Raoul’s eyes were on her cameo profile, clear-cut against the blue sky with a quizzical gleam in them. Her lips had a wistful droop, but her words were disdainful, as she went on:

‘Such conduct would be most reprehensible in a widow with two children.'

‘But such a young widow,’ Raoul said softly. ‘And having been a wife, surely you must feel the need of a man?’

Susan winced; there was some truth in that assertion, but she valued her pride and discretion too highly to embark upon a liaison with the first man who offered her casual consolation. She turned her head and met his gaze, no longer cold but tender, and something inside her leaped in response. But she firmly repressed the sensual feelings he aroused in her. Since he was French, she supposed it was to be expected he would make a pass at her, but she had not thought he would dare to make advances to her, advances which would only lead to shame and embarrassment, for she was not the sort of woman who could accept light lovemaking. It was up to her to let him know very definitely that she was not available.

‘Mr Sansterre,’ she said clearly, ‘we’ve entered into a business association, but please understand it does not extend into a personal relationship. My heart died with my husband.’ She willed herself to believe that was true. ‘I consider your ... er ... suggestion insulting.'

‘Mon dieu, it was no insult! It was a compliment.'

'I don’t want that sort of compliment,’ she said loftily. ‘We can only continue together if you remember your place. I engaged you as my manager, not my lover.'

Because she was anxious to conceal how he had disturbed her, she assumed an icy hauteur which was more offensive than she had intended. Raoul Sansterre stood up, raising his head arrogantly. The light had died out of his face and his eyes were as hard and cold as the grey pebbles on the beach.

‘Thank you, madame, for your candour,' he said with equal hauteur. ‘But may I remind you I’m your partner and not your servant. I beg your pardon for offending you, but I had forgotten Englishwomen are icicles.'

Susan was assailed by a wild desire to cry out that she was not an icicle, and that she was hungry for love and appreciation. She had the demanding love of her children, but they were too young to be companions, would always be too young, for as they matured she would decline towards middle age. She needed the affection of a contemporary, but he would wholly misunderstand such an admission. She watched him wistfully as he went towards the twins, calling:

‘Come, mes enfants, the time has come for us to go and find your fish and chips.'

For the rest of the day he was delightful with the twins, but towards Susan he was coldly polite. He was being unfair, she thought resentfully; because she would not permit him to take liberties he was trying to hurt her with a show of indifference. Probably his vanity was wounded, Raoul Sansterre was not used to being snubbed when he made an overture to a woman, but if he thought she was a tart with whom he could play fast and loose, he must be shown his mistake. So she in turn was equally cool and distant.

They drove back to the Hall in almost complete silence. The children were worn out and even Fred seemed to be subdued. Lynsey fell asleep with her head on her mother’s knees, and Rod nodded beside her.

Arrived home, she had to rouse them, and they stood sleepily rubbing their eyes, while she collected their gear.

‘Bien, they will sleep well tonight,' Raoul said, smiling at them.

‘They will,' Susan agreed, adding with more warmth. ‘Thank you for a lovely day and for being so kind to the little wretches.'

‘A pleasure, madame,’ he returned formally. He hesitated. ‘I would like to call upon you and your belle-mere this evening, if it is convenient,’ and as Susan’s face brightened he added repressively: ‘To discuss business, of course. We should decide when we are to open the restaurant, and how soon I can take up residence here.’

For Raoul was not yet sleeping at the Hall. He had chosen his room, a small one at the back of the house above the back stairs to the kitchen, which was being fitted out to his specification, but with the house full of workmen had elected to remain where he was staying until they had finished.

Susan felt a sudden qualm. Would she have any peace when this sharp-eyed despot was installed beneath her roof? Would she ever feel free of his presence? Then she recalled how much he was doing for their joint venture and felt ashamed of herself.

‘We’ll be here,’ she said. ‘Will you dine with us?'

He shook his head. ‘No, Suzanne, you would exert yourself unnecessarily, and you’ve had a long day. I’ll come in afterwards.’

This thoughtfulness touched her, for she would have felt obliged to cook something special for him, and she was tired.

‘Very well,’ she agreed, ‘and Raoul...' She took a step towards him.

‘Yes?’

She had been going to apologise, though what for she did not know, but the cold forbidding look that accompanied the monosyllable checked her, and the impulse to become reconciled died away.

‘Oh, nothing.’ She drew herself up with dignity. ‘Mother and I will expect you about half past eight... to discuss business, of course.’ For the life of her she could not resist an imitation of his repressive tone.

She heard him mutter an expletive as she turned towards her front door where the children drooped awaiting her coming. Then the slam of the car door, and with a roar the Mercedes was gone.

'Was Uncle Raoul cross with you?' Lynsey murmured as they went inside.

‘No, why should he be?’ Susan answered brightly. But she knew he was and she knew why. Men, she decided, were quite impossible with their vanities and their hurt feelings. She had had to pander to Rupert's, but she was damned if she was going to study Raoul's.

The meal Susan shared with her mother-in-law in the evening did not merit the designation of dinner, and during the long winter of their bereavement, neither cared what they ate. Nor did they dress for it, though if Susan had been working in trousers she changed into a skirt out of deference to Livia’s feelings. It was the only time they were alone together, for Mrs Thurstan’s breakfast of coffee and toast was served in her bedroom, and lunch, the children’s dinner, was usually bedlam with both women trying to instil table manners into the twins.

Livia came into the kitchen where the children were having a late tea and asked if they had enjoyed their day out. Susan apprised her of Raoul’s intended visit, and saw with some annoyance the older woman’s face light up. Livia appreciated the Frenchman’s company and had accepted him completely.

‘So you’ve fallen victim to his charm,’ she said a little scornfully.

Livia looked mildly reproachful. ‘Not at all, but I find him amusing. He’s so intensely alive he wakes us all up.’

Susan reflected he had woken her up in more ways than one, but she would hate Mrs Thurstan to know what had happened on the beach.

‘I hope the children behaved themselves,' their grandmother went on, ‘and he didn’t find them a nuisance.'

‘He likes children.’ Susan informed her acidly.

‘A good father wasted,’ Livia observed absently.

‘There’s time yet, he’s not so old,’ Susan pointed out.

‘Over thirty, I should judge.’ Mrs Thurstan looked at Susan speculatively. ‘But apparently unattached, but then Frenchmen usually marry late and choose much younger wives.'

‘He said he'd like a little girl like me,’ Lynsey interpolated, having grasped the first part of the conversation. ‘I'd like him to be my daddy.'

'I wouldn't,' Rod declared emphatically. ‘Daddies say boys are damned new'... new... what you said.’

‘Roderick!’ Livia was shocked.

‘Don’t take any notice,' Susan whispered urgently. If Rod discovered he had used a forbidden word he would repeat it endlessly. Rupert had made that remark more than once in Rod's hearing, and she had to admit not without provocation.

‘Mummies is best,' Lynsey decided. Sudden fear showed in her dark eyes. ‘You won’t ever go away?' she asked anxiously, recalling how her father had suddenly disappeared.

‘No, never,' Susan reassured her. ‘Now, if you’ve finished, up to bed with you.'

Which was not as simple as it sounded. Refuelled with food, the twins exhibited that resurgence of vitality which always amazed their mother. They would be dropping with fatigue one moment and full of energy' the next.

When they were at last settled, Susan went into her room wondering what to put on. Black would be a suitable choice and a reminder to Raoul that she was a grieving widow, but the only black dress she possessed was the unbecoming garment she had worn when she had first met him. For motives which she did not care to analyse, she wanted to look attractive, and black did not suit her, and was a painful reminder of the grim cold days now past. Hope and promise had been revived with the coming of spring. What was it Raoul had called their enterprise? A joyous adventure. No, black was unsuitable wear from thenceforth. In the end she selected a blue-grey sweater which matched her eyes and a maroon over-dress.

She lingered in her room when she was ready, leaning against the window to gaze out at the view which she loved, embracing the formal garden, the pool with us surround of willows, over the tops of which she could see from her present elevation the undulating farmland beyond with cattle grazing, and the wide arc of the sky illuminated with the colours of the sunset. She was seeking to summarise the state of her feelings towards Raoul Sansterre. The man possessed a physical magnetism which drew her in spite of herself, which she readily admitted, but to embrace her and suggest she should solace herself with him so soon after Rupert’s demise showed a lack of respect and understanding. It was not yet a year since Rupert had gone and her former indignation was renewed. The man was arrogant and conceited, and she blamed herself for partially encouraging him.

Then as the tranquillity of the scene below her began to exercise its soothing magic, her mood changed. How often had it calmed her after a row with Rupert! She owed Raoul gratitude at least, for without him her plan for a restaurant would never have got off the ground, and in extenuation for the liberties he had taken she must remember he was a foreigner, brought up with different conventions from hers. The French extolled 'l'amour', but were completely cynical about it. Raoul had only been looking for a little pleasant dalliance to while away an afternoon’s tedium. After all, the company of small children can pall after several hours. She had been priggish to take umbrage, and now she had told him plainly she did not appreciate amorous attentions, he would lock elsewhere for his diversions. The thought caused her a pang, and she chided herself for being a dog in the. manger. If she did not want Raoul herself she should not care it he found someone who did. She was of her day and generation and knew men and girls accepted affairs as a matter of course, though she herself had been too fastidious to indulge in them, and Rupert had appeared upon the scene before she had had time to experiment. He had had no scruples in that direction, but she had never felt any urge to imitate him, nor did she now, she assured herself proudly; she had had enough of amorous men.

But she had no right to judge Raoul Sansterre too hardly, in fact it was flattering that he had wanted to kiss her, for he must be a man of wide experience, but it must never happen again. Nor was it likely to do so. Raoul would not risk another rebuff, she decided, aware of a faint regret, which was ridiculous. She had too much on her plate to hanker after attentions from any man, however personable, and to carry on an intrigue with her restaurant manager would be degrading. .

Having argued herself into what she considered was a reasonable state of mind, Susan prepared to go downstairs to get their supper, feeling considerably more charitably towards Raoul Sansterre. She would be gracious to him, but aloof, and she felt a thrill of excitement as she recalled he was coming to fix a date for their opening night. Their great venture was getting under way and all other considerations were dwarfed by its importance.

She drew the curtains over the window, excluding the mellow evening light. Drew curtains also metaphorically over the episode on the sand. That was best forgotten, only she could not wholly eradicate the memory of his kiss. That had been unexpectedly sweet and tender from so sophisticated a man. Raoul was something of an enigma, she thought as she walked warily down the polished stairs among the litter of bags of tools, pipes and wires the workmen had left. Sometimes it seemed impossible that the place would ever be orderly again.

Her mind turned to the woman in France who Mary said he had refused to marry. Frenchmen usually accepted without question the bride selected for them so long as she was well endowed, or so Susan had understood. Had the girl Raoul had left been so ill-favoured that even her worldly goods could not tempt him and he preferred exile and hard work to her embraces? It was a piquant suggestion, but she was unlikely ever to learn the truth of the situation, and it did not matter, so long as Mademoiselle whoever was unable to lure him back to France.

CHAPTER FOUR

Raoul arrived while Susan was washing up. He no longer used the formality of ringing the bell, and he had his own key. Susan heard the car outside, hurriedly completed her chores, took off her overall and glanced at herself in the hall mirror on her way to greet him. She was looking much less wan than when Raoul had first met her, there was a faint bloom in her cheeks, and her eyes were bright without shadows.

She went into the drawing room where she found him being gallant to Mrs Thurstan, who had provided him with a whisky and soda. He had changed from his casual clothes into a dark suit, with a blue shirt, matching tie and blue socks. As usual he looked suave and elegant, difficult to identify with the half-clad faun who had kissed her that afternoon.

Susan went towards him with outstretched hand and a conciliatory smile, but he barely touched her finger tips and his face was cold and unresponsive. So she was not to be forgiven. Livia raised her arched eyebrows at this chilly reception, but she was too tactful to remark upon it.

When she was seated, Raoul preferring to prowl about the room, he brushed aside further pleasantries and began the business that had brought him.

‘Now we have to decide when we are to open this great restaurant of ours. Do either of you have any ideas?'

Susan felt butterflies stirring in her tummy. The project had been a dream for so long that now it was actually to become concrete she felt a wave of panic. Suppose no one came? Suppose every dish she made was a complete disaster? So that if anybody did come they would demand their money back? She was experiencing the stage fright that assails an actress before her first entrance.

‘We have installed the central heating,’ Raoul went on. ‘The flat for the Pinentos is ready for occupation and the men are going to start on the kitchen. All should be ready in a month. That will bring us to the middle of May.’

‘Which will coincide with the local music festival,’ Livia told him calmly. ‘Can you compete with that?’

‘Tiens, but that is propitious!’ Raoul exclaimed. ‘Madame, we will not compete, we will complement it. Big stars come to this festival, do they not?’

‘They do, but they won’t want to come here,’ Susan said gloomily.

‘If they know that I, Raoul Sansterre, am opening a new restaurant, of course they will come.’ He threw out his hands in a dramatic gesture.

The arrogance of this remark rather startled Susan, but when she reflected, she supposed that it was probably true. After all, Raoul was on a par with Robert Carrier and the famous Escoffier. Even though he would not be cooking himself, that he was backing a venture was enough to recommend it to gourmets. That she had had the effrontery to insist upon being first chef caused the butterflies to flutter again.

Mrs Thurstan smiled deprecatingly. ‘I may be able to pull a few strings,’ she told them. ‘I’ve been going to the Festival for many years and I think I may count some of the artists as my friends. I’ll not be averse to using my influence with them.’

‘Splendid!' Raoul flung himself into a chair, crossing his long legs. ‘Ecoutez. On the opening night of the festival, we will commence with a champagne supper. Free champagne, I suggest. We will thus start with a bang. We must advertise, but discreetly, nothing vulgar, for we want to attract the right sort of people, do we not?’

‘Yes indeed,’ Livia replied fervently.

So the date was fixed and various details arranged. Raoul was so carried away that when he came to take his leave, he kissed each of them on both cheeks, his former animosity forgotten. Livia received his salute with dignity, but Susan was aware of a wild fluttering of her heart. Of course he meant nothing, it was merely his Latin exuberance, and he was excited by their prospective opening. She knew he was not seeing her as a person at all, only his partner in their joyous adventure. She washed she could assume a similar detachment and her heart would not accelerate every time he touched her. It would be difficult to concentrate her thoughts and energies upon what lay ahead when she was so very conscious of his presence.

As an afterthought, half way out of the door, he informed them:

‘I will take up residence when the Pinentos have arrived and Lucia can attend to my needs.’

‘But I could ...’ Susan began, feeling a sudden desire to minister to them herself.

‘No, ma chere, you must confine your activities to haute cuisine. Goodnight.’

'I rather wonder how he’s going to weld all these mixed nationalities into a workable team,’ Livia observed after he had gone.

‘So would I if he were an ordinary man,’ said Susan. ‘But I'm sure that with him all things are possible.'

Even to the conquest of her own unwilling heart?

The day came when the workmen finally packed up their tools and departed, and the staff arrived. The Italian couple had been down once or twice to look at the flat, but now the whole family descended upon the Hall in force, with much noise and bustle. Lucia was small and plump, ruling her family with a rod of iron. Whatever Mamma said went. She did adore children, and not only looked after her own two bambinos but took Rod and Lynsey under her wing at once. The twins to begin with were wary of the shouting, gesticulating little woman, but soon surrendered to her kindness. Her husband Marco was also small, stout and balding with a fine moustache. He was subdued and furtive, the result, Susan decided, of living with such a vociferous wife. The younger generation she did not take to at all. Roberto was good-looking with a fine physique of which he was very vain. Whenever he had a spare moment he posed in an athletic posture or combed his hair. Francesca was really beautiful, but her looks were marred by a surly expression. Susan she ignored as much as possible, Mrs Thurston she treated with grudging respect. But when Raoul was around she was all smiles and did her best to flirt with him, though not when her parents were in the vicinity. Much to Susan’s disgust, Raoul seemed to enjoy her advances and did nothing to discourage her.

Can he be another Rupert? she thought wearily.

The week before the opening, Monsieur Reyniere arrived, a contrast to the Italians with his deferential manner, but holding himself very much aloof. Much to Susan's surprise he was a hit with Mrs Thurstan, for it transpired that Livia had been to many of the restaurants where he had ‘created’, as he called his cooking. They had long conversations about the days that had gone by, recalling many famous names.

Mrs Catchpole eyed the newcomers askance and waylaid Susan in the passage.

‘Well, mam, now you’ve got all them foreigners working for you, you won't be wanting me and me old dad any more.’

Susan stared at her in consternation; she had no thought of dismissing Mrs Catchpole, who was part of her old life.

‘You can't leave me now,’ she protested. ‘I’ll need you more than ever. These people work for Mr Sansterre, not for me. I feel you’re my sheet anchor.’

'Well, I dunno about that.’ The woman was noncommittal, but Susan knew she was pleased and would not desert her.

Raoul took up his abode in the austere little room that he had chosen, which was less comfortable than the one allotted to the French chef. He also used it as an office, and apart from the narrow bed it was furnished with a desk, shelves and a filing cabinet. The only concession he made to comfort was the luxurious bathroom which had been installed next to it. When Susan said his quarters were unworthy of his important position he smiled and told her:

‘Luxury would only tempt me to be lazy. The only time I shall spend in it is when I peruse my records. When we have made our fortunes—ah, then I may indulge myself.’

A very real problem was Fred, and he nearly wrecked the whole concern. The dog had always lived in the kitchen, but the strict hygiene which had to be observed now made that impossible. Moreover he and Monsieur Reyniere had taken a violent dislike to each other. One always knew when the chef was about to appear, as Fred’s hackles would rise and a gentle rumble could be heard. The animal could not understand why he was banished from his old abode, and whenever the door was left unlatched, he would slip in and stretch himself in front of the Aga.

A few days before the opening, Raoul called a meeting to discuss the final details of the menu. He, with Susan, Marco and Monsieur Reyniere, were seated round the kitchen table. The French cook’s manner became definitely cool when they decided who was to cook what, but she ignored it. After all, her qualities as a cook were unknown to him. She looked up from her notes to see the door open as if propelled by a ghost, and Fred slide in stealthily walking towards the stove. All might have been well if Reyniere had not caught the direction of her glance. Already ruffled by the number of dishes Raoul had assigned to her, he jumped up, pointing to the unfortunate Fred and pouring forth a torrent of French to the effect that either Fred went or he would. For one awful moment Susan thought Fred was going to fly at him. She jumped up and bundled the dog out of the door, noticing with dismay that the dog had been in the pool and the clean floor was decorated with the marks of his pads.

Shutting the door firmly, she turned to face the three men.

‘I’m very sorry about that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,’ and wondered if' she could.

Raoul had risen to his feet and was regarding her sternly.

‘It’s no use, madame.’ He always addressed her formally in front of the staff. ‘You know you can’t prevent it occurring again. Even if the dog is tied up, he’ll always be getting loose. You’ll have to send him away.’

‘Send Fred away?’ She stared at Raoul aghast. ‘I can’t do that—the children would break their hearts! He’s like one of the family. Besides, I’ve nowhere to send him. He must have a good home.’

Raoul’s steely glance locked with hers; she had never seen him look more implacable. Monsieur Reyniere shrugged his shoulders.

‘Zese English and zere dogs,' he muttered.

Raoul made an obvious effort to control his rising temper. To him the matter was trivial compared with the other problems which he had to solve, and Susan was acting childishly.

‘Then you'd better have him put down,' he said.

‘What?’ Susan could not believe her ears.

‘Suzanne ...' Raoul forgot to be formal, ‘you must understand this is a professional venture and we can’t have it jeopardised by the presence of a mere animal. You know what the hygiene inspector would say if he glimpsed that creature near the kitchen. You could get the children a rabbit or a guinea-pig to console them that can be kept in the garden, and children soon forget. I’m sorry to distress you, but you must see that your dog is a menace, and the safest and surest way to dispose of him is to have him put painlessly to sleep.'

‘Not on your life,' Susan said stormily.

Raoul made an impatient gesture. ‘Suzanne, I insist.'

‘Oh, do you!’ Susan’s anger blazed. Oblivious of the presence of the other two men, furious that Raoul should dare to command the destruction of her dog, she rounded upon him.

‘You forget yourself, Mr Sansterre. This is my house and what I say goes. You’re utterly callous! Perhaps you’ll suggest next I get rid of my children in case they annoy your guests ...'

‘Suzanne! Control yourself.’ He glanced at his two henchmen anxiously.

The command further incensed her.

‘I’m perfectly in command of myself. I want to make it clear, I will not allow you to murder Fred.’ Her bosom heaved and her eyes flashed. ‘I’d sooner get rid of you than of him! ’

‘Sacre dieu, for the sake of a miserable cur you would ruin our whole enterprise?’

'He’s not a miserable cur, he’s a darling. Even Rupert loved him.’

The mention of her dead husband had a curiously calming effect. Raoul curbed his temper. He had only been provoked into demanding Fred’s demise by irritation with what he considered was Susan’s sentimental attitude towards the threat the dog presented. He was relying more than he wanted to admit upon her expertise to ensure success, and he did not want to antagonise her further. Her last statement showed him a way to climb down in front of his colleagues without loss of face.

‘Ah, the late lamented,’ he murmured. He turned to the other two men. ‘Madame has a sentimental affection for the brute, since he was attached to her husband. That you will understand.’

They nodded. Being Latins they were responsive to an emotional appeal. It was tragic that Madame should have been deprived of her mate and protector at such an early age, and she so brave and pretty, though possessed of an uncomfortable temper. It was not surprising that all his possessions were sacred to her.

‘So we must humour her,’ Raoul went on with a wry smile. ‘The dog shall live, but please, not here in the kitchen.’

‘I'll think of something,' Susan promised, feeling a little ashamed of her outburst. It had not been very dignified, but Raoul’s sentence had given her such a shock. It would be a long time before she could bring herself to forgive him. They stared at each other balefully, and she knew he was equally incensed with her. He was quite willing to accept Fred—in his proper place, he even liked the dog, but anything that was a threat to his restaurant must be ruthlessly removed, and her lack of co-operation was incomprehensible to him.

There was a tap on the kitchen door and it opened slowly to reveal Mrs Catchpole, mop in hand. Fred, as if to give point to Raoul’s objections, was trying to push past her.

