Luc's Revenge

Assuming Luc Brissac would want another climb down to the cove, Portia was ready well before nine next morning in sensible shoes, black sweater, black needlecord trousers and her amber fleece jacket, shivering a little with combined cold and anticipation as she waited on the pavement.

When a Renault came to a halt at the kerb Luc Brissac jumped out, smiling. ‘Portia—you should not be standing outside in such weather.’

‘Good morning.’ She smiled. ‘I thought I’d save some time.’

Luc was dressed casually again, in suede windbreaker, cashmere sweater and elegantly battered cords, none of it any different from some of the men she knew. The difference, she decided, lay in nationality, and his air of supreme self-confidence.

‘You look delightful this morning, Portia,’ he remarked as he drove off. ‘Did your week go well?’

‘Socially and professionally very well indeed.’ Portia smiled wryly. ‘The only blot on my week was my car. It needed a bigger repair than expected.’

‘Ah.’ Luc sent a gleaming look in her direction before negotiating a busy roundabout. ‘So this is why you so meekly allow me to drive you to Turret House?’

‘Yes,’ she said demurely, and he laughed.

‘You are so bad for my self-esteem, Portia Grant. Could you not pretend you joined me for the sake of my company on the journey?’

‘I don’t do pretence,’ she informed him. ‘But I’ll admit I’m very grateful for a lift. I didn’t enjoy the drive home last Sunday.’

‘I was most concerned. It was a long evening before I could ring to assure myself that you were safe,’ he informed her.

Portia gave him a surprised look. ‘How very nice of you.’

‘Nice? Such British understatement!’ He shook his head in amusement. ‘Now. Tell me. What expensive properties did you sell this week, Portia? Is business good?’

Portia told him business was surprisingly good for the time of year. The rest of the journey was spent in easy conversation more concerned with the property market and current affairs than any personal details on either side, which Portia found rather intriguing. Usually her male companions were only too ready to talk about themselves. The journey seemed much shorter than usual, and all too soon, it seemed to Portia, they came to the familiar crossroads and took the fork to Turret House.

The day was grey and cold, and without the sunshine of the week before the house looked even less inviting as Luc parked the car outside the Gothic arch of the front door.

‘It needs trees in pots and tubs filled with flowers to soften the effect of the brick,’ said Portia, getting out.

This time, with Luc for company, it was easier to unlock the door and go inside. Portia snapped on the lights quickly, but before following her Luc turned back to the car and took two folded director’s chairs from the boot, then reached in again for a picnic basket. ‘This time we drink our coffee here,’ he announced.

Portia eyed the basket in surprise. ‘That’s very big for just coffee.’

He smiled. ‘There is also a picnic for later, should you disapprove of lunch at Ravenswood. Since the kitchen is the only complete room, let us establish ourselves there.’ He paused, chairs in one hand, the basket in the other. ‘Unless you cannot bear to remain that long?’

‘But I thought the whole idea of getting me down here today was to give you access to the place,’ she said, frowning.

The green eyes met hers very directly. ‘Part of the idea only, Portia.’

Portia turned away, surprised to find she no longer felt in the least uneasy with Luc Brissac. And in his company she was not as opposed to time spent in Turret House as he obviously assumed. ‘Let’s have that coffee, then.’

Luc placed the chairs near the window looking out over the back garden, then opened one flap of the basket and filled china beakers with coffee from a vacuum flask. He added milk from another flask to Portia’s, and handed it to her with a bow.

‘Voilà. That is the way you like it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ she said impressed. ‘Thank you.’ She sat down in one of the chairs, looking at him questioningly. ‘Do you need any help with measurements, or anything like that?’

Luc smiled at her indulgently and shook his head. ‘No. But it is most kind of you to offer.’

‘Then why, exactly, am I here?’ she asked.

‘If you were not with me, legally I could not enter Turret House.’

Portia drank some of her coffee. ‘Monsieur Brissac—’

‘Luc,’ he contradicted.

‘Luc, then,’ she said impatiently. ‘I’ve given up a Saturday to come down here, so surely I’m entitled to know what you want me to do.’

‘But I told you that last time we met.’

She looked at him narrowly. ‘You’ve brought me all this way just to find out why I dislike Turret House?’

He shrugged. ‘Partly. But surely it is obvious to you by this time that I also desire your company?’

She stiffened. ‘You could have had that in London.’

‘Could I, Portia?’ he said swiftly. ‘If I asked you out to a purely social dinner would you accept? Non, I think not. So this way you are obliged to suffer my company, also to keep your promise.’

Portia stared down into her coffee for a moment, then looked up to meet the intent green eyes. ‘As I said, I don’t do pretence, so it’s not a case of suffering your company.’

His eyes gleamed with open triumph. ‘I am honoured, Portia. That was not easy for you to say, I think.’

‘No,’ she agreed, and smiled a little. ‘It won’t be easy to tell you what you want to know either, so I require something in return.’

‘Anything you desire,’ he said swiftly.

‘I’m curious to know why you’re buying Turret House.’

‘D’accord,’ he said promptly, then grinned. ‘Better still, you can make guesses.’

‘Right,’ she said, feeling suddenly light-hearted. ‘Let’s see, you’re getting married and intend to have a large family?’

He shook his head. ‘Wrong, mademoiselle. Try again.’

Startled by how much his answer pleased her, Portia thought for a moment, then said, ‘I’ve got it. You were interested in the elevator. You want the house for a retirement home!’

Luc chuckled. ‘Wrong again.’

Portia threw up a hand. ‘I give in.’

‘The house is needed as an annexe for Ravenswood. Business there is brisk, and often the hotel is obliged to turn customers away. Turret House is only a mile or two away, and there could be transport from one place to the other. Also,’ he added, ‘the private cove is a great advantage for families with children.’

Portia smiled at him in delight. ‘But that’s a wonderful idea, Luc. It’s exactly what the place needs, lots of life, with people coming and going.’

‘I’m glad you agree.’ He stood up. ‘Come, let us make another inspection. You shall look at everything with the eye of a guest, and tell me if you approve my ideas. But afterwards,’ he added with emphasis, ‘I shall keep you to your promise.’