Invitation to Provence(58)





IN HIS PRIVATE QUARTERS behind the kitchen, Haigh shrugged his arms into Juliette’s extravagant Dunhill multicolored brocade vest. He buttoned it, then tugged it properly into place. He thought Juliette didn’t miss a trick—she’d always known how to please a man. He put on Great-Grandfather Marten’s dark blue velvet smoking with the pointed satin lapels and admired himself in the mirror. It looked good with the vest, and the crisp white shirt, black silk bow tie, and black pants made the whole outfit look suitably formal. Hmm, he thought, not bad, considering.

Considering what? Well, considering he was knocking-on in years, and considering this was his first party in more than a decade, and considering … well, considering that tonight he was a happy man. There was even a smile on his face as he emerged onto the terrace, ready to boss around the hired help and anybody else who might cross his path.



JULIETTE, in a silver lamé sheath and a lot of diamonds, shimmered down the stairs, heading for Rafaella’s room. For once in her life she was on time because she needed to be sure her friend was all right. The Pomeranians were shut in her bedroom, their silver food dishes piled with fresh chicken. Later, when the party was in full swing and nobody would notice, she’d let them out because she couldn’t bear them to miss the fun.

“Rafaella?” she called, tapping on the door, then going in without waiting.

Already dressed in the long midnight blue lace, Rafaella was sitting in front of the Venetian mirror the Lover had given her, staring blankly at her reflection. The delicate scallops disguised her sharp collarbones and the long chiffon sleeves made her look very graceful. She’d clasped a pair of enormous emerald bracelets around each wrist and wound her hair into a simple chignon that showed off her long neck and the heavy emerald and diamond earrings that swung almost to her shoulders.

Juliette caught her breath. There was something almost barbaric about the way Rafaella looked tonight, and for a moment she saw her as the Lover must have seen her all those years ago, a sensual, exciting woman who could stop any man’s heart with her beauty.

“My dear,” she said, rushing to embrace her, “you are truly the belle of the ball. Chérie, if we both live to be a hundred you will never lose that magic, while I”—she ran her hands over her plump figure—“well I shall just get fatter and louder and will have to rely on my charm.”

“My, aren’t we the lucky ones?” Rafaella said. “Beauty and charm. Not bad for two old femmes du monde.”

Juliette paused and looked searchingly at her. “You know,” she said, “you never told me what really happened between you and the Lover in the end.”

A flicker of sadness misted Rafaella’s eyes, but she just shook her head. “One day, I will,” she said. Then, trailed by Mimi and Louis, the two old friends walked arm in arm to the grand salon where the guests waited.





46





JUST AS THEY ARRIVED, Jake came running down the stairs, handsome in his tuxedo, then Scott dashed in the front door wearing an old dinner jacket and blue jeans which he said were the most he’d been able to rustle up from his meager wardrobe. Jake took Rafaella’s arm and Scott took Juliette’s and they walked to the salon, where the “family” waited, and where Haigh, a peacock in his colorful silk and velvet plumage, was already serving the last of the Krug.

Rafaella paused at the door to look at her new “family.” “How beautiful they are,” she whispered to Jake. “And just look at my grandchild. She’s transformed.”

But Jake’s stunned eyes were on Franny, a stranger with tumbled hair and a sexy décolletage, all long legs and high heels. Was this the same woman he’d kissed only hours ago? Franny looked up and saw him. Their eyes linked across the room and, seeing this, Rafaella and Juliette exchanged knowing glances. The chateau was working its old magic, just the way it had done for them.

Little Blue ran to her grandmother and Rafaella took her hands and held them wide, admiring her new pink dress and her sparkly tiara. “Your grandmother Bao Chu would be proud of you tonight,” she said. “And so am I.”

Then everybody was kissing each other in greeting and there was a smile under Haigh’s aloof expression as he poured more champagne and summoned a white-jacketed waiter to bring the special hors d’oeuvres that, despite the many interruptions in his kitchen, he had made himself. And then Juliette presented Jake with his gift of a red cashmere sweater and Scott with his striped silk tie, delighting them, and Franny gave Rafaella her gift, a photograph of her father and her grandfather, framed in silver, that once again brought Rafaella close to tears, but she pulled herself together and called for a toast.

“Nothing will spoil tonight,” she said, lifting her glass and smiling. “Tonight is for the young. And for the chateau that you’ve brought back to life.” And they all drank to that, laughing and chattering together, all tensions gone, as though that first terrible night had never happened.

Scott went over to Clare and invited her for a private tour of the winery and, flirting with him under her lashes, Clare said she would like that. Jake stood next to Franny, not touching, though they might as well have been from the heat generated between them.

“You look wonderful,” he said. “I like your dress.”

“Then you must thank Clare. It’s hers.”

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