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  “Yes, but in that case, what about references?”

  Helen had brought up the very same point with Luc. “This isn’t the Victorian age, Adele. M. Prioux will observe all work protection laws. In fact he’s a very fair and generous employer. The concern isn’t your professional abilities—your references are excellent—but rather whether you will enjoy working in what is a rather isolated environment. There’s not much in the village.” Nothing in fact for a single young woman apart from tourist shops and cafés and a couple of overpriced restaurants. “There are buses into Nice and Monaco and I’d be willing to let you borrow my car if I’m not using it.” Wild offer there, what if Luc objected?

  Adele nodded. “That would be kind but I have my own car. I’d really like to explore the area in my time off.”

  “It really is gorgeous.” No lie there. “Weather’s fantastic and the estate is in a wonderful position perched high on the cliffs. I love it there and M. Prioux is a very reasonable employer.” And a bloody good Dominant to boot, but she’d keep that to herself. At least for now.

  “When would you expect the new cook to start?”

  “As soon as possible. Would a week’s time be acceptable?”

  She hesitated, as if weighing the question. “I could, but it would be difficult. I’m still tying up my mother’s estate.”

  “We’d pay travel expenses of course. You could put your car on the auto-train if you’d prefer. Just let us know and Branko, Monsieur’s secretary, will take care of the booking.”

  She hesitated again. “Are you offering me the job?”

  Helen stopped. Was she? Why not? “If you want it, it’s yours. For the trial period at least.”

  The girl’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled. “Really? I’m so glad. And yes. I could be there in two weeks.”

  “Perfect.” Helen held out her hand. “Welcome to Les Santons.”

  * * * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Adele understood what walking on air meant. From the hotel doorway to Tuileries Gardens was five minutes and it seemed her feet hadn’t touched the pavement. She had a well-paid job in the South and now all she had to do was find her father. She still had some sorting and packing to do but she and her mother hadn’t owned much. She planned on letting their small house and keeping it as a bolt hole in case she ever needed one. As soon as she heard when they’d booked her car on the train, she’d be off.

  She bought an Orangina from the kiosk and settled herself on a chair.

  Should she stop in Paris on her way down and try to visit her grandmother with Uncle Alain? No, two trips so close might seem odd, and if she mentioned where she was headed, he’d start telling her not to look for her father. She was alone on this and so be it. The six-month trial suited her purpose perfectly. If she didn’t find any trace of him in that time she’d give up and move on.

  But for now it seemed everything was falling into her lap.

  It probably wouldn’t last but for now, she’d enjoy her prospects.

  * * * * *

  It was almost two weeks later to the day when Adele drove off in her little red Renault, leaving her childhood home and her previous life behind. She braved the traffic of Paris, survived the sheer insanity of the Boulevard Périphérique ring road and deposited her car, containing most of her worldly goods, at the Bercy station. She treated herself to a taxi and made her way to Gare d’Austerlitz.

  With time to spare before her train left, she set off wandering the neighborhood but, bored with looking at hardware stores and racks of cheap clothes, she found a café, ordered a kir and settled to read. It was no good. She was keyed up, excited and nervous, to say nothing of downright scared.

  Was she a total lunatic to walk out on everything she’d ever known and race off into the unknown to look for a father who might well want nothing to do with her? He hadn’t for the past twenty-five years after all.

  On the other hand, what did she have to lose? She might never find her father—it did rather come under the heading of “needle in a haystack”—and if she did, he might repudiate her, but would that be anything new? Okay, she had no tangible proof he went down south and even if he had gone there twenty years ago, who was to say he was still there, or even still alive?

  All she had to go by were three addresses, two in Nice and one in Cannes, that she’d found in a folder in her mother’s desk and she wasn’t about to ignore her uncle’s insistence that she not look for her father. If he’d been dead surely he’d have known and told her.

