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I gasped.
“I’m not kidding,” he added ominously.
I pretended to examine the manky tissue in my hands.
How does he know?
“You don’t have to waste all that money on tickets. We can stay here. I won’t run,” I replied.
“It won’t be a waste. I need to go. I have some business to do there, and it’ll be a change of scenery for both of us.”
“Dylan, I’ve already had a huge change of scenery. I’m not sure I could handle another one. Why don’t you go with Lulu? I’ll be fine here.”
“I wasn’t thinking of asking Lulu, and leaving you here thwarts my ulterior motive.”
“Why aren’t you taking Lulu?”
His expression darkened.
“Oh no. Dylan, please don’t tell me this is about this morning. I feel guilty enough as it is for completely and utterly disrupting your life. Please tell me you’ve not done anything stupid about Lulu. She loves you so much.”
“Emily, don’t take this the wrong way, but that really is none of your business.”
“It is if you’re arguing about me!” I shouted. “I heard you, for heaven’s sake. Sheesh, she’s right. I’m seventeen. I’m old enough to look after myself.”
His eyes narrowed. “No, Emily, you’re not.” He gazed at me evenly, his expression uncompromising. “Come to France with me, please.”
“I’ll come if Lulu comes too.”
His mouth pressed into a hard line. “You are one frustrating young woman,” he growled.
Chapter XIII Le Manoir
I sat in the back of the air-conditioned 4×4 Dylan had rented at the Bordeaux Airport as we sped through the lush French countryside. The sun blazed down as we drove past endless fields of tall sunflowers and vineyards with vines laden with juicy grapes. The area was fertile, bursting with nature’s goodness, and the countryside reminded me a little of home, of Bekesbourne.
Lulu was unusually quiet. She had been for the whole journey. In fact, I wasn’t sure if she and Dylan were actually speaking to each other.
About an hour into our drive from the airport, Dylan turned off the main road and headed into a quaint picturesque village made of ancient sandstone. He drove over a small stone bridge and through the main village square. A few old men were sitting at the local café drinking coffee, and some children played in the center of the square around an old fountain. It was simply stunning. Bunting was draped around the poplar trees that framed the square, giving it a festive atmosphere. Dylan drove on, and about five minutes later, he turned into a gravel driveway that led to two open wrought-iron gates.
He eased the car along the driveway lined with silver birch trees toward a large sandstone manor house. Wisteria grew around the doorway, and the windows were adorned with powder-blue shutters. The house seemed to glow in the midday sun, old and beautiful. I counted two windows on the ground floor and three on the first floor and another two gabled windows in the roof above.
Beside the driveway, there were a number of outbuildings that might have been stables at one time, but I could see they had been converted into holiday homes, or gîtes. There were three cars, all with UK number plates, parked beside them in the large driveway.
Dylan owned all this!
He said he had a house… not this!
He stopped the car outside the weather-beaten, wooden front door, switched off the engine, and glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “We’re here.”
He climbed out, and a middle-aged, birdlike woman, her brown hair in a loose bun, came out from inside the house, giving him a broad smile. He greeted her warmly, kissing her on both cheeks and hugging her hard. She held his face in her hands and said something, which made him nod sadly. She shook her head, her expression doleful.
Lulu and I both climbed out of the beast of a car. Lulu beamed at her and hugged her too, and she cheered up. They’d obviously met before. Both she and Dylan spoke what sounded to me like flawless French as they said their hellos.
“This is my niece, Emily.” Dylan put his arm around me to introduce me to the Frenchwoman.
“Emily, this is Madame Gombert. She looks after the place for me.”
“Bonjour, madame,” I said.
