IntheArmsofaLover Page 5

  “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 s
tood. “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.

  Chapter Five

  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.