‘Drat the dog! ’ she exclaimed, forcing him to retreat with her mop. Closing the door, she went on, ‘Beg pardon, mam, but I couldn’t help hearing summat.’ She glanced significantly towards the open window. ‘If you be wanting a home for Fred, my father in-law’ll be pleased to have him. He thinks the world of him, and the children could come and see him any time they’re passing.’

Percy lived in one of the lodge cottages at some distance from the house, and Susan expressed her gratitude for this solution of the problem, though she doubted whether the dog would stop there. Raoul, although he had similar doubts, joined his thanks to hers, but he had bitterly estranged his partner and their discussion continued in an arctic atmosphere.

Late that night, Raoul sought her out when she had gone into the garden to get a breath of fresh air before going to bed. The first quarter moon low in the sky was reflected in the pool, a golden half disc, and it was very dim and quiet. The light dress that Susan was wearing was faintly discernible, like a ghost among the trees.

‘Suzanne,’ he said quietly, ‘I am very sorry about the fracas over the dog. I did not really mean that he should be destroyed.’

‘You sounded as if you did,’ she returned coolly. ‘But it’s been settled now. Let’s forget it.'

‘Forget but not forgive?’ he asked wryly.

‘I don’t suppose my forgiveness means anything to you,’ she told him. ‘So long as I don’t rat on you, which I’m not going to do. Oh,’ she burst out passionately, ‘I didn't know you could be so utterly ruthless! ’

‘One needs to be ruthless to succeed in this world,’ he declared. ‘I haven‘t got where I am by being softhearted. But you, Suzanne,’ he laughed at the recollection, ‘when you are truly roused you are magnifque. Such great eyes that flash, such passion, and all wasted on a dog.’

‘I happen to think a lot of that dog,’ she pointed out. ‘I’m not callous like you are, Mr Sansterre, and he’s as much right to his life as we have. The fault is ours, not his, we’ve spoilt him.’

But he heard only her use of his surname.

‘It is Raoul when we’re alone,’ he protested.

Susan turned away. ‘I prefer to be formal.’

His hands fell upon her shoulders, bringing her back to face him. It was too dark to see him as anything more than a dark shadow beside her, but in every nerve she was aware of him.

‘Must we quarrel over such a trivial matter? I thought we were friends, Suzanne.’

‘Friendship entails understanding.’ She stood perfectly still under his hands, willing herself not to yield to the clamour in her blood. ‘You see how far apart we are, what you consider trivial, I believe to be important.'

‘You have your values all wrong, cherie.'

She quivered at the endearment, and then to her dismay he bent his head and kissed her, not gently this time but masterfully demanding.

‘Oh! ’ she cried desperately as soon as she could speak, for the touch of his lips was waking her to unwilling response. ‘What do you think you’re doing? I don’t want your kisses, Mr Sansterre.’

‘It was a kiss of peace.’

‘Peace?’ she echoed. ‘There'll never be peace between you and me, Raoul. You’re the most disturbing person I’ve ever met. No …' as he drew her closer, 'let me go! If you want this sort of amusement, go and find Francesca, she’s eager for it.'

To her annoyance Raoul laughed good-humouredly.

‘She’s too obvious. I prefer shy game. Are you by any chance jealous?’

‘Jealous? Of you and her?’ She spoke with fine scorn, knowing he spoke the truth. She would be jealous of any woman he favoured, and she despised herself for her weakness. She had been furious with him for his callousness about Fred, but now, here in his arms, she felt herself melting. ‘You flatter yourself, monsieur,' she went on disdainfully. ‘You can only be jealous when you love.'

‘That I think is a fallacy, but even so?'

‘So what? Let me go, Raoul!’ She made an ineffectual effort to free herself. ‘I hate this kind of thing.'

‘Kind of thing? Could you be more explicit?'

‘Philandering. I've had one prime example in my life and I don’t want another.'

‘Ah, pauvre petite!' His low voice was sympathetic.

He had heard gossip about the late Rupert Thurstan. ‘Your husband neglected you. Now that I cannot understand.’

Susan regretted her indiscreet words, feeling she had been disloyal to Rupert's memory. Whatever he had been it was not Raoul's place to criticise him. His grip had slackened and she twisted herself free.

‘You know nothing about it,' she cried vehemently. ‘My husband had his faults, but we were happy. I haven’t been happy since he died.’

Neither statement was quite true, but her pride revolted from Raoul's pity.

‘Anyway, who are you to judge him?’ she went on. ‘You're another of the same kind.'

‘Which apparently is a type that appeals to you,' Raoul suggested suavely, ‘since he made you happy.' Was there the suggestion of a sneer in his voice? ‘May I suggest that you aren't competent to judge me? Because for the sake of peace I don’t repulse Francesca you consider me a rake. At this stage I cannot afford to offend the Pinentos, who are necessary to us, but the girl is a silly little fool and she doesn’t attract, me in the least.'

This explanation did not reassure Susan at all, for if the Italian family was necessary to his plans, she was even more so. That was why he was apologising and trying to placate her even to the extent of trying to soften her with kisses. His was a one-track mind and for the sake of his restaurant he would be completely unscrupulous. She was confirmed In her belief in his ruthlessness. She, Fred, Francesca and the rest of the staff were only pawns to be manipulated and cajoled to attain his own ends.

‘Thank you for being so frank,' she said coolly. ‘I understand your attitude perfectly and I don't think I’ve misjudged you. I can't condone your methods, but for the sake of our enterprise, I’ll do my best to bear with you.'

There was a short pause, and Susan wished she could see his face to discover whether her barbs had found their mark. She sensed tension between them, as if he were restraining himself from an act of violence, and instinctively retreated a few paces. The moon shone placidly and somewhere among the trees an owl hooted. But when he did speak his voice was even.

'You’re trying to be bitchy, Suzanne, and it doesn’t suit you. But I in my turn must bear with you for the sake of our common goal. Might I suggest it’s getting late and you should get all the rest you can?’

She was oddly disappointed. She had expected denials, attempted justification, perhaps even a further physical demonstration, not this rebuke and calm dismissal.

'So I’ll be fit for my arduous labours?’ she returned. ‘Don't worry, Monsieur Sansterre, no amount of recrimination will affect my cooking. In fact I find it stimulating. Goodnight! ’

She sped away through the dewy night half expecting he would pursue her, but when she reached the shelter of the house, she found she was alone.

The advertising had been discreetly done and invitations sent out to several important people when Susan was surprised to receive a phone call from the local press requesting an interview^ The reporter also wanted to see Mrs Thurstan Senior and Mr Sansterre. This was arranged for the Tuesday; the opening was to be on the Friday, the same night as the Festival started. Susan, Raoul and Livia were duly to hand when the reporter arrived with her photographer and were ushered into the drawing room.

'What a simply divine room,’ the reporter simpered;

she was a woman of uncertain age who seemed to talk non-stop. ‘My name is Jane Summers and this is my right-hand man, Mike.’ Mike grunted. ‘Now this room I understand is to be the lounge. I think we should take a photograph of you all In here, because it's such a charming room. Such an old-world atmosphere! If you will come over to the window we won’t have to use flash—I always think daylight is less harsh than flash, don’t you?’ She posed them against the window. ‘Couldn’t you smile, Mr Sanster, you look so grim?’ Raoul, who was hating this, produced a fixed grin, and tried not to wince at the mispronunciation of his name. The photos were taken, Miss Summers asking questions the whole time and answering them herself. When they had finished, Livia excused herself, and Susan saw Raoul was about to do the same.

‘No, you don’t,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll stay and support me, we’re both in this together.’

For the first time since the night in the garden he gave her a friendly smile.

‘For you, ma chere, I will endure even this.'

Susan was so taken aback that she stammered and blushed. Raoul had been polite as always but distant since the episode of Fred. Was their common ordeal at the hands of Miss Summers breaking down his reserve? She saw the humorous twinkle in his eyes and her own flashed a response. This byplay was not lost upon the reporter, who saw a lot more than her manner suggested.

‘Now before you show me the rest of the premises, I would like to ask one or two rather personal questions,' she told them. ‘Our readers do like the intimate touch. Mrs Thurstan, I understand you've been recently widowed, yes? How did you come to contact Mr Sanster? An old family friend, perhaps?’ Susan shook her head, she had no intention of divulging what had occurred at her first meeting with Raoul. He came to her rescue.

‘A mutual friend recommended me,’ he said smoothly, ‘and once I saw the place I was enchanted with it.’

‘Indeed! ’ Miss Summers’ eyes were fixed on Susan, as if she suspected it was not only the place that had captivated him.

‘Is it possible romance is in the air?’

‘Really, Miss Summers!’ Susan feared she had blushed again. ‘Ours is a business partnership, we only meet to discuss the restaurant.’

She caught a wicked glint in Raoul’s eyes at this misrepresentation and feared Miss Summers might notice it too. What would the woman think? Recently widowed as she knew and already involved with her good-looking manager. And she was involved, she knew it then, she had been miserable during their days of estrangement, and now Raoul was relenting, she felt as if the sun had come out again. Almost she blessed the garrulous reporter.

Miss Summers was shown the dining room and the beautiful gleaming kitchen, bereft of Fred, and presided over by Monsieur Reyniere.. who knowing what was toward had donned full chef’s regalia including the tall cap. She made all the right noises and more photographs were taken.

L can’t promise that we’ll print any of them, but I’ll make sure you’re mentioned in Friday’s paper to herald your big day,’ she told them. She gave Susan and Raoul a searching look and took her leave.

'Mon dieu, what a truly ghastly woman! ’ Raoul exclaimed, when they saw with relief her car vanishing through the gateway. He led the way back into the drawing room where they had been photographed together. ‘Suzanne, I thought you had more savoir faire. Do you know you actually blushed when she mentioned romance.’

Susan blushed again. ‘It... it was so unexpected,’ she defended herself.

‘Was it? Don’t you know that is the first thing the popular press looks for? You should have been prepared.’

‘Well, I wasn’t,’ Susan said crossly, disconcerted by the amusement in Raoul’s eyes. ‘We’ve more important things on our minds than romance.’

‘Of course.’ His gaze sharpened quizzically. ‘And as you told her, when we meet we only discuss the restaurant ... especially on the beach and in the garden by moonlight.’

Susan turned away her head at this reference to the two occasions upon which he had kissed her.

‘I had to put her off somehow,’ she muttered. Then it occurred to her that Raoul was being much more approachable than he had been since the row over Fred. Perhaps he was ready to forgive and forget. She looked at him eagerly. ‘Oh, Raoul, can’t we forget all that and be friends?’

He shook his blond head. ‘I doubt we can ever be friends, Suzanne.’

She was disappointed, feeling her overture was rejected.

‘Are you so unforgiving?’

‘That isn’t quite what I meant, but never mind,’ as she glanced at him enquiringly. 'As a gesture of reconciliation, would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?’

‘Dinner? Here?’

‘No, out. I particularly want to sample the meal at the Horse and Plough,’ he referred to an inn in the locality, ‘and to compare their cuisine with ours. I’d like your opinion of it.’

‘But how can we?' Susan was conscious of a surge of exhilaration at this burial of the hatchet. The last thing she had expected was that Raoul would offer to take her out. ‘There’s so much to do. We open on Friday.'

‘All the more reason to get away from it all. You’re looking jaded. You worry too much. Everything is under control and we can be spared for one evening. Lucia will baby-sit if your belle-mere is unavailable.'

His grey eyes which had looked so arctic since the night in the garden were full of kindly consideration. Raoul seemed to have undergone a sea change.

Susan could not bring herself to refuse this invitation, though she wished it had been offered as a desire for her company and not to obtain her opinion of another's cooking. After all the hard work it would be delightful to have a night out. But her conscience was pricking her and she hesitated. Miss Summers’ mention of her recent widowhood had given her a jolt. It seemed heartless to allow herself to be attracted by another man so soon after Rupert’s death, and the leap of joy his invitation had given her indicated that she was not indifferent to him.

But Rupert’s death was not so very recent, and already his image was beginning to become dim. He had done his best to kill her love for him, and the last year of her marriage had been anything but happy. She realised now that he had succeeded and if he had lived she would only have stayed with him for the sake of the children.

Having learned her lesson, she would be foolish to give her heart to another man, especially someone as unpredictable as Raoul Sansterre and without any guarantee that her sentiments were returned, but she very much feared she would be unable to help herself. Physically he drew her, but she knew only too well that the emotions he aroused in her were most unreliable. She would be wise to avoid closer intimacy with him, though that would be difficult under the circumstances.

Raoul was watching the various feelings cross her mobile face. She looked very young and vulnerable standing in the sunlight pouring in through the big window. It was difficult to remember that she was a widow and a mother of two lively twins. His handsome mouth curled in a little mocking smile.

‘I’m only asking you out to dinner, Suzanne.’

‘Of course.’

She decided there was no reason why she should deny herself this unexpected treat.

‘Thank you, Raoul, I’d love to come,’ she added demurely.

A wicked gleam came into his eyes, as he observed:

‘And naturally I shall only discuss business while we eat, you will expect that.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,' Susan’s answering glance was provocative. ‘I might prefer a change of subject.’

‘You would?’ He looked expectant. ‘What other subject would you suggest?’

Susan laughed.

'The weather,’ she told him, and ran out of the room.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Horse and Plough was one of those low beamed buildings so common in Suffolk, that had once been a village pub serving a remote hamlet. The present owner had built the business up and it was now famed throughout the county for the haute cuisine it offered in a homely pub atmosphere so favoured by the English. In spite of that, the visitor was expected to ‘dress’ for dinner, and Susan had chosen to wear a blue garment with a silk underslip and floating chiffon covering it, caught at the neck and wrists in diamante bands. There would be no cooking for her sleeves to catch in tonight.

They looked a handsome couple as they entered the restaurant, he blond and debonair, a good head taller than she, with an arrogant air that would have graced a prince; she slim and supple beside him, her hair appearing dark in the dim lighting, and her eyes mauve. They were Irish eyes, a legacy from some distant ancestor that held in their soft depths all the mystery of the Celt. She seemed the antithesis of a cook.

After their aperitif they were shown to their table in a secluded corner of the dining room, which was large and dimly lit with candles. A stout wall had once divided it in two, but wattle and daub had been removed, exposing skeleton beams, complementing those on the ceiling and walls. Raoul was everything that could be expected of a host, polite and considerate, though a slight reserve still lingered in his manner, which Susan hoped a few drinks would soon dispel.

Over coffee and liqueurs, he lit a cigar and smiled at her.

‘Eh bien, Suzanne, how do you think we will compare?’

Susan thought over the meal they had consumed, pate, a fish in cream dish and a sorbet.

‘It was very good, but nothing that I couldn’t have prepared myself and possibly done better,’ she decided with a lift of her chin.

‘It must be better,’ he told her, and went on to point out subtle flaws in the presentation of the dishes which he would expect to be improved at Thurstan Hall.

A little nettled, Susan thought he was speaking as if the Hall belonged to him and not to herself. Something in her expression checked him and he leaned over the table taking her hand.

‘Do not let my comments disturb you, my little English rose. You will do very well.’ He looked deep into her eyes and something in their grey depths caused her heart to flutter. Slowly but surely she was falling in love with this Frenchman, a deeper different emotion from what she had felt for Rupert, which had been of the consistency of champagne, for as the years passed, the bubbles burst one by one. She allowed her hand to remain in his strong clasp, aware of reciprocation between them, until a shrill voice broke in upon the magic enfolding her.

‘Is this where you do your business deals?’

Miss Summers had paused at their table on her way across the room, with an insignificant little man in tow.

Raoul relinquished her hand and stood up, looking unperturbed.

Certainly, madame, it is important to discover how our competitors operate.’

Miss Summers passed on, but Raoul’s mood had changed. The magic had evaporated with her intrusion. He seemed to withdraw, and began to tell her about his homeland. He described the long estuary of the Gironde, the historical town of Bordeaux, and the acres of vineyard that produced the red wine of the vicinity.

‘I’m very interested in the production of wine,’ he told her.

From that he proceeded to the adjoining province of Les Landes, with its vast forests, shallow lakes and desolate coastline fringed with enormous sand dunes, land that had once been lonely swamps. His face lit up as he spoke of it, it had been a favourite haunt of his boyhood.

Susan heard nostalgia in his voice, and noticed the distant look in his eyes as if he beheld a vision. She was filled with dismay.

‘You want to go back?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You miss your family?’

If Raoul deserted her, what could she do?

‘My family?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘They do not want me.’

She drew a sigh of relief. ‘You've quarrelled?’

Not exactly, but I and my father do not see eye to eye. He is not progressive, I am all for innovations,' he grinned. ‘If they seem likely to pay off.'

‘Yours is a big family?’ she probed.

'Not so large. I have a brother, Jean, he is married with children, and a sister, not yet wed. Then there is Grand’mere, who rules them like a matriarch. She was not pleased when Jean married an English girl, but her family are wine importers and my father said the connection would be useful.’ He smiled cynically, and Susan recalled that the Hills were in that trade. ‘My father is despotic, he wants his own way, and so do I! Voila!’ He spread his hands expressively.

‘So you left him and came to England?’

‘Yes. Some day when Thurstan Hall is a big success perhaps I will go back and boast of my achievement.’ Susan longed to ask about the woman Mary had said he had refused to marry. Was she still waiting hoping he would return to her? That was unlikely, Raoul had been a long time in England, but it did not follow he was out of touch with his former connections.

‘Have you ever been back?’ she enquired, following this line of thought.

‘Oh yes, I go from time to time, but I leave when the old arguments start up again.’

Susan was vaguely disquieted by these revelations. She feared that the Sansterre family had a greater hold over their errant member than he cared to admit, Surreptitiously she studied the lean face opposite to her with its strong features and determined chin. A hard face, but a good one; that it could soften to tenderness she knew, she had seen it do so when he was with the children. A good father wasted, Livia had said. Surely he would eventually want children of his own? He would be a far more understanding parent than Rupert had ever been. But the thought of a prospective wife was oddly distasteful to her. Suddenly she wished the bond between them was a closer one, and fearful that her eyes might betray her, she looked down at her plate. ‘You look beautiful tonight, Suzanne.’

She became aware that he was focussing all his attention upon her, the subject of France and family dismissed. There was an unmistakable look in his eyes and her heart beats quickened.

‘You flatter me.’

'I do not. I have a great respect for you, Suzanne, you are all a woman should be, lovely both in appearance and character, brave, loyal, steadfast ... and passionate.’

The last word caused her to flush. She wondered if he had had too much to drink, and her glance went to the wine bottle.

‘No, it is not the wine speaking,’ he told her, guessing her thought. ‘Surely you’ve been told all this before, or are Englishmen blind as well as cold?’

‘My husband was neither,’ she said quickly, falling back on Rupert for protection. Raoul had only said he respected her for the virtues he had enumerated, and it was a chilly word. She realised in a burst of revelation that she was falling in love again, but she did not want occasional kisses from him, she wanted his whole heart. He looked at her penetratingly and she hoped he could not read her thoughts.

‘You will not mourn him for ever.' It was a statement, not a question. 'You are still so young, Suzanne.'

‘I have my children.'

‘Who need a father—especially Roderick. Women may suffice for a girl, but a boy requires a man to guide him.'

‘I suppose so.’ She began to draw patterns on the cloth with a clean fork. Uneasily she recalled that Livia had suggested she was a good catch. Could he be thinking that? But Thurstan Hall was only a liability unless he made it a commercial success. If he did, obviously it would be to his advantage to marry its mistress. She hated to think that his motives might be mercenary.

Raoul watched her shrewdly. The candlelight brought out bronze lights in her brown hair, and her neck and shoulders looked like alabaster. She was elusive, but that added to her charm.

Leaning back in his chair, he said:

'Eh bien, first we have this great opening night to deal with. Then, when we find that we are on the road to success, I shall have another proposition to put to you, Suzanne.'

She looked up quickly, but his face was unrevealing. If he meant what she both feared and hoped he did, she wished he would not make it sound so cold-blooded. Was marriage to him just that?—a proposition, a business proposition? It was how the French regarded it.

‘Raoul ‑’ she began, and paused. She was hungry for love, but she wanted the real thing, not a counterfeit. Only if he offered his heart would she surrender.

He ignored the appeal in her utterance of his name, or perhaps he did not recognise it.

‘It occurs to me that we have not enough waiters to give good service. Marco and Roberto are not sufficient. I have telephoned to two Greek boys who once worked for me, they can lodge in the village. Later we can decide whether to employ them permanently.'

Susan laughed shakily. The change of subject was so abrupt that she felt as though a coiled spring had rebounded within her.

‘Greek? We’ll be the United Nations! Wouldn’t it be more tactful to engage local help?’

He shrugged. ‘Your local talent is more handy with the hoe than juggling with plates.’

‘But we could get students who are often glad of a means of making extra money, especially in the holidays,’

So personal matters were shelved before the all- important topic of the restaurant.

When they reached the hall she thanked him conventionally for a lovely evening. He was staring absently at the old building washed in the light of the waxing moon through the windscreen.

‘Enchante,’ he murmured vaguely. Susan felt for the door catch with a feeling of impatience. Instantly he was out of the car and hurrying to assist her. He helped her to alight, bowing slightly. Susan looked up at him expectantly, willing him to take her in his arms for a goodnight kiss,

‘I hope that newspaper woman didn’t have a concealed camera when she passed our table,’ he observed, ignoring her pleading look, their clasped hands, that moment of shared affinity which she had interrupted.

‘Damn Miss Summers!’ Susan said forcibly.

‘My sentiments exactly.’

With a little sigh she left him to seek her own room, wondering if he feared a compromising photograph might be seen by other eyes... perhaps in France.

The newspaper came out and the article was all that they could wish, but the printed photograph was the one of the pair of them taken by the window, Raoul with a fatuous smile, herself looking self-conscious, belying the letterpress.

‘Mrs Susan Thurstan and Mr Raoul Sansterre assure me they are no more than just good friends.’

Susan was furious, but Raoul only smiled, saying drily: ‘The understatement of the year! ’

But the next two days were too hectic to allow for brooding over personal relationships. Susan awoke on the Friday morning with a queasy feeling as she recollected that the great day had come. After a perfunctory tap, Lucia came waddling into her room carrying a cup of tea.