  Small, no minimal, clues as to his whereabouts, but on the flip side she now had a well-paying job, a total change of abode and if the job didn’t work out, so what? Living-in meant she’d have few expenses and could save a chunk of the generous salary. She’d liked Helen Crewe, the woman who’d interviewed her. Librarian, hadn’t she said she was? If this Monsieur Prioux could afford a private librarian, he was loaded. Things might be pretty good at Les Santons.

  * * * * *

  She got a foretaste of her new employer’s generosity when she made her way back to the station. She’d been promised a couchette and had been impressed that he’d sent her a first-class ticket but to find he’d paid the supplement to have the compartment to herself was a definite bonus.

  After a not exactly outstanding sandwich, Adele stretched out on her couchette and with the help of three glasses of wine went to sleep, lulled by the rocking of the train.

  She woke to sunshine.

  Seemed like a good omen.

  It took longer than she’d expected to claim her car and get on the road. She’d been tempted to go straight to the address that was burning away in her handbag, but since her new employer knew exactly what time she was arriving, best to get straight there. Searching out that old address could wait until her day off. Didn’t take long to get out of town and head up the Moyenne Corniche and the village of Eze.

  Finding Les Santons took a little longer—she drove past the gates twice but found them at last. She parked, called through to the house on the intercom and, when the gates opened, drove down the drive, the sea sparkling ahead in the distance as she pulled in beside a sporty blue car and stepped out onto the gravel drive to look around.

  “Estate” wasn’t an overstatement. The house was immense. “Chateau” wouldn’t have been an exaggeration. The garage block across the drive was three times the size of the house she and her mother had shared. And as for the grounds, “expansive” was putting it mildly. She could spend the better part of an afternoon exploring them.

  “Bonjour,Adele.” It was Helen Crew, the woman who’d interviewed her in Paris.

  “Bonjour,Madame.” Adele held out her hand.

  “Call me Helen,” she said, shaking Adele’s hand. “I’ll call you Adele—if that’s okay with you?”

  Why not? “Very well.”

  “How about I show you your apartment and let you get unpacked. Once you’re settled, if you come over to the house, I’ll show you the kitchen and explain the security system.”

  Helped by Vito, one of the gardeners, they lugged Adele’s luggage up to the apartment over the gym.

  “This is beautiful!” She had a bedroom and bathroom, a kitchenette and a sitting room that overlooked the gardens and the sea far below.

  “It’s a great view, isn’t it?” Helen agreed, adding, “Luc believes in making his staff comfortable.” That caught Adele’s attention. Helen referred to their employer by his Christian name? Were they really that informal? Or was she more than a librarian? Time would tell.

  “Look around,” Helen went on, “and if you’re missing anything let me know. Take your time, grab a nap if you want one. I know those night trains aren’t the most comfortable places to sleep. No one is here but me, so no hurry to get busy.

  “When you’re ready, walk over to the main house. The French windows by the fountain will be open. Come in that way, cross the salon and there’s a door on the right down the hallway. It’s my office. I’ll be working there.”
r />   With that, she went out, leaving Adele to wonder if she was dreaming.

  Spacious living quarters, generous travel arrangements and a salary she still couldn’t quite believe. Fortune was smiling in her direction, or there was a catch somewhere. Maman would have insisted the latter. Adele decided to wait and see. For what Monsieur Prioux was paying, he’d expect good meals and on time. She’d be earning her money, but earning it in gorgeous surroundings and with free time to pursue her rather doubtful quest.

  Adele allowed herself two hours for a much-needed shower and some unpacking. Then, not sure why she was so nervous, she crossed the courtyard and entered the house by the door Helen had pointed out.

  The salon was a vast room with long windows looking out onto the garden and across to the blue sea beyond but she wasn’t here to linger. She turned into the hallway and plowed right into a man. Dear heaven, was he her employer? What a way to start.

