Inherited by Her Enemy

‘There’s been a lot of gossip about Mr Charlton’s will, as I’m sure you know,’ her boss told her unhappily. ‘But, frankly, I discounted it.’

‘Unfortunately, it’s all true.’ Ginny looked down at her tightly clasped hands. ‘I—I have no claim at all.’

‘You don’t think the new heir would back you? If you explained the circumstances?’

Ginny sat up very straight. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t,’ she returned with emphasis. ‘Even if I could bring myself to ask him.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Emma. ‘Well, Ginny, I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but Iris’s offer is on the table and I need to close the deal quickly.’ She frowned. ‘Even though I suspect when I’m gone, it will be all change.’

Like so much else, thought Ginny as she went back to work.

* * *

It was a busy afternoon, the miserable weather creating a high demand for soup and hot chocolate as the comfort foods of choice, and everyone she served told her how sorry they were about Andrew and what a loss it was, and she quietly agreed, thanking them for their sympathy, while trying not to resent the curiosity which accompanied it.

It was only natural, she reminded herself. Andrew seemed the last man in the world to have fathered an illegitimate son, and kept him a secret all these years.

As closing time approached, Ginny was on her own in the café, clearing tables, when Andre Duchard walked in and took a seat in the corner.

For a moment, she stood, frozen, aware of the dull heavy thunder of her heart, and the sudden dryness of her mouth. Real but inexplicable.

And there was nothing she could do, pride forbidding her to pick up her loaded tray and scuttle with it into the kitchen, leaving someone else to deal with the unwelcome customer.

She drew a deep breath, then walked across the room, acutely aware that he was watching her approach every step of the way, his hard mouth smiling faintly as he leaned back in his Windsor chair.

As she reached the table, he said softly, ‘So this is how you pass your days.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Ginny lifted her chin, thankful for the steadiness of her voice. Even investing it with a note of tartness. ‘Is that what you came here for—to satisfy your curiosity?’

‘Pas entièrement.’ He gave the menu a cursory glance. ‘Un café filtre, s’il vous plaît.’

‘Certainly.’ She wrote on her order pad, then paused. ‘Milk and sugar?’

He grimaced slightly. ‘Merci. But, perhaps, a cognac.’

Ginny shook her head. ‘We aren’t licensed to sell alcohol.’ She added coolly, ‘Not even wine, if you were hoping Miss Finn might be a potential buyer.’

‘Quel dommage,’ he said lightly and looked down at the menu again. ‘But then, this is a very feminine establishment, n’est ce pas?’

‘Not exclusively,’ she denied swiftly. ‘Our food appeals to men as well.’

Although it reluctantly occurred to her that none of their other male customers brought this kind of presence—this raw energy into the place, making it seem somehow—diminished.

She found the realisation disturbing, and hurried into speech again. ‘Maybe you should stick to the Rose and Crown.’

He shrugged. ‘Its coffee does not deserve the name. But it serves its purpose in other ways. I have found it une veritable mine de renseignements.’

He paused, observing her puzzled expression. ‘A mine of information,’ he explained. He gave her an ironic look. ‘Also the girls who work there smile more.’

Ginny stiffened. ‘Perhaps they have more to be happy about. You seem to forget that I have lost someone I looked on as a father for a lot of years.’

‘As I did not,’ he said with a touch of harshness. ‘For most of my life, he was just a name. And when that changed, at first I did not welcome it.’

‘Whereas we weren’t even aware you existed.’

He said drily, ‘And you wish it had stayed that way, n’est-ce pas?’

‘I certainly wish we’d been prepared,’ she returned stonily. ‘Instead of being subjected to one shock after another.’

‘And you hate him for this?’

She gave him a startled look. ‘No—no, of course not. How could I?’ She paused. ‘I just don’t understand how he could have kept all this from us for so long.’

He said softly, ‘But we all have our secrets, do we not? Matters we prefer to keep from the world?’ For a second his reflective gaze lingered on her parted lips, as if reminding her of those brief devastating moments in his arms, and to her fury, Ginny felt her skin warm in a response she was unable to control.