‘You are awake, signora, si? I bring you tea. This morning I cook for you, tonight—Mamma mia, you will cook, and how you will cook! Signor Reyniere he not happy you cook so well. He feel not so good. Now, do not be long, for the eggs and bacon wait for you.’

Susan swallowed the tea and dressed, reflecting that Monsieur Reyniere had been certain she would fail with haute cuisine, so that when she had started her preparations he had been surprised and not a little put out by her expertise. He had anticipated that all the praise and bouquets would go to him tonight and her feeble efforts would have been glossed over, leaving him in sole charge. She would have to allow for professional jealousy, she supposed, but she had shown him, and tonight she would show them all.

The large kitchen table when not being used for culinary preparations accommodated the staff. When Susan came in they were all seated around it, the children, having swallowed vast quantities of cereal, were jigging up and down, clamouring to ‘get down’. To her surprise, contrary to her usual custom, Livia was present, looking for her quire fraught, and was engaged in earnest conversation with Raoul. Francesca seated on his other side was seeking to attract his attention, but he ignored her. Lucia was busy at the stove, her menfolk drinking coffee at the table. It was a homely domestic scene as if this were just another day without anything momentous about to happen.

Raoul looked up and saw her.

‘Ah, Suzanne, come and join us. Your belle-mere is wondering what to wear tonight and with your exquisite taste I’m sure you can advise her. Also Francesca has the same problem.’

Exquisite taste indeed, Susan thought, when her usual garb was jeans and a tee-shirt. Neither of the ladies concerned looked as if they would appreciate her advice. Raoul was being mischievous. At least her own dress was no problem; her spotless overall, cap and apron were waiting for her upstairs. Lucia banged the frying pan, making Monsieur Reyniere wince.

‘Francesca will wear a black dress as is right and proper.'

The Italian girl, who wanted to appear behind the bar in a scarlet sexy blouse, looked rebellious, but none of her family dared to argue with Lucia. .

Small points as yet undecided about the evening ahead were then ironed out. This morning meeting was to become a permanent institution when problems could be sorted out and the meal of the night before carefully analysed. A trying time for the cooks.

All the dishes that Susan had served to Raoul were to be included in the menu in larger quantities and with alternatives. Large amounts of vegetables had been ordered for delivery that morning. Two girls from the village had been engaged to come in and help with them, and they were to come again in the evening to wash up. Monsieur Reyniere needed someone to run after him all the time and complained about his need for a ‘commis’. Raoul had promised him one should be engaged if the takings warranted an addition to the staff. Susan, who was used to doing everything herself, found it a luxury to have someone to help her.

The afternoon was spent preparing the dining room and the drawing room, which was now the lounge, and at Raoul’s insistence putting away any valuable pieces. Nobody could be trusted nowadays, he warned them.

The first clients were booked for eight o’clock, and at four-thirty Susan went upstairs for a brief rest before starting in the kitchen. She lay down, but was too strung up to relax. All the things that might go wrong recurred to her, and she feared her own efforts might not be up to standard. No prima donna before a command performance could have been in a greater state of nerves. Finally she gave it up and went to have a shower. She dressed in her white overall with only scanty underwear beneath it, as it would be hot in the kitchen. She was brushing her hair when a tap sounded on her door.

‘Come in,' she called, surprised, for the children always barged in after a perfunctory knock and Mrs Thurstan was resting. The door opened to disclose Raoul on the threshold arrayed in all the glory of ruffled shirt and tails for his role of wine waiter, but he looked more like royalty than a servant. Closing the door behind him, he said:

‘Excuse me, Suzanne, for invading your privacy, but I wanted to see you alone, and downstairs there is none.’

A wary look came into her eyes and she drew back against the dressing table. Why should he want to see her alone?

He noticed her expression, and his face hardened.

‘Must you look at me like that?’ he demanded irritably. ‘It is not my intention to ravish you, though you look as though you expected it.’

‘Oh, don’t be absurd!’ She sought to recover her equilibrium. ‘That’s a stupid sort of joke.’

‘Not my idea of a joke.’ He smiled with winning charm and his grey eyes glinted. ‘It might be an enchanting experience.’

Susan turned away to look out of the window. He looked devastatingly elegant and handsome, and his expression disturbed her. But she had too much on her mind to appreciate sexual banter, and his presence in her bedroom was provocative. With a little catch of her breath she realised that no man had entered it since Rupert’s death. Even the workmen had had no cause to come there. Raoul noticed her drooping shoulders and bowed head and his face softened.

‘I only came to wish you luck, cherie. Success tonight means a lot to you, as it does to all of us.'

Susan whipped round, her eyes wide and anxious.

‘Oh, Raoul, is it going to be all right? Say it’ll be all right! People are really going to come and enjoy themselves?’ She was like a scared child seeking reassurance.

Raoul smiled confidently. ‘It will be all right.’

‘Oh, what a comfort you are!' She was overwrought and in a highly emotional state, and she stumbled towards him, not aware of what she was doing. Then she found herself in his arms, strong, protective arms that closed round her firmly. She seemed to have come to harbour. He bent his head and kissed her gently, and this time she returned his kisses. Tenderness gave way to rising passion, and their bodies moulded together in sudden ecstasy. For a timeless period they clung together oblivious of anything except themselves. Footsteps outside the door caused them to spring apart, and a crimson flush spread over Susan’s face. What had come over her to cause her to throw herself in Raoul’s arms? What would he think of her? Unable to meet his eyes, she muttered something incoherent and went to the door intending to fly from the room. She collided with Francesca who was leaning against it.

'I came to look for you, madame,’ the girl explained, her curious eyes trying to see beyond Susan into her room. Susan pulled the door to, wondering if she had heard anything.

‘You are wanted on the telephone,’ Francesca concluded.

Susan prayed that Raoul would not appear. With her hand on the knob she asked: ‘Is anything wrong, Francesca?’

‘No, madame, just someone on the phone.'

‘Then you’d better get back to the kitchen.’

Francesca gave her a malevolent look and walked away. Something had given her cause to suspect that Raoul was in Susan’s room, and being crazy about him, jealousy had motivated her to try to intervene. That her excuse was a fabrication seemed proved when upon going downstairs Susan found the receiver on the hook. Returning to her room to collect her cap and apron, she found it empty. Only a vague suggestion of Raoul’s aftershave lingered in the air to remind her that he had been there. She had no time to meditate upon her forward conduct. She had deliberately sought the shelter of his arms and had returned his kisses with ardour. Was the passion he aroused in her really love, or merely something much less pretty, the upsurge of her starved senses? And he—he admired her, and he would consider a widow fair game, but did he feel anything more for her than what he would have felt for Francesca under similar circumstances? She must put it from her mind, for duty called and she had a lot to do. As she went towards the kitchen she reflected wryly that it was a good thing she had not been wearing make-up or Raoul’s beautiful shirt would have suffered.

A deceptive calm reigned in the kitchen, shortly to be dispelled as the evening advanced. The culinary team assembled and they were off, preparing hors d’oeuvres, tiny bouchees pates, main dishes, soups, vegetables, souffles and petits fours. Tempers became short but were controlled. Everyone knew they must pull together or sink. Mrs Catchpole arrived to do any odd job that was required of her, and there was much ‘Oh- ing’ and ‘Ah-ing' and ’Well, I nevers.’ It was a great experience for her and she would not have missed it for anything. Every time the phone went, Susan was sure it was a cancellation, but it proved to be only confirmation of a booking or to make a further one. Mrs Thurstan appeared wearing her grey silk, and looked so graciously condescending that Susan feared the guests might be overawed by her.

At about a quarter to eight, the first car arrived, and Livia went to open the door and greet the ladies while their escorts parked the car. One of Raoul’s Greeks took the coats and hats, and Mrs Thurstan ushered them into the lounge where Francesca in the despised black dress took orders for drinks from the bar, and Raoul presented them with the menu and the wine list. More guests arrived, then they seemed to come pouring in and they were launched. They were busy, very busy. Raoul chivvied the staff, giving them no rest. The guests must not be kept waiting, the merest whim must be obeyed, and quickly.

At about ten the pace slackened, but it was only a brief respite. At ten-thirty the people would be arriving from the Festival for the champagne supper. Each table was to be supplied with a free vintage bottle of that wine, after which the guests would buy their own. The supper was to be light—mousses, salmon in aspic, tiny pies and fresh strawberries with cream. The last had caused considerable anxiety as to whether enough ripe ones could be procured so early in the year. Raoul had blithely said they could be flown in from abroad, and Susan had shuddered at the expense, but in the end the local market gardens had been able to supply them from their greenhouses, and there they were, nestling in vine leaves in cut glass bowls on the dessert trolley. ‘Real class! ’ Mrs Catchpole breathed.

Several of the guests were friends of Livia's and known to Susan. Raoul too seemed acquainted with several people, especially among the artists. One older gentleman insisted that Mrs Thurstan join his party. She was flattered, and after confirming with Raoul that she might accept, she seated herself beside her friend, her duties completed for the night.

Most of the proceedings reached Susan second hand, being reported by Roberto when he changed the dishes, giving the kitchen staff a running commentary upon what was going on ‘out front’. Marco had less chat and therefore got more done, and was continually chivvying his son back to his duties.

Suddenly all the rush was over. Susan sat down by the kitchen table feeling exhausted. Tonight was completed, but there was tomorrow to come. She began to wonder if she could stand the pace, but supposed she would get used to it. Besides, tonight had been exceptional with the champagne supper, but it was possible Raoul might want to retain it as a permanent feature.

The swing door opened and Raoul came in. 'Come,' he said, making a wide embracing gesture to them all. ‘Tonight has been a great success, it is only fair that you who have worked so hard to make it so should be allowed to celebrate also. Into the dining room with you, there's still some champagne left. You too, Madame Catchpole,' he took her by the arm, not heeding her protests. ‘You did as much as anybody.'

The two girls from the village followed him, with the two Greek waiters, giggling profusely. The Italians crowded after them, laughing and chattering. Susan sat still; she felt too tired to move.

Monieur Reyniere was the last to go. He paused in the doorway and looked back at her.

‘Madame, do you not join us?’

Susan shook her head. She had pulled off her cap and her hair fell untidily about her shoulders. ‘Monsieur Reyniere, I feel too weary.’

He came back to her, ‘Ah, come now, it ees your beeg night. Your cooking ...’ He kissed his finger tips, a gesture she remembered Raoul had used. ‘Superb!’ He smacked his lips.

Susan looked up at the stout balding figure feeling tears start to her eyes. Here was an olive branch indeed! When all the others had left her, he had waited for her, paying her a sincere compliment to restore her spirits.

‘Thank you, but I’ve still a lot to learn. I'm sure there’s much you could teach me if you would be so kind.’

He smiled, flattered. ‘All ze knowledge zat I ’ave is yours for ze asking. But you not need it. You ’ave ze flair, ze genius. Ze great cook is born, not made, Come now, we will drink to our partnership, n’est-ce pas?’

She took the hand he offered her, and side by side they went into the dining room.

The few guests left were all friends and a party atmosphere prevailed. Mrs Thurstan was still talking to her elderly admirer. The younger members of the team were gathered round the bar, laughing and chaffing with Francesca. Lucia and her husband were sitting at a table with a bottle of wine between them and Mrs Catchpole, quite overcome, was absorbing a pint of mild ale, all eyes and ears.

Susan looked round for Raoul, whom at first she could not see. Finally she discovered him seated in a corner engrossed with a beautiful blonde. In one lightning glance, accompanied by a swift pang of jealousy, Susan absorbed the details of the woman’s—she was too mature to be termed a girl—appearance. She was perfectly groomed, hair, make-up and manicure had been done by experts. Her red dress (I’ve always disliked red, Susan thought) clung to her rounded figure where it mattered and was obviously a couture model. Susan became painfully aware of her own unglamorous get- up. She quickly removed the rather stained apron she was still wearing over her white overall, and pushed back her hair, certain that she had flour upon her nose.

Raoul looked up and saw her and came swiftly towards her, before she could escape as she wanted to do.

‘Come, Suzanne, there is someone over here who wants to meet you.’

‘Raoul, I’m so untidy ....'

‘You look all right to me. Perhaps a little the worse for wear, but who wouldn’t upon such a night?'

He slipped an encircling arm about her waist and propelled her towards the corner table.

‘This, ma chere,' he presented her, ‘is Susan Thurstan, the owner of this establishment and my business partner.'

The blonde’s hard blue eyes assessed her venomously. Unlike Susan’s misty ones, they were bright as sapphires and as stony. Raoul went on: ‘Suzanne, this is Mademoiselle Michelle Soustrot, who has done me the honour of coming to look me up. She lives near Bordeaux.'

Had Susan been less overwhelmed, she might have noticed the slightly acid edge to his voice, but at the mention of his home town, intuitively she guessed that this was the woman his parents wished him to marry. She had come in search of him, tracking him down to his Suffolk retreat, and from the cast of her face, she was a determined character and would not easily relinquish any object upon which her heart was set. She was all that Susan was not—smart, sophisticated, and unscrupulous, besides being extremely handsome. Also she had the backing of the Sansterre family behind her. Susan felt a wave of black despair. What chance had she against such a rival?

CHAPTER SIX

Raoul pulled out a chair for Susan, indicating that she should sit down, and went to fetch another bottle of wine. Someone switched on the overhead lights as most of the guttering candles had been extinguished. In the stronger illumination Susan could see that Michelle Soustrot was a good deal older than she had at first surmised and most of her colouring was false. She would not mind betting that she had not been born with that golden hair, and that her natural skin was sallow. A close scrutiny of Rupert’s girl-friends had taught her to know the signs, for jealous eyes are sharp.

Michelle looked about her critically.

‘So this is Raoul’s latest toy,’ she remarked.

‘He has been of infinite service to me,’ Susan said stiffly.

'I don’t doubt it.' The French girl’s English was perfect. ‘But his enthusiasms do not last. He has only one real love, his native vineyards.’ She looked at Susan through narrowed eyes. ‘Eventually he will return to them, vinery is in his blood.’ She produced a jewelled cigarette case. ‘Smoke?’ Susan shook her head. Lighting one. Michelle resumed: ‘The Soustrot land marches with that of Sansterre. Together they would make a magnificent estate.'

The implication was obvious. The Bordelaise was warning her where Raoul’s true interest lay ... a joining of estates. She was waiting until Raoul had had his fling and was confident he would in time return to France ... and her. Susan’s heart sank. She had no contract with Raoul, it had not occurred to her to ask for one. He could walk out whenever he wished and request interest upon the money he had invested in the restaurant.

‘Alors, there comes a time when even the most restless of men is ready to settle down,’ Michelle observed.

Raoul returned with the wine and clean glasses which he poured out for them, as he told Susan:

‘Mademoiselle Soustrot is a very old acquaintance of mine.’

‘Believe it or not, we were betrothed in our cradles,' Michelle announced. Raoul gave her an inimical look.

‘But both of us being below the age of consent, the engagement was not valid.'

Michelle’s small mouth was the shape of a perfect cupid’s bow. But when she was annoyed she sucked in her lower lip, giving herself a shrewish look. She did so now.

‘Peut-etre, but there is still a bond between us.'

‘Is there? I thought it was broken long ago—if it ever existed.' He looked at her significantly. ‘I don’t care to be pursued, Michelle.'

She looked at him reproachfully, blinking hard in an endeavour to bring tears into her hard eyes, but without success.

‘You are ungallant, cher ami. Haven't I explained that we learned from your mother's niece of what you do here? Naturally we were most interested. Since I was coming to England I promised I would look you up!’ She turned to Susan. ‘I saw an advertisement of your opening night and I hoped to give Monsieur Sansterre a pleasant surprise.'

‘It certainly was a surprise,’ Raoul said drily, ‘but I find it difficult to believe my family are interested in anything that doesn't concern their pockets.’

‘Enough,' Michelle made a sweeping gesture with her cigarette. ‘We are boring Madame Thurstan.' She paid Susan a few perfunctory compliments about the dinner.

It was obvious that the Frenchwoman’s advent in Suffolk had annoyed Raoul to the extent of forgetting his usual courtesy, and Susan’s heart lifted, only to plummet again when, as if to illustrate that she had a hold over Raoul, Michelle observed that she had not yet told him about the big consignment of vintage claret their joint concerns were sending to auction in London, and for which they expected to obtain a record price.

‘Indeed? Which year?’ he asked, rising to the bait. They plunged into a flood of professional talk, relapsing into French, so that Susan felt completely excluded. When it came to vines and wine selling Michelle knew her stuff, being an only child and heiress to the vineyards from which her income was derived. There was a bond between her and Raoul after all, if it were only that of a common interest, and Thurstan Hall was to him only a sideline. He was born and bred a vintner.

This should have been her night, it should have been their success she and Raoul were celebrating, but he was far away from her in spirit though his body was beside her, his head bent towards Michelle as he listened with absorbed attention to what she was saying. Susan’s eyes were heavy with fatigue and her heart with disappointment. She glanced idly round the room. The group round the bar was breaking up, and their elders were yawning over the dregs of their wine. Francesca was throwing thunderous glances towards Raoul, but Roberto was looking straight at her with a lascivious glint in his fine dark eyes. He had more than once tried to make advances towards her undeterred by her superior status. She had not snubbed him as severely as she should have done, mindful of Lucia’s feelings, for his mother adored him and believed him to be irresistible. If Raoul could endure Francesca’s oglings for the sake of peace, she could make herself pleasant to the Italian youth so not to offend his colossal vanity. Actually she did not take him seriously and was rather amused by his efforts to impress her. That he could became a menace did not occur to her.

She smiled at him vaguely and turned her contemplation to the two in front of her, the two fair heads so close together. Was Raoul really as indifferent to his countrywoman as he pretended? Michelle was making him laugh; evidently they had passed on to mutual friends and she was describing them with wit and malice. Once she glanced towards Susan and there was triumph in her eyes. Mrs Thurstan and her friend had left some time earlier. She would by now have retired. Susan decided to follow her example.

‘Excuse me,’ she said politely, 'I'll say goodnight if you don't mind, I'm very tired.’

Raoul glanced up perfunctorily, ‘I will see you later,' and turned back to Michelle without bothering to stand up.

Later? Didn’t he realise half the night was gone?

Susan slipped out of the room, again catching Roberto’s bold glance as she passed him, waving her hand to the others. Why on earth didn’t they all go to bed? They had another hard day before them, but Latins took any excuse to stay up all night if they could.

Wearily she climbed the stairs and went into the children’s room, using the door from the passage. She had taken to keeping the connecting door between their room and hers locked, as they were no respecters of her privacy. They were both fast asleep, dark eyelashes curved crescents on pink cheeks, chubby arms clasping cuddly toys. Susan stooped, kissed Lynsey and then Rod. He stirred, his eyes flickered open and he smiled, 'Goo’ night, Mummy,’ and was instantly asleep again. Her heart swelled with maternal love. How defenceless and innocent they both looked, unaware of all she was doing to provide for their future.

Softly she left the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind her. Turning towards her own door, she saw Roberto leaning against it smiling insolently.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked sharply.

‘Did you not expect me, signora?’

'Certainly not! Are you crazy?’

'Crazy with love for you,’ he declared dramatically. ‘I wait and wait for a sign and tonight you give it to me.’

‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous ... absurdo!' she exclaimed crossly. How could he so presume to interpret the smile she had given him, only half aware that she had done so? 'Go back to your own place!'

‘I am not good enough for you?’ His black eyes squinted evilly. ‘You think only of il maestro? But his woman have come for him, so you console yourself with me, si?' He advanced upon her and she felt his hot breath on her cheek. With horror she realised he was drunk. His arms closed round her and she fought to free herself, appalled by the situation in which she found herself.

‘Let me go!'

‘But you like me, si? You only pretend.’

‘What goes on here?’

At the sound of Raoul's voice, Susan found strength to tear herself away from Roberto, tears of fear and fury running down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Raoul, thank God you’ve come! ’

She would have run to him, but something in his expression deterred her. His glance was icy as he surveyed her dishevelled appearance, and then travelled to Roberto, insolent and assured.

‘Maestro, you misunderstand,’ the Italian said. ‘The Signora invite me to her room, she all alone tonight.' The implication was obvious.

‘Get out, go to your apartment at once!’ Raoul snapped.

The young man seemed about to protest, then catching Raoul’s steely regard, shrugged his shoulders and slouched away.

‘You’d better go to bed, Suzanne,’ Raoul said more gently.

She stared at him blankly. ‘But surely you don’t imagine I was encouraging the brute?’

‘I hardly think he would dare to come up here if you hadn’t,’ he said brutally. ‘He’s a handsome lad.’

‘Oh! ’ she exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. ‘How can you! ’

‘Perhaps you have only been a little indiscreet,’ his voice was softer now. ‘I know it is not easy for you when we encourage camaraderie among the staff, but you must be more circumspect. You know what he was implying, that in my absence you needed consolation. From which I deduce they have been gossiping about you and me. That is most undesirable, you will agree.’

Susan removed her hands, her eyes blazing.

‘Of course it’s all my fault; you’ll say next I’ve been enticing you, setting my cook’s cap at the wealthy manager. What you're really afraid of is that it’ll get round to that blonde beauty in whom you've been so absorbed all night. What a hypocrite you are, Raoul Sansterre! Pretending you’re not engaged to her, kissing me on the sly, dedicating yourself to the restaurant, when all the while you know perfectly well you'll go back to her and your vineyards when playing God in Thurstan Hall has ceased to amuse you! ’

She had taken all she could during that long trying day, and this squalid climax had snapped the last vestiges of her self-control. Her dawning love, the arrival of Michelle with her rival claim, jealousy, excitement, doubt and despair had found expression in the spate of accusations she had hurled at him. His effrontery in daring to reprimand her had been the final straw.

‘Someone’s been talking,' he observed with a wry smile. ‘And I think I know who. Come ....' He took her arm, but she pulled violently away from him. ‘Go to bed, Suzanne, you're worn out and overwrought. Have a lie-in tomorrow morning. We'll manage.'

’And have you despise me for a weakling?’ she asked stormily, further incensed by his coolness. Could nothing ruffle his urbane facade? ‘I'm already neglecting my children too much. Oh, you’ll manage, you manage everything to your own advan ....'