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Oh dear!” Her face was burning. Even her neck felt red. “I really am sorry, M. Prioux.” His hands on her shoulders only seemed to exacerbate her embarrassment. “That was clumsy of me.” He probably thought she smashed and dropped dishes too.

  “Don’t worry.”

  For some reason she didn’t. Not any longer. His voice was warm and smooth with an accent she couldn’t quite place. Definitely not American like Helen. She looked up at him and her jaw dropped. He was utterly gorgeous and she felt as awkward as a one-legged cow.

  “I should have been looking where I was going.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Monsieur Prioux.” She stepped back and held out her hand. “I’m Adele Royer. The new cook. I was looking for Madame Crewe.” “Helen” didn’t seem right when talking to their mutual employer.

  He took her hand, his grasp confident but oddly relaxed too. “Welcome to Les Santons, Mademoiselle. I’m Branko Odic, Luc Prioux’s secretary.”

  Double faux pas. “Oh!” Well darn, she might be still blushing but she wasn’t apologizing all over again. “Madame Crewe mentioned you.”

  “Helen?” Seemed Christian names were the norm here. “I bet she did. I hope it didn’t put you off me?” She looked up at his face and his dark, dark brown eyes. Given his tone of voice—and a very nice voice it was too—she’d expected a flirtatious twinkle and little bit of a smile, even a grin but he looked completely serious.

  “I don’t yet know enough about you to be put off.” Yes, a little familiar this early in their meeting but it was out and hovered in the space between them.

  “I hope you never do.”

  That could be taken several ways and she wasn’t even trying to sort out the various ramifications. “Please to meet you, Monsieur.”

  “I’m Branko and I’m happy to have bumped into you.”

  Helen had been right, they were informal here. Fair enough, she’d use first names as well. “Could you tell me where Helen’s office is?”

  “It’s right here.” Helen stood in a doorway not three meters away. “Come along. I’ll show you the kitchen and explain things.”

  “I could do that,” Branko offered.

  “Yes, you could, but I doubt you know where the egg poachers or the bain marie are kept.”

  Definitely a put down. Was there something between these two?

  Adele walked past Branko and followed Helen down a couple of passages into a large, airy and very light kitchen. “It’s beautiful.” She’d half-expected some dark, dingy basement but the wide windows overlooked a well-tended kitchen garden.

  “It’s a good kitchen. I think Luc redid it a few years back to Madame Louise’s specifications.”

  Two dishwashers, an eight-burner hob with both electricity and gas, and a Lacanche range, just what had figured into her kitchen dream but not one she’d expected to have fulfilled. “It’ll take me weeks to find my way around all this. It’s fantastic.”

  “Luc doesn’t spare expense. Makes working here very pleasant.”

  She called her employer “Luc”. They were all so informal. Not what she’d been used to but never mind. “So what should I do first?”

  “Make us both a mint tisane and I’ll try to explain specifics.”

  The first was easy but as they sat at the table, Adele began to realize the job wasn’t going to be quite as straightforward as she’d thought.

  She was expected to put two meals on the table every day and leave something cold or to be warmed up on her days off. Easy enough there but…

  “What I expect will drive you bonkers,” Helen told her, “is keeping track of when meals are needed and exactly how many. Madame Louise, who’d known Luc since he was in diapers, used to scold and fuss at him. It didn’t make a blind bit of difference so I’d advise you to not waste your breath. I’m here unless I’m out and trust me, if I’m going to be out, I’ll tell you.

  “But Luc comes and goes like the wind. He’ll say he’s off for three days and reappear after twelve hours and another time he’ll say he’s away for a couple of days and come back a week later.” She sounded a trifle irked at that. “Branko isn’t quite as unreliable and I’ll have to nag at him to let you know when he’s going to be away. I’ll tell him being new you need to know that.”

  “Does he live-in too?” She wasn’t curious really, just needed to know. For meals.

  “Sometimes, but he has a house in the village.”

  Interesting. Perhaps. “So, he eats here?”

