Livvy bent to retrieve it, but Richard Field beat her to it. He frowned as he handed it back to her.
‘“The natural beauty and historical sights of the Dordogne”,’ he read, scanning the cover, his mouth curling into an open sneer as he remarked contemptuously, ‘Hardly your style, I would have thought.’
Too angry to hide what she was feeling, Livvy snatched the book back off him, ignoring the sharp electric tingle that raced up her arm as her fingertips inadvertently touched the hard warmth of his hand.
‘That’s an arrogant and totally illogical statement,’ she told him cuttingly. ‘Despite what you seem to think, you don’t know me or my tastes and personality. I’d be very suspicious of anyone’s judgement if they claimed to know everything there was to know about another human being merely on the strength of twenty-four hours’ very casual acquaintance, but then of course I’m neglecting to take into account the insight into the female psyche which you seem to feel you have…an insight which, as far as I can ascertain, is based almost solely on prejudice…’
Livvy could see that she had surprised him.
‘Are you trying to tell me that you are genuinely more interested in exploring the history of the area than…?’
‘I’m not trying to tell you anything,’ Livvy assured him, adding pointedly, ‘I wouldn’t waste my breath.’
‘I should have thought a man-made cavern of expensive, exclusive shops where you could spend someone else’s money would be of more interest to you than somewhere like this,’ he told her, gesturing towards the open page of the guide and its description of caves.
‘If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’ Livvy told him sweetly.
As she walked past him and into the kitchen, she was surprised to discover that, along with a sweet sense of triumph, she also felt oddly sorry for him. He was obviously a wealthy man; had his cynical attitude towards her sex been the result of a relationship with the kind of woman he now accused her of being?
If so, she confessed to being a little surprised. She would have thought him too aware, too distrustful, too armoured by his own hardness to be vulnerable to that kind of woman; to any kind of woman, in fact, since he seemed so plainly to dislike and distrust her sex.
It pleased her, though, that she had managed to silence him; and to stand up to him.
Her sense of self-respect slightly restored, she went upstairs to collect her jacket and Gale’s list. Slightly restored, but truthfully it would take more than merely walking away from a verbal exchange with him, having the last word, to wipe out the memory of that kiss he had forced on her.
She paused uncomfortably at the top of the stairs, forced to acknowledge that it wasn’t so much the memory of his kiss which jarred, but her own unexpected reaction to it.
When she came back downstairs there was no sign of him, although she could see a fishing-rod and some fishing tackle on the ground next to the BMW.
As she climbed into her own car, she stifled a small pang of envy. As a child she had thoroughly enjoyed the hours she had spent watching her grandfather fish, and later, while she was still young enough not to be aware that fishing wasn’t something that girls did, to listen eagerly and learn from him while he explained its skills.
Beaulieu was everything the guidebooks had promised it would be and more, but Livvy firmly refused to give in to the temptation to start exploring its ancient streets straight away, reminding herself that work must come first, pleasure afterwards.
Even so, she could not resist the temptation of wandering through the market, pausing to enjoy the wonderful aromas from the stalls, admiring the contrast between the sharp, rich colours of the vegetables and fruit on one stall, and the softer, pale colours of the massed bunches of flowers on another.
On impulse, she stopped and bought herself a bunch. They would brighten up the dullness of the farmhouse kitchen, and she thought she had seen a large earthenware jug she could put them in.
Tempting though it was to linger, she forced herself to move on, pausing briefly to check the address of the plumbers’ merchant from the list Gale had given her.
Unexpectedly, when she eventually found it, it was tucked away down a pretty, narrow side-street of ancient houses that looked almost as though they had been untouched since they had first been built, the frothing brilliance of bright scarlet geraniums planted in window boxes outside the upper windows breaking up the weathered softness of the stone.
The contrast between the age of the building and the modern display of goods inside it took her slightly aback at first.
The man who came to assist her displayed all the charm and flirtatiousness for which the French male was so famous, or so notorious, depending upon which side of the sexual fence one looked at it from.
His eyes lit up appreciatively as he studied Livvy with discreet male competence. It said a lot for his savoir-faire that he didn’t drop his slightly flirtatious and flattering manner towards her once she outlined the business which had brought her to him, Livvy reflected to herself with amused appreciation.
‘Yes, I believe I recall madame your cousin,’ he agreed with commendable tact. ‘You say she has supplied you with a list of her requirements…’
‘Yes, but before I give you the order, she wishes me to secure a definite delivery date,’ Livvy told him firmly.
It took them almost an hour to reach an agreement. Provided his suppliers had the goods in stock, he could definitely promise to start work at the beginning of September, he assured her.
Gravely, Livvy told him that she would convey that information to her cousin.
As she stepped outside into the street, he followed her, removing from her the burden of her flowers while she put the brochures and price lists he had given her safely away with Gale’s list.
As she turned to thank him and take her flowers, he surprised her by lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her fingertips with a theatrical flourish. Trying hard not to giggle, Livvy retrieved her hand and started to turn away from him.