'Tais-toi!' he interrupted her. ‘Go to bed. I can't reason with you in this state.' Then as she did not move but stood glaring at him, ‘If you don’t go I’ll have to put you to bed myself.'

‘That would be indiscreet! ’ She began to laugh on a rising note of hysteria, and he slapped her face.

'Be quiet, you’ll wake the children.'

He put his arm around her, and opening the door with his free hand propelled her into her bedroom, snapping the lights on as he did so. Quietened, Susan remembered how he had come to her that evening to wish her luck. It seemed an aeon ago, and she had not met Michelle then.

‘Now, do I have to undress you? Not that you seem to have much on.’ He pressed her waist and his muscles felt like iron against her soft flesh.

Hastily she disengaged herself. 'No, I can manage, and I need a wash.'

Gravely he inspected her tear-stained face where the red mark his hand had made emphasised its pallor.

‘You certainly do.' Gently he touched her cheek with his finger tip. ‘I’m sorry I had to do that. Shall I get you a drink?'

She shuddered. ‘No, thank you, I think we’ve all had too much champagne tonight. Goodnight, Raoul.’

‘Goodnight, sleep well.'

Completely exhausted, Susan fell into a deep sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. Towards morning she began to dream. She was standing in a maze of vineyards watching Rupert chase Michelle through the vines. For some reason it was imperative that she should stop them, but she could not move. Then Rupert came running towards her shouting: ‘You’re always spying on me, you’re always in the way!’ and she saw that his face was Raoul’s. She awoke to a grey dawn with the old familiar feeling of rejection.

After the breakfast assembly, when the children had been sent out to play, Raoul gave them their day’s briefing. Though most of them were showing signs of the night’s dissipation, he was as usual spruce and full of energy. He stood surveying them as they sat in their places like a general ordering his troops. When he had concluded and they started to rise from their chairs, he held up his hand.

'A moment—I have one thing more to say. Last night we celebrated our well-deserved success and I did not stint the wine.’ He smiled indulgently. ‘That and our natural exuberance went to our heads and things were done and said that would not have occurred under ordinary circumstances.’ His glance fell upon Roberto, who scowled. ‘I must emphasise that all our livelihoods depend upon maintaining harmony among our team, irrespective of our personal feelings. I would ask you all to forget any incidents that may have incensed you, for the sake of our common good. Thank you, that is all.’

Lucia started up. 'Mamma mia! If you mean, signore, that anyone was impertinente...' She glared at Francesca.

'I meant just what I said.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Enfin, last night is obliterated.’

Very diplomatic, Susan thought; all our misdemeanours are to be attributed to the champagne. She wished Michelle Soustrot could also be obliterated, but Raoul had not been referring to her.

The day followed its usual routine, and Susan was to learn what it meant to be a professional. No allowances could be made for fatigue, nor excuses accepted. The previous standard must be maintained at all costs, in fact Raoul insisted they must strive to better it.

Susan as far as was possible avoided him during the day, for she was a little ashamed of her outburst of the night before. But he waylaid her on the stairs as she went up to change into a clean overall for the evening’s ordeal.

‘Suzanne, wait a moment. I want to speak to you about last night.' He stood above her on the stairs, a slightly menacing figure, though his manner was apologetic—unusual for Raoul.

Susan did not in the least want an inquest upon the episode with Roberto, to which she supposed he was going to refer. It was unlikely to be anything to do with Michelle, She lifted her chin and said defiantly:

‘I’d much rather you didn't.'

'But I want to explain …'

’You said to forget it,’ she cut in. ‘I’ve already done so.’

‘All of it?’

‘Every single word.’

He gave an exasperated sigh.

‘You’re the most provocative woman I've ever met!’

‘That’s nice to know, you've met so many,' she countered. ‘I'm flattered that in my small way I'm unique.'

He came down a step to stand beside her on the wide stair, his grey eyes glinting ominously. Susan restrained an impulse to turn and flee. His proximity always disturbed her, but she was not going to allow him to intimidate her.

‘Did that husband of yours ever beat you?' he enquired.

'Certainly not, he was a gentleman.'

‘He must have exercised considerable restraint.'

Susan descended a step intending to walk round him, but he moved in front of her to bar her way.

’There are other ways of humiliating a woman without recourse to physical violence,' she said bitterly.

His eyes were on her lips.

‘And of punishing her,' he remarked with subtle meaning.

Susan threw up her head, blue eyes met grey challengingly.

'It's not I who deserve punishment,' she retorted. ‘Please let me pass, Mr Sansterre, or I'll be late.'

Reluctantly he moved aside.

‘If time permitted I would enlarge upon that.'

'But it doesn’t, does it?’ she said over her shoulder, and went on to her room. Raoul remained where he was watching her pass out of sight with an expression that, could she have seen it, would have made her pulses race.

Saturday’s dinner went off as well as on the opening night, but there was no late supper or staff party, for which Susan was devoutly thankful. Nor did she have any further private conversation with Raoul, which was both a relief and a penance. She longed to be with him, but was uneasy when she was. This falling in love was a most inconvenient addition to her other problems.

Sunday was not a holiday, though those who wished to go to church were given leave. Raoul planned to open the restaurant on Sunday in the near future; meanwhile it was available for private parties and they had several bookings. In the morning the stores were checked for replenishment and the linen sorted for washing and mending. But Mondays and Tuesdays were entirely free, and with the prospect of two whole days in which to relax, Susan went out after breakfast in search of the twins. They were playing in the sandpit provided for their amusement with Sophie and Gigi.

‘Hello, darlings, what are you doing?’

‘I’m trying to teach Sophie and Gigi to make sand pies, but they won’t make them prop’ly,' Rod stated indignantly. Lucia’s children were a little younger than the twins.

‘Mummy,’ Lynsey peered up at Susan, 'can I have gold rings in my ears, like Sophie?’

The little Italian girl, following the Italian custom, had had her ears pierced at birth, and wore gold studs.

‘No, dear.' Lynsey looked mutinous, and Susan sought for an excuse for her veto. ‘You see, you’re English, and English girls wait until they’re older to wear earrings.'

‘Why?’ Lynsey had a habit of going on and on until she got her way. ‘Why can’t English little girls have rings in their ears?'

‘Because they don’t.' Susan hurriedly changed the subject. ‘I have some shopping to do and I thought you’d like to come with me.'

‘What you going to buy, something nice?' Rod asked hopefully.

‘We’ll have to wait and see.' Susan fell back on an adult platitude.

‘Can Gigi and Sophie come too?’ was the next question, but Susan felt four under-fives was more than she could cope with and had to think up another feeble excuse.

When the twins had been born their names had been put down for prep and public schools, but when Rupert had died Susan had had them removed, though Mrs Thurstan had disapproved. She had pointed out that they could not possibly afford the expense and that the local primary school was a good one. Inwardly she had been greatly relieved. She thought the custom of sending seven-year-old children to boarding school was little short of barbarous. Now she wondered if she were adequate to bring up two spirited children and run her business as well. As Raoul had said, Rod would soon need a firm hand, Sighing, she shooed the twins indoors for the necessary trip to the bathroom and face and hands washing that had to be done before they went anywhere.

In the car, driving towards the nearest market town, Lynsey said wistfully:

‘Mummy, aren't you ever going to put us to bed again and read to us, like you used to do?’

Susan felt a pang. Bedtime came when she was busiest in the kitchen. She tried to explain the need for her to work, adding that she would be available on Mondays and Tuesdays. ‘And you have Lucia—she’s nice, isn't she?’

‘Not like you,’ Rod said mournfully. ‘She sings funny songs and we don't know what they mean. She doesn’t read us stories.’

‘Well, you'll have me tonight.’

The town was full, and Susan’s shopping took some time. The twins became restless and bored, so she took them into a cafe with a promise of an orange drink and an ice cream to placate them.

They spent some time and a considerable amount of noise upon consulting the menu. As she gave their order, Susan saw with dismay Raoul and Michelle Soustrot walk into the café. Michelle was wearing an elegant trouser suit, and Susan became very conscious of her untidy hair, scruffy jeans and scanty top. She hoped they would not notice them, but she had reckoned without Rod, who perceived the newcomers at once. He pointed, nearly upsetting the salt.

‘Look, Mummy, there’s Uncle Raoul with a pretty lady! ’ His shrill voice could be heard all over the cafe, and he grinned from ear to ear. ‘Hullo, Uncle Raoul.’

Raoul smiled at him. ‘Hullo, man garcon.’

‘Uncle Raoul is French,’ Rod informed the cafe at large, ‘What you doing here?’ the piercing pipe continued.

Michelle was looking annoyed, but Raoul came towards them.

‘May we join you, Suzanne? It might make conversation easier and less noisy. We have your permission?’

'Of course.’ Susan was wondering what unkind fate had brought them to the same cafe as her unruly offspring, The couple sat down, amidst the mixed feelings of all of them, Susan was embarrassed, Michelle obviously disgusted, the children overjoyed; only Raoul was quite at his ease and seemed amused by the encounter.

'How can you be these children’s uncle?' Michelle asked with a puzzled frown.

‘I must apologise,’ Susan said hurriedly. ‘He isn’t, of course, but—well...’ She hesitated, wondering how the appelation had come about.

‘I told them to call me that,’ Raoul intervened. 'They can’t manage Monsieur Sansterre, so we compromised on Uncle Raoul.’

The children's tall glasses of fizzy drink arrived, also Susan’s coffee and a large cream cake in which she had for once indulged herself. Catching Michelle’s expression she wished she had contented herself with a Marie biscuit. Then she thought, blow it, why shouldn’t I enjoy a cream cake? which she did not, under the French girl’s contemptuous gaze.

The situation went from bad to worse. The children were served their ices and soon became very sticky. Susan felt hot and bothered, wondering why Raoul and his girl-friend had had to appear and spoil one of the few occasions when she could take her children out. Her feelings towards him then were anything but loverlike, and his amused smile infuriated her. How could he be so inconsiderate as to sit there sniggering when he must be well aware that Michelle was hating and despising them? Why, when he had sighted them, couldn’t he have taken her somewhere else?

‘Michelle is unused to children,’ he observed, throwing the Frenchwoman a barbed look. ‘But as you’re contemplating matrimony, ma chere, it might be helpful to cultivate their society.’

‘Naturally I hope to have children,’ Michelle returned, well knowing that Raoul wanted them. ‘But in France we bring them up properly.’

‘Do we?’ Raoul was suave. ‘From what I recall there are just as many spoiled brats there as anywhere else.’

‘My children would not be spoiled,’ Michelle declared emphatically, edging away from the ice cream spoon Rod was flourishing in her direction. ‘They would be kept in their proper place.’ (God help them, Susan thought.) ‘And I would employ an efficient bonne to train them.’ She gave Raoul a languishing glance. ‘It would be my husband’s society I would wish to cultivate. I would not neglect him for the bebes, as so many women do.’

'It is possible for a loving woman to cope with both,’ Raoul said drily, with his eyes on Susan, who was finding this exchange painful. Michelle seemed certain she would get him in the end, and what else could Raoul have meant when he said she was contemplating matrimony except that he had given her cause to believe he was relenting?

Rod created a diversion, upsetting his still half full glass which was almost an inevitable climax to an outing. The liquid went all over the table, wetting Susan’s jeans, and splashing Michelle's immaculate suit.

Michelle sprang to her feet. ‘Repoussant enfant! Odieux garcon!' followed by a stream of abusive French which seemed in part to be directed against Raoul. She ran out of the café as a waitress approached with a mopping up cloth, nearly knocking her over.

‘She’ll love herself on her own,' Raoul exclaimed, and hurried after her.

‘Don’t like that lady,' Lynsey said decidedly.

‘Can I have some more fizz?’ Rod demanded. ‘I spilt half mine.’

‘You’ve had enough,' Susan told him, at the end of her patience. 'And it's time to go home.'

To cap it all she was charged for Raoul’s and Michelle’s coffee in addition to their own refreshment.

Lucia had prepared lasagne for their lunch. She was excellent with Italian dishes but not so successful with English ones. Raoul did not appear. He would be entertaining Michelle, Susan thought savagely, in some expensive restaurant and restoring her to good humour by denigrating the ill-mannered Thurstan brood. In retrospect the cafe incident had its funny side, and if only she had not lost her heart to Raoul and been wounded by Michelle’s proprietorial airs, she would appreciate its humour.

After the meal, the twins elected to have what Rod called a ‘sleepster’, being tired after the morning’s activities, in imitation of Sophie and Gigi who had been brought up to have a siesta. Livia had gone out with Colonel Palmer, her friend from the Festival. Susan was very glad that she had found a companion of her own age and status. Free for an hour, she wandered out into the garden, thankful there was no dinner to cook that night, since there were plenty of left-overs to feed everybody. The roses were starting to bloom and the air was fragrant with the scent of herbs and flowers. By the pool, she turned back to look at the house, and thought how gracious the old building looked washed in sunlight. She had a deep affection for it, and she had experienced much happiness under its roof as well as sadness. In fancy she liked to people its paved walks with bygone Thurstans, men in doublet and hose, women in long gowns sweeping the paving stones in front of the house where sweet herbs grew, releasing the perfumes as their skirts touched the leaves.

The sound of voices from the walled kitchen garden reached her ears. If Catchpole were still there she would like to ask him how Fred was progressing. An archway in the high brick wall gave access to it, and standing beneath it she was amazed to see it was Raoul who was talking to the old gardener.

At this unexpected sight of him her heart lurched, and she wondered what he had done with Michelle. Raoul was gesticulating vigorously as he did when he was animated and Catchpole was scratching his head in perplexity. Again Susan was struck by Raoul’s intense vitality; he was a creature composed of steel, fire and whipcord energy, and the enthusiasm which lighted up his face made him irresistibly attractive. But what was causing his present dynamic performance?—which was getting no response from Catchpole, who looked as stolid as only a Suffolk native can when faced with a novelty. Her curiosity aroused, and drawn to Raoul as by a magnet, Susan walked towards him between the orderly beds. There was another archway in the wall opposite to the one by which she had entered, through which could be glimpsed a piece of waste ground beyond. It was by die arch the two men were standing.

'Hi! ’ Susan called.

Raoul looked round, saw her and came striding towards her.

‘The very person we want!'

‘I’m glad to hear that,' she said drily. ‘What have you done with Miss Soustrot?’

He halted his impulsive rush towards her. ‘Michelle?’ He shrugged his shoulders, ‘She has gone to London.' His mouth curled mischievously. ‘I refuse to be a little dog following her everywhere—I have much else to do, so she takes umbrage. Also she did not appreciate les enfants Thurstan, I put her on the train after lunch.’

‘Which reminds me, you owe me for two coffees,' Susan said severely, trying not to feel elated.

‘Mon dieu, how could I be so neglectful! ’ He looked genuinely contrite. 'I’ll put that right later on, but now...' He took her arm. ‘Come over here.' He was pulling at her like an eager child. Susan, as always, thrilled to his touch, but she knew he was completely unaware of her sexually at that moment, intent upon some new project that had fired him. Yet she loved him all the more for this wholehearted absorption in the enthusiasm of the moment. It made him seem young and boyish, and it had nothing to do with another woman.

They reached the further archway, and he pointed to the rough land beyond it.

‘You see that? It’s an ideal spot for a vineyard. Catchpole tells me you don’t use that piece of land for any-, thing. It gets all the sun and it is sheltered.'

‘And I be telling him that there ground in’t no good for owt,' Catchpole told her. ‘T’in’t rich enough for vegetables.'

‘But that is all to the good. Vines on rich soil go all to leaf instead of fruit. The land in the Medoc is stony.'

‘Raoul, what are you contemplating now?’ Susan asked a little anxiously.

‘You may well ask, mam,' Catchpole declared ominously. ‘Time I were getting along, so I’ll say good day to you.’ He shouldered his hoe and stumped away, muttering, ‘Vines, wine—crazy!’

Raoul drew Susan through the archway into the paddock. It was foul with brambles and nettles, sloping down gently to a ha-ha which divided it from the park land. Rupert had left it derelict, saying it was too expensive to reclaim, but Raoul was looking at it as if it were the Elysian Fields.

‘Can't you see it, Suzanne?’ H:s hold on her arm tightened. ‘Rows of vines, and the clusters of grapes.’

‘No, I can’t,’ Susan said a little tartly, ‘and you’re hurting my arm.'

‘Forgive me.’ His hold slackened but he spoke absently.

‘I don’t know anything about vines,’ Susan pointed out.

‘But I know everything. Sit down, cherie.' She subsided on to the coarse grass and he threw himself down beside her. The afternoon sun was warm on their faces.

‘Listen,’ he went on earnestly. ‘If our initial success continues as I’m sure it will, we shall have a first class restaurant, but there are many such. We need something to make Thurstan Hall unique. If we can make a superb wine, exclusive to the house, we shall be famous.’

‘Could we make enough wine out of that bit of land?’

'Mais oui, one kilogramme of grapes makes one bottle of wine, one vine can yield six pounds of grapes. On one acre of land, and there’s more than an acre here, we can plant between one thousand eight hundred to two thousand vines and from that we should produce five thousand bottles a year, which I think would suffice.’

Sounds fine, but do we have enough sun to ripen the grapes, and why don’t more people here have vineyards?’

‘But it is becoming a growing industry. There are several vineyards in East Anglia already. The grapes will ripen, for the Romans grew vines here. There were so many in Lincolnshire it was called the Isle of Vines. There are many reasons why the cultivations lapsed, which I won’t go into now, they have nothing to do with practicality. We will plant this autumn, for it takes four years of growth to harvest a crop, and at least a year before the wine is drinkable. The longer it is aged the better.’

Susan felt great surge of relief and joy. If Raoul were planning for five or six years ahead, then he could have no intention of going back to France. This man who was beginning to mean so much to her would stay in her life, while Michelle had gone away. He was planning even more ambitious ventures—too ambitious. Her spirits sank.

But Raoul, think of the expense—this land must be reclaimed, then there’ll be the plants, the tending, and machinery for making the wine.’

‘A day’s hire of a tractor and plough will get rid of that.’ He threw a pebble into a clump of nettles. ‘I will take care of the plants and machinery.’

‘But I can’t let you put any more money into the place.’

‘Why not, Suzanne?’ Now he was looking at her intently. There was a flicker of flame in the depths of his eyes like molten silver.

Troubled, she turned her head away. Was it herself he desired or Thurstan Hall? She had a sensation of being swept away by the current of his enthusiasms like straw in a swirling current.

Because ... because …

‘Bah! ’ He waved his hand and the tension broke between them. ‘Plants and equipment I will get from France, my share of my patrimony. My family can t refuse me that.’ Then with one of the swift changes of subject which always disconcerted her, he went on:

‘I have two tickets for a concert tonight, the Festival is still on. Will you come with me?'

‘Why, yes ... I'd love to,' she stammered.

Two tickets, her brain registered. He must have booked them with the intention of taking Michelle, and now she had gone off in a huff he was offering to take her as a substitute. Her pleasure in his invitation was dampened.

‘We will dine out first,' he announced in his lordly manner.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I promised the twins I’d put them to bed and read to them. They are feeling neglected.’

She expected a protest, as Raoul did not like to have his arrangements altered, but he gave her a sunny smile, saying:

‘Then of course you cannot disappoint them. We will go after they are asleep.' He got to his feet and held out his hand to her to help her rise. ‘We will have supper afterwards and toast our new venture.

‘Raoul, you’re incorrigible! ’ she laughed as she took his hand. ‘I sometimes wonder whither you’re leading me.’

‘But you trust me?’

Did she? She was not sure. He would never cheat her in business matters, but where their emotions were concerned she distrusted both him and herself. There was still Michelle to be reckoned with; did she have a part in his future schemes? She had a premonition that she had not seen the last of the Frenchwoman. With dismay she recalled that lady's expertise in the production and marketing of wine. Was she to be included in this enterprise? Was Raoul contemplating establishing her in Suffolk? That would be hard to bear. She had gone away, but they might have an understanding.

She dare not ask, for as long as nothing definite was said, she could still dream her dreams, and after all she was here and Michelle was far away. The one on the spot had the advantage. But it was safer not to push him into an avowal of his intentions towards the other woman; words once spoken were difficult to retract.

‘I believe that whatever you do will be successful,' she said evasively. ‘Now I must go, the twins will have woken up and be looking for me.'

‘And of course they must have priority,' he observed with a touch of asperity.

'They only have me,' she told him simply.

He looked dissatisfied, but as they walked back through the garden he talked only of the vines.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The concert did not start until eight-thirty, and Susan was to be ready by eight o'clock. By then the children should be asleep. As a special treat she gave them a late tea in the lounge, sharing their meal instead of joining the staff for dinner. Rod conveniently clamoured for a last game with Sophie and Gigi before his bath, thus giving her time to dress prior to their bedtime ritual.

She sat before her mirror doing her face and hair, aware of a pleasurable feeling of anticipation. It was still customary to dress for the Festival concerts, a tradition of which she approved, though she suspected that many in the audience only went to see and be seen by the spectators. Rupert’s crowd had patronised the event for that purpose and had been barely able to conceal their boredom, but she had always enjoyed those occasions; the atmosphere of the old hall where the festival was held, the views over the marshes which could be admired during the intervals, and above all the high standard of the music, which had been slightly marred for her by Rupert’s obvious boredom. Tonight she would be going with Raoul, who, she was certain would not be going if he did not appreciate it, and the experience would be doubly potent if shared. Looking at her reflection in the glass, her face seemed to glow with an inward light at the prospect. She felt like a girl on her first date, not a widow with two children and not a very merry widow at that. It was absurd to imagine that Raoul had asked her for any reason except to stand in for the absent Michelle and not to waste her ticket, but she would not allow that to dim her pleasure. The music would envelop them in mutual contentment for several hours, and her heart continued to sing.

She chose to wear a mauve silky dress, which was moulded to her figure and gently flared at the hips. She had put on a little weight so that she no longer looked like a starved waif, and a delicate bloom in her cheeks had replaced her former pallor. She might not have the Frenchwoman’s sophisticated chic, but she had youth on her side and she was not displeased with her appearance.

Covering herself with an overall and rubber apron, she superintended the bathing operation amid much laughter and splashing. Then when each twin was in his and her respective bed, she discarded her protective clothing, and took up a book of fairy stories.

