The Gift of Loving Read online

  'But of course you would be invited to stay with me, madame, ' he said, evidently surprised that she should think otherwise. 'Perhaps if you are sufficiently interested you would also write about my family? It would'

  be very nice to have our history well documented for future generations.'

  'Perhaps, monsieur, your wife would not...?'

  'I do not have a wife, madame. My stepmother lives at the chateau and there are of course the servants. Your niece is also invited,' he added with a dark, sidelong look at Lucy that told her she was part of her aunt's baggage and therefore not to be lost en route. Her face flared with colour and the long lips quirked in amusement but Wanda was delighted and talked even more. It was only later as they moved to the coffee lounge and her aunt went to powder her nose that Lucy found herself left alone with Guy Chabrol, trapped by dark eyes that looked at her intently.

  'And what do you do, mademoiselle, in this whirl of literary energy?'

  'I—I've come with my aunt as secretary and companion.' Lucy felt her face flushing and his raised eyebrows did nothing to help.

  'So you do speak your own language after all?' he murmured ironically. 'I was beginning to wonder if you only knew how to say

  "sorry" and "thank you". I would have imagined that a secretary and companion needed to have some modicum of conversation.'

  The disdain was back with some force and Lucy felt a wave of annoyance that drowned out her shyness.

  'This is my first job with Aunt Wanda,' she said crossly. 'When I meet someone I like I'll have no difficulty at all in speaking.'

  Her sharp reply merely astonished him further and he chose to overlook the insolence.

  'What did you do before this excursion?' he asked briefly, his tone so commanding that Lucy replied without thought.

  'I lived with my mother and father. I helped them and then I -'

  She didn't have the chance to tell him about her job. He cut in ruthlessly.

  'So, you are a helper?' he enquired drily, one dark brow raised sarcastically. 'Anything from Cinderella to a bookkeeper. I now understand your silence. You are a professional shadow. Perhaps you will be able to help me?'

  '1 only help -my family,' Lucy said tightly, her face more flushed than ever at his taunting, but she had only given him further ammunition.

  'Ah! I see. You are a poor relation, n'est-ce pas?'

  Lucy felt explosive. He was the rudest and most arrogant man she had ever met. She saw her aunt coming purposefully back, her eyes alert at Lucy's expression. Naturally, Wanda didn't want the boat rocked now and she fixed her eye on Lucy.

  'Yes, monsieur,' Lucy said, standing and looking down at him. 'I'm a very poor relation. You'll find that out soon enough if we stay with you. Don't worry, though, I don't eat much and I can always sleep on the floor!'

  He stood as Wanda came back but his eyes were intently on Lucy, the glitter of laughter deep in their dark depths.

  'I should get off to bed, if I were you, Lucinda,' her aunt said quickly. 'You look tired.'

  'I have perhaps wearied her with my conversation,' Guy Chabrol murmured, his dark face sardonic. 'Goodnight, mademoiselle.''

  His eyes were probing again, watchful and questioning, and Lucy fled without a word. He was much worse than he had appeared to be on first sight. He wasn't coldly aristocratic, he was cruel. He had probed her weakness and left her feeling worthless. To her astonishment she felt tears in her eyes and she couldn't get to her room fast enough.

  A poor relation! She hadn't felt like one until now, but she supposed she was, in any case. She got ready for bed and then lay in the darkness, her mind taking a critical look at her past life. There wasn't a lot of it, she decided ruefully. Her early role in life had been to admire somebody. First her parents and now Aunt Wanda. They had all been the same type, she realised, part of a small group of artistic people who fed off praise.

  None of them had been particularly talented. Her mother had been an artist, not exactly successful but making enough to keep the wolf from the door. Her father had written poetry, almost all of it unsaleable, mostly written for self-satisfaction, his greatest audience the few people who moved in the same circle, his 'set'.

  Looking back, Lucy often wondered how they had survived at all. It was only the Old Mill that had kept them going. It was an old building that her mother and father had rented and turned into both a home and a place of work. Her mother had done small pictures to sell, her father had written poems on parchment that tourists bought to hang in their homes. The fact that the things had been originals had not made them good but it had kept a small amount of money coming in. They had survived.

