King of the Castle by Victoria Holt Page B

all those years, and then suddenly Gabrielle was born. Then another gap and Yves came, and after that, Margot. There’s only a year between those two. It was too soon and their mother was too old for childbearing.”
    “She is… ?”
    She nodded.
    “That was a bad time. Armand, and Jacques, one of the workers, were in the cart when the horses bolted. They were both injured. Armand’s wife, poor girl,
     
    thought he would die, and I suppose it all seemed too much for her.
    She caught the fever and died leaving little Margot. only ten days old. “
    “How very sad.”
    “The bad times pass, mademoiselle. It is eight years ago. My son is well enough to work; my grandson is a good boy and really head of the family now. He became a man when it was necessary to shoulder responsibilities. But that is life is it not?” She smiled at me.
    “I
    talk too much of the Bastides. I will weary you. “
    “Indeed you do not. It is all very interesting.”
    “But your work must be so much more so. How do you find it at the chateau?”
    “I have only been there a very short time.”
    “You are going to find the work interesting?”
    “I don’t know if I am going to do the work. Everything depends on .
    ”
     
    “On Monsieur Ie Comte. Naturally.” She looked at me and shook her head.
    “He is not an easy man.”
    “He is unpredictable?”
    She lifted her shoulders.
    “He was expecting a man. We were all expecting a man. The servants talked of the Englishman who was coming. You cannot keep secrets in Gaillard, mademoiselle. At least most of us can’t. My son says I talk too much. He, poor boy, talks little. The death of his wife changed him, mademoiselle, changed him sadly.”
    She was alert, listening, and I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs. A proud smile touched her face, changed it subtly.
    “That,” she said, ‘will be Jean Pierre. “
    In a few moments he stood in the doorway. He was of medium height, with hair of a lightish brown bleached, I imagine, by the sun; his dark eyes narrowed to slits as he smiled, and his skin was tanned almost to copper colour. There was about him an air of immense vitality.
    “Jean Pierre!” said the old woman.
    “This is Mademoiselle from the chateau.”
     
    He came towards me, smiling as though, like the rest of the family, he was delighted to see me. He bowed ceremoniously.
    “Welcome to Gaillard, mademoiselle. It is kind of you to call on us.”
    “It was not exactly a call. Your young brother and sister saw me passing and invited me in.”
    “Good for them! I hope this will be the first of many visits.” He drew up a chair and sat down.
    “What do you think of the chateau?”
    “It’s a fine example of fifteenth-century architecture. I have not had much opportunity so far of studying it but I think it has characteristics similar to those of Langeais and Loches.”
    He laughed.
    “You know more of our country’s treasures than we do, mademoiselle, I’ll swear.”
    “I don’t suppose that is so, but the more one learns the more one realizes how much more there is to learn. For me it is pictures and houses, for you … the grape.”
    Jean Pierre laughed. He had spontaneous laughter, which was attractive.
    “What a difference! The spiritual and the material!”
    “I think it must be exciting as I was saying to Madame Bastide to plant the vines, to tend the grapes, to watch over them and then to make them into wine.”
    “It’s a matter of hazards,” said Jean Pierre.
    “So is everything.”
    “You have no idea, mademoiselle, the torments we suffer. Will there be a frost to kill the shoots? Will the grapes be sour because the weather has been too cold? Each day the vines must be examined for mildew, black rot and all the pests. So many pests have one ambition and that is to spoil the grape-harvest. Not until the harvest is gathered in are we safe and then you should see how happy we are.”
    “I hope I shall.”
     
    He looked startled.
    “You have started work