Vicki's Work of Heart by Rosie Dean Page B

flared through me. ‘Maybe…No, you’re right. I want to prove something to myself.’
    ‘So, Vicki, tell me, what do you do for pleasure?’ He leaned back as he waited for me to reply. I looked down and could feel him watching me as I pushed rice around my plate.
    ‘Well, painting, of course.’
    He was still watching me as I lifted the fork to my mouth. ‘But if painting becomes your work, you must do something else to unwind – what would that be?’
    I rolled my eyes before reaching for my wine glass and took a gulp. After a moment I said, ‘I love walking in the countryside and, of course, I like cooking.’
    ‘And you cook very well. Everything has been delicious, and I’m looking forward to that lemon dessert you were making.’ He smiled so charmingly I was reminded, again, of Marc.
    I coughed to dislodge the rice sticking in my throat. ‘How about you? Is it all horses and work?’
    He nodded slowly and smiled. ‘I have a lot of pleasure riding my horses.’
    ‘Lovely. I can only imagine how wonderful it must be to gallop across the open countryside. I’ve never been on a horse in my life,’ and there was a very good reason for that – horses terrified me.
    ‘Really? Then you must learn while you’re here.’
    Not bloody likely. ‘To be honest, I don’t think I’d be very good at it. But thanks for the offer.’ I chased the last of my risotto around the plate. ‘What else do you do?’
    ‘I go to watch my horses race. Now, that is a fantastic thrill and also a little tense. Have you ever been to the races?’ I shook my head. He adjusted his position to face me fully as he began to describe the scene. ‘But you can imagine the build up before the race, non? Everyone is excited and expectant; the traps go up and the adrenalin is pumping while you watch your horse charging round the course – ahead a little, then back, then ahead again. It’s very intense and it’s exhilarating. Then, when it finally crosses the finishing line – its head just in front of the rest – ah, it’s like…’ He leaned forward and his eyes narrowed as he looked for the words. I waited. ‘…it is the second best thing to making love.’
    I just knew he was going to say that. I was toying with the idea of coming back at him with, ‘You’ve clearly never skied down a red run, at dawn, stark naked,’ but his phone rang again. He let out a groan and dragged his eyes away from mine but not quickly enough, I suspect, to miss the tell-tale heat scorching my flesh. ‘Excuse me,’ he smiled, before flicking open his phone.
    I sipped at my wine as he sat back in the chair to take the call, saying very little, other than the odd ‘oui’ or ‘non’. I could hear the caller’s voice. It was a woman and, by the sound of it, an emotional one. I risked a glance in his direction but the strain on his face was so intense, I looked away quickly and gathered the plates together.
    He snapped his phone shut. ‘My apologies, Vicki. I must go,’ he said, stood up and headed to the door, stopping briefly to say, ‘Thank you for dinner.’
    I sat for a moment and pondered…could that have been the woman he used to live with? Was she still on the scene and raising the roof over my arrival? What news could affect him so strongly he had to rush off without trying my fabulous lemon mousse?
    I let out a huge sigh and ran a cooling hand round the back of my neck.

CHAPTER 6
    My host didn’t come home that night or the following morning. I finally cleared the breakfast away at ten, tossing Hercules and Boz a small chunk of bread each. I took a mug of coffee out into the courtyard and sat on a wooden bench in the sunshine. I’d spent the morning reviewing my photographs and sketching ideas for my first canvas. The chances of Christophe having called his artist friend were pretty remote so I chewed over the idea of getting a taxi into Limoges. It would be pretty costly, though. I’d already shelled out on a taxi from the