She had to ring twice more before the door was opened abruptly by a young man with a shock of fair hair who looked annoyed that he’d been disturbed.
‘We’re not—’ he began with a scowl, then stopped and gave her a beaming smile. ‘Mon Dieu, c’est Allie Beauchamp! How long has it been? Bonjour, chérie. How are you?’ He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
‘Bonjour, Guy. About ten years—and I’m fine, thanks.’ She smiled back. ‘It’s good to see you. How are you?’
‘Fine. It’s good to see you, too. Are you here on holiday?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly.’ She grimaced. ‘I’m your brother’s new business partner.’
Guy raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmm.’
‘Care to elaborate on that?’ she asked.
‘No. You know Xav.’
That was the point. She didn’t, any more.
‘At this time of day, he’ll be in his office,’ Guy said.
‘I know.’ Allegra shifted her weight to her other foot. ‘I, um, forgot to ask him whereabouts in the estate his office was.’
‘And he forgot to tell you.’ Guy rolled his eyes. ‘Typical Xav. I’ll take you over there.’
‘Are you going to be at the meeting?’
‘Is it about the vineyard?’
She nodded.
‘Then, no. The vineyard’s Xav’s department, not mine. I just laze about here at weekends, drink his wine and insult him.’ He gave her an unrepentant grin. ‘By the way, I’m sorry about Harry. He was a good man.’
Allegra had a huge lump in her throat. Guy was the first person in France who’d actually welcomed her warmly and used her old pet name. Maybe he remembered their childhood, when she’d persuaded Xav to include his little brother in their games. And he was the only one who hadn’t treated her as a pariah for missing Harry’s funeral. ‘I’m sorry, too.’
Guy led her round the side of the house to a courtyard, which she remembered had once been stables and a barn but had now been turned into an office block.
‘Thanks for bringing me over,’ Allegra said.
‘Pleasure.’ He smiled at her. ‘If you’re going to be around for a few days, come and have dinner with us.’
‘Us’ meaning him and Xavier? She knew he was only being polite. Xavier definitely wouldn’t second that invitation. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said, being equally polite.
‘See you later, then. À bientôt, Allie.’
She echoed his farewell, took a deep breath, and walked into the office block. Xavier’s door was wide open and she could see him working at his desk, making notes on something with a fountain pen. He looked deep in thought, with his left elbow resting on his desk and his forehead propped against his hand. His hair was tousled—obviously he’d been shoving his fingers through it—but today he was clean-shaven. The sleeves of his knitted cotton shirt were pushed up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms sprinkled with dark hair. Right at that moment, he looked approachable. Touchable. She had to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself doing something rash—like walking over to him, sliding her hand up his arm to get his attention, cupping his chin, and lowering her mouth to his, the way she once would have done.
For pity’s sake. He wasn’t her lover any more, the man she’d thought she’d marry one day. He was her business partner. And, even if he hadn’t been her business partner, she had no idea whether or not he was already committed elsewhere. That made him absolutely off limits.
She took a deep breath, then knocked on the door.
Xavier looked up at Allegra’s knock. She was clearly still in businesswoman mode, wearing another of those sharp suits. No way would she fit in here; at this time of year, everyone had to help out in the vines, maintaining the shoots and weeding under the vines. Next month would be pruning and then letting the grapes ripen, ready for harvest in late September. Among the vines, her business suit would be ripped to shreds, and those patent highheeled shoes were completely unsuitable for the fields.
She really had no idea, did she?
‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, rising politely from his desk. ‘Take a seat.’
She sat down, then handed him a gold box tied with a gold chiffon ribbon. ‘For you.’
Now that he hadn’t expected.
‘I thought this might be more suitable than flowers. Or, um, wine.’
So she remembered French customs, then, of bringing a gift for your host. ‘Merci, Allegra.’ He untied the ribbon and discovered that the box held his favourite weakness: thin discs of dark chocolate studded with crystallised ginger. She remembered such a tiny thing, after all these years? And she must’ve bought it this morning: he recognised the box as coming from Nicole’s shop in the village. She’d made a real effort, and it knocked him completely off balance.
‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
To his surprise, she followed him into the tiny kitchen area. ‘Anything I can do?’
Yes. Sell me your half of the vineyard and get out of my life before I go crazy with wanting you again. He just about stopped himself saying it. ‘No need.’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I take milk and sugar?’
‘You never used to, and it’s obvious you still don’t.’
She blinked. ‘Obvious, how?’
He spread his hands. ‘You wouldn’t be so thin if you did.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘That’s a bit personal.’
‘You asked,’ he pointed out.
‘Gloves off, now?’
‘They were never on in the first place.’ And now his mind was running on a really dangerous track. Gloves off. Clothes off. Allegra’s shy, trusting smile as he’d undressed her for the very first time and she’d given herself to him completely.
Oh, Dieu. He really had to stop thinking about the past and concentrate on the present.
He finished making the coffee and placed it on a tray. He fished a bowl of tomatoes and a hunk of cheese from the fridge, then took a rustic loaf from a cupboard and placed them next to the coffee, along with two knives and two plates, before carrying the lot back to his office.
‘Help yourself,’ he said, gesturing to the food.
‘Thank you.’
When she didn’t make a move, he raised an eyebrow, broke a hunk off the bread, and cut himself a large slice of cheese. ‘Forgive me for being greedy. I’m starving—I was working in the vines at six.’
‘L’heure solaire.’
He smiled, oddly pleased that she’d remembered. He could still hear England in her accent, but at least she was trying. No doubt she hadn’t spoken French in a long, long while.
‘So what’s the agenda?’ she asked.
‘We’ll start with the sensible one—when are you going to sell me your half of the vineyard?’
‘That’s not on the agenda at all,’ she said. ‘Xav, why won’t you give me a chance?’
How on earth could she not know