The Seduction Trap by Sara Wood Page A

seemed bad, but she’d got through similar difficulties before by taking one step at a time. As a start, she began to search for the house documents. They were hidden beneath a pile of papers in a drawer, with a note attached in her mother’s writing which said, ‘Cottages for Tess’. Naturally the deeds were
    written in French, which meant she couldn’t understand a word. A French dictionary went on her list of shopping. Checking the map, she saw that Lalinde or Le Bugue looked the most likely towns for that, and also for the other things she’d need. ‘Holidaymakers next,’ she said briskly, attempting to fill the silent, empty building with friendly sound. ‘An assessment of the cottages and then a trip to the shops.’ Tessa finished ticking off the priorities on her fingers. It might even be fun having a friendly chat with the visitors if they were English. Perhaps she’d suggest they meet for a drink in the evening. A little company wouldn’t go amiss. Her tense muscles relaxed a little at the thought. But she recognised what a difficult task she had ahead-and the attitude of Guy and the villagers wouldn’t make it any easier. She remembered his anger, the dark glitter in his scathing eyes. His determination to acquire her cottages was stronger than any sense of fair play. He’d do anything necessary, she felt sure. And she shivered with a predictive fear.

 

     
Hewlett-Packard

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Two days later, Tessa was sitting glumly beneath the covered market in the middle of the village square. The holiday lets had proved to be a nightmare. The furious guests had pounced on her and taken her on an eyeopening tour of each cottage, complaining unceasingly. Unfortunately they had every reason to do so.
    She gazed longingly at the bar. It was eleven o’clock and it was open, the drift of a rich coffee aroma tantalising her senses. But yesterday she’d been told to go away in no uncertain terms, and it hadn’t needed any knowledge of the language to understand what the scowls and brusquely waved arms had meant.
    Suddenly she heard the clang of the chateau gates. Her body stiffened and she shrank deeper into the shadows. Guy wandered across the square. She watched as he accepted with good humour an invitation to join the handful of villagers sitting beneath the striped parasols outside the bar. Laughter drifted across to her and there was much chinking of glasses. It made a sorry contrast to her reception. ‘I want a word with you!’
    Dismayed, she turned, recognising the voice of the man staying in The Bakehouse, the cottage next to The Old Bakery. ‘Yes, Mr Donovan?’ she said politely, fearing trouble. ‘My wife and I have talked things over and have decided we want our money back.’
    Tessa looked stunned. This was worse than she’d expected! ‘I-I don’t have it! I’ve explained that my mother owned the properties until recently. She will have your money-’
     
    ‘That’s your problem, not mine,’ he said crossly, raising his voice a decibel or two. Tessa cringed. The whole village must be able to hear! ‘I’m not paying hardearned cash to spend my holiday in a damp, poorly maintained, dirty cottage which was furnished in the Dark Ages!’
    ‘Nineteen fifty-something, I think,’ she ventured meekly. ‘Exactly! So give us our money back or I’ll get someone in authority here to impound something you own. That bike, for instance. I won’t be cheated! Would you like to sleep on a lumpy mattress in a bed that’s rusting? Or have to clean the bathroom and kitchen from top to bottom on the day of your arrival because of the filth?’
    ‘No, Mr Donovan,’ she said miserably. ‘I wouldn’t.’
    ‘And why isn’t the bar open in the evenings?’ he went on, getting into his stride. ‘And the advert said there was a leisure complex on the river, but that isn’t open at the moment. There’s nothing to do here but read!’
    It sounded like bliss to Tessa. ‘I can’t be held