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A tingle of excitement ran along every nerve in her body.
Nice girls like her weren’t supposed to have irresistible physical yearnings like this. Nice girls stayed at home, minding the village shop. They didn’t dress in midnight-blue velvet and gallivant about in front of foreign aristocracy. Gwen knew her family would be speechless at the mere thought of it. They had made enough fuss when her eldest brother Glyn married a girl from Bristol and moved across the river.
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‘Why? You seem to be doing enough of that for both of us, stepmother.’ Etienne answered with crushing emphasis.
Out in Le Rossignol’s kitchens, preparations for dinner were running exactly on time. Everything was ready to go. It all looked immaculate. Gwen had lost count of the compliments her staff and the restaurant had been given as she moved among the guests. Even so, her nerves were in shreds. It didn’t help to have the waitresses chattering like magpies with all the gossip they picked up as they circulated with drinks and canapés. As Gwen checked the silver salvers before they were carried out one of the regular waitresses passed on a particularly juicy titbit.
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