Dawn Song Read Online Free PDF Page A

from the mirror. But the invitation had been
    made in madame' s presence which seemed to suggest it was above-board.
    And at least she wouldn't dine alone on her first evening in the Languedoc.
    She felt a swift glow of excitement.
    She caught up her bag, and the book on the history of the Cathars that Mr
    Otway had given her on parting, and went downstairs to wait for him. In
    Reception, madame was conducting a full- blooded argument by telephone,

    illustrated by gestures, with some hapless representative of the electricity
    company, but she smiled at Meg and motioned her to go through to the
    courtyard.
    The sun was back in full force, bathing the whole area in syrupy golden
    light, and Meg sat at one of the small wrought-iron tables which had been
    placed outside, sipping a pastis, and reading.
    It was difficult to comprehend on this beautiful evening, and rather
    depressing too, that the Cathars had believed the world to be the devil's
    creation, and man and all his works intrinsically evil. To escape damnation
    they had pursued a strict regime of prayer and abstinence, including
    vegetarianism, and the leaders of the cult, known as the Perfect Ones, also
    advocated celibacy in marriage.
    Presumably the majority of their followers had decided to be not quite so
    perfect, otherwise Catharism would have died out in a generation, Meg
    thought.
    From a modern viewpoint, their creed seemed eccentric rather than
    dangerous, yet armies had been sent to wipe them off the face of the earth. A
    bit like taking a sledgehammer to swat a fly.
    Probably, as Mr Otway had said, it was greed for the riches of the South
    which had sent the Crusaders south, ravaging the vineyards and looting the
    cities, and religion was just the excuse.
    She knew, before his shadow fell across the open page, that Jerome had
    arrived. She'd become aware of the stir at the adjoining tables, of the raised
    eyebrows and murmured asides as women turned their heads to watch him
    cross the courtyard.
    'Bonsoir.' This evening, he was wearing well-cut cream trousers and a
    chestnut-brown shirt, open at the neck, while the mane of dark hair had been
    controlled, but not tamed.
    Perhaps that was a clue to his personality, she found herself thinking as she
    shyly returned his smile of greeting. That under the expensive clothes and

    civilised manners there was a streak of wildness, waiting to explode. She
    wondered if he was an artist, perhaps. If so, he was a very successful one.
    The watch, the car, everything about him spelled out serious money.
    If he'd noticed the interest his arrival had caused, he gave no sign of it, as he
    pulled out a chair and sat down, signalling to the hovering waiter to bring
    him a drink. She approved of his seeming un- awareness of his own
    attraction. And he wasn't just attractive, either, Meg acknowledged wrily.
    For the first time in her life, she'd encountered a man who possessed a
    powerful sexual charisma that transcended ordinary good looks, and she
    wasn't sure how to deal with it.
    'You looked very serious just now,' he observed, adding water to his pastis.
    'You are not suffering from delayed shock, I hope?'
    Meg shook her head, wrinkling her nose slightly. 'Actually I was thinking
    about man's inhumanity to man.'
    'A sad thought for such an evening.' He glanced at her book, his brows
    lifting. ' Land of the Cathars ,' he read aloud. 'You are interested in the history
    of the Languedoc?' he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
    'Why not?' Meg lifted her chin. Just because she'd delayed leaving her car at
    his command, it didn't make her a complete idiot, she thought crossly.
    He looked at her for a long moment, the expression in the dark eyes
    unreadable, then he shrugged. 'As you say—why not?' he agreed. 'You are a
    creature of surprises, Marguerite.'
    'Not just me,' she reminded him, feeling oddly defensive. 'Neither of us
    knows the least thing about the other.'
    'So tonight,' he said softly, 'will be a journey of