Chapter 13
Sophie slipped on a silvery dress and ivory satin shoes, and made her way downstairs.
‘You look so lovely.’ Marie plucked a pale pink rose from a crystal vase and placed it in her hair. ‘It should be fun this evening. Mostly locals, but a few interesting people and someone in particular that I think you should meet.’
In truth, Sophie found it strange that her hostess had been so quick to play matchmaker. She hardly knew her and already she was being introduced to a new man.
Perhaps her mother was right. News travels fast in a small village.
Marie drove through the large wrought-iron gate and up the driveway to the delightful chateau, friendly to the eye with its wooden shutters, a pretty pale green, and roses creeping up the sepia stone walls.
A smart young man around twenty, wearing a dark evening suit, opened the door. He was holding a list in his hand.
‘Good evening, Madame Fournier. And you are Mademoiselle Fox?’ His eyes shone when he saw Sophie.
‘Yes, I am indeed.’
‘Good evening, Olivier,’ Marie said.
He ticked their names. ‘The guests are on the lawn.’
The two women walked through the lustrous salon. So formal and graceful. Huge arched windows. Carved giltwood chairs upholstered in silk, a Louis XV walnut side table.
On the mantle above the marble fireplace were a pair of Ormolu-mounted Sèvres porcelain vases, each portraying a gallant kneeling to his maiden. And on the walls, ancestral portraits, landscapes and bare-breasted courtesans.
Sophie followed Marie out onto the terrace and down the stone stairs leading to the floodlit lawn.
Six years, Daniel. Let me dance. Free me.
Marie introduced her to the guests. A mix of glamorous bourgeoisie, local artists, musicians and the man who ran the cafe in the square.
‘Another glass of wine?’
Why not? It wouldn’t hurt. It would give her courage. Help her to be light and funny; flirty.
‘Yes, please,’ she said.
And for a while she was just how she wanted to be. The men clustered round her and Sophie, poised in her beautiful dress, threw back her head and laughed at their jokes, while their wives stole sour glances and cursed their husbands.
But Sophie didn’t care.
Horatio de Beaumont stood spellbound, watching her.
A perfect plan. Marie already knew that she had found a match for the elegant, wealthy aristocrat. He was the owner of a vineyard famed for its Grand Cru Merlot.
Marie took her arm. ‘Let me introduce you to the Count de Beaumont.’ She led Sophie over to a tall man with an impenetrable gaze. He had a noble face with dark grey eyes, a strong aquiline nose and a mouth that had no doubt kissed the most difficult women into submission. ‘And this, Horatio, is Sophie Fox.’
‘Your reputation goes before you, Sophie,’ he said. ‘I even saw the painting you did of the fields near Margaux.’
‘That was quick. I only finished it this morning.’
Just keep it cool , thought Sophie . This man needs a firm hand.
‘Yes, well, I think Marie had already picked you out as someone I should meet, and when she saw that you were also gifted, she wanted to share it with me. I have an art gallery in Paris. Not that she was trying to interest me in buying it.’
‘Can’t say that I came here to sell anything,’ Sophie replied. ‘I’m just doing a course like the other students.’ She watched the tray of drinks go past.
No, you’ve drunk too much already.
‘I must say, the Merlot is excellent,’ she remarked.
‘Actually, it’s from my vineyard,’ Horatio said.
‘Ah yes, Marie told me…’
Stop , thought Sophie . Don’t let him think that you knew about the set-up.
‘Provincial conversations bore me, Sophie. Let’s talk about you.’
Ah, another line. Horatio the sweet-talker. I bet it works on most women. Well, I’m not going to fall for it.
Sophie summoned the waiter. ‘May I have a glass of rosé?’
‘Not a good idea to mix the two.’
‘Thank you for your advice, but it’s fine. I’m used to mixing my drinks. And to be honest I have already had two glasses of the Merlot and it’s a very heady wine.’
Sophie was not on her best behaviour. She swayed a little, and saw Marie watching her, but she really couldn’t give a damn what people thought about her.
And, certainly, she had marked her card with a pretty but older woman in a floral dress who approached the count.