  How Lucy had survived as a baby in this odd and disordered household was a mystery, but as she got older she had more or less taken them both under her wing. They had been quite incapable of looking after themselves or paying the bills that came in. Luckily the bills had been few. It had been a spartan existence. She had taken a job in town, a rather dull job in a dull establishment, her additional salary making it possible to give a few luxuries to her parents. She wasn't at all sure if they had even noticed.

  Her father had died when she was eighteen. Lucy had been a child of their later years, and two years after that, with her mother elderly and ailing, Lucy had relinquished her job and her small amount of independence, her odd night out, and moved back to her earlier role, taking care of someone, bowing to their peculiarities.

  Maybe that was why she had taken the risk of coming out here with her aunt? Right now, though, Lucy would have given anything to be back at the Old Mill, walking barefoot to the river through fields bright with buttercups, the soft green grass sweet-smelling beneath her feet.

  She tossed restlessly, her mind leaving the past, and instantly dark, scathing eyes came into her mind, cold with disdain. She had never before met anyone who had got so thoroughly under her skin. She had a patient, understanding nature but Guy Chabrol had stabbed at her self-esteem, probing her inner lack of confidence like a hot steel

  wire. She would have to face him anyway. She resolutely tried to sleep. She had faced worse.

  Apparently many arrangements had been made the night before, because when Lucy presented herself at her aunt's room the next day she was informed that they would be leaving immediately after breakfast.

  'Are—are we going to this chateau?'

  'Of course we are, Luanda.' Wanda looked at her as if she were mad.

  'I've put a lot of work into this project, not to speak of the expense.

  We can live free of charge at the chateau for as long as it takes.'

  'How long will it take?' Lucy asked with a certain amount of misery, and received a very odd look from her aunt.

  'That—depends,' she murmured, a very strange smile on her face.

  'Meanwhile, we certainly won't starve. The count is a financier, absolutely rolling in money. The chateau is huge. Stop worrying, my dear. He'll never even notice us once we're there.'

  Lucy wanted to say 'Don't you believe it' but she kept quiet. That man noticed just about everything. She went to breakfast with great misgivings, thankful that he wasn't there.

  When they came down with their luggage, though, he was right there at the reception desk, turning with a smile to her aunt.

  'I have taken care of your account, madame. If you are ready we will now leave. It is quite a long way to the chateau.'

  'Oh, but really! I can't allow you to pay my bill,' Wanda protested.

  He waved her protest aside.

  'Have I not commissioned a history of my family, madame? This being the case, surely I am now your patron? Naturally I will pay all your expenses.'

  Lucy didn't miss the triumph in her aunt's eyes and she was astonished that the count didn't see it too. He looked superbly intelligent and, in any case, he was a financier. He couldn't be that if his head was in the clouds.

  For the very first time she looked at him deeply—with suspicion, almost jumping visibly when she found him giv
ing her exactly the same sort of look, the dark eyes narrowed and intent, ignoring her aunt completely, searching and probing into Lucy's mind. She was almost trembling when he turned away and ushered them out to his car, announcing that they would travel with him.

  'Make yourself comfortable, madame,' he suggested smoothly, helping Wanda into the back of a large black Mercedes. 'Your niece will sit in front with me.'

  Lucy's suspicions grew but it was only as they were in the fast-moving traffic, the hotel left behind, that she glanced at him. Her eyes got no further than the brown, capable hands on the wheel.

  They were long-fingered, graceful, powerful. They looked a little cruel, if hands could look cruel. She just stared at them, her mind going over events.

  'Relax, Mademoiselle Balfour,' the dark voice suggested. 'There is quite a way to go but I will have you safely in the chateau long before nightfall.'

  Lucy's hands clenched in her lap. She didn't know what he was up to but she knew there was something. This was not the sort of man who walked blindly into any sort of trap. She had the horrifying

  feeling that the boot was on the other foot, that they had walked into a trap.