  Helen shook her head. “It depends. Sometimes breakfast and usually lunch, if he’s working in the house. Dinner? Well, that varies.”

  Adele was beginning to wonder why they needed a cook if so many seemed to be away half the time. “Sounds as if numbers could be anything.”

  “I don’t think it will be as bad as it sounds. I certainly don’t expect three courses if I’m on my own here. Luc does like good food, though, so your efforts won’t go unappreciated. As for coping with people coming and going, I know Madame Louise used to keep soup and a few extra meals in the freezer for when Luc appeared without warning. I suspect he believes meals appear by magic and a wave of a tea towel.” Adele had to smile, never doubting the truth of it. A man who could afford a cook didn’t worry about how potatoes got peeled.

  “I’m happy with an omelet or soup, so don’t fuss when I’m alone. In fact, if you don’t mind me invading your space—I seldom dared with Madame Louise as she ruled the kitchen like a dictator—I can often fix my own. It’s really when Luc is here you need to pull out the stops.”

  “What about tonight?”

  “With the two of us? A home-cooked meal would be welcome but I’m not sure what’s in the freezers. You’ll need to check.”

  That she could do, and it seemed she was responsible for ordering from the shops in Nice and Monaco and sending the bills to Branko. “What about things from the garden?” There could be no way all that abundance wasn’t going to be used.

  “Use whatever you want and as much as possible. Talk to either Vito, who helped bring up your luggage, or his father Pipo. They’re here most days, unless it’s raining, of course. They live up in the hills. I can give you their phone number just in case.”

  “What time is dinner?”

  “Eight usually. Will you have long enough?”

  “I think so. I’ll go through stocks and supplies and see what’s there.”

  “Go and look and to make it easier, since Luc’s out, why don’t we eat here in the kitchen? It’ll tell Branko. That way we can get to know you. Anything else you need, there’s a house phone. My extension is 25. Call me if you have any questions.”

  She was gone and somehow the room was vast and empty without her. Nonsense! It was a fantastic kitchen, would be a pleasure to cook in, and she had a job to do. Her actual employer might be absent but she’d make every effort to impress her fellow employees after a bit of foraging through freezer and pantry.

  Chapter Three

  “We’re eating in t
he kitchen?” If Helen had announced dinner would be served in the downstairs cloakroom, Branko couldn’t have been more astounded. “Did Luc agree to this?”

  “Luc is away. If he comes back between now and then, we can change. Get over yourself, Branko. Food will be just as tasty in the kitchen and look at it this way, you can chat up Adele while we eat. Don’t you want to get to know her?” The more she thought about it, the better sense eating there when Luc was away might make than dining in state in the rather grand salle a manger.

  Branko thought about it. “We will see, and now you have given me good reason to discipline you when we stage our little charade tonight.”

  “Really? What charade?”

  He actually had the nerve to feign surprise and confusion. “Surely, Luc told you. We must perform under her window.”

  Just like he and Luc had on her first evening. “You’re serious?”

  “Most definitely. Luc was very clear in his directions. You and I will perform an erotic tableau for her delectation. After dark, of course. I am to be in charge of the choreography. You must agree. Luc was counting on your participation since he cannot be there. If I am on my own, it will not pique her interest in the same way.”

  True, but mixed feelings was putting it mildly. And why had Luc omitted mentioning this before he left? She knew the answer to that because he liked throwing her for a loop even if he did it in absentia. Much as she had enjoyed witnessing the Luc /Branko, or perhaps Branko/Luc, exhibition on her first evening, did she really want to do the same? “Let’s talk about it.”

  “But of course.” Taking her at her word, he pulled up a chair for her and smiled. “So, Helen, what may I do to you?” Their eyes met and he smiled.

  “Branko, I’m not so sure about this.”

  “Why not? Didn’t you enjoy the little exhibition we put on for your benefit?”

  He darn well already knew the answer to that. “All right. Let’s get this sorted out.”