IntheArmsofaLover (5 page)

“If you would care to read through the agreement,” Maître
Poulain said, handing her a stack of papers. “There is an English translation
for your convenience but you will need to sign the French copy.”

Fair enough. “I’ll need some time. “

“Take as long as you require.” Was that smile a complementary
extra provided to all clients? “If you would care to sit in the adjoining parlor…”

Might as well, as getting through this lot would take ages.
Nice parlor it was too, very French, gilt armchairs and a small antique writing
desk to spread out the papers. Interesting to read the precise and stilted
translation along with the French but it was clear enough. She would be getting
paid a generous salary to do a job she’d enjoy but, looked at from a business
perspective, selling the land for development made better sense. Why was he really
doing this? That was her first question once seated back in Maître Poulain’s
office. Only this time he pulled up his chair to sit beside her. Interesting.
And his aftershave was particularly appealing. She hadn’t noticed that when he’d
been the other side of the desk.

“Please explain one thing,” Poppy said. “Why this incredible
urgency and insanely short time frame to get work started? The land’s been
neglected for several years, why the sudden change of heart?”

That flummoxed him for all of twenty seconds. Twenty-five if
she counted the throat clearing. “What did Monsieur Prioux tell you?”

He was stalling. Why? “Precious little. Now I’m not asking
you to break client confidence but something clearly is going on and I do not
intend to get caught up in anything havey-cavey.”

Now he had the nerve to look shocked. Oh please. “Nothing of
that sort, I assure you.” Okay, let him explain then, she smiled, met his
gorgeous blue eyes—better get her mind back on the business at hand—and waited.
Sooner or later he’d have to say something and it had better be a reasonable
explanation. “Madame Gordon. You are right, there is an unnecessary urgency
about this, and I must insist this is in strict confidence.” She nodded and he
went on. “This affair in complicated by a family disagreement.”

“Oh?” Was that all he was telling? Better not be. Poppy
smiled and waited.

“Nothing that will cause you anxiety but a difference of
opinion between Monsieur Luc Prioux and his brother as to how best use that
land. Their mother wishes to see the farm restored, it was a pet project of
hers originally, and the younger Monsieur Prioux wishes to develop the land for
building.”

“That makes better sense, given the price of land and
property around here. They could make a small fortune.”

“It is not a matter of the money. Just fraternal
disagreement that has lingered and simmered for months until a few weeks ago.
Monsieur Jena Prioux issued an ultimatum to put the land in production or agree
to build.”

That explained the sense of urgency but… “Could he really do
that?”

Maître Poulain shrugged. “Perhaps not, in the long run, but
given the
notaire
he is using I’d anticipate long and lengthy delays.”

And expensive ones too, no doubt. “So, my job will be to
show the land is in production.”

“In a nutshell, Madame, yes.” Brilliant! She’d run away from
one family squabble to jump feet first into another. Of course she could just
say no and keep on working in the souvenir shop, but she knew she wouldn’t. “Does
that alter your willingness to work?”

Poppy shook her head. “No, but it is the sort of thing I
needed to know before I started.” A bit snippy but true.

He smiled as he nodded. “True, Madame, but Monsieur Prioux was
reluctant to broadcast his family problems.”

Understandable. “‘I’ll certainly keep that to myself but if
I ever encounter the younger Monsieur Prioux, I’ll be forewarned.”

“I hope for you sake, Madame, you do not encounter him, he
has become very difficult. However, you agree to the terms offered?”

Why not? They were generous terms. “Yes, but there is one
point I’d like to negotiate.”

That threw him for a loop. “Indeed? What is unsatisfactory?
The terms are very fair, to the point of generous.”

“I agree. It’s just the six-month-trial clause.”

