Dawn Song (7 page)

possession and promise.

At his touch, her body melted, and she arched towards him in mute yearning,

pleading for his tutelage in all the ways of love.

The sudden shrill of the telephone shattered the golden intimate silence

which surrounded them with devastating effect. It was as if someone had

actually physically intruded into the room. Shocked back to her senses, Meg

pulled herself away from him and sat up, dragging her dress into place with

shaking hands.

He reached for her again.
'Doucement,'
he said hoarsely.
'Sois tranquille.'

'No,' she said. And, 'No,' again. 'You must answer it. Or Berthe will hear it,

and come. Won't she?'

'Yes,' he conceded with husky reluctance. He got up, pushing back his

dishevelled hair and walked to the bureau, snatching up the receiver. He said

curtly, 'Moncourt,' and paused, his face freezing into blankness. '
C'est toi?'

His tone softened perceptibly. 'Yes, I came back this evening.' He listened

for a moment. '
Ma chere,
I can't talk now. It's impossible.' His voice sank to

a murmur. 'We'll speak-tomorrow. Yes, I promise.'

The tenderness in his words seemed to cut into Meg like the lash of a whip.

One minute she'd been half naked in his arms, she accused herself in self-

disgust, on the brink of losing all self-respect—all control. Now she was

hearing him talk to another woman—someone with whom he was clearly on

in- intimate terms. Someone he'd been prepared to betray—with her.

It brought home to her in the plainest possible terms how little she knew of

him. And, more tellingly, the totally transient place she occupied in his life.

A painful lesson, but one she'd needed to learn.

A one-night stand, she thought, wincing. That was what she'd have

been—all she'd have been, and yet she'd nearly allowed it to happen. Had let

herself be taken almost to the brink, and beyond. That was what she was

going to ultimately remember to her shame—how easy she'd made it for

him. How stupidly, naively willing she'd proved... She choked back a sob as

she tried to refasten her dress, her fingers clumsy with haste.

Jerome said, 'Yes, very soon. You have my word.
A bientot.'

Back turned towards him, she heard the phone go down on its rest.

Mastering her voice with a supreme effort, she said, 'You can call her back

right away, because I'm leaving now. Is there a local taxi service I could

use?'

He came to stand behind her. His arms wrapped her tightly. His mouth

grazed the side of her throat. He said quietly, 'I am sorry. I wasn't expecting

any calls this evening. No one was supposed to know I had returned.'

As if that made it better, she thought bitterly, freeing herself from his

encircling arms. This other girl had probably been living for the moment—

couldn't wait any longer.

She said lightly, 'You're clearly irresistible. I'll leave you to get on with your

busy life, while I enjoy the rest of my vacation.'

Jerome caught her arm, turned her to face him. He said, 'It's not what you

think. She's a friend— that's all.'

Meg shook her head. 'It's really no concern of mine,' she said, avoiding the

dark intensity of his gaze. 'It's been a pleasant evening, but it's over, and I

simply must get back to the
auberge.
I have to make an early start

tomorrow.'

'Then don't leave at all.' His voice was husky. 'Stay here with me,

Marguerite. Watch the dawn in my arms.'

For a moment, her mind saw the huge bed with its brocade cover lit by the

first shimmer of daylight over the eastern hills, and her heart lurched in

temptation and longing.

Oh, God, she thought, what's the matter with me?

'No.' She detached herself from his grasp with cool determination. 'I—I

can't.'

'Why not?' he urged. 'When it's what we both want?'

'Because,' she said slowly, choosing her words with care, 'you would be a

complication I don't need.' She tried to smile. 'The simple life, remember.'

'Oh, no, Marguerite.' He shook his head, his mouth twisting. 'With you,
ma

belle,
nothing would ever be that simple.' His voice hardened. 'So why did

you agree to dine with me tonight?'

Meg looked down at the floor. 'It was wrong of me, I know. I suppose I—I

didn't want to be alone this evening. It's been an unnerving day. It's knocked

me a little off-balance—made me behave in a way that's completely out of

character.'

He laughed suddenly —an ugly sound in the shadowed room. '
Au contraire,

I think I have seen exactly what you are. But for that—inconvenient

intervention you would be in bed with me now,
ma belle.
You know it, and I

know it too. But go, if you must. Forgive me if I don't escort you in person.'

He strode across the room to the kitchen and shouted, 'Octavien.'

After a brief, tingling pause, the older man appeared, wiping his mouth on

the back of his hand. He gave Meg a hostile glare from beneath his shaggy

eyebrows, then turned a questioning glance on his employer. Jerome took

his car keys from his pocket and tossed them to him. '
Mademoiselle
is

leaving,' he said curtly. 'Please drive her to the Auberge du Source du

Beron.'

Octavien nodded imperturbably. He produced his crumpled beret, put it on

his head, and went out to the car.

Meg picked up her bag and looked at Jerome. 'Can we say—goodbye?' she

asked past the pain constricting her throat.

The dark face was unreadable. 'We will say
au revoir,'
he said quietly.

'Because this is only the beginning.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'I have not

finished with you yet.'

Meg's heart lurched. That, she thought, is what you think. She walked to the

door, holding her head high, trying not to hurry. His voice followed her,

mockingly. 'Sleep well,
cherie—if
you can.'

Octavien did not even look at her as she got into the car. He simply started

the engine and sent the Citroen bumping back up the track. Meg's hands

clenched in her lap. She still could barely believe what had happened—or

what she'd almost allowed to happen, she amended with forlorn

bewilderment. She might have behaved like a fool, but for a brief hour or so

she'd been shown passion— she'd known what it was to be desired.