Rod eyed her dress with disapproval.

‘Are you going out again?’ he demanded.

‘Darling, I hardly ever go out.’

‘No, but you’re not with us,’ Lynsey pouted. ‘You’re always working in that horrid resterant.’

'Exactly, that’s my work.' Susan sighed, assailed by a feeling of guilt. Was she neglecting her children? ‘But tonight I'm going to read to you first, and you’ll be asleep before I have to go.'

Which she hoped was not being unduly optimistic.

The choice of stories, all old favourites, diverted them, and she read several before they seemed disposed to settle, Lynsey as usual cuddling her Teddy bear.

Wish you were always here,’ the child murmured, and again Susan felt guilty. But what could she do about it? She must work to keep a roof over their heads, and at least the children never need be left alone. It was the modern problem of divided loyalties between economic necessity and maternal duty, and the children would have to learn to accept it.

Immersed in the adventures of Red Riding Hood, she heard a light tap upon the door into the passage and paused, then looked up, as Raoul put his head in.

‘Oh dear, am I late?' she exclaimed.

‘There’s plenty of time. I looked in to say goodnight to the little ones. What a charming picture you all make.’

Susan was sitting on Lynsey’s bed, her face alight with maternal tenderness, the light shining on her smooth head. She had the look of a young madonna, while the children’s still chubby faces were abloom with health and innocence.

‘Have you come to take Mummy away?' Rod demanded truculently.

‘No, mon petit choux, I would never take your mummy away from you,' Raoul solemnly declared, and Susan felt a dart of pain. He would never be a rival for her children’s affection because he had no serious intention towards her. He went on lightly:

‘I only want to borrow her for an evening. She doesn’t have much fun, you know.'

‘We had lots of fun tonight,' Rod declared sleepily.

‘Silly, that wasn’t grown-up fun,’ Lynsey pointed out. She smiled at Raoul. ‘You give her a good time, Uncle Raoul, but may she finish the story first?'

‘Of course, and I’ll wait.’ He sat down on Rod’s bed. ‘I’d like to hear the end of the story too.’

His proximity, the half mocking smile on his well cut lips, destroyed Susan’s concentration. She read on mechanically, hardly making sense of the words.

‘Mummy,' Lynsey protested, ‘you aren't reading it prop'ly. You aren't doing the funny voices.'

‘Yes, Mummy, let us hear the funny voices.' There was laughter in Raoul's. Assuming a falsetto, he went on: ‘What big teeth you’ve got, Granny.'

‘Oh!’ Rod was delighted, ‘Do you have Red Riding Hood in France?’

‘Certainly we do. I was brought up on it.’ With a growl he deepened his tones: ‘All the better to eat you with,' and Rod shivered ecstatically.

‘Here, you finish the story.' Susan pushed the book towards him.

'Oh no, I won't presume on your prerogatives.'

'I can't compete with you. You make a much better wolf than I do.’

His eyes met hers significantly.

'I'm no wolf, Suzanne.'

‘You are in the story,' Rod insisted. ‘Go on, Uncle Raoul, you make it so exciting.’

Raoul threw Susan an apologetic look and obligingly read the remaining paragraphs. Susan watched him wistfully. Never would Rupert have dreamed of reading a story to his children. Again she recalled Livia’s words—Raoul was a wonderful father wasted. Unconsciously she sighed.

Red Riding Hood was rescued, the wolf circumvented. ‘And they lived happily ever afterwards,' Raoul concluded, closing the book.

'Does it say that?’ Rod asked sceptically.

'It doesn't need to. People in fairy stories always live happy ever after.’

‘Wish I lived in a fairy story,' Lynsey sighed.

'Oh, but you’re going to live happily too,' Raoul assured her. ‘You just leave it to me.'

Well, if the restaurant and his wine project succeeded, he would give them security, which, Susan supposed, was a sort of happiness. She stood up, shaking out her skirts. ‘Time you were asleep, both of you.'

Raoul looked at his watch. ‘Quite time.’

Susan kissed each twin in turn, and then Raoul patted Rod’s head, and stooped over Lynsey. She put her arms about his neck.

‘I wish you were my daddy,’ she murmured.

‘I wish I were too,' he returned with evident sincerity.

‘Couldn’t you ....' Rod was beginning, when, fearful of what he might say next, Susan uttered a firm goodnight and made for the door. But Raoul lingered. She did not know what he said to them, but Rod gave a shout of glee and Lynsey gave a squeal of rapture. He joined her in the passage with a slightly sheepish smile.

‘What rash thing have you promised them to produce such enthusiasm?’ she asked, as she picked up her wrap from off the banisters where she had hung it when she went in to the children.

‘That's our secret,' he told her, taking it from her and laying it across her shoulders.

‘Children expect promises to be kept,' she pointed out.

‘I’ve every expectation of keeping mine to them.'

There was a wicked glint in his eyes which she distrusted. She said severely: ’Mind you do.’

‘It won’t be my fault if I can’t,' he returned enigmatically. ‘And I don’t usually fail.'

The concert was all that she had anticipated. It began with Mendelssohn’s violin concerto, the solo being played by a very young man with such feeling and depth that Susan felt her skin prickle. During the interval they walked by the river in the warm summer air.

Raoul, this is perfect,’ she sighed. 'Have you been here before?’

‘Yes, I’ve always made a point of coming down for at least one performance, and now the Hall is almost next door I can come often.’

Susan wanted to ask if Michelle had accompanied him, but decided she would not spoil the harmony of the moment by mentioning his lady friends.'

Quick to catch her mood, he asked: ‘What is it, cherie? Does something trouble you?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ She hastily proceeded to discuss the Mendelssohn and found with pleasure that Raoul had been as moved as she had been by the young violinist’s interpretation. They heard the buzzer, and almost with reluctance returned to their seats. While passing a group of people on their way, Susan heard a female voice exclaim:

‘Isn’t that Raoul Sansterre? But who's the new woman he's got in tow this time?’

‘Oh, that’s Rupert Thurstan's widow.’ The penetrating voice sank to a sibilant whisper, still plainly audible to Susan’s keen ears. ‘He's living with her under the guise of restaurant manager, but all the little fool will get from him is bankruptcy and a broken heart.’

They gained their seats and Susan glanced anxiously at Raoul, wondering if he had heard, but his face was completely unrevealing. So that was what the neighbourhood were saying about her and him. She knew the woman by sight, an inveterate scandalmonger, but how much truth was there in her assessment of Raoul? She dubbed him a philanderer who appeared at the festival each year escorting a different woman, but she would not be here now if Michelle had not left him in a pet.

The Beethoven that followed could not compare with the first half, so that it seemed an anti climax, or did she find it so because of the ill-natured remarks which she had overheard and which had soured her evening? She knew Raoul liked women, besides Michelle there was his failure to snub Francesca. In spite of his excuses he basked in the Italian girl’s smiles, and his manner towards her mother-in-law was always gallant, to say nothing of the advances he had made towards herself. It seemed she was fated to love promiscuous men, incapable of fidelity to one woman. But there was no reason why he should be faithful to her, she had no claim upon his affections. He had never spoken to her of love, although he had kissed her, but that meant nothing nowadays.

The music, the pleasant companionship of their walk by the river had woken in her a surge of emotion in which she desperately longed for reciprocation, but he had given no indication that he was similarly affected. She was merely another woman, albeit his business partner, but like most men he would keep business and love in separate compartments.

He drove her home in silence through the scented summer night, the music still throbbing in her veins. Neither had wanted supper. When he drew up outside the Hall, he turned to look at her intently. A shaft of moonlight through the window illuminated her pale profile and downcast eyes. She sat very still, her hands clasped on her knees.

‘Something is troubling you, Suzanne,’ he said gently. ‘Won’t you tell me what it is?’

‘It’s nothing. I’m just a little tired.’

‘It is more than that. You overheard what those stupid women were saying?’

She made no reply, but her eyelids flickered. He went on:

'You must know that anyone in the public eye is always a target for ill-natured talk. I have had plenty of mud thrown at me in my time, but I'm sorry if some has splattered on to you. But we’ll survive.’ He paused, then watching her closely, added: ‘You know that you trust my business integrity, and it is not within my power to break your heart, for that still belongs to your husband, doesn't it? You are not yet recovered from your bereavement.'

A misconception which she had deliberately fostered to protect herself, but her honesty rebelled against persisting in it. The time had come to tell him the truth if there were to be complete confidence between them. She raised her eyes to meet his questing gaze and said quietly:

‘Rupert killed any love I had for him long before he died.'

'Eh bien, is that so?’ He drew a deep breath of satisfaction, while Susan felt a qualm. What had she done? Shown herself to be vulnerable?

‘Then, cherie,' he began, his eyes kindling, and stopped. Susan’s heart began to hammer against her ribs. She was vulnerable where this man was concerned, and any advances he might choose to make. His expression indicated that he was not wholly indifferent, and a thrill of expectancy ran down her spine. Whatever he asked of her she was ready to give, for emotions too long repressed were clamouring to be released.

‘Yes, Raoul?’ she asked softly, and moved nearer to him, innocent invitation in her eyes and on her lips. With a swift almost violent movement he gathered her close, knocking her shoulder against the steering wheel as he did so. But the restricted space could not restrain his ardour, as he kissed her mouth, her throat, and the half revealed curve of her breast, straining her against him, as he sought her mouth again. Her lips opened under his, one thing Rupert had taught her was how to kiss, and her starved body sought to mould itself into his, thigh against thigh, and breast to breast. For a while they clung together in mindless rapture, then somewhere within the house the old grandfather clock struck twelve rimes.

The sound broke the spell that bound them. Raoul let her slip from his arms back into her seat and taking out his handkerchief, wiped his brow.

‘This isn’t the time or the place,’ he murmured thickly. Mechanically he proceeded to wipe traces of powder and lipstick from his clothes. Racked by frustration, Susan sought to subdue her racing pulses. What would happen now? She had betrayed herself utterly, and he ... did he care? Or would he only take her surrender as the logical sequel of an evening out?

‘Fortunately this is a wide car,' he remarked in a normal tone, having regained his self-command. 'Even so it is not the best place for lovemaking.'

It was only then that she became conscious of her bruised shoulder.

‘There are other places,’ she whispered daringly.

‘True, cherie, but that will do for tonight. You must be tired.’

She wanted to cry out that she was not tired, that her whole being was aflame with desire, and if he wanted her he only had to take her. But the habit of years of self-restraint kept her dumb. The next move must come from him. The easy way in which he dismissed the episode struck cold on her burning senses.

‘Suzanne, I have a suggestion to make,' he went on, and she looked at him eagerly. ‘I think a few days’ holiday would do you good.’

‘Holiday?’ she echoed blankly, for this was not what she had expected him to say. How could she possibly take a holiday ? If he were going to propose that they go away together it was entirely impracticable. Thurstan Hall Ltd could not function without them.

‘Yes. I would like to take you to France for a few days, we could manage a flying visit. I want you to meet my family.’

There could be only one reason for that, she thought with rising elation, for his intentions must be serious, and how could she have so misjudged him as to believe he would descend to a liaison with her? Veiling her eyes with her lashes, lest he should see the eager anticipation in them, she said demurely:

'I thought you didn’t get on with your people.’

‘Only when they try to interfere with my life. I have always kept in touch with them and they are most interested in what we are doing here, especially my brother.’ A rather different story from what Michelle had told her. Michelle? Susan had forgotten her existence, but she would be back in Bordeaux now, and if Raoul had kept contact with his family, that would include her. She would not be pleased if Raoul turned up with herself in tow, neither had Susan any wish to renew acquaintanceship with that supercilious lady. Meanwhile, Raoul was saying:

'I would like you to see our vineyards and our wine processing plant; you would understand better then what I am trying to do here. Also we can discuss with Jean the best type of grapes to install.’

Had a pail of cold water descended upon her, Susan could not have felt more deflated. No trace of passion lingered in Raoul’s voice and mien, he might never have kissed her at all. He was engrossed in his vineyard project and that alone was important to him. Nor had he any personal reason for wishing to introduce her to his family. Shame engulfed her as she recalled the passionate urge which had driven her into his arms. He had responded, as any natural man would, but it really had not meant anything to him, not when compared with the importance of his vineyard and other projects.

Disappointment and self-disgust gave a cutting edge to her voice as she said coldly:

‘You know I couldn’t possibly leave the children and the restaurant.’

The children. How could she so far have forgotten herself not to remember their need of her?

‘It can be arranged if you would like to come.’ She did not answer but set her lips in an obstinate line.

‘Don’t be difficult, cherie,’ and now his voice became coaxing. ‘It would only be for a couple of days and I would so like to show you my home. Also my family have heard so much about you they are most anxious to meet my partner.’

This was news to her. She had no idea that Raoul had mentioned her in his letters home, though upon reflection, he would have had to do so, if he had enlarged upon the Thurstan Hall venture. She wondered vaguely how he had represented her to them. Someone much more mature and hard-boiled, she imagined, than she actually was to be working in such close association with him. But the emphasis upon the business side killed all romantic notions. Perhaps that was what he wanted the Sansterres to realise, that they need have no fear that he was amorously involved, and there was still a chance that he might succumb to Michelle and her dowry.

‘No doubt they’ll be surprised to find I’m so young and naive,’ she suggested, looking at him questioningly.

He laughed. ‘I cannot answer for their preconceived notions,' he told her. ‘Naturally I would not be so rude as to mention your age, and you are not naive, ma chere.'

‘Well, I’m not sure I want to meet them,’ she said tartly, not caring that she might sound rude. ‘And I’m quite sure that Miss Soustrot would be very put out if I turned up with you.’

Raoul shot her a shrewd look and grinned.

‘Don’t disarrange yourself upon that score. Michelle will not be present. She has gone to South Africa to inspect the vineyards there. They export wine too, you know.’

This information gave Susan profound satisfaction. He had not made this visit an excuse to see the woman again, as she had half suspected. He had in fact chosen a time when he knew she would be absent. She began to view the proposed expedition more favourably. Secretly she was very curious about Raoul’s home and family.

‘I still don’t see how I can possibly go with you.’ she persisted.

He pointed out that Lucia and Livia could manage the children for such a short time, and Monsieur Reyniere would be charmed to be left in charge for a couple of days. The restaurant would be closed on the Monday and Tuesday in any case, and Wednesday’s menu could be arranged.

‘It is settled then, we will go next week,’ he concluded.

This precipitancy took Susan’s breath away, although she was becoming accustomed to Raoul’s whirlwind methods.

‘So soon?' she gasped.

‘What is there to wait for? No, no arguments,’ as she opened her mouth to utter further protests. ‘I will phone my parents to advise them of our coming. You have a passport?'

Susan recollected that she had. She had once spent a hectic weekend at Monte Carlo with Rupert and the current lady-friend, where he had lost more than he could afford at the casino.

‘It’s still up to date,’ she admitted, ‘but...’

‘No buts, please. There are no problems that I can see, and I promise you will enjoy this short break. Please, cherie, don't disappoint me,'

When Raoul condescended to plead, he was difficult to resist. Pride fought a losing battle with inclination and Susan capitulated. She did need a holiday after the last few difficult weeks, and it would be a joy to travel with Raoul, even if she would have the ordeal of meeting his people at journey’s end. At least she had been assured there would be no Michelle Soustrot to spoil her pleasure.

‘Thank you, Raoul, I’d love to come,’ she told him.

'Eh bien, that sounds better. It won't be all business, little one, you shall have some fun, and that I think is what has been lacking in your life for a long time.’

‘Oh, Raoul! ’ Tears hovered on her lashes. His words were truer than he knew. She was still so young and little fun, as he called it, had come her way. Excursions with Rupert were always marred by jealousy and anxiety.

He put his hand over hers.

No tears, petite, that would be a bad beginning, and this is to be another joyous adventure.’ He was laughing now. ‘Relax and leave everything to me.’

He patted her hand, and leaned across her to open the door for her. She got out of the car with rising spirits. That was what she had always wanted to do, throw off worries and responsibilities and allow him to arrange everything.

He walked beside her up to the front door. On its threshold she paused:

‘Goodnight, Raoul, and thank you for a lovely evening.’

‘My pleasure, cherie.' He made a half movement as if to embrace her, but she drew herself up stiffly. She did not want any more meaningless kisses. Nor could she trust herself if he touched her again. If all he wanted was a business partner, that was what she would be.

‘Goodnight,’ she repeated firmly.

He gave her a whimsical look and a half-mocking bow.

‘Sleep well.’

He went back to put his car away and Susan pursued her lonely way upstairs.

The only person who raised any objection to the French visit was, unexpectedly, Livia Thurstan. Monsieur Reyniere was quite delighted to have sole command of the kitchen in their absence, for though he had accepted Susan, she suspected he regarded her as a necessary evil. The children at first protested loudly, but were reconciled by the promise of presents, and the reflection that the staff would spoil them thoroughly in their mother’s absence. Francesca made malicious remarks, which everyone ignored, and Raoul for once gave her a lecture. Susan had had no more trouble with Roberto, who had transferred his attentions to one of the village girls who helped in the kitchen.

Mrs Thurstan had made no demur when Raoul told her of their proposed visit, but later she had waylaid Susan in private.

'My dear, I hope you know what you're doing,' she said with a disapproving air.

'Well, what am I doing?' Susan demanded truculently. ‘Taking a few days off to discuss Raoul’s latest project with his people who are expert vintners and will tell us if it’s viable.’

So you say, but... now please don’t get me wrong... Raoul is an attractive young man and you’re still almost a girl. I know your intentions are entirely innocent, but your trip could easily be misconstrued by evil-minded people and Raoul, dear boy, unfortunately has a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man—Oh, quite undeserved, I’m sure,' as Susan’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘People will talk.’ Susan winced, recalling the comments she had overheard, ‘We don't want our establishment to get a bad name, I mentioned the matter to Colonel Palmer last night and he agrees with me that a whiff of scandal might bring the wrong sort of people to our doors. We don’t want that to happen, do we?’

‘You and he are all behind the times,’ Susan cried heatedly, angered that Livia should have discussed her plans with an outsider. Also she was guiltily aware that if she had had her way, her mother-in-law’s remarks might have been justified. Thank God Livia did not know what had happened in Raoul's car on their return from the concert. No one will think anything of a business trip together, and you can depend upon us both to conduct ourselves properly—besides, he has a large family to chaperone me.'

Whatever doubts she had herself about the visit were dispelled by Livia's criticism; nothing now would stop her from going.

Mrs Thurstan looked at Susan anxiously. The trip held no danger to character and conduct if she had not been emotionally involved, and Livia feared that she was.

‘His family consider he's engaged to Miss Soustrot, don’t they?’ she asked meaningfully.

What if they do?’ Susan flung at her. ‘That’s their business. I’m not going to France in the role of a betrothal breaker.’

Ruffled, she went out into the garden in search of Raoul. She needed to ask him what clothes she should take with her. She found him in one of the outhouses making measurements and marking them on a piece of paper.

‘This place if repaired will be ideal for wine pressing,’ he explained what he was doing. ‘And if we knock a hole in the wall we will have sufficient room for fermentation, racking, bottling and corking. The wine can be stored in the cellars at the Hall.’

All this enthusiasm was for a project that would take at least four years to reach fruition. Susan did not really care anything about the cultivation of grapes and wine producing, but she would go along with him in any wild scheme he chose to devise if it meant keeping him by her side.

‘Whatever you say,’ she conceded.

He came towards her, his usually immaculate figure covered with dust and cobwebs; the shed was full of accumulated rubbish. His face was alight, his grey eyes sparkling.

‘Do you not find the prospect exciting?’

She smiled. ‘Yes, of course, if it makes you happy.'

'But I want you to be happy about it too.’

Ah, if only she could fire him to such an extent with love for herself, but she had a dismal certainty that no woman could ever mean as much to him as any plan upon which he had set his heart.

‘Raoul, I hate to be a wet blanket,' she excused her lack of reciprocation, ‘but the financial side does worry me ... a little.'

‘Bah!’ He waved his hand. ‘Have I not explained that with my family's co-operation all will be well?’ Rupert's pet phrase, with the difference that Rupert’s performance never equalled his planning, but she believed in Raoul, she had had proof that, his planning worked, for he had the drive and initiative to make it do so, while Rupert merely dreamed.

‘If they co-operate,' she hazarded.

‘They will, when I have talked to them. But why have you come to me? You have a problem, yes?’

‘Nothing devastating, I only want to know what sort of clothes I should take with me.'

‘Is that all? You will not need much. Grand’mere does not approve of shorts and slacks, though my sister often wears them. It might be tactful to humour her in that. We have a swimming pool, so take your bathing gear, and we dress for dinner.'

‘Thank you, that’s what I wanted to know.'

It is important that you make a good impression, ma chere, as I’m sure you will, but even if you don’t...' He turned away from her and frowned at a large heap of rubbish, saying almost savagely: ‘I will not be diverted from my purpose. I have always insisted that I must conduct my own life, and choose my own ... friends without interference from them, though I would prefer to have their approval, naturally.’

‘Naturally,' she echoed, puzzled by his vehemence. If he wanted his family’s co-operation he would be expected to make concessions, to what extent she dared not conjecture. Was he making a last gesture of defiance before submitting?

He smiled at her absently, and picked up his measuring rod. Feeling herself dismissed, Susan left him to his employment.

Of course he would want her to make a good impression, she was his business partner and owner of the premises, but she began to regret having agreed to go, feeling suddenly inadequate. What would the Sansterres be expecting? Another Michelle Soustrot with facts and figures at her fingertips? But Raoul would supply all the necessary statistics and all she would have to do was to appear elegant and sophisticated. That was easier said than done, and she mentally assessed her wardrobe as she walked back to the house.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Susan was conscious of a lightening of her heart and a sense of adventure as Raoul’s car sped towards London on the Sunday afternoon. They were to take an evening flight from Heathrow to Bordeaux. She wore a light blue skirt and blouse with a matching jacket, which Could be discarded if it turned hot, but as so often happened during an English summer the day was bright but cool- In her case she had packed a cheesecloth blouse and peasant skirt, two evening dresses, a smarter day dress and her swimming costume, together with necessary underwear. Raoul had looked at her solitary case with approval.

‘You travel light.’

