table.
“It’s harder than I thought,” she admitted to him, as she sat down, looking very young and very pretty. He was almost exactly twice her age. He had just turned forty.
“That’s to be expected,” he said solemnly. “I remember hearing about your parents, and about you,” he smiled at her, and there was nothing wicked or lascivious about him. He just looked like a nice man, and seemed like a sympathetic person. “I’ve had my own taste of that. I lost my wife and son ten years ago in a fire, in a house like this. I sold the château, and it took me a long time to get over it, if one ever does. That’s why I wanted to buy this one, because I longed to have a house like this again, but it has been hard for me. Perhaps that’s why it has taken me a while to do it. But it will be lovely when I get around to it.”
“It was lovely when I lived here,” Marie-Ange smiled gratefully at him for his kindness. “My mother always had it filled with flowers.”
“And what were you like then?” he smiled gently at her.
“I spent all my time climbing trees and picking fruit in the orchards.” They both laughed at the image she painted for him.
“Well, you’ve certainly grown up since then,” he said, seeming pleased to be sharing a cup of tea with her. It was lonely for him there, for the reasons he had just explained to her, and he enjoyed her company. She had been a pleasant surprise for him when he got there. “I’m going to be here for a month this time. I want to work on the plans for the remodeling with the local builder. You’ll have to come and visit me again, if you have time. Will you be staying here long?” he asked with curiosity, and she looked uncertain.
“I’m not sure yet. I just arrived from the States two days ago, and all I knew I wanted to do was come here. I want to go to Paris, and see about taking classes at the Sorbonne.”
“Have you moved back to France yet?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “I haven’t decided. My father left …” She caught herself on the words. It would have been indelicate to mention the trust her father had left her. “I have an opportunity to do what I want now, and I have to make some decisions about it.”
“That’s a good spot to be in,” he said, as he refilled her cup of tea and they went on talking. “Where are you staying, Miss Hawkins?”
“I don’t know that yet either,” she said, laughing and realizing she must have sounded very young and foolish to him. He seemed so grown-up and sophisticated. “And please call me Marie-Ange.”
“I would be delighted to do so.” His manners were impeccable, his charm impossible to ignore, his looks impressive. “I just had a very strange idea, and perhaps you will think me mad for suggesting it, but perhaps you would like it. If you haven’t made any other arrangements yet, I was wondering if you might like to stay here, Marie-Ange. You don’t know me at all, but you can lock all the doors in your wing, if you like. I actually sleep in the guest room because I like it better. I find it sunnier and more cheerful. But the entire master suite can be sealed off quite effectively, and you would be safe from me, if you’re worried about it. But it might mean something to you to stay here.” She sat and stared at him, overwhelmed by the offer, and unable to believe that things like that happened. And she wasn’t in the least afraid of him. He was so well brought up and so polite that she knew she had nothing to fear from him. And all she wanted was to stay here and steep herself in the past and the memories she had missed for half her lifetime.
“It would be incredibly rude of me to stay here, wouldn’t it?” she asked him cautiously, afraid to take advantage of his kindness, but dying to stay there.
“Not if I invite you, and I did. I meant it. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t want you to stay here. I can’t imagine you’d be much trouble.” He smiled at
“It’s harder than I thought,” she admitted to him, as she sat down, looking very young and very pretty. He was almost exactly twice her age. He had just turned forty.
“That’s to be expected,” he said solemnly. “I remember hearing about your parents, and about you,” he smiled at her, and there was nothing wicked or lascivious about him. He just looked like a nice man, and seemed like a sympathetic person. “I’ve had my own taste of that. I lost my wife and son ten years ago in a fire, in a house like this. I sold the château, and it took me a long time to get over it, if one ever does. That’s why I wanted to buy this one, because I longed to have a house like this again, but it has been hard for me. Perhaps that’s why it has taken me a while to do it. But it will be lovely when I get around to it.”
“It was lovely when I lived here,” Marie-Ange smiled gratefully at him for his kindness. “My mother always had it filled with flowers.”
“And what were you like then?” he smiled gently at her.
“I spent all my time climbing trees and picking fruit in the orchards.” They both laughed at the image she painted for him.
“Well, you’ve certainly grown up since then,” he said, seeming pleased to be sharing a cup of tea with her. It was lonely for him there, for the reasons he had just explained to her, and he enjoyed her company. She had been a pleasant surprise for him when he got there. “I’m going to be here for a month this time. I want to work on the plans for the remodeling with the local builder. You’ll have to come and visit me again, if you have time. Will you be staying here long?” he asked with curiosity, and she looked uncertain.
“I’m not sure yet. I just arrived from the States two days ago, and all I knew I wanted to do was come here. I want to go to Paris, and see about taking classes at the Sorbonne.”
“Have you moved back to France yet?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “I haven’t decided. My father left …” She caught herself on the words. It would have been indelicate to mention the trust her father had left her. “I have an opportunity to do what I want now, and I have to make some decisions about it.”
“That’s a good spot to be in,” he said, as he refilled her cup of tea and they went on talking. “Where are you staying, Miss Hawkins?”
“I don’t know that yet either,” she said, laughing and realizing she must have sounded very young and foolish to him. He seemed so grown-up and sophisticated. “And please call me Marie-Ange.”
“I would be delighted to do so.” His manners were impeccable, his charm impossible to ignore, his looks impressive. “I just had a very strange idea, and perhaps you will think me mad for suggesting it, but perhaps you would like it. If you haven’t made any other arrangements yet, I was wondering if you might like to stay here, Marie-Ange. You don’t know me at all, but you can lock all the doors in your wing, if you like. I actually sleep in the guest room because I like it better. I find it sunnier and more cheerful. But the entire master suite can be sealed off quite effectively, and you would be safe from me, if you’re worried about it. But it might mean something to you to stay here.” She sat and stared at him, overwhelmed by the offer, and unable to believe that things like that happened. And she wasn’t in the least afraid of him. He was so well brought up and so polite that she knew she had nothing to fear from him. And all she wanted was to stay here and steep herself in the past and the memories she had missed for half her lifetime.
“It would be incredibly rude of me to stay here, wouldn’t it?” she asked him cautiously, afraid to take advantage of his kindness, but dying to stay there.
“Not if I invite you, and I did. I meant it. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t want you to stay here. I can’t imagine you’d be much trouble.” He smiled at
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