Now it was gone—like a waking dream banished by the cold light of day.

And she should be glad- grateful for her reprieve. But the ache deep inside

her told a different story.

She thought, 'Ah God, ah God, but the dawn comes soon,' and could have

wept with sheer desolation.

MEG finished the last morsel of croissant, and refilled her coffee-cup. She'd

paid her bill, and Millot had brought her bags down to the reception area. All

she needed was the hire car to arrive, and she could be on her way.

During the course of a long and restless night, she'd decided to abandon her

sightseeing plans and go straight to Haut Arignac, and the seclusion it

offered. Once there, she would keep her head down, sit out the month as

she'd promised, and return to England, hopefully unscathed, at the end of it.

And there would be no more ill-advised attempts to adopt Margot's persona

as well as her identity, she told herself, biting her lip. That was the road to

disaster. She would just have to put the events of the past twenty-four hours

out of her mind as best she could, although it wouldn't be easy.

The inexperienced girl who'd driven out of Toulouse had vanished forever.

In her place was a woman, awoken for the first time to her own needs. But

needs that wouldn't be satisfied by someone like Jerome Moncourt—a

chance-met stranger with a well-practised line in seduction, and a coterie of

other women, she told herself strongly. She deserved better than that. She

wasn't Margot. She didn't want someone else's man.

But for all that positive thinking she'd found it impossible to forget about the

girl who'd telephoned last night. Her unknown saviour, she thought with

self-derision, and maybe that was why she couldn't get her out of her mind.

As for Jerome Moncourt—well, he was out of her life now, and no real harm

done—except perhaps to his sexual pride. She'd found his reaction to her

departure disturbing, even vaguely threatening. But perhaps he just wasn't

used to rejection, she thought with a faint sigh. And she'd given out all the

wrong signals, after all. I'm not the type for casual encounters, she told

herself. For me there'd have to be commitment, on both sides. And Jerome

Moncourt wasn't that kind of man. Although she'd never be able to figure out

his attitude towards her if she tried till doomsday. Unlike Octavien, she

thought ruefully, who hadn't uttered a word all the way back to the
auberge.

He could be listed as 'hostile'. It was only as she'd got out of the car that he'd

broken his self-imposed silence.

'Anglaise
.' His gruff voice had made the word sound like an insult. 'Go back

where you belong, and leave us in peace.'

There was nothing she'd like more, she'd thought with an inward grimace,

but she was committed now. There was no turning back.

'Mademoiselle
?' The waiter appeared at her side. 'Your car is here.'

She smiled her thanks, swallowed the rest of her coffee, and walked out to

Reception—stopping dead when she saw who was waiting for her in the

foyer.

'Bonjour
, Marguerite.' Jerome Moncourt's smile approved her slim cream

skirt and matching sleeveless top. 'You are dressed for the weather. It's

going to be a hot day.'

'What are you doing here?' she demanded hoarsely.

'Taking you to Haut Arignac.' He glanced at his watch. 'You said you wished

to make an early start.'

'Yes.' Meg mastered her voice, with an effort. 'But not with you.'

'I did warn you last night we had not seen the last of each other,' he reminded

her.

'I remember,' she said tersely. Something else occurred to her. 'And how do

you know I'm going to Haut Arignac?'

'Because that was the address on your luggage.'

Of course, she thought, her heart sinking. She said, 'How clever. But that

doesn't mean I'm prepared to accept a lift—or spend even another minute in

your company. I intend to make my own way to Haut Arignac.'

'It's quite a distance,' he said musingly. 'Even as the crow flies.'

'But I'm not going by crow,' she said. 'I have a rented car. Due any moment.'

Jerome shook his head. 'No,
helas.
I cancelled it.'

'You did what?' Meg's voice rose to a shriek. She was aware of heads

beginning to turn in their direction from elsewhere in the foyer, of the

patronne's
twinkling-eyed interest from the reception desk.'I told them it

would not be needed,' he said. 'You'll be required to complete an accident

report, but that can be done at your convenience. They have a branch office

in Albi,' he added.

'I don't care if they have one on the moon.' Meg was shaking with temper.

'You had no right—no right at all...'

'Shall we discuss that on the way?' He put a hand under her arm, and

escorted her firmly out of the
auberge,
and across the courtyard. 'Your

godmother is expecting us in time for lunch.'

'Godmother?' She was just about to say, What godmother? but pulled herself

up, with a gasp. 'How did you know that?'

'Because Madame de Brissot is a client of mine. I am planning an extensive

programme of repairs at the chateau on her behalf. The project I told you

about?' He paused, letting that sink in. 'She has spoken of you a great deal. In

fact I was detailed to collect you at the airport tomorrow, but she was

delighted to know that you'd be delivered to her, safe and sound, a day early.'

He paused again. 'Besides, there can hardly be two Margot Trants.'

That's what you think, Meg told him silently.

She said slowly, 'Then you must have known— last night...' Her voice

trailed away.

Jerome nodded. 'Who you were—what you were—and your destination. All

from those neat labels.'

'And-yet you said nothing.' And you weren't pleased either, she thought,

remembering that frozen figure at the side of the road.

Jerome shrugged. 'It was more amusing to keep silent,' he retorted. 'To enjoy

a random encounter, and see where it led.' He paused, allowing her to

assimilate the faint edge in his voice. 'And you were not being completely

frank either—Marguerite.'

She flushed. 'I'm not obliged to give my life history to a stranger,' she

countered. 'Besides, I thought—I hoped that was it. That I'd never see you

again.'

'Yet here we are,' he said softly. He opened the passenger door of the car