I am intruding.’
‘No,’ Lottie denied with something of a gulp, getting quickly to her feet. ‘No, of course not. I’m Charlotte Davis—Lottie—a friend of Helen’s from the village.’
He sent her a pleasant smile. ‘Enchanté, mademoiselle. And I am Marc Delaroche—à votre service.’
To her eternal credit, Lottie didn’t allow herself even a flicker of recognition.
Helen swallowed. ‘What—what did you say to those people just now?’ she asked a little breathlessly.
‘I suggested only that they might prefer the Monteagle Arms. They accepted my advice.’ He walked across to the table and put down some money. ‘They also paid,’ he added laconically. He paused. ‘Tell me, ma mie, are many of your customers like that?’
‘Not usually.’ She went over to the stove and busied herself with the kettle. ‘I’m just having a generally bad day, I think.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you like some coffee?’ she offered unwillingly—as he instantly detected.
‘Merci.’ He slanted a faint grin at her. ‘But I will leave you to talk in peace to your friend.’ He added softly, ‘I came only to say that I have reserved a table for eight o’clock at the Oxbow. I hope you will feel able to join me.’
He gave them both a slight bow and walked back into the sunshine, leaving a tingling silence behind him.
It was broken at last by Lottie. ‘Wow,’ she said reverently. ‘Don’t pretend even for a moment that he’s your third disaster.’
‘Oh, you’re as bad as Mrs Lowell,’ Helen said crossly, aware that her face had warmed. ‘She was rhapsodising about him last week.’
‘You mean this is his second visit?’ Lottie’s brows shot sky-wards. ‘Better and better.’ She eyed Helen. ‘So, what are you going to wear tonight?’
‘Nothing!’
Lottie grinned wickedly. ‘Well, it would certainly save him time and effort,’ she said. ‘But a little obvious for a first date, don’t you think?’
Helen’s colour deepened hectically. ‘I didn’t mean that—as you well know,’ she said, carrying the coffee back to the table. ‘And it’s not a date. In fact, I have no intention of having dinner with Monsieur Delaroche—tonight or any other time.’
‘Nonsense,’ Lottie said briskly. ‘Of course you’re going. Why not?’
Helen sank limply on to the nearest chair. ‘You seem to have forgotten about Nigel.’
‘Unfortunately, no,’ said Lottie. ‘But I’m working on it, and so should you.’ She gave Helen’s arm a quick squeeze. ‘And what more could you ask than for a seriously attractive man to wine and dine you?’
‘You really think that a meal at the Oxbow could console me in any way for Nigel?’ Helen shook her head. ‘Lottie—I’m really hurting. He’s always been part of my life—and now he’s gone.’
‘Helen—be honest. You had a crush on him when you were thirteen and decided he was the man of your dreams. He went along with it for a while, but he’s spent less and less time here for over a year now. Some love affair.’
‘No,’ Helen said, biting her lip. ‘It never was. That’s the trouble. I—I wanted to wait. So it wasn’t an affair at all, in the real meaning of the word.’
‘Oh,’ said Lottie slowly. ‘Well—that’s one less thing to regret.’
‘But I do regret it,’ Helen told her miserably. She sighed. ‘Oh, God, what a fool I’ve been. And I’ve lost him. So do you see now why I can’t go out tonight? It would be unbearable.’
‘Then stay here and brood,’ Lottie told her robustly. ‘And why not have “victim” tattooed across your forehead while you’re about it?’
Helen gave her a bitter look. ‘I didn’t know you could be so heartless. How would you like to face people if you’d been dumped?’
‘Darling, I’m trying to be practical.’ Lottie drank some coffee. ‘And I’d infinitely prefer to be out, apparently having a good time with another man, than nursing a broken heart on my own. Who knows? People might even think you dumped Nigel rather than the other way round. Think about it.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, why did you say it wasn’t a date with Marc Delaroche?’
‘Because it’s more of a business meeting.’ Helen still looked morose. ‘He’s got some plan for helping Monteagle now the grant’s fallen through. Or he says he has.’
‘All the more reason to go, then.’
‘But I don’t want to feel beholden to him,’ Helen said passionately. ‘I—I don’t like him. And I don’t know what you all see in him,’ she added defiantly.
‘Helen—’ Lottie’s tone was patient ‘—he’s incredibly rich and fabulously sexy. You don’t think that you’re being a mite picky?’
Helen said in a low voice, ‘It’s not just that. I—I think I’m frightened of him.’ Her laugh cracked in the middle. ‘Isn’t that ridiculous?’
Lottie’s expression was very gentle. ‘A little, maybe. But there’s not much he can do in a crowded restaurant.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder how the hell he managed to get a table at the Oxbow, it being Saturday and all.’
Helen shrugged listlessly. ‘He’s someone who likes to have his own way. I don’t suppose he gets many refusals.’
Lottie gave her a wry grin. ‘Then meeting you might be good for his soul.’ She paused, then added thoughtfully, ‘Or he might even be good for yours.’
She picked up her beaker and rose. ‘Now, let’s have a quick scan through your wardrobe and see what might be suitable for the best restaurant in miles.’
This is still such a bad idea, Helen thought a few hours later as she looked at herself in the mirror.
The dress she was wearing was in a silky fabric the dark green of a rose leaf, and made in a wrap-around style, with a sash that passed twice round her slender waist and fastened at the side in a bow.
It made her skin look exotically pale, and her newly washed hair glint with gold and bronze lights.
Lottie had spotted it at once, of course. ‘So, what’s this?’ she’d asked, taking it from the rail. ‘Clearly never worn, because it’s still got the price tag. How long have you had it?’
‘Not that long.’ Helen moved a shoulder restively, her voice slightly husky. ‘I—I bought it for my engagement party.’ She forced a smile. ‘Counting my chickens again. Stupid of me, wasn’t it?’
‘Not at all.’ Lottie’s tone was comforting. ‘And you can put it to good use tonight instead,’ she added, spreading it across Helen’s bed.
‘No,’ Helen said sharply. ‘I got it for Nigel. I won’t wear it for anyone else. I can’t.’
‘What