‘Thin things don't take up much room.’ She hoped she was taking sufficient to impress his relatives, but she was only going for three days.

She was relieved that the twins had not made much fuss when she said goodbye. Their chief preoccupation seemed to be that she should not forget the presents which she had promised to bring them. It was the first time that she had left them, for their advent had been an excuse to avoid weekends away with Rupert, which had invariably developed into a humiliating triangle. After a while he had ceased to ask her to accompany him. Perhaps she had been wrong, she should have fought harder to keep him; he might even have thought that the babies had taken his place in her affections. But she had had too much for a young girl to contend with. Disillusion at her husband's infidelities, in-laws who resented her origins, a stately home with a staff to manage, when she had been brought up in the homely atmosphere of a farmhouse, where everyone did their stint with the chores.

Livia had been resigned and cool. Susan saw Raoul give her a quizzical glance and wondered if he suspected the reason for her disapproval. But all that was behind her now, she was free to enjoy herself, if meeting Raoul’s family could be termed enjoyment.

‘You are very silent,' Raoul broke in upon her thoughts. ‘Have I been sent to Coventry for some reason?’

‘Of course not, I thought you might not want to be distracted from your driving. I was just reflecting that one never knows what surprises life has in store for one.’

Which was not quite correct; she had been thinking of the contrasts with which she had been presented.

‘Trite, but true,’ he observed. ‘The traffic is light as yet. Tell me about your surprises. I know nothing of how you lived before you married, except that you took a college course in cooking and catering. You never mention your family, I suppose you had one—unlike Topsy, you couldn’t have just growed.’

‘My people were small farmers,’ she told him, pleased by his interest. ‘The Thurstans considered Rupert’s marriage to me a mesalliance.’ He gave an indignant exclamation. ‘They did, you know, but their disapproval was nothing to my father’s.’ She smiled wryly. ‘He was an inverted snob and considered I was a traitor to my class, allying myself with the capitalists and parasites.’

‘But if he owned land he was a capitalist himself.'

'He didn’t, he only rented it and was in perpetual conflict with our landlord's agent. I have a much older brother who emigrated to New Zealand. After I married Mum and Dad decided to join him. We sent cards on birthdays and at Christmas, but that's about all the contact we have.’

She had been thankful they were far away when her marriage to Rupert started to disintegrate.

'So except for your belle-mere, you are practically alone in the world?’

'I have the twins, they compensate for everything.'

‘They will grow up and want to lead their own lives.'

‘That won’t be for a long time yet,’ she said with a sigh. 'But that’s enough about me. Tell me about your life, it must have been much more exciting.'

As they were nearing London the traffic had thickened, and he sidetracked her.

‘You’ll learn all about me in time and I’m sure you know enough to be going on with. I can’t give you a detailed autobiography while driving through this area.’

Susan had flown before, but not often enough to cease to feel a thrill as the engines accelerated and the big plane rose from the ground. With almost childish glee, she exclaimed:

‘We're up!’

‘Eh bien, that is to be expected. Did you imagine we could taxi all the way to France?’ he gently mocked her enthusiasm. She had a seat by the window and looked down with pleasure at the patchwork of fields and towns below her, where minute cars could be discerned racing along the serpentine roadways, for it was a bright clear afternoon and every detail could be observed. The coastline appeared and they were over the sea. A journey which before air travel took many hours would be accomplished almost before she realised it had begun. Raoul seemed slightly bored, remarking that everything looked the same from the air, and was amused by her excitement.

‘In some ways you are still a child, my Suzanne.’

His Suzanne? A slip of the tongue perhaps, but she felt absurdly elated by his proprietorial air. She tried to question him further about the Sansterres, but he became evasive. He seemed curiously reticent about his background.

At Bordeaux airport they were met by a chauffeur- driven limousine. Susan had always supposed the Sansterres were well-to-do, but this was V.I.P. treatment. She looked eagerly out of the windows as they began a long drive, but it was growing dark and she could not discern very much, except a succession of built-up areas interspersed by stretches of fields, and later vineyards, at least she supposed that was what they were. Raoul, hunched in the opposite corner of the wide back seat, was silent. From his knitted brow he seemed to be pondering some problem, and his remote expression checked the eager questions trembling on her tongue. Did this reunion with his family present more complications than he had led her to suppose?

At length they turned off the main road on to a narrower private one, and now there were unmistakably vines on either side of them, revealed by the headlights of the car. Then they passed an imposing chateau, its conical towers etched against the night sky, and he said laconically:

‘That is Belle Vue, the Soustrot estate.' Then a little further on, he became more animated. ‘Now we are on Sansterre land.’

‘I can’t see much in the dark,' Susan complained.

‘You’ll see it all tomorrow. Here we are at the house.’

It was not a chateau like Belle Vue, but a large square rather ugly building standing amidst a sea of vines. Behind it were outbuildings and trees, but the front windows stared starkly out at the vineyards which had given it prosperity.

The chauffeur drew up at the imposing entry and hastened to open the door for them. Raoul jumped out and held out his hand to her.

‘Welcome to Sansterre.’ She looked towards the trunk, and he went on, ‘The driver will see to the cases. Come inside,’ and as she hesitated, ‘Not scared, are you, ma petite?’

‘A little.’ Susan saw with trepidation that a manservant had opened the front door to receive them. He looked very dignified and rather forbidding.

Bonsoir, Monsieur Raoul and Madame,’ he said unctuously.

‘Comment allez-vous, Pierre?’ Raoul returned.

The man said something else in French, looking curiously at Susan. He stepped aside to usher them in.

‘La famille se trouve dans le salon.'

‘A formal reception,' Raoul said to her, taking her arm. ‘Courage, they don’t bite.’

They entered a square hall, and the major domo, butler, whatever, threw open a double-leaved door. Raoul led her into a large high-ceilinged room which seemed to be full of people, and Susan blinked nervously in the strong light from an overhead chandelier.

A tall blonde woman, with the remains of faded prettiness in her prematurely lined face, came swiftly towards them.

‘Raoul, my darling boy! ’

‘Maman!’ Raoul dropped Susan’s arm and they embraced. ‘This is Madame Thurstan,’ he said, when he had extricated himself. ‘Suzanne, this is my mother.’

Susan saw surprise followed by a look of consternation in the grey eyes which were similar to her son’s. She caught a wicked glint in Raoul’s; he must have misrepresented her.

‘Raoul, is this a joke?’ Pamela Sansterre demanded. ‘This ... young lady can’t be ...'

'The chatelaine of Thurstan Hall and the mother of two children? I assure you she is, she is older than she looks.’

‘Forgive me.’ Pamela recalled her manners. Her English was perfect, but then she was English. ‘I thought you would be ... different, but we’re all delighted to welcome you, Mrs Thurstan.’

‘Oh, call her Suzanne,’ Raoul suggested, ‘I do.’

Again a flicker of dismay in the grey eyes.

‘Please do,’ Susan seconded him. 'Actually my name is Susan.’

‘With pleasure, Susan.’ But she did not look pleased. ‘This is my husband,’ she indicated a typical Frenchman, shorter than herself, grey-haired with dark eyes and a small goatee beard.

'Enchante,' he murmured, bending over Susan’s hand and touching it with his lips. He might be Raoul’s father, but he bore no resemblance to him at all.

After that they were all introduced. Jean, much darker than Raoul, stouter, but with the same grey eyes. Marie, their sister, younger by many years than her brothers, a slim vivacious brunette. Then Jean’s three children, two boys and a girl, who were smiling at Raoul, but were obviously in awe of herself. Well trained children, who though they were delighted to see their uncle restrained any outburst. There was no jumping up at him or demands for presents, as Susan knew her own would have done. Jean apologised for his wife’s non-appearance, she had a migraine, he told her, and Susan expressed regret, though she was thankful to be spared another introduction. Then from somewhere near the fireplace a querulous voice exclaimed:

‘Raoul, you are neglecting me. Have you forgotten your grand’mere?'’

The crowd parted, for they seemed to Susan to be a crowd, to reveal, seated on a high-backed chair almost in the chimney corner, a diminutive silver-haired old woman in a black dress. Small she might be, but her beaky nose, patrician features and keen black eyes made her the most dominant personality present. Raoul hurried to greet her, kissing her parchment-like cheek.

'Impossible to forget you, Grand’mere, but I didn't see you when I came in so I thought you must have gone to bed.'

Susan remembered that he had said the old woman ruled the household like a matriarch.

‘I was not going to bed until I had seen you.' She spoke English with only a trace of accent. ‘You become handsomer every time I see you, you mechant garcon. Now present me to the trollop who keeps you from your duty. You have brought her with you, n’est-ce pas?'

'Don't mind what she says,' Raoul whispered to Susan, as he brought her forward. ‘Grand’mere, this is Mrs Thurstan, a most respectable English lady.’

'Humph!' the black eyes raked Susan from head to loot. ‘What are you doing here without your husband?'

‘He is dead, madame,’ Susan told her. Curiously she was not intimidated by this small autocrat, she was determined to give as good as she got.

‘Une veuve? Then why are you not in black?’

‘We don't wear mourning long nowadays, madame.’

‘How disrespectful! I have worn black since the day my Victoire joined his fathers.’

‘But, Grand’mere, you were past middle age when he died,’ Jean intervened hurriedly, glancing apologetically at Susan.

‘Hold your tongue,’ the old lady snapped. ‘I was not speaking to you.’ She continued to study Susan. ‘You are much too good-looking,’ she said severely. ‘But please do not continue to lead my grandson astray. His duty lies here. It will not do, you know. We have one anglaise in the family.’ She glared at Pamela. ‘And that was a sad mistake.’

‘You are making a mistake,' Susan told her with spirit. ‘Raoul and I have only a business connection. I’ve no designs upon him, if that is what you’re implying.'

Madame Sansterre broke into a cackle of laughter.

‘Business connection!’ she hooted. ‘There is only one sort of business between a man and a woman.’ The eagle glance swept back to Raoul. 'Eh bien, young man, I hope you have come back to settle down.’

‘I’m afraid it is only a flying visit. Grand’mere.'

‘Nonsense. I will speak to you about that tomorrow, and you too, young woman. You must be made to see sense, but tonight I am too tired. Marie, my stick.'

Marie hurriedly offered her a silver-topped ebony cane. Snatching it from her, the elder Madame Sansterre rose uncertainly to her feet. ‘Raoul, your arm,’ she commanded.

Obediently he presented it and led her towards the door. An audible sigh of relief was expelled by the family as after bidding Susan goodnight she disappeared.

‘Ignore what she says,' Pamela apologised to Susan. ‘She’s old and frail, and a bit ...' She touched her forehead. ‘We have to humour her.'

'I don’t mind in the least,' Susan assured her, thinking that in the matter of mothers-in-law she was more fortunate than Pamela. At least Livia was the same nationality as herself. The thought smote her. Raoul, for all his English ways, was French, and he seemed much more so now she saw him among his kin. A gulf seemed to be opening between them, and she had so hoped this visit would deepen their friendship.

Pamela sent the children off to bed. The two boys bowed to Susan and the little girl curtseyed. ‘Bonne nuit, madame.' No protests, no clamour to stay up five minutes longer. Certainly I’ve spoilt my two, Susan thought wryly.

Pamela next told Marie to take the guest to her room, telling her that they would be dining in a quarter of an hour. ‘But don't bother to change,’ she said kindly. ‘You must be tired.'

Marie conducted her up a wide staircase that went up the side of the hall, then down a long corridor, and opened a door on a conventionally furnished room. Wardrobe, dressing table and bedstead might have come straight out of Maples’ showroom. But there was a small bathroom adjoining, and a radiator indicated the place was centrally heated in winter. The Sansterres believed in comfort.

‘Your case has been brought up,' Marie said, indicating that article. ‘Ring for the maid if there is anything you require. Raoul is in his old room at the top of the house.' Her grey eyes narrowed with a mischievous expression so like her brother’s, that Susan was startled.

‘Grand’mere is a terror, but she said what they are all thinking. From what Raoul told us we expected an angular English Lady, all bones and tweeds with thick-soled shoes.’ She glanced at Susan’s patent pumps. ‘But you are lovely, Susan. No wonder Raoul will not leave England. Is he wildly in love with you?’

Susan turned away quickly so that Marie should not see her blush. Raoul s sister seemed to be as outspoken as his grandmother.

‘There’s nothing romantic about our association,' she said quietly. ‘Raoul manages the business, and I’ve only come here to see the vineyards. He wants to start growing grapes in England.'

'Quelle dommage!' Marie looked disappointed. ‘I hoped you had weaned him from Michelle Soustrot. That one has never given up hope and she has so much to offer I am afraid he may give in eventually. I would detest to have her for a belle-soeur.’

‘It’s really nothing to do with me,' Susan lied, for Raoul's relations with Michelle affected her very closely. ‘But he wants to stay in England, and she’d never consent to live there, would she?’

‘She might if it was the only way to get him,' Marie said gloomily.

But not at Thurstan Hall, Susan vowed to herself. That she would never countenance. ‘She’s in South Africa, isn’t she?’ she asked, anxious for Marie’s confirmation that Michelle was far away.

‘Yes, but she may be recalled at any moment. Her father is very frail, and that is what is troubling the family. Belle Vue has always combined with Sansterre, but if Michelle marries someone else, her husband might set up competition out of spite.'

Susan reflected that in these days of jet travel, Africa was not really far away at all. It was obvious Raoul’s visit was ill-timed and every pressure would be put upon him.

‘In my country we prefer to marry for inclination, not estates,' she told Marie.

‘As I wish to do,' Marie cried, ‘but Grand’mere says love is not dependable and an establishment is.'

Susan sighed. Her love match with Rupert had hardly been a success, and Raoul knew that.

‘I will not remain here until a suitable spouse is produced for me,' Marie declared rebelliously. ‘I am of age. If I can find a job somewhere I shall run away.'

Marie seemed to share her brother’s independent spirit and Susan said impulsively:

‘Come to England. We could find something for you to do at Thurstan Hall.’

‘Quelle bonne idee!' Marie’s face glowed. ‘We must discuss it with Raoul. He is sympathetic to my problems. But you will want to tidy yourself and I must not detain you. I am glad you have come, Suzanne.’

Susan felt heartened. She had made one friend among the Sansterres.

Dinner was formal but much less of an ordeal than Susan had feared. Pamela and Marie were friendly and questioned her eagerly about Thurstan Hall. They were surprised and impressed when she told them she was the chief chef.

‘She does not look like a cook, does she?’ Raoul said, grinning. ‘But I assure you she is quite passable.’

Then the conversation switched to vines and vintages, and the women left the men to discuss this all-absorbing subject over their port. Soon afterwards Susan went to bed.

Susan’s breakfast was brought to her room, as she only wanted coffee and rolls. When she came down, the house seemed to be deserted except for Louise, Jean’s wife, who was waiting to introduce herself in the salon. She was a nondescript woman who was absorbed in her children and the housekeeping which she did for the family.

‘Raoul is out in the vineyards,' she told her. ‘Here they all talk, eat and sleep vines and wines, and I am told you are interested in their cultivation also.’

‘Yes, English wine is becoming quite popular, though it doesn't have the body of yours,' Susan told her, feeling she must show some interest in the subject. ‘British wine is more like the Rhine and Moselle varieties. It could never be like your Bordeaux.’

She looked out of the window at the acres of vineyards.

‘Is that all Sansterre land?’

‘Except to the right where it adjoins Belle Vue. Together they make an estate tres magnifique,' Louise looked at Susan slyly. ‘We hope very much to acquire it one day ... one way or another.'

Through Michelle, of course, and a subtle hint that Raoul ought to marry her. Could he resist their insistence for ever? He was at heart more a vintner than a hotelier, and as she looked out at the sea of vines it did not need Louise to persuade her what an acquisition the Soustrot acreage would be. Sansterre would eventually belong to Jean presumably, but Raoul could own its neighbouring estate, and the little field at Thurstan Hall was chicken feed in comparison.

A cloud of depression settled upon her. She was not very interested in vines herself, she was only here because Raoul had asked her to come and she wanted to be where he was, share his interests. If, in spite of her denials, she had secretly hoped he had intended something more personal by bringing her here, it seemed such hopes were doomed. He had not even waited to show her round.

Louise excused herself, she had household duties to perform, and she suggested Susan might like to sit out on the terrace. This proved to be a marble expanse behind the house, overlooking a formal garden, partly shaded by an awning and containing an assortment of iron tables and chairs painted white. Beyond the garden was a stand of trees and a glint of water—the swimming pool? A trim figure perusing a newspaper cast it aside as she approached, and Raoul’s father, Henri Sansterre, rose to greet her.

'Madame, you are—what you say—at a loose end? I will be honoured if you will allow me to show you round the estate. It is what you have come to see, n'est-ce pas?'

'Thank you, monsieur, but ...' She hesitated; she had expected Raoul to want to do that. As if guessing her thought, he told her Raoul was with his grandmother. She holds a levee like royalty before she rises,’ he explained, ‘and he asked me to look after you. She has much to say to him.’

I bet she has, Susan thought grimly, as she accepted his offer. It seemed useless to wait for Raoul.

He showed her the buildings where the pressing of the grapes took place and the bottling. He would leave it to Raoul to take her through the actual vineyards, he told her. He gave her the impression that he was sceptical about wine making in England, but was too polite to say so outright. He was a charming host and as all Frenchmen can, whether young or old, made her feel aware of her femininity.

‘You know of course the legend of the wine, madame?’

Susan said she did not and begged him to tell it to her.

‘Eh bien, it goes so. Noah planted the vine. “What are you doing there?” the devil asked him. “I am planting a vine,” he was told. “What is the use of that?” the devil demanded. Noah explained. “Its fruit, freshly picked or dried, is sweet and good, the pressed juice gladdens the heart of men.” “Let us work together,” said the devil, and Noah agreed. The vine planted, the devil went in search of a lamb, a lion and a monkey, and a pig. He cut their throats and poured their blood on the ground. That is why when man eats the fruit of the vine he is as gentle as a lamb, when he drinks wine he believes himself a lion; if by chance he drinks too much he grimaces like a monkey, but when he is drunk he is nothing more than a vile pig.’

Raoul appeared for lunch but seemed preoccupied. The grandmother was present at the midday meal, though she did not stay up for dinner. The formidable old lady sat at the head of the table and interrogated each member of the family in turn upon what they had done with their morning. The children were in charge of an efficient bonne with whom they took their meals, Susan was told, and she remembered Michelle’s remarks upon that subject. Louise said that Marcel, the oldest one, would soon be going to school.

'Helas, they grow up so fast,’ she sighed. She looked at Pamela. ‘There are some advantages in having an English grandmother. They are bi-lingual, which will help at school.’

'The only advantage,’ the old lady declared. ‘Mixed marriages are a mistake.’ She glared at Susan.

'Ours has worked very well,’ Henri defended his wife.

‘Not with your sons,' his mother snapped. ‘Oh, Jean is satisfactory, a true Sansterre, but Raoul forgets he is a Frenchman.'

‘You are too insular,' Raoul told her. ‘Have you never heard of the Entente Cordiale and the Common Market?’ He looked at her defiantly. ‘This afternoon I am going to show Suzanne something of the country. Possibly we will get as far as the coast. It is worth seeing.’

Susan’s spirits soared upwards. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said.

‘Most improper!’ The old lady glowered at Susan and added something in French.

"I am perfectly free,' Raoul retorted, pointedly using English. He glanced at Susan significantly. 'As yet.’ Susan felt a quiver of apprehension. What did he mean by that ‘as yet’? His grandmother had monopolised him all the morning, when politeness at least indicated he should have been with her. What promises had she wrung from him? The hard bright eyes were watching her maliciously and she knew all the family except Marie supported her in her determination to effect a match between Michelle and Raoul.

‘When you are abroad you do as you please,' Grand’mere told him. ‘But when you are here, mon cher petit- fils, it is expected of you to uphold the family prestige. Madame T’urstan,’ (she had difficulty with the th sound), ‘may possess the English permissive manners, but they are not acceptable here. What would the Soustrots think of such unseemly behaviour?’

‘Damn the Soustrots!’ Raoul exploded. ‘What have they to do with me?’ A movement from Jean and Henri indicated that they had a great deal, ‘I only propose to take our guest out to show her the countryside, and you talk as if it were a major indiscretion!'

‘So it would be in the circumstances.'

‘What circumstances?’

Grey eyes challenged the black. Raoul’s attention was wholly centred upon his grandmother, and Susan sensed that this was but one of many battles between them. Supported by the rest of the family with the exception. of Marie, she was seeking to bulldoze Raoul into an alliance with Belle Vue. Love and inclination had no part in their marriages, money and property were what was important. In England Raoul had seemed only slightly foreign, but among his own people he was unmistakably French. He must have absorbed something of their outlook, and Susan knew he was contemptuous of romantic love. His suggestion seemed to her to be harmless, but Grand’mere had chosen to object to it. It flashed into her mind that he was insisting upon the outing more to annoy the old lady than because he desired her company.

‘You are perfectly well aware of them,' Madame Sansterre declared.

‘They do not influence me. Suzanne, as soon as you have finished, we will go.'

Susan deliberately took a peach and proceeded to peel it. Raoul’s domineering manner was slightly offensive. Much as she wanted to go with him, she did not wish to become a bone of contention between her hosts.

‘I’ll be ready as soon as I’ve finished this,' she told him. She smiled at Pamela. ‘Your peaches are delicious.'

‘Grown on the estate,' Henri said proudly.

Pamela looked at the fuming Raoul, and trying to placate him, said mildly:

‘We see so little of you, Raoul, and you must see a lot of Susan in England. Naturally we want to have as much of you as possible during your so short visit here. I am sure Susan will understand that,’

‘Yes,’ Jean followed her lead, ‘and we still have business to discuss, mon frere, do we not?'

Raoul’s mouth set in an obstinate line. ‘I shall be here all day tomorrow and I would be flattered by your desire for my society if I believed it to be genuine. Suzanne, it’s taking you the devil of a time to eat that peach.'

‘Is there any great hurry?' she asked innocently. She thought Raoul was being unjust to his relatives; it was reasonable that they wanted to see all they could of him on such a short visit.

‘Yes,' he returned, and his gaze flickered towards his grandmother. Again Susan was conscious of being only a pawn in their subtle duel. Her pride awoke; she would not be used as a means to needle the old lady.

