A Gown of Thorns: A Gripping Novel of Romance, Intrigue and the Secrets of a Vintage Parisian Dress Read Online Free

professor of her university faculty, had messaged her. He’d promised to alert her to any suitable research posts that crossed his radar. Their last meeting had been deeply emotional – for her anyway – and she’d said things she now regretted. A friendly text from him would put her mind at rest.
    ‘Where’s the best place to get a mobile phone signal, Madame?’
    Isabelle, standing in front of an open fridge, gestured vaguely. ‘Garzenac, in the churchyard, the highest part of town. That is the only place my phone works, though Laurent uses a different network with a better range. Shauna, please call me Isabelle, not “Madame”. I know I am old, but I don’t like to feel it. Would you open the back door? It is so hot! These Dordogne summers kill me, yet I keep coming back.’ Reaching into the fridge, and almost to herself, she added, ‘Nobody who loves Chemignac ever really leaves it.’
    Opening the door onto the courtyard, Shauna breathed in the musk of ripening cantaloupes. Chemignac seemed pretty much immune to modernity, yet as a wine estate and tourist attraction, it must have a computer somewhere. Or at least a fax machine. Or maybe Laurent would let her borrow his phone, or would it be too pushy to ask? He hadn’t called on her since that first evening, even though he, too, lived in the château. The back wall of his apartment was twenty strides away. He’d telephoned for updates on her condition, according to Isabelle, but that wasn’t the same as coming to see her.
    She found a way to introduce his name. ‘Does Laurent run the vineyard by himself?’
    Isabelle was dicing pork. ‘He has two helpers to do the work in the clos alongside him, though one of them, Raymond, is often unwell. His back has gone, poor thing. Hardly surprising as he’s been labouring since he was ten years old, and he’s older than I am! Oncle Albert also tries to help, but he can’t do much now, either. And of course there is Rachel, and a couple of part-time stable-hands, but they keep to their own tasks. Come harvest, Chemignac turns into a factory and we’re flooded with vendangeurs .’ Harvest-hands, she explained. ‘But Laurent thinks that if he rests, some pest or disease will attack the vines and, you know, there are ten hectares of them to watch. This month he will clean and service every piece of equipment because when the grapes are being picked you cannot afford for anything to go wrong. And then there is eternal paperwork – this is France! He works through the night sometimes, and collapses into bed for three or four hours’ sleep. He worries me.’
    ‘Sounds tough,’ Shauna said, settling down to scrape potatoes. Was it totally inappropriate to wonder if Laurent collapsed into bed alone? Yes , she decided, inappropriate and a bit crazy. Face it, she’d seen him twice and both times she’d been thoroughly over-heated. The occasional fantasy wouldn’t hurt – so long as they stayed in her head. She wasn’t ready for fresh hurt and she’d become something of a disappointment-magnet lately.During her third year at university, she’d fallen headfirst for a post-grad student. They’d moved in together, planning their future to the last detail to allow both of them to achieve their career potential while enjoying family life. Doctorate for her, a professorship for him, two children, a travelling sabbatical each, a mortgage, happiness, prosperity and a dog. Then, without consulting her, Jason had taken a job in America. A month in, an email. He’d met somebody else…
    The one evil of technology, to Shauna’s thinking, was that it made rejection easy. Fire off an email, job done. Whatever happened to sitting down with a person and looking them in the eye?
    Watching Isabelle assembling her Sobronade , Shauna wondered if her mistake in life was too much planning. Plans hadn’t stopped Jason going to the States. It hadn’t stopped Shauna’s father dying. Nor had it prevented Isabelle’s widowhood,