Invitation to Provence(50)

To her left was a great sweep of lawns and banks of wild white roses, with hills beyond covered in arrow-straight rows of vines in their full leafy glory, in a million shades of yellow and green, red and purple. The stone buildings of the Domaine Marten curved into a far hill, and farther and higher, sticking into the sky like something from a book of fairy tales, perched what she thought breathlessly looked like an ancient castle.

Their arrival in the storm at the dark, sinister chateau was forgotten. This was heaven on earth. This was Provence. This was the way she’d dreamed of it.

Turning back into the room, she saw a note pushed under her door. She wondered warily if it was from Jake, but discovered it was from Haigh, informing her that the evening’s festivities would begin at six with cocktails for the family in the grand salon. The gala party itself would begin at seven. Dinner would be served on the terrace at eight. Cocktail dresses and black tie were the appropriate attire. And punctuality was expected.

Cocktail attire! The nearest she had to cocktail attire was the new yellow-and-blue flowered skirt and a tank top. Oh well, it would just have to do.

She glanced up and saw Little Blue, knees hunched under her chin, the woolly lamb clutched firmly to her chest, staring at her, big-eyed and uncertain.

“Hi.” Franny smiled and Little Blue gave her a cautious smile back.

“You hungry?” she asked, and the child nodded.

“Okay, so why don’t you and I take a shower and get dressed, then we’ll go and see if we can find some breakfast.”

The hall clock went through its wheezes and grindings, then slowly struck the hour. Franny counted along with it. Only six. Would anyone even be awake yet? No matter, she and Little Blue would explore the kitchen alone.

Ten minutes later, in jeans and T-shirt and with Little Blue in her blouse and school skirt and the awful hard shoes, they were downstairs exploring the vast black-and-white-tiled kitchen.

In the little courtyard outside, Haigh was drinking his morning cup of tea and reading the newspaper when he heard them opening doors and chattering softly. He was on his feet in an instant. Didn’t they understand that in houses like this tea and toast would be brought to their rooms promptly at seven? And that breakfast would be served on the terrace from eight on? Come to think of it, with all the turmoil last night he’d forgotten to mention it. Damn, now they were invading his kitchen and he didn’t like it.

“Bonjour, mesdemoiselles,” he said, frostily, tying on his apron. He was wearing his “morning” butler attire, which consisted of white shirt and black pants, and a haughty expression that melted just a touch under Franny’s beaming smile.

“Bonjour, Haigh,” Franny called out. “I thought we were the only ones awake around here.”

“Not at all, miss,” he said, relenting just a little and speaking in English. “I’m always up early, but especially today because we have the gala party.”

“Ah, the gala party.”

Franny’s eyes sparkled but Haigh resisted her smile because that’s just the way he was. Damn it, he thought, she reminded him of Rafaella when she was young. “The entire village will be here, Miss Franny,” he said. “Madame has known them all her life. When she was a child she went to the local school with them and she worked in the fields with them, picking grapes. Many of them still work for her now at the winery.”

Franny tried to imagine last night’s chic Vogue vision out on the stony hills picking grapes under a hot sun, but somehow could not. “Must be fun, picking grapes,” she said.

“You’re likely to find out. Mr. Scott told me last night the harvest will be an early one. Any day now in fact.”

“You mean we can all help? We’ll do it together, sweetheart,” she promised Little Blue, who didn’t understand but who nodded anyway.

“And now, if you will permit me, Miss,” Haigh said, “I will arrange breakfast. It will be served on the terrace at the big table under the Chinese wisteria arbor. You can’t miss it.” He eyed Little Blue disapprovingly. “And this afternoon, Miss, I think it might be a good idea if you and I took a little trip into town and got that child some appropriate clothing.”

“Absolutely.” Franny beamed at him again, and Haigh felt his hard old heart melt just a little more.

As they walked along the sunny terrace to the wisteria arbor, just for a second Franny allowed herself to wonder where Jake was. She noticed Criminal wasn’t around and thought maybe Jake had taken him for a walk. Or maybe he’d gone off somewhere with the “prodigal son.” It had been the most almighty family row last night, though she still didn’t know what it was all about, only that Clare had said Alain was bad.

“He’s even worse than Marcus,” she’d whispered to Franny as they wound their way, jet-lagged, exhausted, and bewildered, up the dark stairs to their rooms. “This guy’s not merely bad, Franny, he’s evil.” And Franny believed that somehow Clare knew what she was talking about.

She asked herself why she was even thinking about Jake anyway. She didn’t want to get involved with another bad guy who thought she was just ready to get into bed with him. He had humiliated her once, but now she had her pride and her values straight. Never again. She had finally learned her lesson.





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