Dawn Song Read Online Free Page B

Madame
    gave a satisfied nod, and returned to her duties downstairs, closing the door
    behind her.
    Meg stayed at the window. It had been quite a day, and it wasn't over
    yet—unless, of course, she wanted it to be. And she wasn't sure how she felt
    about that.
    Things like this don't happen to me, she thought with bewilderment. But
    then I'm not myself any more. I'm supposed to be Margot. Perhaps I've taken
    over her life as well as her name. But can I carry it off?
    She heard the door open, and Jerome enter with her luggage. Her heart
    began to thud, and her mouth went dry.
    'Another car will be delivered to you in the morning,' he said, hoisting her
    cases on to the slatted wooden rack provided for the purpose. 'You will have
    to complete an accident report, but you have me as a witness, so there should
    be no difficulty.'
    She kept her back towards him, moistening her lips with the tip of her
    tongue. 'I—I'm very grateful.'
    'Grateful enough to be my guest at dinner tonight?' He was standing behind
    her, so close that she could feel the warmth from his body.
    She stared at the view as if she was trying to memorise it. Behind the
    auberge' s small walled garden, the ground rose sharply. It was a wild and
    rocky landscape, studded with clumps of trees. A stream, presumably from
    some underground spring, had forced itself between two of the largest
    boulders, splashing down in a miniature waterfall, its passage marked by the
    sombre green of ferns.

    'The source of the Beron,' Jerome said at her shoulder. She nodded jerkily,
    and after a pause he said, 'You do not, of course, have to accept my
    invitation.'
    She knew that. Knew, too, that it would be safer—much safer to refuse
    politely, and, with sudden exhilaration, that she had no such intention.
    As she turned to answer him, she caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of
    the window- panes, his face dark and watchful, his mouth grimly set. She
    gasped, and her head came round sharply. But it must have been some trick
    of the light, be

    cause he looked back at her casually, even with faint amusement.
    He said softly, 'Put me out of my misery, Marguerite. May I return for you
    here at eight?'
    She said, 'Yes-I'd like that.'
    And wondered, once she was alone, whether that was really true.

CHAPTER THREE
    MEG took a long, luxurious shower, then spent some considerable time
    deciding what to wear that evening. In the end she fixed on a simple honey-
    coloured cotton dress in a full-skirted wrap-around style. She fastened gold
    hoops into her ears, and sprayed on some of her favourite Nina Ricci scent.
    She studied her appearance frowningly in the cheval mirror, from the
    shining tumble of hair, framing a slightly flushed face, and hazel eyes
    strangely wider and brighter than usual, down to her slender feet in the
    strappy bronze sandals, then shook her head.
    I
    feel
    like
    the
    old
    woman
    in
    the
    nursery
    rhyme,
    she
    thought—'Lawks-a-mercy, this be none of I.'
    It was daunting to realise that if Jerome Moncourt had come strolling into
    Mr Otway's bookshop during the past eighteen months he probably wouldn't
    have given her a second look. She still wasn't sure why she'd agreed to have
    dinner with him. It wasn't the wisest move she'd ever made. After all, she
    knew nothing about him but his name, and that could well be an invention.
    Oh, stop being paranoid, she admonished herself impatiently. Just because
    you're playing a part, it doesn't mean everyone else is too. And she could not
    deny that he'd fallen over himself to be helpful, but there could well be
    another side to him, she thought, remembering that unnerving, frozen
    glimpse she'd caught of his reflection, and that other moment, earlier in the
    day, when she'd felt his anger in the car reach out to her like a tangible thing.
    Perhaps he was one of those people whose moods changed in seconds, or,
    more likely, maybe she was just imagining things. I just don't know any
    more, she thought, turning away