‘I’m really feeling rather too tired to undertake a long expedition,’ she said apologetically. ‘It’s very hot and if you don’t mind I’d much rather sample the swimming pool.'

Raoul frowned. ‘Suzanne, I demand that you come, with me.'

That irked her. A plea would have persuaded her, but not a command.

‘I’d really much rather stay by the pool.'

He stared at her, but she did not look at him, apparently absorbed in folding her table napkin.

‘Suzanne ‑’ he began, then his face hardened. 'Eh bien, as you please. Marie can show you the pool.' He turned to speak to Jean and Susan knew she had offended him. The reason would appear to be the gleam of triumph in his grandmother’s eyes.

‘Madame T'urstan shows much good sense,' she said approvingly.

‘But I ....' Raoul started to protest and checked himself.

‘You came to discuss business with me,' Jean interposed smoothly. ‘Shall we continue after lunch while Grand’mere has her siesta?’

There was meaning in his grey eyes, so like Raoul’s, but he had none of his brother’s charm. He was a solid, pedantic man whose marriage to the unattractive Louise had been negotiated by the family.

‘Yes,' Raoul agreed. ‘We may get somewhere without Grand’mere’s irrelevant interruptions.'

‘Irrelevant, humph!’ The old lady snorted. 'I think they were much to the point!’ She relapsed into a flood of French.

’Suzanne does not understand our language,' Raoul told her, resenting this rudeness.

‘Madame T’urstan does not understand many things,' she retorted. 'You should enlighten her.’

The butler personage stalked majestically into the room and paused behind her chair, bending to whisper something to her.

‘Oh, la, la!’ she exclaimed. 'Here is un beau gachis! Monsieur Soustrot has had a stroke.'

Consternation was registered upon all their faces.

‘Oh, poor Michelle, and she so far away,' Louise cried. ‘She must be informed at once. I only hope she arrives here in time.'

‘She may be on her way back,’ Grand’mere suggested.

‘It may not be fatal, let us hope not.’ Henri rose to his feet. ‘We must see what we can do to help. Raoul, Jean, you will accompany me.'

The three men went out and since Susan was not involved, Marie took her down to the pool.

This was situated as Susan had surmised behind the screen of trees. It was a big one, with dressing rooms concealed in an arbour covered with bougainvillea to one side of it. There Susan changed into the dark swimsuit she had brought with her and Marie donned a minuscule bikini.

‘Which would give Grand’mere a heart attack,' she said, grinning wryly, ‘if she saw me in it. But she never comes near the pool.’

Susan admired Marie's sunburnt limbs and felt ashamed of her own white ones. She had had little opportunity to acquire a tan. Raoul's sister was very attractive with her golden skin, and dark hair contrasting with her grey eyes. All Pamela’s offspring had inherited them. Jean’s three children came to join them under the supervision of their bonne, but Marie soon dismissed her.

‘The poor things are restricted quite enough,’ she said to Susan. ‘Let them have some fun for once.’

In the water the trio behaved more like normal children, splashing and shouting, playing with a large rubber ball, and romping with them Susan recovered her spirits. She had just ducked young Marcel and was racing away from him when she caught sight of a couple who had come through the trees towards them. One was Raoul, but the other, arrayed in a smart Parisian outfit and a picture hat, was Michelle Soustrot.

CHAPTER NINE

They all came out of the pool to greet the newcomers. The children’s bonne appeared and removed her dripping charges after they had politely greeted Michelle. All their previous animation had evaporated and they went obediently like little robots.

‘Such well behaved children,’ Michelle approved.

‘I would prefer them to be less disciplined and more natural,’ Raoul told her.

‘Even to the extent of drenching you with lemonade?’

Raoul laughed, but Susan flinched. She did not want to be reminded of that incident. In a blue knitted shirt and fawn trousers, Raoul was looking devastatingly attractive, but his grey eyes held reproach when they met hers. If he had had his way they would have been miles away before Michelle intruded, and Susan bitterly regretted her refusal. She picked up her multicoloured towelling robe from where she had discarded it at the pool side and wrapped herself in its folds, as she enquired after Monsieur Soustrot. She wondered that Michelle had left him.

The Frenchwoman shrugged. ‘He has been taken to hospital, he is unconscious, so there was no point in staying with him.’

‘But how did you get here so quickly?' Marie demanded bluntly. ‘It only happened this morning.'

‘I was on my way.’ Michelle turned to Raoul. ‘Mon cher, you must be psychic. I left as soon as I got your cablegram.'

He looked bewildered. ‘What cablegram?’

‘Oh, do not pretend.' She glanced at Susan's shocked face. ‘Apparently for some reason you had not informed your colleague of your actions, but you must have known, my dear Suzanne, that Raoul would want to see me if he came to France. The place would not be the same without me.'

‘That is true.’ Raoul gave her a keen glance. ‘But I prefer the company of one woman at a time, it is less distracting.’

Susan’s mind was in a turmoil. She could not believe that Raoul would be so underhand as to cable Michelle informing her of his intended visit when he had assured herself that she was far away. It was an act of treachery; nor did he seem very pleased by her arrival. But who else would have sent for her?

She accepted the deck chair Raoul offered to her, but she avoided his eyes. If he had engineered Michelle’s, appearance, her own position was untenable.

‘How long are you staying?' Michelle asked Susan politely.

‘Only until Thursday,’ she replied, and wondered how she was going to endure two more days.

Raoul sat down crosslegged on the marble paving between them. The sun beat down upon them out of a cloudless sky that was reflected in the still water of the pool. The trees threw a little shade, but it did not reach them, and Susan felt envious of Michelle’s big hat. Raoul was impervious to sunshine, he could absorb any amount.

‘If you please, Mich,’ he said, ‘I would like to get to the bottom of this.'

She smiled serenely. ‘Bottom of what, mon cher? I am here where I am needed, which is what is important.’ She laid her hand upon his shoulder. 'I shall need your strength to sustain me in the dark days ahead.’

‘But I am not staying,’ he said quickly. ‘I have to return with Suzanne on Thursday.’

She smiled again and shook her head. ‘We shall see.'

Raoul threw off her hand and got to his feet. ‘Michelle please understand ‑’ he began, when Pierre came hurrying towards them to tell him he was wanted on the telephone.

When he had gone, Michelle looked across at Marie who, disdaining a wrap, was sprawled by the edge of the pool.

‘Ma chere, you are positively indecent,’ she drawled. ‘Do go and put something on.’

‘I am sunbathing,' Marie protested, ‘and there is no one to see me except you two.’

Michelle squinted at the trees veiling the house. ‘Your brother Jean is coming.’

‘Oh, he is stuffy,' Marie exclaimed, ‘he would tell Grand’mere.' She got to her feet and sauntered off towards the changing rooms Michelle hitched her chair a little nearer to Susan.

‘You did not believe me when I said Raoul had sent for me, did you?’ she asked. ‘But look at this.'

She took a crumpled piece of paper out of her bag and handed it to Susan. It was a telegraph form, smeared with lipstick in places, but the message was clearly decipherable. It read, I SHALL BE AT SANSTERRE MONDAY TO THURSDAY. HAVE SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO TELL YOU. RAOUL. The date it was handed in was the day upon which Susan had agreed to accompany him to France and it had been sent from Ipswich.

‘That could mean only one thing,’ Michelle said softly, whisking the form out of Susan’s hand and replacing it in her bag. ‘He has had a change of heart.'

‘He didn’t seem very pleased to see you,’ Susan remarked. ‘After summoning you from half across the world, one would have thought he would have been more enthusiastic.'

‘Raoul does not—how do you say—wear his heart upon his sleeve,' Michelle declared. ‘Your pursuit of him embarrasses him. Since you insisted upon coming here …'

‘Now hold on,’ Susan interrupted. 'I did nothing of the sort. It was his idea entirely.'

‘That is not what he told me,' Michelle said smugly. She looked at Susan disdainfully, and with her wet hair and long pale legs protruding from her wrap, she looked absurdly young and childish, compared with the Frenchwoman’s soignee appearance. ‘For a woman who has been married, you are singularly lacking in finesse. Oh, I have heard all about your proposed wine business, Raoul’s latest toy, and it afforded you an excellent opportunity to infiltrate in here, but you are too blatant, and Raoul took fright. He cannot afford to quarrel with you, but he sent for me to prevent himself being compromised. A fiancée is nearly as great a protection as a wife.’

How much truth there was in this twisted presentation of the facts Susan could not decide, but there was enough to fill her with doubt. Had she shown her feelings too plainly? Did Raoul fear he had given rise to expectations which he did not want to fulfil? That was inconsistent with his insistence at lunch that she should go out with him alone, but that had been a protest against his grandmother’s interference. Raoul hated to be driven, and there was the damning evidence of the cablegram. No one else could have sent it. Livia had not wanted her to come, but Mrs Thurstan would never descend to such a mean action; besides, she would not know Michelle’s address, unless she rifled his desk. His family had probably supplied him with it, but that was unthinkable.

Michelle watched her intently and Susan’s expressive face betrayed that some of her barbs had gone home.

'Alors, all his plans will be in abeyance now,’ she declared. ‘He is needed at Belle Vue.’

‘Your father may recover.’

‘I hope so, but he will never be fit to run the place again. He was getting past it before he had this stroke. I expect Raoul has told you of our plans to amalgamate the two estates? It will be the finest wine business in France.’

An amalgamation which could only come about if he married her.

‘That’s nothing to do with me,’ Susan said firmly, concealing her pain. ‘Raoul is my restaurant manager and under contract to me.' (There was nothing in writing, but Michelle did not know that.) ‘I can’t afford to release him for some time yet and we’ve both sunk money into Thurstan Hall.’

‘You could be compensated if I buy him out.'

‘No, I couldn’t.’ Susan was abrupt.

Michelle bit her lip. ‘There is nothing to be gained by clinging on to him,’ she said nastily. Then with an effort she assumed a dulcet tone, deciding she must change her tactics. ‘I am a woman of the world, Susan, and I know Raoul has his weaknesses. He has a certain tendresse for you, you are so young to carry such a heavy burden and your situation appeals to his chivalry, but we must think of his future. If you have any regard for him you will not want to stand in his way. By joining our two estates he can become a very rich man, but if he does not, the prospect is bleak. By French law he is entitled to half his father’s estate, but Sansterre divided will be nothing compared with what he will gain if we join forces. His place is here, Susan, in his own country, and it is only his perverse obstinacy which makes him blind to his best advantage. He thinks his grandmother is tyrannical, but she loves him and wants him to have the best life can offer. Enfin, if you added your persuasions to mine ...’ She paused and looked at Susan pleadingly.

‘I can’t interfere,’ Susan said stonily. ‘And all this talk of money and estates leaves me cold. If Raoul puts them before love and happiness that’s his choice, but I won’t make it for him. He doesn’t love you, Michelle, that I do know, nor do I believe you’re compatible. I can’t discuss the matter with him.'

‘You are an imbecile! ’ Michelle cried angrily. Susan said nothing. She stared across the pool to where beyond the screening bushes, ridges of vines stretched towards the horizon. She had loved once, and her love had not brought her much happiness. Now she loved again with a deeper more mature emotion, but that seemed doomed to be unfulfilled. Perhaps she was foolish to give it priority and she should not try to hold Raoul to his obligations, but she did not believe union with Michelle would make him happy and Thurstan Hall would not be the same place without him.

Marie came back to join them fully dressed.

‘Where’s Jean?’ she asked.

‘How should I know?' Michelle was out of temper. She stood up. ‘I am going to find Raoul.’ She shot Susan a meaningful look. ‘After all, he sent for me, he must want me here.’

She stalked off, her smart dress clinging to the mature lines of her figure. Marie watched her going contemplatively.

'Our Mich is beginning to show her age,’ she remarked. ‘She does not seem at all concerned about her father, but she does not care for anybody except herself.’ She looked at Susan’s set face. ‘She disposed of me because she wanted to talk to you. What was it all about?’

‘Nothing new,’ Susan told her drearily. ‘She wants my co-operation to persuade Raoul of what’s best for him.’

‘Which is neither Belle Vue nor its mistress,' Marie declared emphatically. ‘Take him back with you to Suffolk, Susan, he loves Thurstan Hall.'

Susan smiled wanly. ‘Does he? Then why did he summon her?’

‘Are you sure he did? It might be Grand’mere, she seemed to expect her.'

Susan shook her head. ‘I wish I could think that, but you see, it was sent from Suffolk.’

She was very loth to accept that the sender had been Raoul, but there was no one else it could be, and she was still groping for his motive.

‘I'd better get dressed,’ she told Marie, and went to the cabins. These were fitted with showers; everything about the house and grounds spoke of solid comfort. The Sansterres were affluent, they valued money to the point of avarice, and Raoul was one of them. Throughout his management of her affairs she had been impressed by his shrewd bargaining. Thus the only explanation of his incomprehensible action was extremely unpalatable. Livia had warned her that going away with him might cause gossip, and Michelle might have been right when she said he was afraid of being compromised. He did not want to lose his chance of acquiring Belle Vue until he had decided whether it or Thurstan Hall were the better proposition. Without regard for Susan’s feelings he had wired to Michelle so that she could not accuse him of duplicity. It all seemed involved and out of character, but what else could she think? She had betrayed her love for him, but love was to him only a pastime. He agreed with his family that property was what was important, and they had no use for sentiment. She had never thought he was mercenary before, but he had many facets which were unknown to her. She gave a long sigh as she towelled her hair. She had been drawn to Raoul because he was so different from Rupert, but she was not sure she did not prefer her late husband's brand of duplicity to his. At least Rupert had married her for love, and his sins were never calculated.

Michelle exploited the situation created by her father's illness to the full. Susan only had passing glimpses of Raoul during the next two days. Michelle needed help with running the estate, her father’s affairs were in confusion, she told them; the workers in the vineyards had taken advantage of his increasing weakness to neglect their duties.

‘He was so obstinate,’ she sighed pathetically. ‘He refused to allow me to take over. Now for his sake and mine I must try to pull the place together, but it is an impossible task for a woman alone.'

‘But you are not alone,’ Jean told her gallantly. ‘We will all do our best to help you.'

Then she had to be driven to the hospital every day to see the sick man, declaring she had had such a shock she dare not drive alone. Nor did she like being by herself: in the big chateau. On one pretext or another, Raoul spent all his time at Belle Vue.

‘It is as it should be,’ old Madame Sansterre said with satisfaction. ‘Who else should she turn to but to Raoul? jean and Henri have their own work to do and he is here on holiday without occupation. Most providential.'

Susan found herself dependent upon Marie for company, and Jean allowed her to use his car to take her about. They spent Tuesday in Bordeaux, which Susan was anxious to see.

The city, which had been English until 1453, was second in importance only to Paris. On opposite banks of the Gironde, the long estuary which was the conflux of two rivers, it was an important port and the centre of the region’s wine industry. Both the Soustrots and Sansterres had offices there. Marie pointed out the unique Grand Theatre, for the place was proud of its entertainment facilities, which she said was so elaborately equipped it could never pay even when filled to capacity and had to be heavily subsidised.

'If you come again we must go. to a performance,' she declared. Susan smiled sadly; she would never come again.

Marie insisted that they climb the two hundred and twenty-eight steps of the Tour St Michel from which they could see the city spread out in all its glory beneath them, but Susan rebelled against going into the crypt below it, which Marie told her with macabre delight was filled with gruesome mummies.

‘It’s too lovely a day for crypts,’ Susan said.

They had a wonderful lunch of Bordelaise specialities—cargolades, snails with red peppers, ducks’ livers cooked with grapes, Bayonne ham and truffled goose liver. Susan ordered more than she could possibly eat, but she wanted to sample all the exotic dishes with the idea of reproducing them at Thurstan Hall.

‘The south-west of France has places which are only just being discovered,' Marie told her, pausing outside a tourist office and pointing to a poster showing small human figures climbing an immense sand dune. ‘There are miles of those bordering the Atlantic.' Susan remembered how Raoul had once described them to her and the forests of Les Landes. She had hoped he would show them to her, but he was immured at Belle Vue with Michelle.

Then they shopped; Susan bought for Lynsey a doll in national dress and a farm of carved wooden animals for Rod, also souvenirs for the staff. She had been looking forward to making these purchases with Raoul, but it seemed useless to wait for his co-operation. They returned in time for dinner, but Raoul was not present. Michelle had invited him to relieve her solitude.

‘We must all do what we can to keep the poor girl’s spirits up,' Pamela explained his absence.

‘And no one can do that better than Raoul,’ Grand'mere declared, with a snide glance at Susan.

Already deeply incensed by his cavalier treatment of her, Susan made no rejoinder. She wished she could go home at once, but that was impossible. Raoul had their air tickets, and after all she had only one more day to endure. The situation had a sickening familiarity. Herself being politely entertained by indifferent hosts while her escort neglected her for another woman. The bright facade she put up to conceal her feelings was also well rehearsed. She would not allow any of them to guess her heartache, but when she got him alone she would give Raoul a piece of her mind, that is if she ever did see him alone; even the journey back to England posed a query. Would he return with her, or would the Soustrot affairs prove so exigent that he would insist he must stay to settle them?

Next morning she was shown the vineyards by Henri Sansterre, and marvelled at the care expended upon the orderly rows of plants, each trained along its supporting wire. The fruit was beginning to form and a careful watch was kept for parasites or any sign of disease.

After lunch Marie had to go upon some errand for her grandmother, and Susan decided to go to the pool and practise her swimming, which needed improvement. She would be glad to be alone for a while, for even Marie's friendliness was getting on her nerves. In her present despondent mood she was inclined to suspect everyone’s motives and she knew Marie wanted to be invited to Thurstan Hall.

It was very quiet and peaceful by the pool; the scarlet and purple of the bougainvilleas covering the cabins was reflected in the still water. The trees, plane trees interspersed with the tall spikes of cypresses, shielded her from observation from the house. She swam a length, then floated on her back, her body soothed by the embrace of the water, her eyes closed against the sun. A splash as a brown body clove the water beside her, and opening startled eyes, she saw a blond head pass beneath her. Instantly she made for the shallow end and the steps leading out of the pool, but before she could reach them, Raoul came up alongside her.

‘Race you to the end of the pool! ’ he cried.

Normally she was not in his class, but anger lent her a burst of speed. They reached the end together, and she turned to gain the steps, but he intercepted her, catching her in his arms and holding her fast.

‘Got you, my water nymph,’ he cried triumphantly. He was laughing, standing in the water which came up past his waist, the sun shining on his hair turning it to gold, his neck and arms smooth as brown marble. He looked absurdly young and boyish, but Susan was given no chance to admire him, for he drew her close against him, with only the inadequate covering of her bathing top between her and his naked flesh and the thunder of his heartbeat mingled with her own pounding pulses. The water came up to her armpits and she clutched his neck to steady herself. Then he was straining her against himself, and kissing her, her wet hair, her face, her neck, and finally her mouth. The touch of his mouth was light at first, but became more urgent and demanding as he felt her response. And for a wild sweet period she did respond, her body pressed against his firm cool skin, a dark tide of desire rising like sap through her veins. He lifted his head and said thickly:

‘This was worth waiting for. Suzanne, je t’adore.'

His voice penetrated her drugged senses and reason resumed sway. He had come to her after spending long hours with Michelle to whom he had probably pledged himself by now, and who would have lost no opportunity to denigrate her to him. Believing she could not resist him, he was seeking a little pleasant relaxation before rejoining his family to tell them perhaps that he had agreed to fall in with their wishes. All too often Rupert had come to her after shamefully neglecting her with his parrot cry: ‘But Susan, you’re the only one I really love.'

Men like Rupert and Raoul did not know what true love meant.

Her wet body was slippery as an eel’s and she slid from his encircling arms. Steadying herself against the rail that ran round the pool, she struck him across the face with her open palm. Then as he drew back astounded, she splashed towards the steps and was climbing them when he called to her:

‘Come back, I want you! ’

‘No, thank you, I’ve had enough,' she flung at him over her shoulder.

He reached the steps. ‘Suzanne, what is the matter?’

‘Ask yourself that,' she returned, picking up her wrap and running for the shelter of the cabins. She bolted the door and sought to calm herself; she was shaking with a mixture of emotions. She had come to the pool wearing only her beach wrap and flip-flap sandals, meaning to dry off in the sun, but if Raoul was waiting for her, she would have to face him in that undignified costume. She could not stay in the cabin indefinitely; besides, she wanted to tell him what she thought of his behaviour. Towels were always in supply in the cabins and she dried herself as well as she could, tied her wrap closely about her still damp swimsuit, and combed back her wet hair. Then resolutely she stepped outside.

He was waiting for her, a towel draped about his neck, naked except for his trunks. His eyes met hers reproachfully.

‘Suzanne, what have I done?’

‘Done?’ she echoed, staring at him. She could not believe he could be so insensitive to her feelings. 'Oh, nothing at all. You've merely left me entirely to my own devices after persuading me to come here, and to be sniped at by your antagonistic family.'

‘Meaning Grand’mere, I suppose? She’s a prejudiced old woman. The others are all glad to meet you. I am sorry about all this, cherie, nothing has turned out as I intended, but I could not foresee that Monsieur Soustrot would have a stroke.'

‘Don’t call me cherie,' she stormed. ‘Your cherie is at Belle Vue.’

‘Ah! ’ A gleam of satisfaction showed in his face. ‘So that's it. You are jealous.’

‘Oh no, your amours are nothing to do with me, but you might at least have refrained from summoning your bien-aimee to meet you here when you know we dislike each other.’

He took a step towards her. ‘What are you saying? Surely you cannot believe I sent for her?’

‘You must have done. She showed me the telegram. It was sent from Suffolk a few days before we left.’

‘From Suffolk?' He looked genuinely puzzled.

‘You needn’t pretend innocence. She couldn’t have forged it. Oh, go back to her!' The sight of his lean brown body so near to her was affecting her nerves. ‘I've no use for double-dealers!'

'Suzanne, I don’t know who sent that cable, but I swear it was not I. I did not want Michelle here at all. I brought you here for a special purpose, but her arrival and the old man’s illness has upset all my plans. I was assured that you were quite happy with Marie, and this evening I meant to devote to you ....'

