Leap of Faith by Danielle Steel Page B

her in a fatherly way, and without letting herself think about it further, she accepted, and promised to leave for Paris the next day. “Stay as long as you like,” he assured her. “I told you, I’ll be here for a month, on holiday, and the place gets rather dreary when I’m alone.” She wanted to offer to pay for her room, but she was afraid to insult him. He was obviously prosperous, and what’s more, he was a count. She didn’t want to offend him by treating the château like a hotel. “What shall we do for dinner, by the way? Do you have plans, or should I whip something up? I’m not a great cook, but I can come up with something edible. I have some groceries in my car.”
    “I don’t expect you to feed me as well.” She looked embarrassed to be that much of a burden on him. She had no sense of how pleased he was to have her around. “I could cook for you, if you like,” she offered shyly. She had cooked for her Aunt Carole every night. The meals had been plain, but her aunt had never complained about them.
    “Do you know how to cook?” He looked amused at the thought.
    “In America, I had to cook for my great-aunt.”
    “Rather like Cinderella?” he teased as his green eyes danced in amusement.
    “A bit like that,” Marie-Ange said, taking her empty cup to the all-too-familiar sink. Even standing there brought back countless memories of Sophie. And once more she thought of Sophie’s letters and what she’d learned about them that day.
    “I will cook for you,” he promised her. But in the end, they both settled for pate, the fresh baguette he had bought, and some brie. And he brought out an excellent bottle of red wine, which she declined.
    She set the table for him, and they chatted for a long time.
    He was from Paris, and had lived in England briefly as a child, and then come back to France. And after they had talked for a while, he said that his little boy had been four years old when he died in the fire. He said he thought he would never recover from it, and he hadn’t in some ways. He had never remarried, and admitted that he led a solitary life. But he didn’t seem like a morose sort of man, and he made Marie-Ange laugh much of the time.
    They left each other at ten o’clock, after he had made sure that there were clean sheets on the bed in the master suite. He made no overtures to her, did nothing inappropriate, wished her a good night, and disappeared to the guest suite on the opposite side of the house.
    But it was harder than she thought sleeping in her parents’ bed, and thinking about them, and to get there, she had walked past her own room, and Robert’s. Her head and heart were full of them all through the night.

Leap of Faith

Chapter 8
    When Marie-Ange came down for breakfast the next day, after making her bed, she looked tired.
    “How did you sleep?” he asked with a look of concern. He was drinking cafe au lait, and reading the paper Alain had bought him in town.
    “Oh … I have a lot of memories here, I guess,” she said thoughtfully, thinking that she shouldn’t disturb him more than she had, and that she could get breakfast in town.
    “I was afraid of that. I thought about it last night,” he said, as he poured her a huge cup of cafe au lait. “These things take time.”
    “It’s been ten years,” she said, sipping the coffee, and thinking of Robert’s clandestine canards.
    “But you’ve never come back here,” he said sensibly. “That is bound to be hard. Would you like to go for a walk in the woods today, or visit the farm?”
    “No, you’re very kind,” she smiled, “I should drive back to Paris today.” There was no point staying here anymore. She had had one night to touch her memories, but it was his house now, and time for her to move on.
    “Do you have appointments in Paris?” he asked comfortably. “Or do you simply feel you ought to go?”
    She smiled as she nodded, as he silently admired her long blond hair, but she saw nothing