  He glanced down at her hands, her fingers almost white with the tight clenching, and then his dark eyes flashed to her face.

  'You are perfectly safe, mademoiselle,' he assured her in a low voice. 'I am not about to stop at the first forest we come to and attack you. In the Chateau de Rochaine there are servants to guard you. There is my stepmother and, of course, your aunt. I cannot see why you should be so troubled.'

  'I'm not,' Lucy said gamely in an equally low voice, thankful that her aunt seemed unable to hear this odd conversation.

  'Then relax and enjoy the drive, mademoiselle,' he murmured softly.

  'Tout va bien.' His eyes held hers for a second as she looked across at him worriedly and she saw an expression flash deep in his dark gaze that did nothing to reassure her. It was an indefinable spark of something but it was coldly amused, triumphant and, once again, cruel.

  CHAPTER TWO

  'NOT too far now,' Guy Chabrol announced as they sped past Orleans. He had not addressed one single word to Lucy after his assurance that everything was all right. They had come at great speed down the motorway from Paris but he was so very capable, his hands so skilled on the wheel, that she had to admit she had not once felt any quirk of alarm in that direction.

  Her alarmed suspicions had gradually left her and even the fact that they were almost there did nothing to upset her now. She felt a great deal more safe when he kept silent and this was merely an announcement.

  They were heading into the valley of the River Loire, and she looked around with interest that was mixed with wonder as she saw the chateaux that were visible along their route. Some were quite small, merely country houses, but most of them were towering and grand. Many of the chateaux were close to pretty villages and somehow the whole idea looked a good deal safer.

  They had left the motorway some time back and as he turned from the main road the car began to cross much wilder land. The countryside was now almost deserted as they drove past winding tributaries and small lakes. It was thickly wooded here, much more sombre, and they seemed to be leaving civilisation behind with every passing mile.

  The sky was overcast, the threat of rain in the air, and Guy Chabrol seemed to have grown more cold and sombre too as they went further into this wilderness.

  'I thought you had another chateau much closer to Paris, Monsieur le Comte!' Wanda Balfour said suddenly and, even in her aunt's voice, Lucy could hear a thread of alarm. She had also revealed the fact

  that she knew more about Guy Chabrol than she had led him to believe and, glancing at him quickly, Lucy saw his dark eyes narrow slightly. Here was a man who missed nothing at all. Alarm and suspicion came flooding back.

  'I do,' he said flatly, his voice cold. 'All that you require is here though: the library, the family papers. It is at the Chateau de Rochaine that my family treasures rest and that, I think, is what you seek, madame?'

  'Well, yes,' her aunt said, instantly back to enthusiasm. 'I can't do a lot without the books and papers.' She laughed merrily but Guy Chabrol did not smile. His eyes were hard and cold, watching the road, his carved lips in one straight line.

  'Then you will be content, madame, I assure you, and so will I. In any case, we are almost there.'

  They had been driving along between thick trees for some time, the road winding and quite narrow in places, nothing much to see. Now, without warning, they came out into the rather sullen light of a late sun, a great stretch of land before them that rose to a low hill. On the hill stood the Chateau de Rochaine and at the sight of it Lucy's heart leapt frighteningly and then sank.

  It was much, much bigger than any of the places she had seen on the way. It seemed to be almost surrounded by water and, although it was beautiful, its turrets soaring, great towers at each corner, it looked nothing at all like the large country mansion she had wishfully imagined. It was a fortress, even in this age looking impregnable. It looked as cold and powerful as the man who owned it, the man who now turned to her with a wry look that came flashing to his face when he saw her expression.

  'Welcome to the Chateau de Rochaine, my family home, Mademoiselle Balfour,' he said sardonically. 'It has repelled attack for centuries and is, I think, exactly what is needed now.'

  'What—what do you mean?' Lucy asked quickly, looking up into two cold dark eyes.

  'Surely I have explained, mademoiselle?' he murmured. 'Your aunt needs the use of the old library. It is housed here.'

