Come The Vintage. Anne Mather

not understand.’ He felt about in his pockets and drew out a case of narrow cheroots. He put one between his teeth, and as he lighted it with a spill from the fire, he went on: ‘Let me tell you something, may I?’ He did not wait for her acquiescence, but continued: ‘You have a lot to learn, Ryan. Oh, I know your father has shown you the vineyards, taken you down to the cellars, and introduced you to the men who work for us. But as yet, you know nothing of our life here. Ours is a small vineyard. We produce less than two hundred cases of wine every year. But we like to think that what we do produce is good, very good. Our wine is comparatively unknown as yet. It is drunk locally, in the hotels and restaurants of the tourist resorts, but we do not make a lot of money. We do not compare to the great wine-producing chateaux of Bordeaux and Burgundy. In consequence, our life is quite simple. We do not waste money employing housekeepers when the mistress of the house is perfectly capable of running her own establishment, do I make myself clear?’

      ‘But I’ve never – I wouldn’t know how—’

      ‘You will learn. I will employ a young girl from the village to help you with the heavy tasks, but you will find there is reward in knowing yourself capable of managing alone.’

      Ryan finished her coffee and put the mug down heavily on the draining board. ‘You have it all worked out, haven’t you?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘When did you tell Berthe she would no longer be needed? As soon as my father was dead? Were you so sure I’d agree to your outrageous plans?’

      ‘They were not my plans, mademoiselle,’ he retorted, and his voice had cooled perceptibly. ‘I suggest you stop feeling sorry for yourself and start appreciating your good fortune!’

      ‘The good fortune of marrying you, monsieur?’ she taunted him insolently, and then felt an inward thrill of fear at the menacing darkening of his tawny eyes.

      ‘Have a care, little one,’ he said chillingly. ‘Once we are man and wife I will have certain rights where you are concerned. Do not tempt me to exert them.’

      Ryan’s cheeks flamed now. ‘But you said—’

      ‘There are other rights beside the conjugal ones,’ he retorted swiftly. Then he made an impatient gesture. ‘But this is getting us nowhere. I suggest we stop this bickering and begin accepting that for both of us there will have to be – adjustments.’

      ‘Adjustments?’ Ryan felt stupidly near to tears. She knew whose the greater adjustment would be. Schooling her features, she nodded. ‘All right, all right. I suppose I have no choice, as I’m to be confined here …’

      ‘In what way confined?’ His voice was dangerously quiet.

      Ryan spread her hands, unconsciously revealing her likeness to her father. ‘What else is there for me to do? There are no buses here. No trains that I can see. I can hardly walk to the nearest town, can I, and the village isn’t exactly huge!’

      ‘You don’t drive?’ It was more of a statement than a question. ‘No? Then I will teach you. There are two vehicles here – the station wagon, and a Landrover. You are welcome to use either of those when you have become proficient. Anciens is only twenty kilometres away. There are shops there, and a cinema. And a library, too, should you require one.’ This last was said with a reversion to his earlier mockery, but Ryan chose to ignore it.

      ‘Thank you.’

      He inclined his head. ‘It is nothing. And now I suggest you help yourself to something to eat. Fatigue follows swiftly on the heels of malnutrition.’

      Ryan shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

      ‘You will be before the morning is over. I suggest you spend the time exploring your domain. The Abbé Maurice will no doubt join us for lunch. Perhaps you should be considering what you are going to offer him.’

      Ryan stared at him in horror. ‘You – expect me to provide a meal?’

      Alain walked towards the kitchen door and picked up a black leather coat he had thrown ready for use over the back of a chair. ‘I have to go into Bellaise to see Gilbert Chauvin. I expect to be back soon after one o’clock. You will find the larder is well stocked, and there is a deep-freeze in the storeroom. Berthe was a careful housekeeper. I do not think you will be disappointed. Do not trouble to enter the cellar. I myself will choose the wine when I return.’

      ‘But—’ Ryan took a step towards him. ‘I mean, I’ve never served a meal before!’

      Alain opened the door, and stood regarding her with scarcely-concealed amusement. ‘There is always a first time for everything, little one. Adieu – and good luck!’

      Ryan stood motionless as the door closed behind him, and after a few moments she heard the station wagon’s engine roar to life. She hurried to the window as the tyres crunched over the cobbles of the yard, but he did not turn to look at her as the vehicle drove between the gateposts and disappeared down the track towards the village.

      She told herself she was glad to see him go, but with his departure the house seemed suddenly very empty, and very isolated. For a girl who all her life had been spared the drudgery of housework, it seemed there was a tremendous amount to learn, and she hadn’t the first idea where to start.

      Remembering that someone had once told her that the best way to clean a house was from the top down, she looked doubtfully towards the door which led into the hall. The bedrooms, she supposed, were the place she should begin. But where was Alain de Beaunes’ bedroom, and was she expected to make his bed?

      Shaking her head, as if to shake away the sense of bewilderment and confusion that filled it, she walked purposefully into the hall and up the stairs. The first landing, where her room was situated, presented what seemed to be an alarming amount of doors to her inexperienced eye. But after discovering broom cupboards, and airing cupboards, and renewing her acquaintance with the rather antiquated bathroom, she discovered that there were only four bedrooms to cope with. The room which had been her father’s offered an air of melancholy which she was little prepared to bear in her emotional state, and she quickly closed the door again, promising herself that she would go through his things fully when time had dulled perception. Apart from her own room, there only were two other rooms, one of which was dust-sheeted, and the other was Alain de Beaunes’.

      She hesitated before entering his bedroom, but then pushed away her feelings of distaste. After all, once they were married she would have to get used to caring for his clothes, washing his linen, making his bed. All the same, she felt somewhat of an intruder as she hung his bathrobe on the hook behind the door, straightened the tumbled pillows and smoothed the sheets of the bed. There were no pyjamas lying about, and she assumed he must have folded them away into a drawer. It was an odd thing for him to have done, but it was not up to her to question his actions.

      When the bed was made and the coverlet had been neatly spread, she looked round with reluctant curiosity. What was there here to indicate what manner of man he was? A bookcase beside the bed revealed a selection of theses on viticulture, books on economics and the geology of the Rhone basin, and a couple of novels, which Ryan herself would not have been opposed to reading. A bedside cabinet supported a lamp and an alarm clock, but she respected his privacy sufficiently not to probe into its drawers and cupboard.

      The furniture matched that in her own own room, although his bed was broader and longer, and looked rather more comfortable. On impulse, she opened the wardrobe door and looked at the clothes hanging inside. There were not many, obviously Alain de Beaunes did not pay a lot of attention to keeping up with current fashions, but as she closed the door again she had to concede that in his case clothes were merely a necessary covering and not something to accentuate his masculinity. His masculinity was in no doubt.

      Realizing she was wasting time, she quickly left his bedroom, made her own bed and tidied her room, and then went downstairs again.

      A mewing at the kitchen door admitted the huge tortoiseshell-coloured tabby which had occupied the settle by the fire until Berthe’s departure, and which Ryan had assumed belonged to her. But now the cat walked into the kitchen as though