Susan Stephens Selection. Susan Stephens

smiles with the Countess. ‘I’m so pleased you enjoyed yourself. And now you’ve been to see us, don’t be a stranger.’

      ‘Well, actually, that’s the reason I wanted to have a word with you,’ the Countess said, casting a measuring glance at Kate from beneath a thick fringe of lashes so like her son’s.

      ‘Shall we sit down, Mother?’ Guy suggested, moving to take her arm.

      ‘Contrary to what you might think, Guy,’ she informed him promptly, ‘I am quite capable of dancing the night away should I choose to do so.’

      ‘Of course, Mother,’ he said, inclining his head in a brief bow.

      ‘Now, Kate,’ she said, turning the full beam of still beautiful eyes on Kate’s face. ‘Megan said it would make more sense if I stayed over at the cottage tonight, and I wanted to speak to you before I agreed. You see,’ she continued, seeing Kate’s face light up with interest, ‘Megan has a plan.’

      ‘A plan?’ Guy queried.

      ‘To paint the river at dawn—to capture the special way light filters through the trees… You don’t mind?’

      ‘Of course I don’t mind, Mother… Kate?’

      Kate thought quickly. There was still a very nice guest room going spare, overlooking the garden. ‘Of course I don’t mind. In fact, I’ll probably join you on the painting expedition—’

      ‘Ah…’ The Countess looked crestfallen for a moment.

      ‘Is there a problem?’ Kate said gently, all her energies focused on nurturing the Countess’s tentative return to the outside world.

      ‘My plants—’

      ‘The gardeners can very easily add your prize collection to their watering duties,’ Guy pointed out with typical masculine pragmatism.

      ‘Out of the question,’ his mother corrected firmly. ‘I trust those plants to no one—but Kate. You will do that for me, dear?’

      ‘Of course, but…’

      ‘Last thing at night and first thing in the morning,’ the Countess instructed, shooting a warning glance at her son. ‘You’ll find the feed by the side of the watering can. Guy will show you what to do.’ And, having made her wishes clear, she gave Kate’s arm a grateful pat then sailed back to join Megan’s group of fledgling artists, a group Kate was thrilled to see had grown to include a number of villagers as well as the guests from La Petite Maison.

      Realising that either Guy or his chauffeur was now destined to run to and fro with her from the château, Kate turned to offer her apologies.

      ‘I’m very grateful to you for the improvement I see in my mother,’ he said bluntly. ‘And, frankly, I don’t see the problem. Stay over,’ he said as if he was inviting her to take tea on the lawn. ‘I don’t think we should compromise her recovery by placing unnecessary obstacles in her path, do you?’

      ‘Well, no… No, of course not.’ Kate’s heart stopped. Guy’s invitation was so tempting, so full of possibilities. ‘But do I really need to stay?’ she said, longing for him to insist she did.

      ‘Why not? It’s not as if I’m short of bedrooms, and you’ve stayed at the château before.’

      ‘But it will only take a couple of minutes at most to see to the plants—’

      ‘I thought we had a lot to talk about.’

      So much for fantasies! She might have known the covenants would raise their ugly heads sooner or later.

      ‘We might have another drink,’ Guy told her reasonably. ‘Then I shan’t want to drive.’

      ‘But your driver—’

      ‘Will be at Madame Duplessis’s disposal.’

      Kate thought about it for a moment. Much as she hated being backed into a corner, she could hardly force the issue. ‘So, what do you want to discuss?’

      ‘Must I draw up an agenda?’

      His choice of words confirmed her suspicions that the topic for discussion was business.

      ‘You’ve done all you can here,’ he pointed out.

      Glancing towards the cottage, Kate saw a group of about a dozen people clustered around Megan, hanging on her every word. She needed time to think—to work out how to save the situation. ‘But there’s the clearing up to do,’ she argued.

      ‘Don’t you think Madame Duplessis can take care of that?’

      Now she saw that a number of staff from the château had arrived and were setting everything straight again under the housekeeper’s direction.

      ‘Let’s go,’ Guy said, reaching for his jacket.

      ‘I’ll need some things—’

      ‘You’ve got a whole room full of clothes at the château,’ he said, drawing her arm through his. ‘Or had you forgotten?’

      Guy drove his iron-grey Aston Martin straight round to the back of the château and took Kate down the same flight of steps she’d ventured down before. Pausing only to snap on the lights, he led the way across the concrete floor of the vast plant nursery. Opening the door through which he had disappeared on her first visit, he beckoned her in.

      ‘Welcome to Mother’s retreat,’ he said, bending to switch on a lamp that provided just a mellow glow in contrast to the stark working light they had just left. ‘You’re very honoured,’ he said, stepping deeper into the small room. ‘No one is allowed in here apart from me—and now you,’ he said, searching her face for a reaction.

      Kate stood in silence, looking around, and then turned to shut the door behind her—shutting out the world, she realised, feeling the heavy pall of sadness close around her.

      ‘Perhaps now you can understand why I am so grateful to you,’ Guy said softly, leaning back against an old mahogany sideboard housing a collection of beautiful pot plants.

      It had seen some wear, Kate thought, though the pictures in their silver frames vying for space amidst the plants had been dusted recently and their frames gleamed bright with attention. There was more furniture in the room—all of it old and shabby, almost as if it had been picked up in one of the characterful flea markets in Paris.

      ‘From their student days,’ Guy confirmed, reading her face. ‘They shared a small flat—’

      ‘Your mother and father?’

      ‘They were also young once,’ he said, his eyes reflecting the depth of his affection for them.

      Moving closer, Kate could see the photographs. Some, old and grainy, showed the Countess as a beautiful young girl, her face glowing with vitality…and love. ‘Your father was so handsome,’ she remarked, seeing the resemblance at once between father and son. She stroked one finger down a lock of ebony hair tied with a white lace ribbon faded in part to yellow that hung over one corner of the frame.

      ‘My father’s,’ Guy confirmed. ‘Taken on honeymoon while he slept and tied with a ribbon Mother saved from her wedding bouquet.’

      ‘That’s the most romantic thing I ever heard,’ Kate said softly. ‘Your mother must have loved him very much.’

      ‘I loved him very much,’ Guy corrected gently, ‘but he was her life.’

      ‘We must help her,’ Kate said passionately as she stared into Guy’s eyes. She could see his loss written there as clearly as she had seen it in his mother’s eyes, and impulsively she reached out her hand to him. ‘I know you’re hurting too.’

      ‘We all are,’ he said, taking both her hands in his and bringing them to his lips.

      ‘You were right, you know,’ Kate admitted.

      ‘About?’