motive.'
Sabine shrugged. 'I admit I was —curious too.'
'And has your curiosity been satisfied?'
'Not by any means,' she returned crisply.
He said quietly, 'I am sorry to hear that.' There was a pause. Then,
'How much would it cost, mademoiselle, to buy that satisfaction?'
The heat of the windless afternoon lay on her like a blanket, but
suddenly she felt deathly cold. She said huskily, 'I —don't
understand.'
'It is quite simple. I would like you to leave, preferably today, but
by tomorrow at the latest. And I am willing to pay whatever price
you ask —within reason.'
She gave a small uneven laugh. 'Just like that? You must be
completely mad.'
'I am altogether sane, I assure you. And I hope you'll give my offer
serious consideration.'
'It's not worth considering,' she said. 'It's an insult.'
'You don't yet know how much I am prepared to offer.' He looked
at her grimly. 'Your presence here, mademoiselle, is intolerable.
Surely you can see that.'
'I see nothing of the kind, and I'll leave when I'm ready,' Sabine
said grittily. She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. 'Anyway, I may
decide to stay. I'm a freelance. I can work anywhere, especially
now.'
'If this is a ploy to force up the price, you'll be disappointed,' he
said harshly. 'Contrary to what your mother may have told you, the
de Rochefort family is no longer a well from which you can draw
money like water.'
'My mother never mentioned anything about your family,' she
denied hotly. 'And, having met some of you now, I can't honestly
say I blame her. I'd have wanted to wipe you out—forget all about
you, too.'
She paused. 'And, for the record, I wouldn't touch one centime of
your rotten money.'
He shrugged. 'Then I will have to try other methods.'
She stared at him. 'What do you propose to do? Evict me from my
mother's house? You have no right.'
'Legally, perhaps no,' he said softly. 'But the moral grounds are a
different matter. Your mother, mademoiselle, left a trail of
devastation behind her when she departed from our lives. I was
only a boy of ten at the time, but it left its mark on me too. I do not
propose to allow this to happen a second time—with you.'
'You can do exactly as you please,' she said thickly. 'But I will not
listen to any more of your rotten insinuations about my mother. I
loved her, and when she died I felt as if every light in the world
had dimmed.'
For a moment, he was granite-still. The he said icily, 'You were
not alone in that. My stepfather, whom I loved dearly also, had a
complete breakdown when she left —when she abandoned him as
she did.' His face was bleak. 'Presumably she never told you that
either? No, I thought not.' He shook his head. 'If she never spoke
of us, mademoiselle, believe me, it was through shame.'
'I've heard enough,' Sabine flung at him. 'If Maman ran away, it
was because she had good and sufficient reason.' She took a deep
breath. 'You ordered me off your land a few hours ago. Now I'm
telling you to go, and don't come back. I am not for sale, not now,
not ever.'
He took a step towards her, and she bent swiftly and snatched up a
stone from the flowerbed beside her.
'Go.' Her voice rose. 'I said get out of here.'
He raked her from head to foot with one long, contemptuous look,
then turned on his heel, and strode away under the arch and out of
sight.
The tension drained from her, and she sagged limply against the
front doorpost. She realised she was still gripping the stone, and
dropped it with a little horrified cry. What the hell had she thought
she was going to do with it—throw it at him?
She couldn't have. She wasn't violent —or hysterical. She'd never
behaved in her life as she'd just done, and she couldn't understand
or justify her reactions.
She wasn't a total dummy where men were concerned. She was
reasonably attractive, and outgoing, and normally she had little
difficulty in establishing cordial relationships in both her working
and
Lawrence Anthony, Graham Spence