Tower of Shadows (11 page)

taken and enjoyed, do you think,
mademoiselle?'

Sabine laughed. 'The '86 certainly,' she said. 'Although I can't

approve of the sexist metaphor. The '89 needs to put on a little

weight.'

'You hear?' The
Baron
looked at his nephew. 'Maybe Hercule has

returned to us too.'

'No one has returned to us,' Rohan said curtly. 'Miss Russell is here

on a short holiday, that's all. She will be going back to England

very soon.'

'Then we must make the most of her. Perhaps you will dine with

us,
mademoiselle,
on Saturday evening?'

'We cannot monopolise Miss Russell's time.' Rohan's frown was

swift and disapproving. 'No doubt her plans are already made.'

'You must forgive Rohan's apparent churlishness,' Gaston de

Rochefort said gently. 'Your mother's inexplicable desertion of my

poor brother all those years ago still rankles with him.' He lifted a

shoulder. 'But the heart has its reasons, and in any case Isabelle is

beyond blame now.'

'That's exactly how I feel about it,' Sabine said, giving Rohan a

defiant glance. 'Although I admit I'd like to know exactly what

those reasons were.'

'Who can tell?' The
Baron
sighed. 'A lovers' quarrel — the natural

nerves of a bride. One can find all kinds of explanations.'

'I suppose so,' Sabine said slowly. 'But with my mother it was

more than that. I'm sure of it. It was if she wanted to forget that

this part of her life ever existed.'

'You don't think maybe her wishes should be respected?' Rohan

asked, a note of anger simmering just below the surface of his

voice.

'She's been accused of a lot of things,' Sabine said coolly. 'I feel it's

up to me to put the record straight.' She turned to the
Baron.

'Thank you for your invitation,
monsieur.
I'd be happy to accept.'

'Then shall we say eight o'clock? But I hope you will visit us less

formally before then. Where are you staying?'

'Miss Russell is using Les Hiboux,' Rohan said abruptly.

'But of course. A charming place, but a little primitive,' said the

Baron.
'We have a swimming-pool at the rear of the house, Miss

Russell, which you are welcome to use whenever you wish.' He

turned to his nephew. 'Rohan, you must show Miss Russell the

short-cut through the woods between our house and hers.'

Rohan's mouth tightened. 'It would be better if I asked Marie-

Christine to point the way, Uncle Gaston, if that's what you wish.'

He paused. 'We need to talk, you and I.'

Gaston de Rochefort was still smiling, but Sabine saw that tell-tale

tightening of his hands on the controls of the chair. The tension in

the room had changed in some way. 'You have been to Arrancay

today, I suppose. The jewel of the Haut-Medoc.' He made it sound

almost insulting.

'Yes,' Rohan said, wearily. 'But that's not important. At least not

yet. It's the quotation from Lemaitre I put on your desk two weeks

ago that we have to discuss.'

'I've seen it,' the
Baron
said shortly. 'His prices are absurd. Our

present casks can be scraped.'

'They have been,' Rohan said grittily. 'Too many times already.

And we should also discuss the replanting programme with

Jacques.'

The
Baron
moved a hand dismissively. 'There is plenty of time for

this later. You are always so impatient, my dear boy. And, besides,

we should not bore Miss Russell with the business of the
vignoble.

Particularly when she wishes you to escort her back to Les

Hiboux. It's not very gallant to keep her waiting,' he added

reprovingly.

'Oh, please.' Sabine's face flamed. 'I can find my own way. . .'

'It doesn't matter,' Rohan said harshly. 'The
vignoble
has never

been my uncle's top priority.'

For one inimical moment, the eyes of the two men met. Oh, Lord,

Sabine thought, dismayed, the swords are out.

'Touché.'
It was as if the
Baron
had picked up her thought. He was

smiling ruefully, disarmingly. 'Rohan will tell you,
mademoiselle,

that I spend too much time on my researches. But when one has

become—inactive some consolation is needed in life. And, I

admit, the history of our region has become mine.'

'May I know what you're researching?' Sabine asked.

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. 'The role of the local
bastides
in

the Wars of Religion. I am writing a book on the subject.'

'I don't think I know what a
bastide
is.'

'They were fortified towns built in the Middle Ages, some by the

French and some by the English, from which they preyed on each

other, particularly during the Hundred Years' War between our

countries. It was a violent and savage period, you understand.

Later, in the sixteenth century, some of the
bastides
allied

themselves with the Huguenot cause against the Catholics, and

there was more bloodshed.'

'Not always,' Rohan put in drily, and the
Baron
laughed.

'Rohan is referring to a story he's always enjoyed about the men of

Monpazier versus Villefranche de Perigord. They set off to raid

each other on the same night, but passed somehow in the darkness.

Of course, when each army arrived at the other's
bastide,
it found

no defences, and looted as much as it wished. When light dawned,

both sides looked very foolish, and made a treaty that everything

should be put back exactly as it had been.'

Sabine laughed too. 'It's a nice story. I wish all wars could be

settled as easily.' She paused. 'Are any of these
bastides
in the

neighbourhood?'

'Monpazier—one of the most beautiful —is only a few kilometres

away. Rohan has to go there tomorrow — some tiresome business

with insurance. He would be glad to take you with him. There is an

excellent restaurant where you could have lunch.'

'Oh, please.' Sabine shot an appalled glance at Rohan's stony face.

'I don't want to be a nuisance. I can do my own sightseeing,

really...'

