Page 40 of The Heiress's Secret Baby

She didn’t need to hide. Not today. Instead she loosened her hair and brushed it out, allowing it to fall naturally down her back.

With one last longing glance at the inviting-looking bed, Polly took a deep breath and opened the door. She was ready.

She found the family in the garden, congregated around a large cast-iron table set under a large shady tree. It was already set for lunch and at the sight of the plates piled high with breads, salad, cheese and meat Polly’s increasingly capricious appetite perked up.

Oh no, what if it was one of those days? It was all or nothing at the moment; mostly nothing, but when she did want to eat she had no stop mechanism. She hoped she didn’t eat the Beaufils family out of house and home.

She could imagine them, gathered together in twenty years’ time, telling tales of the Englishwoman who couldn’t stop eating.

Polly leant on the corner of the house content just to watch them for a moment. Everyone was talking, words tumbling out, interrupting each other with expansive hand gestures. Polly’s French was pretty good but she was completely confused by the rapid crossfire of laughing conversation.

The laughter was loud and often. Each peal rang through her, making it harder and harder to take a step forward, to interrupt. Not wanting to break into the reunion    , for the lively chatter to turn into the inevitable formal chitchat a stranger’s presence would cause.

And the longer she stood there, the more impossible that step seemed.

She had never seen Gabe so utterly relaxed. Sitting at the head of the table, he had one plump toddler held firmly on his knee, another was crawling at his feet, attempting occasionally to climb up his denim-clad legs. His mother was pouring him wine, one sister showing him something on her iPad, his father grasping his arm as he made his point.

He was totally immersed, somehow paying attention to each member of his family. A smile of thanks, a nod of acknowledgement, a firm capturing of sticky fingers. Son, brother, uncle, the heart of his family. How could he want to escape this? If this was Polly’s family she would never ever want to leave.

It was as if he could hear her thoughts. Gabe’s head snapped up and he looked straight over at Polly, his dark gaze unwavering. She didn’t want him to think her a coward, wanted to step out with her head held high but she was paralysed, held still by the understanding in his eyes.

She should have felt exposed, weak, but instead it was as if he was cloaking her in warmth, sending strength into suddenly aching limbs. It was almost painful when he dragged his eyes away, handing the toddler on his knee to his mother and scooping up the one by his feet as he rose gracefully out of his chair, walking over to Polly and expertly avoiding the small hands trying to grab his nose.

‘Bonjour, Polly, this is Mathilde. She doesn’t speak English yet but you must forgive her. Her French is terrible too.’

‘Your French was terrible too when you were two, and it’s not much better now,’ interrupted a petite dark-haired woman with a vivacious grin as she came over to join them. She lifted the protesting small girl out of her uncle’s arms, cuddling her close with a consoling kiss before turning to Polly.

‘We must all be a bit much for you. It gets very loud when we are en masse. Especially when we have all the babies with us. I’m Natalie. I’m sure you didn’t get a chance to work out who was who earlier.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ Polly couldn’t help her gaze dropping to focus on the woman’s large bump.

Natalie followed her gaze and grimaced. ‘I know, I am enormous.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘The doctor assures me it’s not twins. I blame Maman’s cooking. There’s nothing like eating for two.’

‘Not at all,’ Polly said quickly. ‘I was just thinking how well you look.’

Well. Happy and secure. Could that be her future?

‘Come, sit and eat. Would you like some wine? Non? How about some grape juice made from our own vines? It’s very refreshing.’

Polly allowed herself to be led to the table, to have her glass filled with the chilled juice, her plate filled with a tempting selection of breads, salads and meats, and did her best to join in with the conversation, which kept lapsing into French.

‘En anglais,’ Madame Beaufils said reprovingly. She turned to Polly. ‘I am so sorry, Polly. You must think us very rude.’

‘Not at all. I think you are very happy to see Gabe. Please, don’t speak English on my account. It will do me good to try and get along. My French is sadly rusty.’

‘But so many of our hotel guests are English it does us good to speak it,’ Claire said. Gabe’s oldest sister was the quietest of the family, much of her time taken in attending to one of the two small children sitting by her side. A third slept quietly in a pram under the tree. ‘I want these three to grow up with perfect English.’

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