  'Of course that's what the count means, Lucinda!' Wanda suddenly said sharply. 'I wonder how you manage, really I do. Sometimes you can't even understand a few simple words.'

  Normally such a totally unexpected remonstration would have had Lucy blushing, especially as it was delivered in front of this arrogant man. Right now, though, it just washed over her because her eyes were held by two dark eyes that looked straight back at her and what she saw there was disdain for her aunt, a disdain that had until now been hidden and aimed solely at herself. He wasn't fooled one bit and he did not need a history of his family. Such a family would have been catalogued over and over in the history of France itself.

  He had walked into no trap at all.

  She tore her eyes away and looked at the great dark chateau, at the water that almost surrounded it, flat and silver-grey in the fading light, at the dark trees that edged the water, tall and old as the chateau itself. It was ridiculous, she assured herself. They would be perfectly free to leave whenever her aunt's research was over. Even so, she felt a cold shiver pass over her skin. If they would be free to leave then why did she feel so menaced, so captured?

  She glanced at Guy Chabrol and saw the slight smile that edged his lips as he looked back at her.

  'You have very alert instincts, mademoiselle,' he said softly, his voice once again lowered to exclude Wanda. 'It is a gift given in excess to the innocent. Rest easy though. You may not need to flee from this place. As I have already informed you, tout va bien.'

  Lucy thought not. Other phrases were ringing in her head, not the least the one about there being plenty of servants to guard her.

  She tilted her chin proudly and looked right back at him.

  'I'm not at all uneasy, monsieur,' she told him sharply, but his soft laughter, coming quite unexpectedly, informed her that she should be uneasy, very uneasy indeed, and, as they set off again, their contemplation of the chateau over, she could only agree.

  That the chateau had once been a fortress was quite clear as they came closer. It almost seemed to be floating on water and from close up the stone walls were even more daunting, towering over them.

  They crossed by a many-arched bridge and then were driving beneath the mighty walls as a wide gravelled drive led them to the overpowering entrance.

  'We have arrived,' Guy Chabrol said quietly, and Lucy heard a great deal of satisfaction in that vo
ice. Was it imagination? She didn't really think so and, as they stepped from the car and followed him into the chateau, she vowed to keep her eyes wide open and all her instincts well alert. Somehow she knew that this time her aunt had made a very big mistake.

  The next morning, Lucy stood in her bedroom feeling greatly inclined to miss breakfast altogether. The night before had been a sort of nightmare, a great trial because they were not at all welcome, a fact that did not seem to penetrate the inner reaches of her aunt's mind.

  Everything was larger than life. The rooms were high-ceilinged and too big. The passages were dark and long, the stairs too wide. It had been bad enough before dinner, but, as they had come down to meet the count's stepmother and sit at the huge dining table, Lucy had felt a wave of actual fury at the Comte de Chauvrais. He was toying with them for reasons of his own and he was about to make them as uncomfortable as possible. Left to herself she would even have walked back to Paris and somehow managed to get to England. Her aunt, though, seemed to be utterly oblivious to any atmosphere.

  The servants had been sullen, polite but very much cold-faced and Veronique Chabrol, Comtesse de Chauvrais, had been icy enough to be called almost rude. They had gone down to the huge dining-room and had needed a servant to show them the way, Wanda dressed in her usual finery and Lucy once again in the blue dress.

  it had been cold. There was heating but no amount of heating could have coped with this great place and every door and window had seemed to let in enough draught to convince anyone they had been left open.

  It was ridiculous that four people should be seated at such a grand table and Veronique's expression led Lucy to believe that she was in agreement. Her face iced over even more as Wanda began to talk, a thing she did without any pause for breath, her voice fervent and eager until Lucy, well aware of the atmosphere, could have sunk into the floor.

  The countess was beautifully dressed but it did not escape Lucy's notice that she wore a thick shawl around her shoulders and even then shivered from time to time. Lucy felt almost stiff with cold and everyone seemed to be glaring at them except the count, who was having a very good time, his dark eyes watchful and ironic as Wanda talked.