скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Ready?’ He turned, holding out a hand, leading her towards the window. ‘We are taking an alternative route.’ His lips curved at Rachel’s expression. ‘Don’t look so shocked. It will be perfectly safe. See? We step out onto the flat roof, then a careful negotiation of the drainpipes and a small leap down to freedom.’
Rachel smiled. ‘Maybe you should have rung the front doorbell,’ she said, stretching up on tiptoe and kissing him tenderly. ‘I think it would have been a lot simpler.’
‘Ah, but not so much fun. And, besides,’ he continued, with more than a hint of bitterness, ‘I would have had to wait until much later in the day, and then I would have had to endure the disapproving looks of your aunt—it really isn’t the done thing for the gardener’s boy to court the mistress’s niece, is it?’
‘Don’t, Jean-Luc, please, not now!’ Rachel placed a fingertip to the suddenly angry mouth, hating the old argument coming between them once again. ‘Aunt Clara’s just being protective. I’m just eighteen. I’m the only family she’s got. She only wants to look after me—’
‘To stifle you.’ Angry brown eyes held Rachel’s gaze. ‘She imagines I would hurt you?’ The incredulity in Jean-Luc’s tone was hard to miss. He shook his head in disgust. ‘I swear, this house, it is still living in the Victorian times. Your aunt would look very convincing in a black gown with a white lace cap on her head!’ His mouth curved, but beneath the humour the anger was still evident.
‘She doesn’t trust me because I’m a foreigner…or a gardener…’ He lifted his hands in a typically Gallic gesture. ‘What does she think I’m going to do—whisk you off and sell you to the white slave trade?’
‘Jean-Luc!’ Rachel shook her head. ‘Please! Don’t be cross.’ Rachel glanced anxiously towards her bedroom door again.
‘Although, I think,’ he added, pulling her close against his rugged body, his smouldering eyes lingering over Rachel’s feminine curves, ‘it might not be such a bad idea. I think you would fetch a very good price.’
Rachel giggled. ‘Jean-Luc, you are not only incorrigible, you are irreverent, too!’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed his mouth. ‘Do you think that’s why I like you so very much?’
‘Like?’ He pulled her closer still so that she felt the full power of his body against hers, and tipped her face back so that her long golden hair fell free behind her like a waterfall of pure gossamer. ‘What is “like”?’ he growled in mock anger….
Rachel negotiated the climb down over the rooftops, laughing because she had never felt so carefree, so incredibly happy. In a few short weeks Jean-Luc had become everything to her—the sun, the moon, the stars. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked her, walk on a bed of hot coals if it meant spending the rest of her life with him.
In comparison to all of that, a short trip over the rooftops was nothing.
They ran like the wind, hand in hand, around the side of the huge manor house, across the crunching gravel drive and out through the wooden door in the walled kitchen garden into the fields beyond…
Rachel hardly noticed the outside world. Her only thoughts were for Jean-Luc. Uncaring of her aunt’s disapproval, every spare moment was spent with him. Early morning rendezvous became the norm. Beautiful hours spent walking and talking, passionate encounters in orchard or barn—anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as they could be together.
Rachel had never imagined that such happiness as she felt could exist. During the beauty of those few precious weeks together the whole world was transformed into a glorious place. She loved Jean-Luc with all her innocent heart and told him so a thousand times, never imagining that his declarations of love in their most passionate of moments meant as much as his promise that he would stay with her for ever.
In the days that followed Jean-Luc’s departure Rachel tried hard to keep faith, to hope that he would be missing her as much as she was missing him and that he would come back simply because he loved her.
The doubts crept in, of course. Once so sure of what they had together, Rachel began to look at aspects of their time together and understood that what had been for her the most important relationship of her life had been for Jean-Luc simply a passionate holiday romance.
The shock of discovering he was gone, after returning from a weekend visit to a friend, had been profound, to say the least. On that Friday afternoon she had kissed him goodbye without a care in the world, confident that he would be at the Grange, working still and waiting for her on Monday morning. So sure of what they had together—too sure.
At first she refused to believe he’d gone. His letter had clinched it, of course, propped up on her cluttered dressing-table when she had returned…Rachel inhaled a ragged breath. Even now, she could scarcely bring herself to think of it. The letter had been so kind—too kind almost, stilted and strange. The agonies of having to tell her that he didn’t want to see her again, she supposed. Whatever, it had given out little hope.