“Monsieur Prioux always includes that in his employee
contracts. “

All? How many employees did the man have? Mind you, given he
had a private librarian, he probably had scores of people running around him. “It
would be fine if he were hiring me as a secretary or bookkeeper. In fact he’d
no doubt know in a week or two if I were competent, but this job is so
protracted. It’s not just clearing up the place but getting it productive. I
need at least a year.” Sticking her neck out, yes, but it was true. “If
Monsieur Prioux wants a working farm that will yield successive harvests rather
than just a couple of pretty fields of lavender. I need the extra time.” Heck,
she really needed five years but that might have been pushing it a bit.

“I will have to discuss that with my client.”

“Okay. I hope he agrees because I’d really love the job.”

Five minutes later she was walking down the street, headed
for the
Promenade des Anglais
and wondering if she’d been stupid. What
if he insisted on the six months? Decided he didn’t want to hire her after all?
That last one was unlikely given the circumstances. With that ultimatum, they
needed her to take on the job. He’d already invested money in getting the house
habitable and her request was reasonable. Surely he’d agree. If not, she’d just
poked herself in the eye.

“Poppy! Poppy!”

She turned at her name. Across the street, a man was waving.
Didier. Just her luck, when she wanted space to think and worry. She was
tempted to pretend she hadn’t seen him. Maybe it was just as well she decided,
as she crossed the street to where he sat at a pavement café. Now she wouldn’t
obsess over her possible stupidity and loss of a super job.

Didier was sitting with two other men and they all stood as
she approached. “Poppy!” Didier demonstrated ownership by kissing her and
introduced her to the two men named Paul and Jean. She sat at their invitation,
at least that way they could all sit too, but she refused Didier’s offer of a
drink.

“I can’t stay more than a moment,” she said. “How’s your
grandfather?”

“In good health, busy with his camera and hoping to see you
again soon.”

Really? Nice to say it though. “Give him my regards.”

“You live here, Poppy?” The one called Jean asked.

“Yes,” she replied, “it’s sunnier than England.”

He acted as if that were the wittiest thing he’d heard in
weeks. “But of course it is. No fog, no rain, no Brussels sprouts.”

She happened to like Brussels sprouts but let that go. “And
you, Jean. You live here in Nice?”

“When it suits me, yes.” Odd sort of reply but after the Brussels
sprouts jab she wasn’t too impressed by him. He wore too much cologne anyway.

“Paul?” she asked the second one, “You’re Nicois like
Didier?”

“No, I’m from Paris, just down for a few days. We have
business here.”

“Nice place to do business.”

“Indeed it is,” Paul replied, “and what do you do here in
Nice, Madame Gordon?”

It was his supercilious air that got to her. She couldn’t
help it. “Oh, I sell tablecloths and souvenirs to tourists.”

That obviously damned her in his eyes, if his bored
expression was anything to go by. Should she have said I manage a lavender farm?
Hell no, she didn’t need his good opinion. And strictly speaking she didn’t
manage it. Might not if she’d pissed off Monsieur Prioux.

Looking from one to the other, she sensed something fishy about
them, as if they’d be caught sneaking off or plotting. In that case, why had
Didier called her over? Maybe she should take up that offer of a drink,

Her phone sounded. It was a text from Maître Poulain. Prioux
agreed and she was to come back as soon as possible.

That was fast.

“Sorry”, she told the trio as she stood. “Have to run.” They
shook hands all around. “Regards to your grandfather,” she told Didier. “Nice
to meet you,” she said the others. Not precisely true but it was polite. And
she was off heading back to Poulain’s office and forcing herself not to run.

He was waiting, his office door open. He’d probably watched
her hasty return.

“My client agreed to your terms,” he said.

“Wonderful!” Fifteen minutes later, she’d signed the
contract and bank forms and been handed copies of everything. She took a deep
breath when she saw the credit balance. “That’s lot of money.”

“It is, but that much and more will be needed. In three
months, Monsieur Prioux will review the accounts and you can then arrange
further funds.

“Three months? She could keep going for a year on that much.
“And hiring helpers?” She should have asked that earlier.