‘Horatio!’ She flung her arms around his neck. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were still in Paris setting up the new exhibition. Anyway, I’m glad you’re back. Missed you.’ She turned to Sophie and looked her up and down. ‘You’re doing the art course?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a nice break. And you get to meet new people like Horatio. He’s always happy to add fresh blood to his stable. Aren’t you, darling?’ she said.
‘Especially if he has old nags like you around,’ Sophie replied. ‘I think it’s probably time to put you out to pasture.’
The woman turned on her heel and fled.
Sophie stood proud and gave Horatio a big smile. A waiter had arrived with a tray of canapés.
She took a bite of a Roquefort cheese and pear morsel. ‘Delicious,’ she said. ‘The sweet with the savoury, such a great combination.’
Horatio laughed. ‘What a wicked woman you are.’
Had she gone too far? She glanced back at the woman in the floral dress who was whispering to Marie.
‘Oh dear, I hope she isn’t cross with me.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. She likes a bit of drama,’ Horatio replied. ‘But I think we should go anyway before the good women of Bordeaux put you in the stocks and throw canapés at you.’
She laughed, but he’d made her feel uncomfortable. ‘You make me feel like a Jezebel.’
‘Too biblical,’ he said. ‘More medieval. Maybe a witch. They probably would have burnt you at the stake. I’ll tell you what, there’s a lovely restaurant near here.’ He took her hand and guided her up the steps. ‘We’ll have dinner first and then I’ll take you home.’
***
Horatio drove them in his open-topped Mercedes to the village. The sultry air sobered Sophie up. She glanced at Horatio. His eyes were steady on the road.
It was a pretty brasserie. Diners sat outside under a canopy of vines. Laughing and drinking. An easy atmosphere. Maurice, the patron, showed them to a table in the corner away from the other guests where Horatio always sat.
‘Here, Sophie.’ Horatio poured her a large glass of ice water. ‘This will clear your head.’
They ate white asparagus with béchamel sauce, followed by tender pigeon with sweet potato and parsnip, accompanied by two glasses of excellent Bordeaux and, to finish, canelés, delectable little pastries flavoured with rum and vanilla with a soft and tender custard centre and a dark, thick caramelised crust, followed by mint tea.
Sophie was happy. The water and delicious cuisine had calmed her. She felt safe with Horatio. He was witty and charming and disarmingly romantic.
There was music coming from the Cafe de la Place in the square: a group of musicians played a lilting melody and a female chanteuse sang slow French songs full of passion in her deep, fluid voice.
‘Come, Sophie.’ Horatio took her in his arms and they danced for hours until they were alone. Just the two of them, Sophie with her head nestled in Horatio’s neck.
‘You have fallen asleep. I think it’s time to go home,’ he whispered, waking her gently.
He gave the musicians 100 euros and, holding Sophie round her waist, he took her to his car.
They arrived in the early hours, the light illuminating the entrance. The stars still clear in the night sky.
Sophie lifted her head. The moonlight caught her profile as she leant against the oak double doors.
‘Such a joy to meet you.’ He kissed her hand, making no apology for his old-school manners.
‘Thank you for a wonderful evening,’ she said, and waited.
He held her face in both hands and brushed her lips with his.
Let yourself taste him, but don’t give him too much. Don’t pull away – you want this. A kiss full of promise.
Finally, he let her go.
‘I’ll call tomorrow. Two weeks is such a short time to get to know you.’
‘Yes, and most days I’ll be painting.’
That’s it, Sophie – show him you’re independent.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Maybe we can set up an easel in my grounds. The view is beautiful and it’s a good reason for me to see you more often.’
‘That’s a lovely idea, but I think in the day I should stay with the group as I don’t want to miss my tuition.’
***
Sophie was no easy prize and when Horatio took her to his vineyard the next day to taste the wines, she kept her head. Every evening he courted her with courteous self-restraint.
And yet…
Sophie found herself wishing he would pull the reins and tether her affections.
So one night, as they dined by candlelight on the splendid terrace of his chateau, she said, ‘Horatio, I want you to know that I am not the delicate flower that you perceive me to be. I haven’t exactly lived behind a widow’s veil for the past six years.’
‘I wouldn’t expect a beautiful woman like you to waste herself in that way.’
The sweet scent of jasmine and the rich wine had gone to her head.
Was he going to reach for her, touch her cheek, kiss her neck? No, he wants me to seduce him. Lead him to the edge.