In some ways it was the kindness, the altered, distant tone of Jean-Luc’s missive, that had hurt Rachel the most. She hadn’t wanted to read about how much their romance had meant to him, how intensely he valued the time they had shared together, that he would remember it always, think of her often. Platitudes, that’s all they had been—empty platitudes.
She wanted him to be there with her—for always.
She thought hard about trying to contact him and was dismayed when she realised that, apart from the region, she knew little about where he came from and who he really was. She had been so wrapped up in each moment, in the precious time they had shared together. When she thought back, Rachel realised that he had been peculiarly reticent about discussing his family, his life in France. Sure, he had talked about the beauty and his love of his country, but very little of it had been detailed or precise. Only when Jean-Luc had gone did she understand why.
It was difficult, coping with her heartbreak alone—impossible, in fact. Aunt Clara was surprisingly sympathetic when a sobbing Rachel confessed why she was in such an appalling state.
‘My dear, I don’t want to say I told you so, but you know I really wasn’t happy about the amount of time you were spending with each other. Did you really believe,’ she added gently, ‘that there could be a future with a man like that?’
‘A man like that?’ Rachel pulled away from her embrace, still keen to defend Jean-Luc, despite everything. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Silly, silly girl! He’s young—only a couple of years older than yourself—virile, full of his own ambitions. You didn’t honestly think that there was a future for the two of you?’
‘Yes!’ Rachel’s expression revealed her anguish. ‘Yes!’ she repeated, the word strangled by a sob. ‘I did.’
Her aunt suggested getting away, and offered to pay for a long-wanted trip to America to visit distant relations. Rachel, although reluctant in the first few days following Jean-Luc’s departure, soon saw the advantages of such a decision. She wouldn’t be reminded at every turn of what she had lost. Every flower, every blade of grass—Jean-Luc, the gardener, her lover, had tended them all.
She didn’t want to dwell on those weeks and months that had followed. Even now, six years later, she could still remember the twisting pain that had accompanied her every waking moment. And there had been dreams—such dreams! Taunting her with their familiarity so that it had felt as if he were still with her, still loving her…
Rachel smoothed the finely knitted dress over her hips. She glanced in the hall mirror and wondered if she had overdone the lipstick. Was it too red? Too bright? Too much an indication that she was trying to impress? Rachel opened her clutch bag and pulled out a tissue, wiping the colour from her lips. That was better. She looked paler now, more fragile, more like her usual self.
Rachel pulled open the door with trembling fingers. Jean-Luc had come himself to fetch her, and had not merely sent his chauffeur, as she’d expected. He stood some distance away with his back to her, surveying the sweeping gravelled front which had looked so pristine in his time here as a gardener but which was now weedy and in need of a massive amount of care and attention.
‘The place looks rather sorry for itself now, doesn’t it?’ He turned and cast dark eyes over Rachel’s figure. It took all of his considerable self-possession not to reveal his pleasure at the sight of her. She looked stunning, as different from his earlier meeting with her as night was from day. Here was a glimpse of the sophisticated, astute career woman he had heard about.
‘You’re ready?’ His smile was brief, almost curt, a dark brow raised questioningly. ‘We should get going. A table has been booked for eight-thirty.’
‘Where are we going?’ Rachel’s voice was faint in comparison to his. She cleared her throat and added in stronger tones, ‘Is it far?’
‘Twenty kilometres or so, I believe.’ Jean-Luc’s response was polite but cool. ‘This area does not have a particularly good choice of restaurants.’
She followed him to his car—a different one from this afternoon, she realised, larger and even more impressive, if that were possible. The chauffeur removed himself from behind the steering-wheel and opened the rear door for Rachel with a brief smile.
Jean-Luc got in beside her. Rachel shifted her position so that she sat as far away as possible from him, and made a pretence of looking out of the window.
‘The windows need repainting, do they not?’ Rachel glanced across at Jean-Luc, sensing the mockery in his tone. ‘You must be sorry to see the place so run-down,’ he added.
‘It still has charm,’ Rachel replied stiffly. ‘It’s still my home.’
‘But for how much longer?’ He leant forward, indicating to the chauffeur that they should be on their way.
‘Isn’t all this…’ Rachel glanced around the plush interior, her gaze taking in the driver ahead ‘…a little…extreme?’
‘In what respect?’ Jean-Luc’s gaze was steady upon Rachel’s face.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She shook her blonde head and glanced out of the window again. ‘I just never imagined I’d see you riding around in a chauffeur-driven limousine, that’s all,’ she murmured.
