Free A Gown of Thorns: A Gripping Novel of Romance, Intrigue and the Secrets of a Vintage Parisian Dress by Natalie Meg Evans Page B

‘Shut up’, then threw out a sweetener. ‘You can ride the tractor for a few rows beside me, if your walking and shearing live up to my hopes. Hello under there.’ Laurent lifted Shauna’s straw brim. ‘You should go back to the house. This job’s hot and noisy.’
    ‘I’d like to help. My walking might live up to your hopes too.’
    After a slight recoil, Laurent’s gaze warmed. ‘I have a feeling it will, but I have to keep my eyes on the job or I might drive over the vines. So no distracting me.’
    ‘Can I have a go on the tractor too, if I’m good?’ She saw the change in his stance, his throat moving above the neckline of his work-worn T-shirt. Why was she flirting? Opening a door marked ‘Danger’? ‘What I mean is, I’m competent with machinery. I’ve ridden quadbikes and driven Land Rovers on rough terrain.’
    ‘The tractor responds only to brute force. I believe your touch would be too light.’ He was flirting back, and belatedly cautious, she stepped back. ‘What I really mean is, I’m getting used to the heat and I’m smothered in factor forty. I can help, if you want me to.’
    ‘All right, but you’ll need insect repellent too. Go to the house and spray, and bring back bottles of water, enough for all – oh, Dieu !’ Nico was running off. Laurent muttered, ‘I’d better get to the tractor before he does. He probably knows where I hide the key.’

    R eturning fifteen minutes later with a rucksack bulging with bottled water and slices of melon in cling film, Shauna found Nico seated on a small tractor. It was a basic machine without a cab, and antiquated, to judge from its dented panels. The contraption whose drive-shaft Laurent was attaching to the rear looked virtually space-age in comparison. Laurent shooed Nico off the seat and fired the ignition. He let it run for a minute or so, then turned it off.
    ‘So, this is a mulching cutter,’ he said. ‘The blades reach right under the vines, but they won’t cut everything because the rows are not equally wide. Where I miss a weed or a clump of grass, you two cut by hand. All right?’
    ‘Sounds easy enough.’
    ‘It’s tiring.’ He handed Shauna a pair of short-bladed shears, an identical pair to Nico. ‘The mower shoots out stones and twigs, so walk with a row of vines between us. Don’t ever come behind me. If you need me, run to the top of the row and approach me from the front. Got it?’
    It was easy enough to start with, the stroll in the sunshine she’d hoped for, though the mower and tractor at full throttle were a deafening combination. The vines were level with her eyebrows and all Shauna could see of Laurent were flashes of fabric and bare arm. The foliage canopy, supported on tight lengths of wire, was busy with flies, bees and butterflies. Not a wild landscape, she thought, but nurtured and perfect in its way. Most of the grape clusters hung below waist level, giving her an intimation of the work ahead in picking them. She saw the virtue of Laurent’s labour-saving monster, whose rubber bumpers caressed the feet of the vines while its blades reduced grass and weeds to fine cuttings, leaving a diesel vapour trail.
    ‘Missed a bit!’ Shauna yelled, then said, ‘Oh, hang on, that’s me.’ Kneeling, she used her shears on a straggle of grass, then ran to catch up with Laurent. Some twenty rows later, they stopped for water and melon. Shauna lay back with her head on her rucksack.
    ‘You can retire if you like.’ Laurent flung his melon peel over his shoulder. He’d taken off his top and his nut-brown torso gleamed wet – using bottled water, he’d sluiced off the copper sulphate residue that the machine had stirred up. When he leaned forward to smack a horsefly on his ankle, Shauna saw that his shoulder blades were flecked with grass cuttings.
    ‘What about you?’ Her voice made an involuntary key-change. ‘Will you take a break?’
    ‘No chance. Look up.’
    She did, at a sky dappled with greyish