Dawn Song Read Online Free PDF

discovery, hein?'
    She bit her lip. That had altogether too intimate a ring, she thought uneasily.
    And his dark gaze had begun its journey already, travelling in silent
    appraisal down from her face to the rounded curves of her breasts under the
    cling of the cross-over bodice.

    Meg, about to draw a deep, indignant breath, checked the impulse. It would
    have totally the wrong effect in the circumstances, she told herself tersely.
    Perhaps Monsieur Moncourt was completely au fait with the effect he had
    on women, after all, she thought with angry derision, and was confident of
    an easy seduction. Payment, maybe, for helping her out. Well, don't count on
    a thing, she assured him in grim silence.
    This was the kind of game that Margot would enjoy, she realised. A
    sophisticated advance and retreat, spiced with unspoken promise and sexual
    innuendo, from which at the end she would walk away. Or not, as she chose.
    And perhaps, just for one evening, it would do no harm to play the game
    herself—or at least learn some of its rules. Maybe this is my day for living
    dangerously, she thought.
    Jerome Moncourt finished his drink and glanced at her empty glass. 'Shall
    we go?' he said. 'I hope your adventure today has given you an appetite?'
    'My first experience of French cooking.' Meg smiled brightly as she pushed
    her chair back. 'I can't wait.'
    The sun was beginning to set in a blaze of crimson as they drove out of the
    valley.
    'Oh, how wonderful.' Meg craned her neck. 'It's going to be a fine day
    tomorrow.'
    He smiled. 'No more storms,' he said teasingly, and she shuddered.
    'I hope not.'
    'You were unlucky,' he said. 'It is more usual for the storms to come at night.
    Sometimes as you drive you see the lightning playing round the hills, like a
    gigantic silent spotlight. We call it the eclairs de chaleur. Then suddenly a
    fork will streak to the ground, and the world goes mad. As you saw.'
    'I did,' she said ruefully. 'Don't you have any gentler form of son et lumiere
    for the tourists?'

    'Perhaps the dawn would suit you better,' he said. 'That trace of pure clear
    light in the sky that drowns the stars, before the sun even lifts its head over
    the horizon.'
    'You sound like a poet,' Meg said, stealing a sideways glance. 'Is that what
    you are?'
    He laughed. 'No, I regret, nothing so romantic, although my grandfather was
    deeply interested in the poetry of the region—the songs of the troubadours
    and those that followed.'
    'Did he write himself?'
    Jerome shook his head. 'He lived on the land in a mas. which belonged to his
    family. Grew his own vines. Adopted the simple life.'
    'It sounds—good.'
    'I think it was, for a time. Unhappily, even the simple life can become
    complicated, and eventually he returned to Paris.'
    'And do you—lead the simple life too?'
    'When I can.' He slanted a smile at her. 'But most of the time I'm an architect.
    I used to work in Paris, but our business expanded quite remarkably, and
    now I am based in Toulouse.'
    'Back to your roots.'
    'As you say. I work mainly as a consultant, advising on the preservation and
    restoration of old buildings—houses, usually, which have been allowed to
    become derelict during the drift from the land to the cities, but which are
    now in demand again.'
    'Actually, I think that's quite as romantic as poetry,' Meg said thoughtfully.
    'Repairing the fabric of history.'

    His smile widened. 'And actually I agree with you, but I don't tell my clients,
    or they would expect me to work for love and not for money.'
    'Are you working on a project at the moment?'
    'In a way, although I'm officially on leave.' He didn't seem to want to enlarge
    on the subject, so Meg left it there.
    'Do you miss Paris?' she asked, after a pause.
    He shook his head. 'I wouldn't miss any city,' he said flatly. 'My family chose
    to live there. I did not.'
    'Were they from this part of the country originally?'
    'Yes. Our roots have always been here. My grandfather was the first to