‘You never imagined that you would see me again,’ Jean-Luc replied. ‘I can understand why this has come as something of a shock to you.’
‘Oh, you can, can you?’ Rachel surveyed his handsome face with narrowed blue eyes. ‘How clever you are!’
‘Rachel—’
‘Don’t! I’m not interested!’ She swallowed, struggling against a throat that was tight with unshed tears. ‘I’m only here because of the Grange. Nothing else! That’s all I’m interested in. Not how you became a success, or what you’ve been doing in the intervening years. Only the Grange.’ She hardened her expression, turning briefly to look into the face she had once loved so much. ‘Do you understand?’
He didn’t reply immediately, simply looked deep into her eyes, making her suffer with the intensity of his gaze—so provocative, so full of power and authority. ‘Oh, I understand,’ he murmured. ‘More than you would imagine.’
There was little Rachel wanted to say on their way to the restaurant. The silence wasn’t particularly comfortable or companionable, but Rachel was damned if she’d struggle to fill the emptiness which sat so uneasily between them.
As she might have expected, the restaurant—situated in the main street of a picturesque country town, small and elegantly decorated—was of a high standard. The car drew up outside and they were greeted in the manner to which Jean-Luc had so clearly become accustomed.
‘We’d like to order immediately.’ Jean-Luc told the waiter as he showed them to their table. He turned to Rachel. ‘You still like scallops, I take it?’ She nodded. ‘Wild mushrooms?’
‘Yes.’
He ordered for both of them in ten seconds flat, casting a cursory glance at the menu, choosing wine with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before.
‘I am capable of ordering for myself!’
‘You do not like the food I have chosen?’ He raised his arm to summon the waiter.
‘No, it’s fine!’ Rachel wished she had kept her mouth shut. She took a sip of mineral water and glanced around at her surroundings, anywhere except at Jean-Luc’s handsome face.
‘You have been here before?’
‘No.’
‘It has a good atmosphere, don’t you think? But the decor is a little…’
‘Insipid?’ Rachel murmured, automatically noting what she would do to improve things.
‘Yes.’ Jean-Luc nodded in agreement. ‘Exactly that. But we didn’t come here to discuss this restaurant’s decoration, did we? You will have given a great deal of thought to the future of the Grange over the past couple of weeks.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You will lose it, you realise that?’
‘It seems a distinct possibility.’ Rachel worked hard at sounding as businesslike and as cool as possible. If Jean-Luc could do it, why couldn’t she? She continued to speak swiftly, refusing her brain time to conjure up a whole host of very good reasons. ‘Although I haven’t entirely given up hope that the bank will give me some more time,’ she continued.
‘You should.’ Dark eyes gazed penetratingly at her. ‘Give up hope,’ he added bluntly, when Rachel raised a brow in query. ‘The Grange is a lost cause—’
‘If that’s so, why are you here now, talking to me?’ Rachel cut in swiftly. ‘Why are you bothering?’
‘If you will allow me to finish…’ Jean-Luc paused, and took a sip of mineral water, increasing Rachel’s nervous anticipation with the length of his delay. Whether he did so for effect, to produce the biggest reaction, or simply because he was working out a way to frame his next sentence, Rachel wasn’t sure. ‘I believe,’ he asserted, ‘that the Grange would make an ideal high-class hotel, health resort and conference centre.’
She knew, even as half her brain railed against the idea, that Jean-Luc’s idea was viable. Her hotel and business acumen couldn’t be disregarded just because the Grange happened to be her home. She tried, though, she tried very hard to dispute it. ‘You are joking, surely?’ she replied.
‘Not at all.’ Ebony eyes held hers. ‘I never joke about business.’
‘You really think that’s the miracle plan that’s going to save the day?’ Rachel shook her blonde head, staring stubbornly down at the table so that Jean-Luc shouldn’t read her thoughts. Her mind was already assessing the possibilities, swiftly redesigning the interior to accommodate guest bedrooms and restaurants and leaping ahead to conference suites and leisure facilities.
‘I don’t remember mentioning miracles,’ Jean-Luc responded crisply, ‘just a business proposition that would be beneficial to both of us.’
‘You honestly think I could consider such a proposal?’ Rachel’s voice was tinged with half-hearted disbelief. ‘That I would want to enter into some sort of partnership with you?’
‘You know, Rachel…’ Jean-Luc lifted his glass and took a mouthful of wine ‘…that my proposition is the only thing capable of getting you out of this mess. I know you do—I can see it in your eyes.’
