Joss had told her that she needn't go in to the office in the morning, and that he would pick her up immediately after lunch, but even so Sarah deemed it wise to have an early night. She hadn't been sleeping well since David's attack, often waking during the night and then finding it hard to get back to sleep again.

Tonight was no exception and at two o'clock she lay sleepless, staring at her curtained window, longing to have Joss beside her.

Like a child playing with a forbidden toy, she re-lived the night she had spent in his arms, her body tensing as it was tormented by the memory of how his touch had aroused her. It was gone four o'clock before she drifted off to sleep again, and she woke at seven feeling jaded and still tired.

Sarah spent the morning cleaning her flat. She washed and dried her hair, and on a sudden crazy impulse varnished her nails a soft pretty pink to match the cotton jeans and knit top she had elected to wear for the journey.

Unlike many redheads, she could wear pink most successfully. Catching a glimpse of herself in her mirror, suddenly aware of the way the cotton of her jeans clung to her hips and legs, and the brevity of the sleeveless boat-necked top, she was tempted to change into something more sober. Hot colour stained her skin as she visualised Joss looking at her, knowing that she had dressed in a way she hoped he would find attractive. Nonsense, she told herself curtly, she had dressed for coolness and comfort, that was all.

And yet when Joss arrived to collect her, his glance was totally impersonal. She might as well have been wearing an old sack, she realised miserably, but then what had she expected? How could she compare with a woman like Helene?

"What's this?" he asked, picking up the case with her portable typewriter.

"It weighs a ton."

When she explained he nodded his head approvingly.

"I meant to bring mine but the keys have been jamming and it's being repaired. Is this the lot?"

Sarah nodded her head. She had meant to offer him a cup of coffee before they set out but his manner had been so briskly distant that she had felt she ought not to. He was letting her know quite definitely that from now on they were boss and employee, she thought achingly, as she followed him out to his car. Oh, he was being pleasant enough, but there was a very obvious reserve there, a barrier that warned her that he did not wish her to trespa.s.s into more intimate territory.

Joss drove well, his large Porsche comfortable to sit in. As soon as they joined the main stream of traffic he flicked on the stereo system, the Beethoven filling the silence of the car, pleasantly soothing. And it served a dual purpose, Sarah thought wryly. It meant that he did not have to talk to her. It struck her that he would probably far rather not have brought her with him, and she wondered a little bitterly why he had, unless he merely wished to reinforce and underline the fact that there would be no personal involvement between them. Yes, that must be it she thought, achingly. Joss wanted to make it plain to her that what had happened between them in the past was well and truly over. Well, she would not embarra.s.s either him or herself by throwing herself at him. She could take a hint as well as the next woman.

Tired? "

They were approaching the coast and for the last few miles Sarah had been lying back in her seat with her eyes closed. This way at least she was not likely to give in to the temptation of watching Joss. He obsessed her, she admitted mentally, she could spend hours simply watching him, just absorbing the reality of him into her senses.

Even with her eyes closed she was conscious of everything about him.

"Not really." She sat up straight and forced a brief smile.

"What time do we sail?"

"Not for at least a couple of hours yet. I thought we'd stop for a meal this side of Dover--I didn't think you'd want to dine on the ferry, and once we get to the other side I want to press on as quickly as we can and I warn you, it's likely to be the early hours of the morning before we reach our destination."

Sarah frowned, not liking the thought of Joss driving for that length of time.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

She told him.

"Perhaps I could relieve you at the wheel for a while."

A little to her surprise he agreed. For some reason she had half expected him to exhibit a masculine superiority towards her driving, and insist on handling the car himself.

"It's a little early to eat now," he commented, glancing at the dashboard clock.

"Barely gone five-thirty, but if you've no objections I would prefer that we do so."

When Sarah shook her head he continued.

"There's quite a pleasant small hotel a couple of miles down this road, where I think we'll be able to get a pa.s.sable meal."

The hotel was a couple of miles off the main road, with gardens running down to the river. It had a public bar which was already crowded when Joss escorted Sarah through it and into the small dining room which overlooked the gardens.

A little to Sarah's surprise there was no problem in serving them with a meal, although the wife of the hotel proprietor explained that because of the early hour the menu would be a little restricted.

Sarah had no desire to eat a heavy meal and soon chose fresh salmon baked in herbs with an a.s.sortment of vegetables, noticing that like her Joss, too, ordered fish.

"Much lighter on the digestive system than meat," he explained, 'and therefore, less inclined to leave one feeling lethargic. "

Both of them had opted for melon as a first course. The flesh was cool without being icy, and deliciously juicy.

The herbs in which Sarah's salmon had been baked brought out the delicate flavour of the fish. Her vegetables were crisp and tasty, and the coffee she ordered after her meal fragrant and piping hot.

Joss had cheese and biscuits, but Sarah refused anything more. They had had the dining room to themselves, although Sarah noticed that it was starting to fill up as they left.

They reached the ferry terminal just as the cars were starting to load and did not have long to wait to get on board.

The channel crossing was uneventful. Joss found them both seats in the bar, and Sarah sat back and watched the comings and goings of their fellow pa.s.sengers.

Because they were not heading directly for the South of France once they had cleared Calais they had the road almost completely to themselves.

Joss pulled into the side of the road and stopped the car.

"Your turn to drive, that's if you still feel up to it?"

Sarah nodded her head, climbing out of her own seat to take the one Joss had vacated.

Ralph had taught her to drive the year she was eighteen and he had been a patient, although exacting teacher. Sarah knew that she was a competent driver, but even so she felt slightly nervous. Joss's large Porsche with its automatic transmission was not the sort of car she was used to driving, but Joss explained the mechanics of it to her patiently once he had a.s.sured himself that her seat was properly adjusted and that she could see through the rear-view mirror.

"You drive and I'll navigate," he suggested, showing Sarah where to insert the ignition key. He shot back the cuff of the thick cotton sports shirt he was wearing to glance at his watch.

"It's just gone eight now. We'll swop over at ten, if that's all right with you?"

Although at first she was a little unsure of the unfamiliar heavy car, by the time she had travelled twenty miles in it, Sarah was beginning to relax and enjoy the feeling of power that came with the large engine. Joss was an excellent navigator, giving precise and clear instructions in plenty of time. The roads were practically deserted, and Joss was a surprisingly relaxed pa.s.senger, and unlike most of the men she knew quite content to leave her to do the driving unchecked.

At ten o'clock they stopped and swopped over. Joss drove faster than she had done, but very safely. The route they were taking was clearly marked on the map he handed to her and as he drove he explained that they were making for the Cote-d'Or wine region of France, where his friend's vineyard was.

"They produce a traditional Beaujolais-mostly premier cru wines although Jacques is hoping that this year's wine will be graded as grande cru."

"Have you known him long?" It was ridiculous to feel this intense desire to gather up just as much information as she could to h.o.a.rd like a miser and gloat over in the empty days when Joss himself would no longer be part of her life.

"I met him when I was working as a foreign correspondent. Like me, he was a reporter. He had an elder brother who had inherited the vineyard. Renauld was killed by an Algerian bomb in Paris eight years ago. He wasn't married, and so Jacques inherited the vineyard and is making a great success of it."

"And he's still managing to find time to write a family history as well?"

"No, it's Louise, his wife, who is really collating the information for him, although Jacques will write the book. Chateau d'Anterre came to the family as a gift from Napoleon; apparently Jacques' ancestor was a fellow Corsican who fought alongside Bonaparte and rose to the rank of Marshal."