“One of the estate gardeners Vito Musa will be available to
work up there. He has contacts in the area so between you, hire whoever is
needed. I will repeat, reasonable expense is not a concern but when will you
take up residence? That point is important.”

He wanted the premises occupied. Given what she’d just
learned about the family dispute, fair enough. “That depends on how long it
takes to get the house habitable. I’m not camping out up there with no water
and less electricity. There’s been a good bit of work but I imagine that it will
take several weeks to finish up. But I’ll move as soon as I can.”

“Perhaps I could drive you up there now?”

Odd suggestion. But why not? “In the middle of the
afternoon? Don’t you have other appointments? Other clients waiting?” That was a
bit nosy.

He shook his head. “The Prioux family members are my
clients.”

Took her a moment or so to work that one out. His only
clients? Good heavens. “I see.” Big lie that. She didn’t.

“Never mind that. Let’s go up to
Les Coquelicots
.”

“
Les Coquelicots
? Is that the name of the farm?”

“The name of the house.” It was an omen. “You look shocked.”

Not exactly, but she was surprised “My friends and family
have always called me Poppy. It’s the English for
coquelicot
.”

“Poppy,” he repeated, giving it a strange, French twist. “But
on the contract—”

“My full name, Penelope.”

“But of course.” He paused to grab his jacket and car keys. “Let
us go.”

He wasn’t asking, but what the hell? She’d have been driving
up herself sooner or later and this way he paid for the petrol, or perhaps the
Prioux family did. In fact she wouldn’t mind learning a bit more about the
people she was working for.

* * * * *

She’d have learned a good bit if she’d been privy to the
conversation between Didier and his two companions after she’d left.

“How long have you known this woman Poppy, Didier?” The one
called Jean asked.

“Not long, I met her a couple of weeks ago and she came to
my grandfather’s exhibition.”

“Have you slept with her yet?’ Paul asked.

“But of course, she is a widow and was in need of
consolation.”

Jean laughed. “You never miss a chance, do you?”

“Why should I? I’d like to see one of you refuse a willing
and eager woman.” He reached for his glass. He was getting tired of them but,
given the money involved, he’d put up with them a little longer.

“I think she might be what we need,” Paul said after
exchanging glances with Jean. “Don’t you agree?”

“Need for what?” Didier asked.

“Don’t get so protective of her,” Jean said, waving a hand
to calm him down. “We agreed we need an independent witness. She speaks
acceptable French, is intelligent, with no links to us, or anyone in the area.
In addition,” he added, after a telling pause, “obtain her cooperation and
you’ll earn our gratitude.”

Jean’s gratitude was usually monetary, but even so, the idea
of using Poppy rather stuck in Didier’s craw. But financial trumped scruples. “What
exactly do you have in mind?”

“Nothing too complicated,” Paul said. “Just an affidavit
from your charming floozy that she’d seen the land unused and left to ruin.”

Didier resented Paul’s use of floozy but nodded. Wouldn’t do
any harm to Poppy and he’d benefit. “Perhaps a nice day out, lunch up in the
hills and a casual stop by the farm on the way home. I could say it belongs to
a friend and I was curious.”

They both pondered that for several minutes. “I have an even
better idea,” Jean said. “This weekend, you invite this Poppy. I’ll bring Marie
Claire and we have lunch together, perhaps in Monaco. On the way back, I suggest
we stop by my mother’s property and lo and behold, we find it abandoned and
unused. On Monday you induce your Poppy to help us out and take her over to
Paul’s office to make her statement.”

Didier thought it a bit contrived but what the hell? It would
give him a chance to be with Poppy again and she’d been more than willing last
time. They’d both get a good meal at Jean’s expense and have his undying—well, perhaps
not undying—gratitude for helping out. And the real bonus, once he pulled off
this deal, there would be money to be made for months. “I’ll talk to her. Where
are we going?
Elsa
or
Louis VX?
”

Jean frowned. Damn, had he pushed too hard? But the man could
afford to splurge since he expected to make millions off that land.

