shout. ‘Armand St Jacques. He’s the Chefde Caves, and also the vigneron. In other words, Armand runs the place - as his father did and his grandfather before him. Theirs is
the expertise, ours is the name.’
‘Aren’t you involved at all in the winemaking?’
He shook his head. ‘Only in the selling.’
He was looking past her into the middle-distance,
apparently unaware of the way she was searching his face.
She watched him closely for several minutes, fascinated by
the way his gruesome face was almost transformed when he
wasn’t scowling. With those macabre features and that
hideously disfiguring scar he could never be described as
handsome, but when he looked as he did at that moment, his
eyes devoid of rancour and his mouth relaxed in something
close to a smile, there was an air about him that she found
positively intriguing.
‘Tell me,’ she said softly, ‘why did you change your mind
about marriage?’
Instantly the frown returned, and as his eyes bored into
hers she felt herself grow suddenly weak. ‘Change my
mind?’ he echoed.
Quickly she turned away, stunned by her peculiar
reaction, but her voice was perfectly steady as she said, ‘I
thought, at least everyone else seems to think, that you had
vowed never to marry.’
His laugh was bitter. ‘For once the gossip-mongers are
right, if a little exaggerated.’
‘So, why?’
‘I think,’ he said, starting to turn away, ‘that you would
prefer not to know the answer to that.’
‘I think,’ she said, following him, ‘that if I am to marry
you, I had better know the answer.’
‘Then I shall tell you - after I have proposed and you have
accepted.’
‘Are you so sure that I will accept? And do you very much
care, one way or the other?’
At that he stopped and turned to face her. To her dismay,
she found herself caught by those black, impenetrable eyes,
and again she felt that strange response to him sweeping
through her body. ‘Claudine,’ he said coldly, ‘when I feel
that the time is right, I shall ask you to marry me. I shall ask
you because it is the wish of our fathers to unite our families.
Whether you accept my proposal is a decision only you can
make, but I can assure you that I have no personal feelings
on the matter whatsoever.’
‘You rather give me the impression that I would be doing
you the greatest favour if I were to refuse,’ she said, in a tone
that disgusted her by its peevishness.
‘The words are yours,’ he said, ‘not mine.’
She was not a naturally violent person, but in the space of
less than half an hour she had not only kicked him, but was
now shaking with the urge to slap him. ‘I understand now,’
she seethed, ‘why your reputation is so foul. You are not
only rude and insensitive, you are unpardonably offensive.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that you are a truly
despicable man.’
‘So I believe,’ he answered lightly.
For one horrifying moment Claudine thought she was
going to cry - and since she would rather die than give him
the satisfaction of witnessing that, she stormed back into the
forest. She had gone no more than a few yards when, to her
inexpressible humiliation, she slipped in the undergrowth
and bumped several feet down the path on her bottom in the
most undignified - not to mention, painful - manner. It was
the final straw: the tears streamed from her eyes, and at the
same time, as she buried her face in her hands, her body
convulsed with sobs of laughter.
She heard him coming down behind her, and when she
looked up it was to find him standing over her, holding out
her hat. ‘Yours, I believe,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ she said, wiping the back of her hand over
her cheeks. Then, as she reached out to take the hat she
noticed the damp patch at the bottom of his trousers, and
unable to contain herself, was consumed by another
paroxysm of laughter.
He waited, with an unmistakable air of boredom, for
the expertise, ours is the name.’
‘Aren’t you involved at all in the winemaking?’
He shook his head. ‘Only in the selling.’
He was looking past her into the middle-distance,
apparently unaware of the way she was searching his face.
She watched him closely for several minutes, fascinated by
the way his gruesome face was almost transformed when he
wasn’t scowling. With those macabre features and that
hideously disfiguring scar he could never be described as
handsome, but when he looked as he did at that moment, his
eyes devoid of rancour and his mouth relaxed in something
close to a smile, there was an air about him that she found
positively intriguing.
‘Tell me,’ she said softly, ‘why did you change your mind
about marriage?’
Instantly the frown returned, and as his eyes bored into
hers she felt herself grow suddenly weak. ‘Change my
mind?’ he echoed.
Quickly she turned away, stunned by her peculiar
reaction, but her voice was perfectly steady as she said, ‘I
thought, at least everyone else seems to think, that you had
vowed never to marry.’
His laugh was bitter. ‘For once the gossip-mongers are
right, if a little exaggerated.’
‘So, why?’
‘I think,’ he said, starting to turn away, ‘that you would
prefer not to know the answer to that.’
‘I think,’ she said, following him, ‘that if I am to marry
you, I had better know the answer.’
‘Then I shall tell you - after I have proposed and you have
accepted.’
‘Are you so sure that I will accept? And do you very much
care, one way or the other?’
At that he stopped and turned to face her. To her dismay,
she found herself caught by those black, impenetrable eyes,
and again she felt that strange response to him sweeping
through her body. ‘Claudine,’ he said coldly, ‘when I feel
that the time is right, I shall ask you to marry me. I shall ask
you because it is the wish of our fathers to unite our families.
Whether you accept my proposal is a decision only you can
make, but I can assure you that I have no personal feelings
on the matter whatsoever.’
‘You rather give me the impression that I would be doing
you the greatest favour if I were to refuse,’ she said, in a tone
that disgusted her by its peevishness.
‘The words are yours,’ he said, ‘not mine.’
She was not a naturally violent person, but in the space of
less than half an hour she had not only kicked him, but was
now shaking with the urge to slap him. ‘I understand now,’
she seethed, ‘why your reputation is so foul. You are not
only rude and insensitive, you are unpardonably offensive.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that you are a truly
despicable man.’
‘So I believe,’ he answered lightly.
For one horrifying moment Claudine thought she was
going to cry - and since she would rather die than give him
the satisfaction of witnessing that, she stormed back into the
forest. She had gone no more than a few yards when, to her
inexpressible humiliation, she slipped in the undergrowth
and bumped several feet down the path on her bottom in the
most undignified - not to mention, painful - manner. It was
the final straw: the tears streamed from her eyes, and at the
same time, as she buried her face in her hands, her body
convulsed with sobs of laughter.
She heard him coming down behind her, and when she
looked up it was to find him standing over her, holding out
her hat. ‘Yours, I believe,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ she said, wiping the back of her hand over
her cheeks. Then, as she reached out to take the hat she
noticed the damp patch at the bottom of his trousers, and
unable to contain herself, was consumed by another
paroxysm of laughter.
He waited, with an unmistakable air of boredom, for
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