‘Oh, did you, but it’s rather too late in the day. You may feel it's necessary to do something to placate me after your neglect, but you needn't bother. It’s been drummed into me ever since I set foot in your home that you’re destined to marry the Soustrot acres, and if you imagine I’ll ever consent to a clandestine relationship behind your fiancee’s back, as your conduct in the pool just now seemed to indicate, you can think again. You're forgetting that our connection is purely a business one, but I haven’t, and if you’ll excuse me now I’d like to go and get dressed.’

She was too agitated to realise that she was being illogical. If their connection was really platonic, she had no right to be so incensed about Michelle. Raoul’s eyes turned to ice.

‘You mean you have been playing with me?’

She stared at him in astonishment. ‘Why should you think that?’

‘You did not seem to object to my kisses when we were in England.’

‘Oh!’ A red flush of shame suffused her face and neck and she turned away.

‘On the night of the concert you led me to suppose that you were very far from indifferent to me.’

But she had recovered herself. The memory of that night was like salt in a raw wound.

‘I’m only human,’ she said proudly, ’and music always excites me. You're a very personable man, Mr Sansterre, but if for a moment I forgot myself, don’t go getting ideas. I’ve had some experience of your type and I don’t want to repeat it. You stick to Miss Soustrot, she’s got a lot more to offer.'

Now Raoul was really angry and his words came curt and clipped.

‘I have told you over and over again, Mrs Thurstan, that I have no intention of marrying Michelle. I would not have come to France if I had not been sure she was far away. Introducing you to my family was a mistake, but it seems I was under a misapprehension with regard to your sentiments. Rest easy, madame, I shall never kiss you again.’

‘That’s a relief,’ she exclaimed, uncomfortably aware that she was somehow in error. ‘It doesn’t do to mix business and romance, does it?’

‘No, and we have too much to do to put Thurstan Hall on its feet to indulge in amorous follies,' he agreed. ‘You will have no cause to complain of me in the future, and it may interest you to know that I do not intend to marry anybody. The bond of matrimony never did appeal to me.’

She had bought it good and proper, her only consolation being that he might really mean what he had said about Michelle and was intending to return to Thurstan Hall. It would not be easy for her to continue her association with him, but it would be better than losing him altogether.

‘I’ve bought presents for the children,’ she said brightly. ‘Didn’t you promise them something too?’

He looked at her sombrely. ‘I am afraid I shall not be able to give them what they are expecting, I shall have to find a substitute.’ She looked at him enquiringly, but he did not explain. Instead he said roughly: You had better go and put some clothes on, your present garb is an incitement to those feelings we have decided to eliminate.'

Susan fled.

Freed from Grand-mere’s repressive presence, and with Raoul in attendance, since this was their last night, dinner was gay. Susan was determined to show him how little she cared. She put on the mauve dress which she had worn for the concert and Marie waved her hair. From Raoul’s expression when she appeared, she knew that he had recognised it, and she met his gaze with a challenging stare. She not only sparkled, she scintillated, as she gave them a spirited account of the opening night at Thurstan Hall, with a few omissions.

‘It must have been great fun,’ Marie commented, her eyes shining.

‘Oh, we have our moments,’ Susan said flippantly, and caught a mocking glint in Raoul’s eyes. She tilted her chin defiantly. He had said there would be no more of those moments.

Upon reviewing what happened by and in the pool, when she had calmed down, she might have been encouraged by some of his statements which indicated that he had had a personal reason for bringing her to Sansterre, but in spite of his denials, the fact remained that he had sent for Michelle Soustrot. Words could be made to mean anything, but actions were irrefutable, and she had seen concrete evidence of his duplicity.

'Elle est charmante, la rose anglaise,’ she heard Henri murmur to Raoul, as she left the dining room. The younger man looked dour. ‘Roses have thorns, mon vieux,’ he returned, ‘and that one’s are long and sharp.'

Both the compliment and the response pleased her. She had shown Raoul she was not a naive greenhorn who could be taken in by kisses, but a mature woman who had seen through his insincerities.

‘Are you really going back tomorrow?’ Pamela asked when they were taking coffee in the salon.

‘Sans dire,' Raoul told her, and Susan sighed with relief. She had feared he might insist upon staying longer either with or without her.

‘But if Monsieur Soustrot should die?’ Jean asked.

'Eh bien, then I must return for the funeral, but let us hope he is not going to die.'

There had been no improvement in the old man’s condition.

They left in the morning without a hitch. Susan had half expected Michelle would appear and make a scene, but there was no sign of her. The journey was uneventful, Raoul was courteous but distant and for the most part silent. He told her briefly that he had concluded his business with Jean satisfactorily.

‘I don’t think your family are very optimistic about the vine growing,’ said Susan. ‘They don’t believe you will succeed.’

’Then it is up to me to prove them wrong,' he returned, with a confident lift of his chin.

‘I know by now you always do succeed,’ Susan conceded.

A bleak expression crossed his face.

‘Not always,’ he told her.

They received a boisterous welcome at Thurstan Hall, the children clamouring for their presents, the Italians vociferous, Livia relieved as if she had feared some catastrophe, and Monsieur Reyniere telling them all had gone well but he was glad to see them back, a big concession for him. Francesca greeted them with a puzzled look.

‘I not think you come back,’ she said to Raoul.

‘Naturally I have returned, why ever not?’

‘There was so much to keep you in France, Maestro.'

Raoul look at her intently.

‘What do you know about that?’ he asked her, and when she did not answer, ‘You and I, ma belle, must have a private talk together.'

Curiously Francesca appeared more frightened than pleased by this assertion, but Susan did not notice. She had turned away with a sick feeling. Since she had shown herself to be unavailable, was Raoul about to embark upon an affair with the Italian girl? Did he have to have some sort of emotional outlet with the nearest compliant female? She hated amorous intrigue, but it seemed inevitable where he was concerned. With a sigh she left them to find solace with her children.

CHAPTER TEN

Susan’s life resumed its normal routine. Thurstan Hall was becoming known and they were booked solid for most of the autumn. The paddock was ploughed and the vines arrived from France. Raoul was anxious to get them planted before the frosts came.

Susan was too busy to have time for repining, but she was always aware of the barrier which had arisen between herself and her manager. He treated her with deference tinged with mockery which subtly wounded her. What he did in his spare time she did not know, nor if he corresponded with Michelle. He never mentioned her name, though he told her from time to time that his family sent their regards. She had written a thank-you letter to Pamela and had received letters and postcards from Marie. It was decided that she should visit them after Christmas. Raoul thought that if she really wanted a job, she could assist Francesca at the bar, but Susan objected.

‘Your sister a barmaid!'

Why not? You are a cook—sorry—chef, and I often officiate as the wine waiter. Do not get ideas above your station, Mrs Thurstan.'

‘'But your grandmother would be appalled! ’

‘It would give me great pleasure to appal Grand’mere.'

Susan laughed vexedly, so the feud still went on. ‘You’ve often done that, haven't you?’ she suggested.

‘And probably shall many more times before she leaves us.’

‘Yet I believe she is really very fond of you.'

‘And I of her, but there can be no greater enemies than two who love and have conflicting ideas.’

Like you and me, Susan thought but did not say. Only Raoul did not love her, though she often wondered what he did actually feel for her. It could hardly be friendship when he often looked at her as if he would like to strangle her. She sighed.

‘Wherefore the sigh?’ he demanded. ‘I do know quite a lot about love, you know.’

‘I'd never have thought it,’ Susan said scornfully.

He gave her a dark look and strode away.

Towards the end of October Henri rang Raoul to tell him Monsieur Soustrot was dead. He had made a partial recovery and then another stroke had finished him.

‘I suppose you’ll have to go to France,' Susan said anxiously.

‘Sans dire, I must attend the funeral, but everything here is running smoothly. You will be able to manage without me for a week, I’m sure.'

A week seemed a long time to bury an old man, but she supposed he would feel obliged to spare Michelle some time. She was after all a friend from childhood, but would he return? Family pressure would be doubled now Michelle had gained her heritage, and Raoul might be susceptible to her distress.

‘You will come back?’ she asked apprehensively.

‘Of course, cherie.’ He had not called her that since their estrangement and the word slipped out almost absently. Did he realise that he had used it?

‘I can’t do without you,’ she said desolately.

‘You could. You are a very capable woman, Suzanne, but I will be back within a week.'

‘You promise,’ she insisted.

He looked at her with raised brows and a glint in his eyes.

‘One could almost flatter oneself that you will miss me.’

Impulsively she cried, ‘More than I can say! ’

He studied her for a long time with an inscrutable expression. Susan went red and pale by turns; would she never learn to control her impetuous tongue? Finally he said softly: ‘You are a little idiot, Suzanne.’

'I am ... sometimes,' she admitted.

He laughed. ‘We will discuss your idiocy upon my return. It is time I made you understand what a little fool you have been, but until then I must attend to these tiresome duties.'

His words filled her with mingled hope and fear, but fear predominated. He was going to see Michelle again, and remembering his conduct when they were in France before, it seemed likely he would fall under her influence again.

No sooner had Raoul departed when everything started to go wrong. The day after he left the food inspectors came to look at the kitchens. Fred had been successfully kept out of the Hall except upon very rare occasions, but with the coming of a sudden sharp frost, he remembered the warmth of the Aga. When Susan ushered her visitors into the kitchen they beheld a large muddy dog stretched before the stove. Moreover, the animal clearly showed that he considered he had every right to be there, Susan shooed him out, apologised and explained. The inspectors were not impressed, and left after threatening to withdraw her licence. Susan had a suspicion that Roberto had let the dog in; he had never quite forgiven her for rebuffing him, and his disloyalty saddened her.

Then Catchpole came to her with a grin of triumph to tell her the frost had done for ‘them there vines.' He had never been sold on Raoul's winemaking project and considered vineyards were an unnatural phenomenon in Suffolk and the fruit would never ripen. _v Worse was to follow. Raoul had left on a Thursday and Susan had battled through the three days’ dinners. On Sunday, when she went to consult with Monsieur Reyniere about the next week’s menus, Lucia told her he was in bed.

‘He has the ’flu,' she told her.

‘Oh no! ’ Susan cried despairingly.

It was only too true. The Frenchman, who was a bit of a hypochondriac, was in bed surrounded by medications, and though he did not look very ill insisted he could not leave his room for at least a week and to contemplate food made him feel worse.

‘And I must not scatter ze germs over ze kitchen,' he told her.

On Monday it was discovered that Francesca had gone off with one of the Greek waiters leaving them minus a barmaid, Lucia was in a frenzy, insisting that Marco must go and look for her, but since no one knew where they had gone, she had to be persuaded that a search was impractical. Moreover, the girl was of age and could do as she pleased. Susan had hoped she might help out with the cooking, but she refused flatly.

‘Signor Sansterre say I not cook well enough for the ristorante. I cook no better now my figlia disgrace herself. I cannot help you, madama.’

All the staff seemed to have chosen Raoul’s absence to avenge their secret grievances.

Livia was away, staying with Colonel Palmer and his sister. The sister wanted to live in the South of France, and since her brother’s plans would make this feasible, she welcomed Mrs Thurstan warmly. Susan guessed the Colonel was about to propose and that her mother-in-law would accept him. She was glad for Livia’s sake, but she could not have chosen a worse time to be absent.

The children, sensing a crisis as children do, were fractious and peevish. Rod kept declaring Uncle Raoul had made them a promise which he had not kept, but he refused to tell Susan what it was, saying it was a secret, so she had no means of pacifying him. Tried beyond endurance, for the first time in his life she slapped him. Both children howled lustily and she felt at her wits’ end.

On Monday night she telephoned Sansterre, feeling desperate. Raoul might be able to suggest someone who would help out, and with his firm assurance that he would be back on Thursday she might struggle through until he came. Even the sound of his voice would hearten her.

Pamela answered the phone. No, Raoul was not there, he was at Belle Vue. They were in the thick of the grape harvest and were having to help out on the Soustrot estate as well as their own. It was very unlikely Raoul would be coming back for some time, they had so much to do he could not be spared.

'He’s needed here,’ Susan said urgently, ‘we’re in trouble.’

‘Surely you can manage? Yours is only a small concern compared with what we have to cope with here.’

Pamela’s voice was very cold; evidently she resented Susan’s appeal for help and there was little chance that she would relay her message.

On Wednesday the dinner was sub-standard, the service poor. Susan received a stream of complaints which her explanations did little to placate. Illness and staff difficulties were no excuse when large sums had been paid for excellence. She made some refunds and knew that infinite harm would be done if word went round that Thurstan Hall had deteriorated.

On Thursday afternoon she went out for a breath of air before tackling the dinner which she feared would be another failure. She was not as professional as she had believed and she could not carry on without Raoul to support her. If he did not return she would have to go into liquidation, and what she would do then she had no idea.

She sat on a bench beside the pool in sunlight which still retained an illusion of warmth. The water was sullied by the autumn debris from the drooping willows. It ought to be cleared out, but Catchpole, who disliked the chore, said he had no time. The twins were so quiet they were probably up to mischief and she ought to go and see what they were doing, but she felt too weary and despondent to care. Raoul’s joyous adventure was ending in disaster. She closed her eyes and tears trickled from under her lids. She always despised feminine weeping and rarely cried herself, but she felt too miserable and defeated to try to restrain them.

‘Susan, my darling, what has happened?'

Slowly she opened her eyes, thinking she must be dreaming. He had often called her cherie, but somehow the English equivalent sounded more convincing, and he had called her Susan.

‘Tiens,’ he went on, ‘what a woebegone countenance! Tell me what is wrong.’

He sat down beside her; he was wearing the grey suit he usually did for travelling, he must have come straight from the airport, and his face was full of tender concern.

Susan announced dramatically: ‘Everything! ’

'But not everything can go wrong in one short week.'

‘Oh, can't it! ’

He put a comforting arm across her shoulders, and then she was clinging to him, pouring out her tale of woe. ‘And Pamela said you wouldn’t be coming,' she concluded.

‘I promised I would be back today. You never trust me, do you, Susan?’ His voice was gently reproachful.

Susan gulped. ‘I couldn’t ... not after you sent that cable.’

‘Is that still rankling? Cherie, I told you I did not send it, and it hurt me that you believed I lied.'

‘But Raoul, who else could have done?'

‘Francesca. She was mad jealous of you and she hoped Michelle would come between us. She knew we corresponded occasionally, and rifled my desk to find her address. I got the truth out of her when we came back.'

‘And you never told me?’

'Why should I? If you wanted to believe I was so treacherous, that was your misfortune.’

'Oh, Raoul, I ... I’m terribly sorry. You see, it was Rupert. He lied whenever it suited him and he taught me to distrust all men.’

'Have you not yet understood I am not in the least like your late husband? But first things first, we have a dinner to cook. I have not lost my skill.'

‘You mean you’re going to cook? But isn't that infra dig?’

‘I don’t know what you mean by that. Woman, the reputation of Thurstan Hall is at stake! ’

It was redeemed that night. Raoul’s presence electrified the remaining staff. The Italians worked as they had never worked before. The twins were bribed to go to bed quietly with an assortment of presents Raoul had brought from France, and he whispered something to Rod which caused the boy to beam with satisfaction.

‘What are you two up to?’ Susan asked suspiciously.

‘That you will discover in good time,’ Raoul said mysteriously. ‘But now we must work.'

The last guest had gone. Raoul had performed miracles, cooking the dinner, leaving Susan to do the garnishing and finalising while he received the guests, acting in his old capacity as wine waiter, sending the other Greek boy behind the bar, and keeping Marco and Roberto on the run. Fatigue and despair forgotten, Susan dished up and served filled with new energy and new hope. Raoul had returned to her and seemed like his old self.

The last dishes came out from the dining room, and the village girls arrived to deal with the mountain of washing up. Susan took off her apron and overall with a sigh of relief.

'Come into the lounge,' Raoul bade her, stripping off his jacket and pulling off his tie. ‘We will relax over a nightcap, I do not think our guests were disappointed tonight.'

‘You cooked like Robert Carrier himself,' Susan said admiringly.

‘Better,' Raoul returned complacently, ‘and I do not suppose he does much practical work nowadays. But come along where we can talk.'

They looked an incongruous couple in the gracious lounge which had so recently been filled with men and women in their best clothes. Raoul was in his shirt sleeves and Susan wore the short-sleeved jumper and utility skirt she had had on beneath her overall, and there was flour in her hair. She subsided into an armchair, kicking off her shoes, while Raoul stirred the fire, put another log on, and poured her out a drink. ‘When did you leave France?’ she asked idly.

‘At crack of dawn. I was anxious to be back.’

‘I wonder you could tear yourself away from Belle Vue.'

‘None of that,’ he said sternly. ‘Mrs Thurstan, when will you be convinced that I don’t care that,’ he snapped his fingers, ‘for any vineyard except my own.’

A shadow crossed her face. ‘Catchpole says the vines have been killed by the frost.’

‘He wouldn’t know; they look dead, but they’ll revive. I have looked at them,’ Raoul told her cheerfully. ‘But enough of vines and vintages—I have had a bellyful of them during the past week.’

‘I know. How did you manage to get away? Pamela said you couldn't be spared.’

‘When have I allowed my family to dictate to me? I told them I had an unbreakable date in England today, also that I intended to settle in England and marry an English wife.'

Susan’s startled gaze flew to his unrevealing face.

He was looking into the fire with a mischievous smile on his lips.

‘You told me you were never going to marry and matrimony didn’t appeal to you,’ she reminded him.

‘That was to save my face when thanks to Francesca’s efforts a great big rift opened between us. I intend to marry, and I mean to marry you. I took you to France so that my precious family could meet the woman I had chosen, and you would understand why I prefer to live in England. But you wrecked all my plans by your absurd obsession with Michelle Soustrot, and her poor old father chose a most inopportune moment to have his stroke. On that first afternoon I meant to take you into the forest—and there are some superb forests in the vicinity—and propose to you, but you refused to come. Later when at last I got away from Belle Vue and found you in the pool, you slapped my face and said some very nasty things to me. On the whole I pride myself upon having an equable temper, but there are some things I cannot take from a woman, especially one I love. You were never nearer a beating than you were then, cherie, and if you say anything like that again, you will get it.'

'If I do, I’ll deserve it,' Susan told him. ‘But oh, Raoul!' she clasped her hands, ‘I can’t believe that you love me. You did say that, didn’t you?’

‘I did, and I mean it. You’ve been a bit dim, Susan. I am not a philanderer, and I thought I had shown my feelings plainly upon several occasions. First of all I thought it was your late husband who stood between us, but you cleared that up. Then you were incredibly stupid.'

He came to her, and pulled her up out of her chair into his arms.

‘I fell for you from the first moment I saw you. You looked so forlorn and lost and I wanted to take care of you.'

‘That I don’t believe, it was Thurstan Hall you couldn’t resist.'

Have it as you please.’ He drew her closer. ‘I shall get both, shall I not?’

She felt a momentary qualm. ‘I suppose that is an inducement.'

'I would take you without it, but it is pleasant to have such a charming home,' he pointed out. ‘But if you are thinking I am mercenary, remember I have given up a chateau and acres of vines for you, and you would be bankrupt but for me.'

‘I would indeed,' Susan recalled the nightmare of the past few days. ‘I am so glad I have something to give you in exchange for all you’ve done for me.'

‘Stop talking like a bargaining Frenchwoman,' he commanded her. ‘All that really matters is this, and this...'

His lips sought hers, and she surrendered to him filled with rapture in a surge of passionate love. Presently he released her gently and wiped his mouth.

‘Did you know you have flour in your hair?'

‘Oh dear, I must be looking dreadful, so unglamorous!'

‘To me you always look beautiful, Susan.'

‘Why have you started calling me that?’

‘Because since I am to become anglicised, it is suitable I should use the English form of your name.'

‘And you won’t have any regrets . . . for Belle Vue, and your grand’mere and your country?'

‘None whatever. All I want and desire is here.’ And he drew her back into his arms.

Susan told the twins she was to marry Raoul with some anxiety. She believed they would accept him, but children were unpredictable. Rod gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘So Uncle Raoul has kept his promise.'

‘Will you tell me now what that was?’

Lynsey looked at her brother. ‘It isn't a secret any more, is it? You see, that night he was reading to us, he told us we were going to have a new daddy—him, but when you came back from France and were still Mrs Thurstan we thought he'd forgotten.’

‘And he damn near did,' Rod added indignantly.

Susan was too taken aback to remonstrate.

‘You were a little premature,' she told Raoul when she recounted the incident.

‘Not at all. Your children saw what was right and proper long before you did, and I hope they won't be the only ones to call me Daddy.'

Susan blushed furiously. ‘I ... I hadn’t considered that.’

‘Then you had better. I should like a quiver-full.'

‘How old-fashioned!’ She smiled rapturously. ‘But I'd like a second family too, and with your co-operation I’ll do my best to oblige. But won’t it interfere with the cooking?’

‘My darling, I can engage plenty of chefs, but I’ll have only one wife.'

Susan gave a long sigh of satisfaction. Always she had been divided between her work and her children, now she could devote herself entirely to them and Raoul.

‘I can keep my hand in preparing meals for my family,' she decided, ‘but Monsieur Reyniere can take over as chef de cuisine.'

Raoul drew her into his arms. ‘You won’t regret that, my English rose?’

‘Not in the least—and Raoul, all the thorns have gone.’

‘A rash statement, I’ll expect I’ll get a prick or two, but that will add spice to our union. This, Susan, will be the greatest adventure of all.’

‘And full of joy,' she corroborated as she lifted her lips to his.

When the news was received in France Grand’mere gave an exhibition of temper which alarmed her family, then she electrified them by saying:

‘One cannot fight a fait accompli. La petite Suzanne has spirit as well as beauty. I shall have my diamond necklace cleaned and send it to her.'

Which she did.

Here's to a joyous adventure, Suzanne!"

Susan responded eagerly to Raoul Sansterre's toast. Was she toasting the adventure of opening up Thurstan Hall as a high-class restaurant, or the exciting prospect of getting to know this suave, handsome Frenchman who was to manage it?

Gradually Susan realized that without Raoul nothing would be an adventure, but she couldn't help thinking that he was more interested in Thurstan Hall than in her.

Surely she wasn't destined to fall in love with the wrong man again?