“I have a better idea. I will reserve a place in
Cent-vingt-cinq
.
We can have lunch, afterward take our women upstairs and return late afternoon.
Not too late as we need it light when we reach
Les
Coquelicots
.
Better! I have it, we will go for brunch, to give us more time upstairs before
we leave and succeed it foiling my brother.” He smiled as if pleased with his
brilliance. “Plus, she will like that touch, Americans enjoy brunch.”

Didier forbore pointing out that Poppy was English. Seemed
irrelevant when he was about to see the inside of the private dinner club that
everyone speculated about but where few managed to cross the threshold. “Sounds
a good plan. I’ll talk to her.”

Paul raised his glass. “Do that.”

He would. Now all he had to do was run into Poppy again.
What a pity he hadn’t insisted to taking her home that night but hadn’t she
just said she worked in a shop in the market? There weren’t that many souvenir
shops there five, six at most. He’d find her. And Jean would be very grateful.

* * * * *

Stéphane Poulain wasn’t sure what had
possessed him, but here he was driving out of Nice with Poppy Gordon sitting in
the passenger seat beside him. Her dark hair blown back by the wind as they
climbed toward Eze.

Why had he made this unnecessary and impulsive offer? That
didn’t bear too much scrutiny. Suffice it that he wanted to spend more time
with her. Why? Because she had a smile that sent his mind off in wild spirals.
Her entire aura and presence affected him to a degree that made no sense. Or was
it simply fascination with the first person to demand a change in a contract
with a Prioux and get it? Luc hadn’t just met her request, but he did it after
a mere five seconds of deliberation over the phone.

Unheard of in all the years he’d been handling the family
affairs.

Why? Good question that. Did Luc want her for himself? Unlikely,
he was still smitten with his American librarian. Had to be his obsession with
dual purpose of thwarting Jean and ingratiating himself with their mother. For
his part, Stéphane agreed with Poppy. Jean’s proposition made better business
sense. Not that the Prioux coffers needed bolstering and besides, the whole silly
spat had brought Poppy across his threshold.

“I must say,” she said, yanking him out of his thoughts, “It’s
a different drive up here in my Mini.”

She drove one of those silly English Minis? She deserved
something sexier and sportier. “You may need another car once you live up
here.”

She chuckled. Had his suggestion been that witty? Or was she
laughing at the idea? “It’s going to have to wait. Monsieur Prioux pays well,
but not that well. What I was thinking was, in a couple of months, asking him
about a van. It could be painted to advertise the farm and would be useful to
carry things up and down.”

“I could talk to Luc about that.”

She shook her head. Interesting. He’d expected her to jump
on the idea. Jump on it with gratitude perhaps? “Not just yet. Let me get my
feet in the door first.”

“You have your own ideas how you want to run things?” She’d
better understand Luc had his own agenda.

“Yes and no. I know what worked and didn’t work in Sussex.
But this,” she paused, “is a very different climate, different soil. And once
we do get it going, a different market. Added to which, this place is horribly
neglected. When we started at home, we had fertile, well-farmed and
well-managed arable land. “

“You think it a fool’s errand?”

“Oh no! If I did, I’d never have taken it on. My concern is,
I don’t think Monsieur Prioux has a clear idea of what’s involved. I suspect
he’s never done any farming, maybe not even gardening.”

Was this the celebrated English humor? He hadn’t been able
to hold back a laugh. “You are right there. Luc does not worry himself over
things he can have others do for him.”

She smiled at him. “I sort of got that impression.”

“May I call you Poppy since we will be working together?”

“Why not? What’s your name?”

“Stéphane.”

“Fine with me, Stéphane.”

He loved the way she said his name. Not quite perfectly but
close enough. “You speak French well.”

“Thanks.”

That earned him another smile. She was definitely easing the
formal “I’m all business” attitude. “Did you learn at school?’

