‘Charlie is an excellent swimmer.’ Christophe smiled warmly at his niece.
‘When I go to France I shall swim in the sea—it’s warm there—won’t I, Mum?’ Not daring to look in Benedict’s direction, Rachel nodded weakly.
‘And when is this trip arranged, Charlie?’ Benedict asked, no discernible expression on his face.
There was no question of drawing blood from a stone; Charlie was only too happy to reveal her plans to Ben. Rachel listened with deepening resignation as her daughter told him their plans in tiresomely meticulous detail.
‘Wouldn’t it be great if Ben could come too, Mum?’
That really did focus her attention!
‘Great!’ she echoed hollowly. ‘But he’s a very busy man and he’ll probably be in Australia by then.’ She met the glittering mockery in Benedict’s eyes with as much dignity as she could muster.
‘My schedule is flexible.’
‘My plans aren’t.’
‘We have an open house; any friend of yours is welcome, Rachel.’
She silently mouthed ‘no’ to Christophe and grimaced to indicate this wasn’t a good idea. All her furtive pantomime achieved was to make Christophe look even more confused. She wished now that she’d given him an explanation for her trip here this morning.
With her luck the way Benedict’s mind was working he’d probably think poor Christophe was inviting him to form part of some sort of ménage à trois! Before Rachel could divert Christophe’s native hospitality Benedict spoke up.
‘Open…?’ he mused slowly. The derision seeped around the edges of his languid drawl and Rachel instinctively moved to stand protectively in front of Christophe. ‘Myself, I like boundaries. In homes, in jobs, most importantly in marriages. It cuts down on confusion.’
Christophe Fauré looked bemused and Rachel could understand why. She just hoped he’d stay that way. As he was completely innocent of marital infidelity, Benedict’s heavy-handed irony wasn’t likely to prick his conscience.
‘Why doesn’t Ben like Uncle Christophe?’ There was an embarrassed silence as Charlie glanced enquiringly at her mother. She tugged imperatively at the loose white shirt Benedict wore tucked into his blue denims. ‘He’s nice, Ben.’
‘I’m sure he is, Charlie.’ He visibly reined in his aggression. He flexed his fingers as they unfurled from the balled fists which had rested suggestively at his sides. His breathing was almost normal as he smiled reassuringly down at the child.
‘Well, I think Frenchmen are very nice.’ Natalie got to her feet and crossed the room towards her brother. Her mother smiled on proudly as, displaying maturity beyond her years, her daughter successfully took the spotlight off her sibling.
‘Thank you, mademoiselle.’
‘I’m Natalie.’ With a self-confident smile she extended her hand and eyed this mature example of the breed with open approval. She gave a laugh of delight as it was raised to his lips. ‘Watch and learn, boys,’ she advised her brothers.
‘Are you Ben’s sister?’ Charlie asked curiously.
‘For my sins.’
‘You look alike.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ she replied, with a grimace. ‘But, unfortunately, he’s much prettier than me.’
‘You’re too kind,’ her brother responded drily.
‘Do you like horses, Charlie?’ Natalie continued in her friendly manner. She squatted down until she was at eye level with the little girl. ‘I was just on my way out to the stables…’
‘I used to ride,’ Charlie explained, her eyes sparkling in response. ‘But we live in the town now.’
‘Would you like to come and see them?’
‘I’m afraid we’ve intruded long enough.’ Rachel ignored the reproachful spaniel look her daughter threw in her direction. ‘Christophe has an appointment in town this afternoon.’ If he didn’t pick up her desperate signals this time she’d just die.
‘Yes, unfortunately I do need to leave.’
Rachel sighed with relief and sent him a grateful smile.
‘That’s no problem; I can give you and Charlie a lift back later, Rachel. I was going that way anyway.’
Fear was supposed to sharpen your wits, lend an extra edge to your mental faculties. I must be the exception to the rule, she thought, unable to tear her eyes away from Benedict’s gaze. The insolence in those dark eyes was deliberate; he was daring her to get out of that one. She’d have loved to rise to the occasion but her brain was the consistency of mush.
‘I…that is….’