‘Shall I tell you a bedtime story, Horatio?’ she whispered.
‘Please do,’ he said.
He held her gaze while he poured her another glass of wine. Sophie took a sip and moved towards him.
‘When I was a sweet thirteen-year-old, my parents took me to Cannes. We stayed at the Carlton Hotel. And in the foyer, there was a woman called Madame Molière who had a kiosk displaying cigarettes, sweets and magazines. But hidden in her little nook was a secret stash of erotic books conveniently covered in brown paper for guests to savour… Classics such as Fanny Hill , Lady Chatterley’s Lover and The Story of O .’
‘I know the kiosk well,’ he said.
She paused and, giving him a naughty smile, lowered her eyes.
‘And…’ he said.
‘And so I bought one, encouraged by my friend Emily, who was also staying at the hotel with her parents. She was older than me, sixteen, and had already been fondled by a boy she’d met at a disco in Juan Les Pins.’
‘Tell me, Sophie, which book did you choose?’
‘ Lady Chatterley’s Lover ,’ she replied. ‘So exciting to read about sexual pleasures beneath the sheets. My parents were surprised when I insisted on having early nights! One evening, Emily came to my room and we read my precious book together. She was Mellor and I was Lady Chatterley. We kissed and touched, tenderly arousing each other. Such a gentle preparation for our adult years. Don’t you think so, Horatio?’
‘Mmmm. Two innocent beauties discovering forbidden fruits is surely better than some clumsy young male’s first attempt.’
‘And you?’ Sophie asked. ‘What was your first adventure?’
‘When I was eighteen, a beautiful older woman called Ondine tutored me in the art of pleasing the fairer sex. Once a week for a year, she would visit and teach me the secrets of a woman’s inner chambers, and if I came too quickly, she would whip me. But I have to admit she was so passionate that I loved it. She was a dedicated soul. Wanted me to be the best lover in Bordeaux, and I worked hard as her willing pupil to fill the role.’
Horatio had matched her story with his. They were seducing each other. Waiting to see who would surrender first.
He changed the subject to tease her. ‘Sophie, how do you like the scallops?’
But Sophie was still on course. Almost as if her every word, every thought was to urge him to consume her. Satiate her.
‘Delicious… so soft and moist.’
Come on. Kiss me. Can’t you see that I want you?
But Horatio held his ground.
The entrée arrived, a succulent lobster Thermidor. Sophie broke the claws and sucked the meat. Her ravishing mouth shone with sauce as she looked at Horatio with limpid green eyes, inviting him.
‘Sophie, are you ready for me?’ he finally said. Lifting her dress beneath the table, he touched her.
‘Oh yes,’ she replied, and held his hand between her thighs.
‘You’re like a flower.’ He sat her on his lap and played with her.
‘Please, Horatio,’ she moaned. ‘I’m in agony. Make love to me.’
‘Not yet,’ he said as he scooped her up in his arms and swept her off to bed.
At last, he gave her what she wanted. She was open to him.
Afterwards, Horatio lay by Sophie’s side and played with her breasts.
‘Come and live with me,’ he said impetuously.
‘Darling Horatio,’ she said, kissing his chest, ‘we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks.’
‘Sophie, I know you’re the one.’
Handsome, rich and available. Think of the years you’ve wasted with a man who can’t make up his mind. What’s stopping you?
***
Nicholas was waiting for Sophie at the airport.
He wanted to surprise her. Show her how much he missed her.
Usually on Sunday, he had lunch with his family at the Captain Blighty Gastro Pub and then took the dogs for a run on the beach.
This time he told Kate that he was going to see a client in Knightsbridge who was flying to Milan on Monday morning.
‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘Just make sure you take the rubbish out before you go.’
So here he was, staring at the noticeboard. Sophie’s plane was delayed.
He went to the men’s room, had a pee, washed his hands, combed his hair and checked his face in the mirror. Good thing he had. There was a piece of spinach stuck between his teeth.
He’d made himself a smoothie before he left. Spinach and carrot.
Kate had laughed. ‘How could you drink that revolting mess? You’re such a masochist.’
‘Well, why don’t you cook me bacon and eggs instead?’ he said, pouring his juice into a Thermos flask.
