Free Dawn Song by Sara Craven

whirling edge of some emotional abyss.
    'Oh—thank you.' Her heart still thudding wildly, in revolt against that
    sudden moment of wholly unwelcome self-revelation, Meg went through
    the door that Philippine was holding open.
    She found herself in a large square room, made gloomy by an assortment of
    heavily carved old- fashioned furniture and a big, canopied bed. The smell
    of damp was even more pronounced than it had been downstairs, but the bed
    seemed soft enough in spite of its faintly oppressive appearance, and the
    linen was crisp and fragrant with dried herbs of some kind, she realised
    appreciatively.
    'I hope you will be comfortable.' Philippine fussed anxiously with towels.
    'The bathroom is across the passage.' She pointed to its door. 'It is the only
    one in this part of the house, so you share it with Monsieur Moncourt.'
    Meg swung round. 'But he doesn't stay here, surely?' She paused, trying to
    moderate the startled sharpness of her tone. 'I mean—he has a house of his
    own—not far away—doesn't he?'
    'Ah, yes.' Philippine shrugged largely. 'Sometimes he returns there at night.
    Sometimes not.' She glanced around her. 'To survey a house of this size in a
    limited time, and prepare a list of works, is a task of great magnitude. Often
    monsieur begins early in the morning, and is occupied very late at night, so it
    is more convenient for him to stay.'
    She gave Meg a darting smile. 'Besides, madame likes him to remain. She
    enjoys much to have the company of a man in the house once more, I think.'
    She sighed sentimentally. 'He is like the son she never had, la pauvre.'
    'Really?' Meg kept her voice non-committal, but her heart sank like a stone.

    'Now I must prepare to serve lunch.' Philippine took a last look round, and
    pointed to a frayed cord hanging beside the bed. 'If there is anything you
    require, mademoiselle, you must ring.'
    'I'm sure everything's fine.' Meg forced a smile of her own. She'd just seen
    that the heavy door sported an ornate lock, complete with key. Rusty,
    maybe, but hopefully still functional. Just in case Monsieur Moncourt
    decided he wanted to share more than a bathroom, she told herself grimly.
    When Philippine had bustled off, she went to have a look at the bathroom.
    There was a bolt on this door too, she saw with satisfaction.
    The tub was a massive affair, standing on claw feet in the centre of the room,
    in a kind of majestic isolation. Meg's tentative manipulation of one of the
    heavy brass taps brought an instant gush of steaming water, and she patted
    the bath's substantial- cast-iron side.
    I think we may be friends, she told it under her breath. She wished she could
    sink into its depths right now, and soothe away her growing unease and
    uncertainty, but with lunch imminent the best she could hope for was a quick
    rinse of her face and hands in the large hand-basin.
    She went back across the passage to collect a towel, and stopped dead in the
    doorway with a little gasp as Jerome Moncourt turned, hands on hips, from
    the window.
    He looked, Meg thought angrily, quite un- nervingly at home. 'What are you
    doing here?' she demanded between her teeth. 'You've got a hell of a nerve.'
    'Don't be more of a fool than you can help,' Jerome retorted crisply. He
    pointed to the corner of the room. 'I've just carried up your luggage. It begins
    to be a habit.'
    'Thank you,' Meg said stiffly. 'But I still want you out of here.' She crossed to
    the bed and grasped the bell-pull. 'Or do I have to ring for Madame Lange?'

    'Summon whoever you wish,' he said pleasantly. 'But don't tug too hard or
    the whole mechanism will undoubtedly come away in your hand, and bring
    the whole ceiling with it. Philippine should have warned you.'
    'I don't believe you.'
    He laughed. 'It's a possibility. Word of an architect.'
    Meg took a breath, relinquishing the rope with open reluctance. 'I don't think
    I'd take your word for what day it was,' she said with bitter clarity.
    'Harsh words.' His