At The French Baron's Bidding. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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to Regis? There were no details. Just the scribbled note. How strange, she thought, flicking through the pages, that her namesake should be inscribed next to the name of the man nobody seemed to want to talk about.
After a while perusing the book, she felt sleep begin to press upon her, and, laying the volume down on an ornate table, she rose and yawned. Time to go upstairs and rest. Tomorrow she would seek further information.
As she wandered up the grand stairway Natasha glanced up at the portraits on the wall. A lovely grey-eyed girl in a stiff brocade dress with a revealing décolleté—as had been the fashion in the late eighteenth century—stared down at her from one of them. Natasha held her breath as her eyes went to the tiny bronze plaque on the frame. As she’d supposed, it was Natasha de Saugure. Who had she married and had she been happy? she wondered suddenly. Her eyes in the portrait looked bright and filled with hope. But there was something else, a mysterious melancholic twist to the smile.
Natasha glanced at the painting a moment longer, then, letting out a sigh, she climbed the rest of the stairs and headed to her room.
CHAPTER FOUR
A WEEK passed and still Natasha hadn’t taken any definite decision regarding her future. To her annoyance she experienced a moment’s disappointment when there was no sign of Raoul at the end of the week. But she shook it off, reminding herself that it was for the best. He’d obviously seen the light, realized how embarrassing any involvement would be. After all, they might be neighbours for the next half-century for all she knew.
Neither had she had time to further her investigation into the lives of Regis d’Argentan and her ancestor Natasha, for Monsieur Dubois had appeared at the château the morning following her evening with Raoul, armed with heavy manila files overflowing with documents needing to be signed and filed, and others she needed to read to become familiar with her grandmother’s estate.
‘And you should visit your grandmother’s apartment in Paris immediately,’ the notaire had admonished in his precise legal tone.
So now here she was, a week later, sitting on a train headed to Paris.
Except for an old schoolfriend, she knew no one in that city. But, despite this somewhat daunting fact, Natasha was excited. Here she was, going to Paris to stay in her very own apartment. It seemed incredible. It was a long time since she’d visited the city with her parents, and the thought of rediscovering such exciting places as the Louvre and the Centre Pompidou, and ambling down the Champs Elysées, stopped her being anxious for long. Perhaps she would even hit Avenue Montaigne, now that she’d discovered the novel and intriguing delight of creating a new wardrobe.
As the train drew up to the platform at the Gare du Nord, Natasha stepped down with her practical roll-on case. She was about to follow the crowd down the platform towards the main station entrance when she heard her name called.
‘Oh, my God,’ she exclaimed as Raoul stood looming over her, his dark features stark in the afternoon sun. ‘You gave me such a fright.’
‘Forgive me. It was not my intention.’
‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked haughtily, hastily regaining her composure.
‘I rang the Manoir to talk to you and Henri told me you’d be on the four-fifty, so I came to pick you up,’ he replied matter-of-factly.
‘Well, that’s very nice of you,’ she said, hoping her tone was dampening enough, and willing her pulse not to beat quite so hard, ‘but Henri had no business telling you my whereabouts.’ Another time she’d leave specific instructions not to reveal her plans.
‘I think he assumed you would like to be picked up,’ he said mildly, taking her case and slipping his hand protectively about her shoulders as two heavily laden backpackers nearly collided with her on the crowded platform. ‘I believe you are not very familiar with Paris?’
‘No, I’m not,’ she acknowledged crossly, wishing she could calm the agitation that being next to him caused. Then, as they began walking down the platform, she saw Raoul signal to an older man in a grey suit and tie.
‘May I introduce Pierre?’ Raoul said smoothly, as they reached him. ‘He drives for me. We shall be taking mademoiselle to the Saugure apartment in the Place François Premier, Pierre.’ His tone was polite, yet there was no doubt that the words were an order. Natasha felt strangely exhilarated and annoyed. How dared he swan into her life and simply take over? What if she’d wanted to go somewhere else rather than the apartment?
She was about to protest when by chance her eyes fell on the large queue waiting for taxis. It went against the grain, but she swallowed her words. It was really much simpler and more agreeable to be driven, even though Raoul’s manner was intolerably high-handed. Of course she’d have to make it very plain indeed that she was not going to be herded around Paris at his pleasure, she reflected, climbing into the Bentley that had materialized as though by magic. She had her own plans for her Parisian stay, and they did not include Raoul d’Argentan.
Or at least they hadn’t up until now.
‘I thought you’d enjoy dining here,’ Raoul said a few hours later as they glanced at their menus over the candlelit dinner table.
Natasha wasn’t quite certain how she’d ended up at Laurent’s with Raoul. It had all happened in such a natural manner that she’d barely noticed the time go by. First she’d been enchanted by the apartment, situated in one of Paris’s loveliest squares. It was ample, elegant, and beautifully decorated. Very different from the stiff formality of the Manoir, as though another hand had been at work here. The housekeeper, Madame Duvallier, a large middle-aged woman with a warm smile and an efficient manner, who had worked with the old Comtesse for many years, had made her most welcome. She’d also greeted Raoul warmly, and it had been plain to Natasha that he was an habitué.
Now, as they sat at the candlelit table, she decided to question him. ‘Have you come often to Grandmère’s apartment?’ she asked, after they’d ordered and the menus had been removed.
‘Quite frequently. My parents and she were friends. So, yes, I’ve been in and out over the years. Lately the Comtesse had asked me for some advice about her affairs. In fact, I’m quite surprised she never told me that you were to be her heir,’ he added, with that same critical stare that left her feeling as though he was suspicious of her.
Natasha bristled. ‘I don’t see why she should have. After all, I didn’t know myself.’
‘No, but—’ He cut off his words, shook his head and smiled. ‘It is of no importance. Do not let us spoil such a pleasant evening by conjecturing over things which we cannot alter in any case.’
The logic of his argument struck home. There was little use in trying to figure out the old Comtesse’s motives. She might as well do as he said, and enjoy the lovely atmosphere of the restaurant.
‘Do you plan to make a long stay in Paris?’ Raoul enquired as they sipped champagne, and Natasha felt a delicious headiness take hold of her.
‘I really don’t know. But very soon I’ll have to decide whether or not I’m returning to my job. I took two months off. But after that I’ll need to make a definite decision as to the future.’
‘Do you enjoy your job?’ he asked curiously, his eyes boring into hers.
‘I do enjoy it, yes. It has been very fulfilling. But…’ She hesitated, something stopping her from confiding in him.
‘But?’ He prodded gently, determined to get her to tell him what was on her mind.
‘Well, it’s just that all this has been so unexpected. I mean, how could I have imagined when I left Khartoum that my life would take such a strange turn?’
‘No, you couldn’t, could you?’ he murmured, still sizing her up while accepting the caviar the waiter had placed before them. ‘Now things seem very different?’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated, then