‘Can you, indeed?’ Rachel said through gritted teeth. ‘How clever of you!’
He raised a dark brow, his gaze steady and unflinching. ‘You’re not interested?’
‘There’s got to be another way!’ Rachel asserted. ‘How can you sit there and tell me that the best thing would be to turn the Grange into a huge hotel? It’s my home!’
‘Not for very much longer!’ Jean-Luc’s voice was clipped. ‘You know as well as I do that the Grange, in its present condition with all of its natural assets, is an ideal site—’
‘It isn’t a “site”, as you so callously call it,’ Rachel cut in. She gulped a breath. ‘I’ve lived there ever since my parents were killed—’
‘And now dear Aunt Clara is dead and the Grange is your responsibility! You were orphaned at a young age—that is tragic. Car accidents are tragic, death is tragic.’ He lifted his broad shoulders in, it seemed to Rachel, an uncaring shrug. ‘So is bankruptcy.’
Rachel pushed her plate aside. The mushrooms were good, but suddenly she had no stomach for them. She loved her work. The excitement and challenge of managing a hotel from day to day, when just about anything could happen and often did, gave her more satisfaction than she could say, but this shocking idea, that somehow she and Jean-Luc should have a shared interest—and in the Grange of all places—was difficult to contemplate. She shook her head again. ‘I cannot imagine a worse scenario!’
‘Except, perhaps, the one where you sack Naomi and the rest of the staff, pack up, move out and hand over the keys of the Grange to the bank?’ Jean-Luc picked up his wine glass. ‘You find that particular course of action more acceptable, do you?’ There was a tense silence. ‘Are you so na?ve?’ Jean-Luc continued remorselessly. ‘What do you imagine the bank will do once they take possession?’
Rachel glanced down at her lap, avoiding his penetrating gaze. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’
‘Well, it’s time you did! They’ll sell to the highest bidder. They won’t be concerned whether it’s split up into apartments or turned into the biggest conference centre in Europe!’
‘I haven’t lost it yet!’ Rachel persisted stubbornly. ‘There’s still time.’
‘There’s no time. Your aunt used up all the time and left you with nothing but debts,’ Jean-Luc informed her brutally. ‘You will be left with nothing.’
‘So, why do you care?’
Why, indeed? But he did—more than he cared to admit.
He looked at her, cold and hard and formidable. ‘I don’t. I have been looking for suitable properties in this area for some time. In fact, I was about to close a deal when I heard of your aunt’s death and subsequent problems.’
‘Oh! So…so your predatory instincts took over! How extremely fortuitous that the Grange got into difficulties when it did!’ Rachel replied unsteadily. ‘I’m sure your shareholders are going to be very impressed at such easy pickings!’
‘I have no shareholders,’ Jean-Luc informed her with a cold expression. ‘I own the company lock, stock and barrel.’
‘Oh, well, even better!’ Rachel continued scathingly. ‘Think of all those profits just for yourself—you’ll be a millionaire in no time!’
‘I already am one!’ The terse statement came as he pushed back his chair and rose from the table, throwing his napkin onto the plate in front of him in disgust. ‘I’m not prepared to put up with this. It’s clear from your behaviour that you’re not capable of taking my proposition seriously. That is your mistake and you will have to live with the consequences.’
Rachel stared up at him in horror. ‘You’re leaving?’ she asked. ‘Just like that?’
‘I see no reason to stay. You’re clearly not interested in anything I have to say.’
Angry, tense, annoyed with himself at not being able to stay cool, he walked away, threading his broad frame through the tables of the restaurant.
Rachel sat for a moment, watching him go, stunned by his sudden departure. She didn’t know what to do. She could barely think straight. Jean-Luc’s words haunted her. Did she really want to lose the Grange? Did it honestly mean so little to her? She rose from the table, glancing at the other diners who, she realised belatedly, had been enjoying the cabaret, and followed Jean-Luc outside.
Rachel stood hesitatingly in the entrance to the restaurant, glad of the cooling night air on her heated skin.
What was she to do? How was she supposed to cope with this nightmare situation? He didn’t care, that much was clear. He had said it, and she believed him. His only thought was to strike a deal, to make money.
Jean-Luc’s first emotion was relief because there was always a risk in pushing too hard, and she might so easily have decided to go with her true instincts and reject everything, without giving a damn for the consequences.
‘You’d like a lift home?’
