Tower of Shadows (14 page)

to the farm.

Sabine put her chicken casserole on to cook, then made up her bed.

It would be good to sleep in real sheets tonight, she thought.

But when she eventually went to bed after a leisurely supper sleep

proved elusive. Her body was weary but her brain was buzzing,

trying to make sense of everything she'd seen and heard that day.

And at the forefront of her mind was Rohan Saint Yves.

The sadness in Monique Lavaux's eyes had emphasised to her that

there was no future in allowing herself to love a man who was

committed to another woman.

I shouldn't have allowed him anywhere near me, she told herself

bitterly. I've been a fool and more than a fool. Because even if

Antoinette didn't exist Rohan wouldn't involve himself with me —

at least not seriously. To him, I'm just my mother's daughter,

unworthy of trust or respect.

Although that didn't necessarily mean he wouldn't take anything

she was unwise enough to offer, she reminded herself. So the most

sensible thing to do was ignore her treacherous emotions and avoid

Rohan's company altogether from now on. For one thing, she

wouldn't wait for him to cancel their trip to Monpazier. She'd do it

first. In the morning, she'd ask Marie-Christine to take him a note,

saying that she'd had to make other plans. She'd leave early and go

to Les Eyzies as Mademoiselle Lavaux had suggested, or perhaps

to La Roque-Gageac, said to be the most beautiful village in

France. She probably couldn't avoid having dinner at the chateau,

but at least she wouldn't be alone with him there.

The actual composition of the note, over coffee the next morning,

took a lot of thought, and several sheets of paper. She didn't want

to sound rude, she thought, just —firm, letting him know without

ambiguity that she wasn't available.

She put on a straight yellow skirt, just brushing her knee, and a

matching vest-top. Even replica caves might be cold, she thought,

slinging a yellow and white striped cotton blazer over her arm, and

picking up her bag and camera on the way out to the car.

A swift call at the farm, and then freedom, she told herself, as she

walked under the arch.

Bonjour
.' He was leaning casually against her car, very much at his

ease in the morning sunshine. 'Isn't it a beautiful day?'

'No,' Sabine said hoarsely. 'I mean —what are you doing here?'

'Something told me you might wish to make an earlier start than

we'd planned.' The hooded eyes surveyed her with frank

appreciation mingled with amusement, 'I see I was right.'

Sabine bit her lip. 'Actually, I've decided to leave Monpazier to

another day. You—you have business to attend to —and I should

only be in the way.'

'Then my business can wait too,' he said. 'Where do you wish to go

instead?'

There was silence, then she said unevenly, 'You're not making this

very easy for me.'

He shrugged. 'We have a date. You're trying to stand me up. Why

should I make it easy?' He straightened. He said quietly, 'Sabine, I

am trying, clumsily perhaps, to make amends for everything that

has happened. I would like you to spend the day with me, please.

Just
a few hours looking round the
bastide
and having a meal

together. Nothing more, I promise.' His smile was as warm as the

sun. It beckoned —cajoled. 'Please,' he repeated.

A sweet, dizzying weakness swamped her body. Under the

concealing folds of the blazer, her tightly clenched hands were

trembling. It was madness. It was danger, and she knew it. She

should walk away.

'I wrote you a note.' She held out the letter.

'I guessed you would.' He took it from her, tore it across, and threw

the pieces away. His eyes challenged her. 'Now, tell me to my face

that you don't want to come with me.'

The clamour of her heartbeat filled the silence between them, as

she struggled to find the words that would send him away forever.

But they wouldn't come.

She said on a little sigh, 'I—can't say that.'

'Then let's waste no more time.' He walked over to his car, parked

near by and opened the passenger door for her. 'We're spending the

day together,' he said softly, urgently, as Sabine got into the car,

taking care not to brush against him. 'That's all.'

And that was the problem, Sabine thought, staring rigidly ahead of

her as he started the car. It was—only a day to him, but to her. . .

She shivered. To her, it was the beginning of the rest of her life —

alone.

THEY took the road from Villereal, approaching Monpazier from

the south. It was a fast journey, and accomplished for the most part

in silence, although Rohan did point out the entrance to the

Chateau de Biron, as they flashed past.

The chateau was in the process of being restored by the

departement
of the Dordogne, he told her.

'It is quite an operation,' he added drily. 'Every generation of the

Gontaut-Biron family added something to it since it began in the

twelfth century. There are now fifteen different buildings,

including the biggest vaulted kitchens in France.'

'I'll have to add it to my list,' she said. 'Although I doubt whether

I'll have time to fit everything in.'

'How long are you planning to stay?' The question was clearly

casual, his attention fixed firmly on the road ahead.

'I —haven't decided yet,' she said after a brief hesitation.

'You have work, of course?' He too paused. 'A — life to return to

in England?'

'Very much so,' she returned composedly. He was probing, she

realised, trying to discover if that 'life' included a man. Well, he

could keep guessing.

'What is your work?'

'I'm a translator — not just for French, but Spanish and Italian as

well, and a little Portuguese. Although I'm basically a freelance,

most of my work comes through various agencies.'

'It's a good living for you?'

She shrugged. 'I've no complaints.'

'You have no ambitions to work abroad — in Brussels for instance,

or Strasbourg?'

'It's something I've considered. But I'd rather gain a little more

experience first. Or I'd thought of getting a teaching

qualification—maybe starting my own commercial language

school.' She made herself sound enthusiastic, bursting with ideas.

