rendered her even more breathless. ‘Your condition looks flawless to me. Come. It is early yet for lunch, but perhaps your English pub will give us coffee.’
‘If I’d known you weren’t going back today I would have asked for a later start this morning,’ said Portia as they went back up through the garden.
He shrugged. ‘My change of plan took much effort to rearrange. I was not sure until this morning that it could be done.’
‘Why did you change your mind?’ she asked curiously, as they got in the car.
‘There would not have been time before my flight to go down to the cove after inspecting the house again. And this was necessary before I made a decision.’ He concentrated on the steep bends of the drive. ‘Also,’ he added casually, ‘I desired to spend more time with you. Now, give me directions, please. Where is this inn of yours?’
The Wheatsheaf served excellent coffee, and later provided them with a simple, but well-cooked lunch very different from the cuisine at the Ravenswood, but in its own way of a very high standard.
‘But this is very good!’ pronounced Luc, as he ate roast lamb cooked with anchovies and garlic.
Portia laughed. ‘The compliment would sound better without the astonishment.’
Luc grinned. ‘We take our food more seriously than you British.’
‘And suffer far less from heart problems, I read somewhere. Though you drink a bit more than we do,’ she added, then regretted it at the look on Luc’s face.
‘True,’ he said quietly.
‘I didn’t mean you personally, of course,’ said Portia hurriedly.
‘I know.’ His smile stopped short of his eyes. ‘You would like dessert?’
She shook her head.
‘Then perhaps we can return to the bar to talk business. Please excuse me for a moment. I shall order coffee.’ Luc seated her at a small table, then went off for a word with the barman.
Conscious of unintended transgression of some kind, Portia resolved to put a guard on her tongue for the rest of their time together. Luc had flatly refused to discuss Turret House before lunch, so her only opportunity for clinching a sale was during the short time left before her drive back to London. And outside, she noted glumly, the rain was coming down in torrents.
‘You look pensive,’ said Luc, as he rejoined her.
‘I was eyeing the weather. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut things short. It’s a fair drive back to London.’
‘I know.’ He put a hand on hers. ‘Stay the night at the Ravenswood again, Portia, and drive back in the morning.’
So, Jean-Christophe Lucien Brissac was no different from the rest after all. Portia removed her hand abruptly, utterly astounded by the discovery that she was deeply tempted to say yes.
‘No, I can’t do that,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m quite accustomed to long journeys in any weather. So, shall we discuss Turret House, or have you made your decision already?’
‘I was not asking to share your room, Miss Grant,’ he said icily. ‘My concern was for your safety, only.’
‘Of course.’ Utterly mortified, Portia began packing her briefcase. ‘I shan’t rush you. I didn’t expect a firm answer today, anyway. Perhaps you’ll get in touch as soon as possible and let me know what you decide. In the meantime—’
‘In the meantime, sit down and drink your coffee,’ said Luc, with a note of command. ‘You mistake me,’ he added as she resumed her seat. ‘Also you insult me.’
She frowned. ‘Insult you?’
‘Yes. It is not my habit to force my way into a woman’s bed. Even a woman as alluring and challenging as you,’ he informed her.
Portia calmed down a little. ‘My apologies,’ she said stiffly.
There was silence between them for a moment.
‘You have been troubled by clients before?’ Luc asked.
‘No. My clients usually come in pairs.’
‘By men in general, then?’
‘One or two,’ she said without inflection.
His eyes lit with wry sympathy. ‘A woman with looks like yours—’ He shrugged. ‘It is easy to understand why.’
‘If that’s a compliment, thank you.’
He gave her a sidelong, considering look. ‘It was meant to be. Though now, knowing that you suspect me of dark and devious motives, I shall strive to be careful.’
‘Careful?’ she said, frowning.
‘That I do not offend.’
‘I can’t afford to be offended,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘You’re the client.’
His smile was tigerish. ‘And you want me to buy a property that remains on your books rather a long time.’
So much for hoping to sell Turret House without a reduction. If she sold it at all. ‘Of course I do,’ she said, resigned.
Luc spent some time looking through the details of the house again, checking off various points against the notes he’d made. At last he turned to her with a businesslike air, raising his voice slightly above the crowded, post-prandial noise of the Wheatsheaf bar.
‘I will consider my options most carefully, Portia, and then this evening, after your return to London, I shall ring you and let you know my decision,’ he said with finality.
‘If you’re staying over tonight you can have longer than that,’ she said quickly, suppressing a leap of excitement. He was going to buy; she was sure of it. ‘You can ring me at the office in the morning.’
He shook his head. ‘Give me your phone number. I shall ring you tonight.’
Portia hesitated for a moment, then scribbled a number on a sheet from her diary and handed it to him.
‘Thank you,’ he said, and tucked it in his wallet. ‘And now I will drive you back to Ravenswood.’
Outside, they raced through the rain to Luc’s car. ‘Mon Dieu, what weather!’ he gasped, as they fastened their seatbelts.
‘It’s not always like this,’ she assured him breathlessly. ‘The climate here is the best in the UK.’
‘Not so very good a recommendation!’
Portia smiled, badly wanting a hint from him as to his decision about Turret House. But prudence curbed her tongue. If he sensed she was desperate to sell he would expect a substantial drop in the price. Assuming he did want the house. She eyed his profile searchingly, but it gave her no clue to his intentions.
When they reached
