Free Tower of Shadows by Sara Craven Page B

able to pay a brief visit. She is just
    leaving.'
    'But not before she has told me what she thinks of our wine,' the
    Baron said, smiling. 'I was told once that a good vintage should be
    like a woman—full-bodied and generous. Is ours ready to be —
    taken and enjoyed, do you think, mademoiselle?'
    Sabine laughed. 'The '86 certainly,' she said. 'Although I can't
    approve of the sexist metaphor. The '89 needs to put on a little
    weight.'
    'You hear?' The Baron looked at his nephew. 'Maybe Hercule has
    returned to us too.'
    'No one has returned to us,' Rohan said curtly. 'Miss Russell is here
    on a short holiday, that's all. She will be going back to England
    very soon.'
    'Then we must make the most of her. Perhaps you will dine with
    us, mademoiselle, on Saturday evening?'
    'We cannot monopolise Miss Russell's time.' Rohan's frown was
    swift and disapproving. 'No doubt her plans are already made.'
    'You must forgive Rohan's apparent churlishness,' Gaston de
    Rochefort said gently. 'Your mother's inexplicable desertion of my
    poor brother all those years ago still rankles with him.' He lifted a
    shoulder. 'But the heart has its reasons, and in any case Isabelle is
    beyond blame now.'
    'That's exactly how I feel about it,' Sabine said, giving Rohan a
    defiant glance. 'Although I admit I'd like to know exactly what
    those reasons were.'
    'Who can tell?' The Baron sighed. 'A lovers' quarrel — the natural
    nerves of a bride. One can find all kinds of explanations.'
    'I suppose so,' Sabine said slowly. 'But with my mother it was
    more than that. I'm sure of it. It was if she wanted to forget that
    this part of her life ever existed.'
    'You don't think maybe her wishes should be respected?' Rohan
    asked, a note of anger simmering just below the surface of his
    voice.
    'She's been accused of a lot of things,' Sabine said coolly. 'I feel it's
    up to me to put the record straight.' She turned to the Baron.
    'Thank you for your invitation, monsieur. I'd be happy to accept.'
    'Then shall we say eight o'clock? But I hope you will visit us less
    formally before then. Where are you staying?'
    'Miss Russell is using Les Hiboux,' Rohan said abruptly.
    'But of course. A charming place, but a little primitive,' said the
    Baron. 'We have a swimming-pool at the rear of the house, Miss
    Russell, which you are welcome to use whenever you wish.' He
    turned to his nephew. 'Rohan, you must show Miss Russell the
    short-cut through the woods between our house and hers.'
    Rohan's mouth tightened. 'It would be better if I asked Marie-
    Christine to point the way, Uncle Gaston, if that's what you wish.'
    He paused. 'We need to talk, you and I.'
    Gaston de Rochefort was still smiling, but Sabine saw that tell-tale
    tightening of his hands on the controls of the chair. The tension in
    the room had changed in some way. 'You have been to Arrancay
    today, I suppose. The jewel of the Haut-Medoc.' He made it sound
    almost insulting.
    'Yes,' Rohan said, wearily. 'But that's not important. At least not
    yet. It's the quotation from Lemaitre I put on your desk two weeks
    ago that we have to discuss.'
    'I've seen it,' the Baron said shortly. 'His prices are absurd. Our
    present casks can be scraped.'
    'They have been,' Rohan said grittily. 'Too many times already.
    And we should also discuss the replanting programme with
    Jacques.'
    The Baron moved a hand dismissively. 'There is plenty of time for
    this later. You are always so impatient, my dear boy. And, besides,
    we should not bore Miss Russell with the business of the vignoble.
    Particularly when she wishes you to escort her back to Les
    Hiboux. It's not very gallant to keep her waiting,' he added
    reprovingly.
    'Oh, please.' Sabine's face flamed. 'I can find my own way. . .'
    'It doesn't matter,' Rohan said harshly. 'The vignoble has never
    been my uncle's top priority.'
    For one inimical moment, the eyes of the two men met. Oh, Lord,
    Sabine thought, dismayed, the swords are out.
    'Touché.' It was as if the