In the Millionaire's Possession (7 page)

But that wasn
’
t all, and she knew it. In fact it probably wasn
’
t the half of it, she thought as they walked back to the house.

She always enjoyed this time after the house had closed, when they gathered in the kitchen to count the takings over a fresh pot of tea and the leftover cakes. And today she should have been jubilant. Instead she found herself remembering that sudden conviction that unseen eyes had been upon her by the lake, and it made her feel restive and uneasy
—
as well as seriously relieved that she hadn
’
t yielded to her impulse by stripping off and diving in.

Of course there were plenty of French tourists in England, and their visitor might well turn out to be a complete stranger, but Helen felt that her encounter with Marc Delaroche in the Martinique had used up her coincidence quota for the foreseeable future.

It was him, she thought. It had to be…

As soon as Mrs Lowell had gone Helen dashed round to the Great Hall and looked in the visitors
’
book, displayed on an impressive refectory table in the middle of the chamber.

She didn
’
t have to search too hard. The signature
‘
Marc Delaroche
’
was the day
’
s last entry, slashed arrogantly across the foot of the page.

She straightened, breathing hard as if she
’
d been running. He might have arrived unannounced, but his visit was clearly no secret. He wanted her to know about it.

She simply wished she
’
d known earlier. But there was no need to get paranoid about it, she reminded herself. He
’
d been here, seen Monteagle on a better than normal working day, and now he
’
d gone
—
without subjecting her to any kind of confrontation. So maybe he
’
d finally accepted that she wanted no personal connection between them, and from now on any encounters they might have would be conducted on strictly formal business lines.

And the fact they
’
d been so busy today, and their visitors had clearly enjoyed themselves, might even stand her in good stead when the time came for decisions to be made.

At any rate, that was how she intended to see the whole incident, she decided with a determined nod, then closed the book and went back to her own part of the house, locking up behind her.

Helen awoke early the next morning, aware that she hadn
’
t slept as well as she should have done. She sometimes wished she could simply turn over and go back to sleep, letting worries and responsibilities slide into oblivion. But that simply wasn
’
t possible. There was always too much to do.

Anyway, as soon as the faint mist cleared it was going to be another glorious day, she thought, pushing aside the bedcover and swinging her feet to the floor. And, as such days didn
’
t come around that often, she didn
’
t really want to miss a moment of it.

She decided she
’
d spend the day in the garden, helping George to keep the ever-encroaching weeds at bay. But first she
’
d cycle down to the village and get a paper. After all, they might finish the crossword, earn some money that way.

George was waiting for her as she rode back up the drive.
‘
All right, slave driver,
’
she called to him.
‘
Can
’
t I even have a cup of coffee before you get after me?
’

‘
I
’
ll put your bike away, Miss Helen.
’
George came forward as she dismounted.
‘
Daisy came down just now to say you
’
ve a visitor waiting. Best not to keep him, she thought.
’

Helen was suddenly conscious of an odd throbbing, and realised it was the thud of her own pulses. She ran the tip of her tongue round her dry mouth.

‘
Did Daisy say
—
who it was?
’
she asked huskily.

He shook his head.
‘
Just that it was someone for you, miss.
’

She knew, of course, who it would be. Who it had to be, she thought, her lips tightening in dismay.

Her immediate impulse was to send George with a message that she hadn
’
t returned yet and he didn
’
t know when to expect her. But that wouldn
’
t do. For one thing it would simply alarm Daisy and send her into search-party mode. For another it would tell her visitor that she was scared to face him, and give him an advantage she was reluctant to concede.

Surprised, cool, but civil, she decided. That was the route to take.

Of course there was always an outside chance that it could be Nigel, returned early from Sussex for some reason
—
because he was missing her, perhaps. But she couldn
’
t really make herself believe it.

In a perverse way she hoped it wasn
’
t Nigel, because she knew what she looked like in old jeans, with a polo shirt sticking damply to her body and her hair bundled into an untidy knot on top of her head and secured by a silver clip, and knew that he disliked seeing her like that.

But, no matter who was waiting for her, she owed it to herself and no one else to make herself slightly more presentable, even if it was only a matter of washing her face and hands and tidying her hair.

She supposed reluctantly that she
’
d better sneak in through the kitchen and go up the back stairs to her room.

