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white hair. He had bow legs, and a drooping moustache,

    and bore no resemblance to the kind of sinister henchman who'd collaborate
    in kidnap and rape, Meg decided, feeling suddenly oddly reassured.
    'Will you risk my dining-table now?' Jerome Moncourt enquired
    courteously. 'Or shall we eat here, in the car?'
    Put like that, it did sound ridiculous, Meg admitted to herself, as she got out
    of the car with all the dignity she could muster.
    'All the same,' she said, as they walked towards the house, 'you should have
    told me we were coming here.'
    'Perhaps I did not dare. You might have refused—and,' his voice gentled, 'I
    so much wanted to see you tonight.'
    It was the perfect answer, she thought. Perhaps almost too perfect, as if this
    was a well-practised line, her head reminded her as her heart began to thud
    against her ribcage. But then she surely didn't think she was the first young
    woman to feel her pulses quicken and her body grow feverish with
    excitement at the smile in his eyes?
    And she'd been stupid to think he'd ever need to resort to rape, or any kind of
    force, she told herself wrily. His tactics would be far more subtle, and just as
    dangerous in their way. He was still the spider, and she the fly, and she
    mustn't forget that.
    But his web was a delight.
    The house was built on two storeys, the roof tiled in faded terracotta, sloping
    gently down to the storage buildings which flanked it. Beneath the roof, the
    stone walls were washed the colour of rich cream, dark green shutters
    guarded the windows, and a golden climbing rose flung a triumphal arch
    over the square doorway.
    The door led straight into the main room of the house, the ceiling low and
    dark-beamed, the floor flagged. At one end there was a large fireplace, its
    massive hearth empty now. On either side of it two battered leather sofas
    confronted each other. Opposite the entrance, glazed doors gave access to a

    courtyard bright with stone troughs filled with flowers. In the corner, a spiral
    staircase led to the upper floor.
    At the other end of the room was a magnificent refectory table at which two
    places were laid, and six high-backed leather chairs. Apart from a well-
    filled bookcase, and a bureau overflowing with papers, there was no other
    furniture. The effect was uncluttered, but it also created a very masculine
    environment with few soft touches, Meg thought, as she looked around her.
    'Is this the project you talked of?' she asked, catching sight of some timber
    and other building materials in a corner of the courtyard.
    He nodded. 'One of them. I'd thought of extending down the side of the yard
    at the back, converting one of the barns. I wanted to provide myself with a
    place to work, and also some guest accommodation. But I've decided against
    that now. To provide the space I need would spoil the whole feel of the mas.'
    'Do you entertain a good deal?' She tried to sound casual.
    'At the moment, not at all. I've been too busy.' He paused. 'My first task
    when I came back here was to remodel the upper floor. I wanted to start on
    the kitchen--' he pointed to an archway, through which Meg could glimpse a
    scrubbed table and an old-fashioned range '—but Berthe wouldn't allow it.'
    Meg sniffed appreciatively at the savoury garlicky aroma emanating from
    the other room. 'I think most cooks prefer a familiar stove.'
    Octavien had preceded them into the house. Now he appeared in the kitchen
    door, frowning portentously, his wife behind him peering over his shoulder.
    Berthe was a head taller than her husband, gaunt in a shapeless flowered
    cotton dress. Her hair, iron-grey streaked with silver, was pinned in an
    uncompromising knot on top of her head, and., her face was unsmiling and
    suspicious as she openly looked Meg over.
    Meg heard Octavien mutter something that sounded like, 'Another
    Englishwoman,' but she might have mistaken the harsh patois he used. In
    any case, it was no business of hers what nationality the other