‘You’re much better at fry-ups than I am,’ she replied. ‘And anyway, I don’t have time in the morning. Have to be at school at 8 a.m. And you know I like to have a lie-in on weekends.’
Nicholas averted his eyes. She used to be so different when they first met. Even made him soufflés.
No point in trying. She wasn’t going to change. ‘Bye, Kate, don’t wait up for me,’ he said.
Nicholas was nervous. Sophie seemed so cool before she’d left for France. And for two weeks she had barely answered his texts.
At last the Bordeaux passengers were coming through arrivals.
And here was Sophie. She looked happy. Striding through the lounge with her trolley.
Nicholas stood between the waiting minicab drivers holding up their placards. ‘Sophie,’ he shouted, and waved at her. She didn’t hear him.
He shouted again.
She turned round and saw him. He looked just as he always did. Bright eyed, smiling, wearing a white shirt and pale blue jeans.
Don’t give in, Sophie. What’s the point? You’ve made up your mind, now stick to it.
Sophie stood her ground as he made his way over to her.
‘Well, this is a surprise. What are you doing here? It’s Sunday,’ she said.
‘I missed you. There’s no other reason I’m up in London. I just needed to see you.’
‘It’s nice of you to pick me up, but there’s a minicab waiting for me.’
‘Not a problem,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’ll pay him the cost of the trip.’
***
Back at the flat, Nicholas made himself comfortable. He was used to Sophie looking after him. ‘You don’t have any nibbles, do you? I’m starving. Nuts will do. Or we could get a takeaway.’
‘There’s a jar of olives in the fridge,’ she said, ‘and I’ve brought back some wine. Can you open it, please?’
‘Of course,’ he said, taking the corkscrew from the kitchen drawer. He pulled out the cork. ‘2016, a good vintage Merlot. Best to let it breathe.’
They sat and chatted, very civilised. Almost as if they were strangers. Nicholas kept his distance.
Maybe best until the frost had melted.
‘So then,’ he said, popping an olive in his mouth, ‘tell me all about the trip. Was it fun?’
‘Wonderful. Lots of painting and a lovely teacher.’
‘Meet anybody interesting?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Of course!’
‘Yes. I met a lovely man.’
‘Did you?’ Nicholas swallowed hard. ‘What does he do?’
‘Taste the wine.’ She proffered a glass. ‘It’s from his vineyard, a family business, very successful. Do you like it?’
He swilled it round his mouth and paused.
‘Very refined. Rich and plummy. But… a little too tannic.’
Change tack, Nicholas. Let her feel as if you’re happy for her. That you don’t mind if she’s found another man. She’ll want you more.
‘I’m pleased for you, Sophie. I love you so much. You deserve so much more than I can give you. I can understand you wanting to move on. But I hope that we can still be friends. Platonically speaking.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. Why not?’
Sophie, don’t do it. But she couldn’t stop.
‘Look, Nicholas, stop messing about. You know that we’ll never be platonic! I’ll give you one last chance. Do you want to be with me? Or shall I go to France?’
‘How can I just up sticks and go? I need to work things out in my head. Maybe once the kids have left home.’
‘Don’t start that again. I won’t have any more excuses. This time you have to make up your mind. I’ll give you two weeks.’
Nicholas went back to Bournemouth. He thought and thought about leaving. He weighed up the pros and cons. Imagined himself sitting in bed with Sophie after they’d made love. Drinking a glass of wine and listening to Mozart. And in the morning, before he went to work, she’d make him breakfast. Scrambled egg with sausage, mushrooms and grilled tomatoes, French toast with maple syrup, and she’d squeeze him fresh orange juice, and make him fresh coffee with hot milk.
And in the evening, he’d take her out to dinner once a week and the rest of the time she’d cook gourmet meals or they’d be invited to dinner parties with her snazzy friends and they would return the compliment.
Then, just as quickly, he pushed it out of his mind. It wasn’t going to work. How could he leave his family? Nobody would speak to him again. He’d be known as the jerk of Bournemouth.
Divorce was out of the question. Kids, dogs, wife… a comfortable house, an easy life.
It didn’t take him long. He didn’t wait two weeks. Some flowers and a little note arrived at Sophie’s door.
I can’t do it. Forgive me.
Horatio had won his Sophie by default.