Page 53 of A Night with Damien Spur

In truth, Sophie found it strange that her hostess had been so quick to play matchmaker. She hardly knew her and already she was being introduced to a new man.

Perhaps her mother was right. News travels fast in a small village.

Marie drove through the large wrought-iron gate and up the driveway to the delightful chateau, friendly to the eye with its wooden shutters, a pretty pale green, and roses creeping up the sepia stone walls.

A smart young man around twenty, wearing a dark evening suit, opened the door. He was holding a list in his hand.

‘Good evening, Madame Fournier. And you are Mademoiselle Fox?’ His eyes shone when he saw Sophie.

‘Yes, I am indeed.’

‘Good evening, Olivier,’ Marie said.

He ticked their names. ‘The guests are on the lawn.’

The two women walked through the lustrous salon.

So formal and graceful. Huge arched windows. Carved giltwood chairs upholstered in silk, a Louis XV walnut side table.

On the mantle above the marble fireplace were a pair of Ormolu-mounted Sèvres porcelain vases, each portraying a gallant kneeling to his maiden. And on the walls, ancestral portraits, landscapes and bare-breasted courtesans.

Sophie followed Marie out onto the terrace and down the stone stairs leading to the floodlit lawn.

Six years, Daniel. Let me dance. Free me.

Marie introduced her to the guests. A mix of glamorous bourgeoisie, local artists, musicians and the man who ran the cafe in the square.

‘Another glass of wine?’

Why not? It wouldn’t hurt. It would give her courage. Help her to be light and funny; flirty.

‘Yes, please,’ she said.

And for a while she was just how she wanted to be. The men clustered round her and Sophie, poised in her beautiful dress, threw back her head and laughed at their jokes, while their wives stole sour glances and cursed their husbands.

But Sophie didn’t care.

Horatio de Beaumont stood spellbound, watching her.

A perfect plan. Marie already knew that she had found a match for the elegant, wealthy aristocrat. He was the owner of a vineyard famed for its Grand Cru Merlot.

Marie took her arm. ‘Let me introduce you to the Count de Beaumont.’ She led Sophie over to a tall man with an impenetrable gaze. He had a noble face with dark grey eyes, a strong aquiline nose and a mouth that had no doubt kissed the most difficult women into submission. ‘And this, Horatio, is Sophie Fox.’

‘Your reputation goes before you, Sophie,’ he said. ‘I even saw the painting you did of the fields near Margaux.’

‘That was quick. I only finished it this morning.’

Just keep it cool, thought Sophie. This man needs a firm hand.

‘Yes, well, I think Marie had already picked you out as someone I should meet, and when she saw that you were also gifted, she wanted to share it with me. I have an art gallery in Paris. Not that she was trying to interest me in buying it.’

‘Can’t say that I came here to sell anything,’ Sophie replied. ‘I’m just doing a course like the other students.’ She watched the tray of drinks go past.

No, you’ve drunk too much already.

‘I must say, the Merlot is excellent,’ she remarked.

‘Actually, it’s from my vineyard,’ Horatio said.

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