'Oh, but I insist,' said Gaston de Rochefort. His smile was

curiously sweet. 'There is no problem, is there, Rohan?'

'None at all,' Rohan said colourlessly, thrusting his hands into his

pockets and turning away.

'That is settled, then.' The
Baron
sounded satisfied.
'A bientot,

mademoiselle.
Until Saturday.'

This is crazy, Sabine thought, as they went out into the sunshine.

One moment, I'm being thrown off the premises. The next, I'm

practically being adopted. Yet when he first saw me it was

definitely scary. . . I don't understand any of it.

She stole a look at her companion. His eyes were brooding and his

mouth compressed. She said, 'I'm sorry if I got in the way just

now, when you wanted to talk about the vineyard.'

He shrugged. 'If you'd not been there, he would have found

another excuse, believe me.'

'Oh.' Sabine digested that, then took a breath. 'Nor was I hinting

for a guided tour. You —don't have to take me to Monpazier.'

'Those are the
Baron's
orders,' he said with cool indifference. 'It's

best to comply. It makes life much easier,' he added with faint

grimness. 'Besides, you'll probably have to face a full interrogation

on the Monpazier
bastide
on Saturday. I'll pick you up at ten

tomorrow morning.'

She looked down at the broad flags of the terrace they were

crossing. 'But won't Antoinette object?'

He gave her a brief, incredulous look. 'Why should she? She hasn't

the slightest interest in Monpazier. She belongs, heart and soul, to

Paris.'

'Oh,' was all she could think of to say. It would be a strange

marriage, she thought, with Antoinette hitting the high spots in the

big city, while her husband tended his vines here in the Perigord.

But if that was what they both wanted. . .

It wouldn't suit me, she thought. I'd want to be with him, working

alongside him. Sleeping with him at night.

From the terrace, a broad flight of central steps led down to lawns

and formal flowerbeds. Ahead of them the dark shadow of the

trees waited. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to be shown this

short-cut through the woods, although Isabelle must have used it

many times, when she was living at Les Hiboux and working at the

chateau. She glanced back at the house. There seemed to be

windows everywhere, like bright eyes, staring down at her,

watching her every move.

She suppressed a shiver. 'It's very beautiful here,' she commented

over-brightly in compensation.

'Yes, I suppose it must seem so.' Rohan roused himself from his

abstraction and glanced round him. 'But I may have become blind

to its charms. This place hasn't the happiest of associations for me.'

He looked at her. 'Tell me something. Are you still glad you came

here?'

'I'm neither glad nor sorry. It was something I felt I had to do.' She

looked straight ahead, desperately aware of him beside her,

conscious of the start of an unfamiliar and unwelcome ache of

yearning deep within her. 'Although it hasn't been one of the

happiest experiences of my life either,' she added in a low voice.

'What did you expect? One stone is disturbed on a hillside, and

soon it becomes a landslide.' He shrugged again, almost angrily.

'Well, it is done, and there's no turning back now.'

She gave an uneven laugh. 'You make me sound like some kind of

natural disaster.'

'Perhaps that's how I see you.' His mouth twisted. 'Like one of the

summer hailstorms which come without warning and strip the fruit

from the vines. One moment the sky is clear—then, on the

horizon, one small insignificant cloud. And afterwards—one is left

with the wreckage.'

They'd reached the trees now. There was a clearly defined path,

but she still had to pick her way with care. Except for the rasp of

the crickets, it was very quiet.

She said huskily, 'I didn't come here to wreck anything. Or to make

any kind of demand. Whatever you may think or believe about my

mother, you must understand that.'

'Perhaps Isabelle didn't intend it either. But it happened. Maybe

she was the kind who trails havoc behind her wherever she goes.'

'And I'm her daughter, so naturally I must be the same,' Sabine said

harshly. 'Well, she broke no hearts in England, and nor have I—

ever. I didn't mean to make trouble here either.' She stared up into

the sun-dappled leaves. 'In fact, if I'd known the effect my arrival

was going to have, perhaps I'd have stayed away. I —I just don't

know.'

Rohan halted, seizing her arm, and jerking her roughly round to

face him. 'Then why did you come?' he grated. 'You don't want

money. It can't have been mere curiosity. You're too determined —

too single-minded about it for that. What is this—great truth you're

looking for?'

She swallowed. 'I —I came to find my real father.'

There was a long silence, then he said wearily, '
Mon
Dieu!'
and his

hand fell from her arm. 'Are you saying that Isabelle was pregnant

— that she was expecting Fabien's child when she ran away?'

She nodded.

'But it makes no sense.' He punched one hand against the other.

'Fabien loved her, and they were going to be married within weeks

anyway. Plenty of babies come too soon after the wedding. People

would just have shrugged their shoulders. There would have been

no shame attached to either of them. Why should she have left

him?'

'That's what I keep asking myself—because she didn't just leave.

She hid in England, and never came back.'

'What are you implying? That she was afraid of something —

afraid of my stepfather, perhaps?' He shook his head. 'That's

impossible. He married my mother when I was just two years old.

I never heard him raise his voice to her, and he mourned sincerely

when she died. Children know these things—they have an instinct

— they sense undercurrents.'

'Do they?' Sabine asked bitterly. 'I was totally oblivious. I never

suspected a thing, even though my supposed father always kept me

at arm's length.' She folded her arms across her body. 'Every time I

called him Daddy, it must have been like twisting a knife in a

wound,' she said, with a shiver. 'I tried so hard, you see, to give

him extra attention — extra love —to try and make up for the loss