But he
’
d forestalled her
—
the intruder
—
because he was already there in the kitchen, sitting at the table and tucking into a bacon sandwich with total relish while Daisy fussed round him, filling his cup with more coffee.

Helen halted abruptly.
‘
What are you doing here?
’
She heard the note of aggression in her voice and saw Daisy glance at her, her lips pursed.

Marc Delaroche got to his feet. In casual khaki pants and a short-sleeved black shirt, he looked less of a business tycoon and more of a tough from the back streets of Marseilles.

‘
As you see,
mademoiselle
, I am having some breakfast.
’
He slanted a smile at Daisy.
‘
Your housekeeper is an angel who has taken pity on me.
’

Helen forced herself to amend her tone slightly.
‘
I meant surely you saw everything you needed to yesterday, so why are you still around?
’
She pushed a dusty strand of hair back from her face.
‘
After all, a village is hardly your kind of place.
’

‘
I still had some unfinished business here,
’
he said softly.
‘
So I decided to spend the night at the Monteagle Arms.
’

She raised her brows.
‘
They don
’
t do breakfast?
’

‘
Of course,
’
he said.
‘
But after the dinner they served last night I was not tempted to try the
petit dejeuner
.
’
He gestured at his plate.
‘
May I continue?
’

‘
Coffee, Miss Helen?
’
Daisy placed another mug on the table and waited, coffeepot poised, her expression indicating that her employer had breached quite enough of the laws of hospitality already.

‘
Please.
’
Helen gave her a swift conciliatory smile, and subsided unwillingly on to the chair opposite him.

She was bitterly aware that she
’
d neglected to put on a bra that morning
—
a fact that would not be lost on her unwanted guest, she thought angrily, burning her mouth on an unwary gulp of coffee.

‘
You mentioned unfinished business?
’
she said after a pause.
‘
I presume it
’
s something to do with the house?
’
She forced a smile.
‘
After all, why else would you be here?
’

‘
Why indeed?
’
he agreed cordially.

‘
So…
’
Helen gestured awkwardly.
‘
If I can help…?
’

‘
I was not able to see all the rooms in the house during the tour yesterday, because your charming guide told me they are the private living quarters of yourself and your staff.
’
Marc Delaroche paused.
‘
Perhaps you could show them to me presently?
’

Helen put down her mug.
‘
Is that strictly necessary?
’

‘
It is,
’
he said.
‘
Or I would not have asked. Your application to the committee covered the entire building, not merely selected sections, as I am sure you understand. And your accommodation includes rooms of historic importance
—
the library, I believe, and the Long Gallery, and also the State Bedroom.
’
He gave her an enquiring look.
‘
Is that where you sleep, perhaps?
’
He added gently,
‘
I hope you do not find the question indelicate.
’

‘
I have never slept there,
’
Helen said coldly.
‘
It was last occupied by my grandfather, and I wasn
’
t planning to make it available to the public.
’

‘
Even though one of your kings used it for a romantic rendezvous? Charles the First, I think?
’

‘
Charles the Second,
’
Helen corrected.
‘
He
’
s supposed to have come here to seduce the daughter of the house, who
’
d fled from court to escape him.
’

His brows lifted.
‘
And did he succeed in his quest?
’

‘
I haven
’
t the faintest idea,
’
Helen said shortly.
‘
And, anyway, it
’
s just a legend. I don
’
t believe a word of it even though I was named after her!
’

‘
Quel dommage
,
’
he murmured.

‘
Well, Sir Henry always said it was true,
’
Daisy interposed from the stove.

‘
My grandfather liked to tease people,
’
Helen said stonily.
‘
He said the room was haunted, too, if you remember.
’

‘
And you thought if you slept there you might wake to find a ghost in your bed?
’
The dark eyes were dancing.

‘
Not at all,
’
Helen denied.
‘
I simply prefer my own room.
’

‘
Until you are married,
hein
?
’
Marc Delaroche said carelessly.
‘
When you have a living man beside you at night,
ma belle
, there will be no room for ghosts.
’

‘
Thank you,
’
Helen told him, biting her lip.
‘
You paint such a frank picture.
’

He shrugged.
‘
Marriage is a frank relationship.
’
He paused.
‘
But, legend or not, the State Bedroom and its romantic associations should be available to your public. I hope you will allow me to be its first visitor.
’