'Now that Europe's really opened up, the sky's the limit.'

A steep hill wound sharply upwards into Monpazier. Rohan parked

the car under some trees just outside the main wall, then they

walked together through an arched gateway, and up the shaded

street, passing between tall houses, their windows firmly shuttered

against the intrusive sun, intermingled with shops.

A door in a wall stood slightly ajar, and Sabine glimpsed the

enclosed grassy courtyard of someone's garden, like an emerald set

in grey stone. There were flowers everywhere in tubs and window-

boxes, and music played softly over speakers placed at strategic

points.

Rohan was speaking. 'All the
bastides
were built like grids, with

the streets crossing each other at right angles. The emphasis was

on defence, you understand. It was essential that the walls could be

manned fast in time of emergency.

'Monpazier, in fact, was built for the King of England, Edward the

First, and one of its hotels is even named for him.'

Sabine's brow was furrowed. 'But why was that? Surely the

English and French were nearly always at war in those days.'

'The whole of Aquitaine belonged to the English crown, through

the great Duchess Eleanor,' Rohan explained. 'She was the Queen

of France and the most beautiful and fascinating woman in Europe,

but she fell out of love with her husband on a crusade to the Holy

Land, when she met Henry the Second of England, who was much

younger than her.'

'And I thought toy boys were a modern invention.' Sabine's lips

twitched in amusement. 'So what happened?'

'Didn't you learn history when you were at school?' Rohan's brows

lifted in mock censure.

'Yes,' she admitted. 'But we seemed to concentrate on the

economic effects of the Industrial Revolution, and stuff like that.

The love-affairs of kings and queens would have been far more

interesting.'

He laughed. 'I can believe it. Well, Eleanor divorced King Louis,

who preferred religion to women anyway, and married Henry, who

then became Duke of Aquitaine through her. Although he and his

son Richard Coeur de Lion had to fight all their lives to maintain

the title, and Edouard Premier too when his time came,' he added.

'Eleanor adored the Perigord. She established the Courts of Love in

Aquitaine, where women were worshipped almost like goddesses.'

'And she was chief goddess, I suppose,' Sabine commented.

'Of course. A troubadour once sang of her that if he possessed the

whole world he would sacrifice it to hold the Queen of England in

his arms for just one night.'

'How wonderful to be able to inspire such devotion,' Sabine said

slowly.

He shot her an amused glance. 'You don't think a man could feel so

deeply for a woman these days?'

'It would be nice to think so.' She shrugged. 'But I doubt it.'

'But here in the land of the troubadours,' he said softly, 'anything is

possible.'

Avoiding his suddenly intent look, Sabine transferred her attention

across the road. 'I suppose that's the main church!' she exclaimed

brightly. 'It's enormous.'

'And also very old.' The dry note in his voice told her he was

perfectly aware of her manoeuvre. 'It was begun in the thirteenth

century and there's a famous inscription above the door.'

Sabine stared up at the lettering cut into the ancient stonework.'

"The people of France recognise the existence of the Supreme

Being, and the immortality of the soul,"' she read slowly. 'What's

so unusual about that?'

'It was put there during the Revolution,' Rohan returned. 'At a time

when the Church and religious belief were under a great deal of

pressure. But the people of the Dordogne have always had a

reputation for being independent thinkers.'

He slid a casual hand under her elbow and guided her up the street

towards another arched gateway. 'Now you'll see why Monpazier

was known as England's pearl,' he said softly.

This was the heart of the
bastide,
Sabine realised with a gasp of

delight. It was a big central square, completely surrounded by

covered arcades above which rose the creamy stones of the

original medieval houses, topped by the steeply sloping, earth-red

roofs.

For a moment, the centuries seemed to roll away, and she could

visualise grim-faced men in chain-mail racing to answer some

alarm, while women in wimpled head-dresses leaned down from

the Gothic windows to bid them Godspeed.

The present-day ambience was slightly more prosaic. The shadows

of the arcades sheltered the facades of modern shops, and directly

below their arches stone benches and troughs of flowering plants

had been placed. Instead of soldiers, tourists armed only with

cameras patrolled the freshly washed cobbles of the square, while,

outside the various restaurants and the
tabac
on the corner, tables

with bright umbrellas were being set out in the sunshine.

Directly opposite was a timbered market hall similar to the one in

Villereal, where the original grain measures could still be seen,

Rohan told her. There was a local market every Thursday, and, in

addition, each spring and summer Monpazier was the centre for a

giant mushroom fair. No one in the square seemed to be in a hurry,

but a purposeful bustle of activity permeated the atmosphere just

the same.

'Would you like some coffee?' Rohan guided Sabine to one of the

tables outside the
tabac.
He gave the order, then leaned back in his

chair, smiling at her. 'Well?'

'It's incredible,' she admitted. 'One of the loveliest places I've ever

seen. And so peaceful.'

'It wasn't always like this,' he said. 'Monpazier has a chequered

history, torn between French and English, Catholic and Protestant.

The
place
here hasn't always been so welcoming, believe me. In

the seventeenth century a weaver called Buffarot led a local revolt,

and was broken on the wheel only a few metres from where we're

sitting.'

Sabine shuddered. 'How terrible.'

'They were terrible times. But Monpazier seems now to be at peace