“Yes I did, but the school was in Switzerland.”

“And now you are here in Nice. What made you come?” She
hesitated. Was he intruding? Asking more than she wanted to share? Luc wouldn’t
have any problem with that but he wasn’t Luc. Never had been, never would be.

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“We still have a good drive ahead of us.”

“Okay then. I ran away. My partner Tommy died. It wasn’t
unexpected. He had cancer but it was still shock when it happened. That was
just the beginning. Once the funeral was over and I tried to get back to work
in our business, his estranged wife and grown children put in their spoke and
claimed the land, the company and everything. Even the house we lived in. I
began to think I was back in the middle ages, but I’d been such a fool. I can
hardly believe it now but the business, house, premises, everything was in his
name not mine. Knowing he was dying, we should have sorted things out ahead of
time but we didn’t. Things got so messy and nasty that I threw up my hands and
left them to it. My old aunt gave me some money and told me to take a holiday
so I did. I came here and now, well, I’m not sure I want to go back.” She
paused. “Sorry, didn’t mean to rabbit on like that.”

“Don’t apologize. That is terrible, surely you had legal
recourse?”

“Maybe but I don’t have much money for legal fees. My sister
insisted I should fight it. I can prove I ran the company with Tommy but I
didn’t have the energy. And some things, like the house, were still in Tommy’s
and his wife’s names. I thought I was being so liberated and modern not getting
married. I should have listened to my mother’s warnings since I managed to
royally screw up my life.”

“Is it so bad here?”

“Good God, no! I’ve always have loved this part of France.
And now, if this job works out…”

“It will. I will see to it myself.” Whatever was needed, he’d
make sure it happened. But why did it matter so?

He still hadn’t answered that, to his satisfaction, when he
turned off the road onto the unmade and rutted drive that led up to the
farmhouse. She sat up, leaning forward a little and smiled. “Looking forward to
seeing it?” he asked.

“Sort of curious to see what’s been done,” she replied. “It was
halfway to a ruin the first time I saw it.”

“When was that?”

“The other week. I drove by a couple of days ago and there was
work going on but…”

No wonder she broke off. He’d just turned the corner and the
old farmhouse stood just a few hundred meters away surrounded by abandoned and
neglected fields. The same adjective couldn’t be applied to the stone house.

“Good heavens!” Poppy muttered, almost under her breath. “What
happened?” She was out of the car almost before he’d braked and stood staring
as he caught up with her. “I can’t believe it. It was a thorough wreck and look
at it now.”

He looked. Half a dozen workmen’s vans were parked haphazardly
around the house. Two men on scaffolding were painting the upstairs windows and
a third was doing the same downstairs. As they stood and watched, a man in
overalls came out the front door, called to a another in the open back of a
white van and moments later they both walked back into the house, carrying
lengths of copper piping.

She didn’t hesitate, just marched up the nearest workman—the
downstairs painter—and asked how long he’d been working on the house.

“We started Monday,” he replied.

“And you’ve done all this since then?” She had good reason
to be amazed.

“Why yes, Madame, we were hired, all of us, to work fast. We
hope to be done by Friday next.”

“I am so impressed. How many people are working?” she asked.

He shrugged as he thought about it. “Perhaps five or six
today. The gutter people finished yesterday so they won’t be back.”

Stéphane looked up at the glistening new gutters, now
half-painted by the second man on the scaffolding.

“I must see inside,” she said, her eyes almost sparkling
with excitement. “It’s incredible.”

Stéphane was inclined to agree. Luc had a way of getting
things done. But even for him it was, as she said, incredible.

Two plumbers were busily installing plumbing in the kitchen.
The stone floors had been cleaned and sealed. Upstairs the unpainted staircase
and wooden floors had been sanded and sealed and the walls painted. The
bathroom had been refitted and tiled and another, maybe a converted bedroom, was
half done. One bedroom already had furniture dumped haphazardly.