by Natasha Boyd
She grinned, clearly pleased with my gratitude.
“Lunch is ready,” Andrea called from above us.
Dauphine leapt up.
Shading my eyes, I sat up and squinted to see Andrea. “Be right there. Are we eating outside or should we change first?”
“Outside. We’ll eat on the lower back deck since Mister P is off the boat.”
I stood and followed Dauphine, climbing the short built-in step ladder.
Andrea handed us fluffy navy and white towels.
Paco sat at the head of the table on the back deck and Chef at the end. Rod, Andrea, Dauphine, and I filled in. There were a couple of large baguettes, hams, and salami, cheeses, and a large Salade Niçoise with green beans, boiled eggs, olives, and tuna over luscious green leaves. Chef pointed at the large bowl. “No anchovies for the little princess.”
“Merci,” Dauphine told him and stood, leaning over and giving him a big smacking kiss on the cheek.
Chef looked so taken aback that we all burst out laughing.
He grinned ruefully.
Andrea poured everybody some sparkling San Pellegrino water. “So,” she said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “We've all been wondering what you said to Mr. P to make him laugh so hard last night.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling heat rising up my throat. I glanced sideways at Dauphine, and she looked at me with interest. Last night she had thought that we were laughing at her. I looked nervously back at the four sets of curious eyes. “Um,” I stammered. “It was just something silly. I hardly remember.”
Andrea and Chef looked disappointed and unconvinced at my non answer.
“What happened?” Rod asked.
“Something Ms. Marin said made Mr. P lose it.”
“Call me Josie, please,” I said.
Rod quirked an eyebrow as he slathered butter on a piece of baguette and laid a circle of salami on it. “It’s been a while since he’s had something to laugh about.”
“Well, whatever it was,” said Andrea, “It was lovely to hear him laugh. Right, Dauphine?”
Dauphine nodded with her mouth full.
“So how did each of you end up working for Monsieur Pascale?” I asked, desperate to divert their scrutiny.
“Moi,” began Paco. “I used to captain for the older Monsieur et Madame Pascale. I have known Xavier since he was a boy.” He let out a gruff chuckle with a shake of his head. “I could tell some stories, but non. All I can say is I’m very grateful to the family. And it has been an honor to work with Xavier.” He paused, suddenly looking somber. “There is no finer man,” he finished and picked up his glass of sparkling water, staring at it as if he could see distant memories within it.
“Well.” Rod cleared his throat. “For me, let’s just say I was a rather naughty boy, got myself arrested a couple of times, and Evan who’s a mate of my older brother just pulled me aside one day and gave me a bit of a shake. ‘What you gon’ do with your life, Roddie,’ he says. Or something along those lines. Told me I needed to man up, like. He helped me get back on my feet and gave me a job. I’ll always be thankful Mister P trusted Evan enough to give me a fair shake. So, you could say I’m dedicated to never letting either of them down.”
I chewed my piece of salami, and then forked some salad as I turned to Chef.
Chef sat back with his arms folded. “Not sure when it became confessional lunch. But you may as well know. I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for six years and one month. I lost a restaurant, my wife, and custody of my son.” He glanced at Dauphine, and words seem to halt in his throat. I surmised he had a lot more to say but felt it was either too difficult or best for Dauphine not to hear. “Anyway, my restaurant was one of Mr. and Mrs. P’s favorites. When he heard what happened to me, he offered me a job if I could get myself cleaned up. He said the job was mine as long as I needed, and that anytime I was ready to start again with a new venture he’d …” Chef cleared his throat as if choking up, “… he said he’d back me. Not sure I’ll ever take him up on that. But for now, I’m happy here, talking to you sorry lot.” He raised his glass of water. “Cheers.”
I reached for my glass, a lump in my throat. “Cheers,” I said.
“Chin chin,” sang Dauphine.
“To Mister P,” added Rod and Andrea in sync.
We all took a sip.
Andrea stood. “Anyone need anything? I just have to run to the kitchen, I put another baguette in to warm up. Be right back.”
We all helped ourselves to seconds and thirds of the delicious salad and cold meats and cheeses. The baguette was warm, crunchy, and delicious, especially when slathered with a little lightly salted butter. I had far more of it than I should have been comfortable with but couldn’t bring myself to care.
A while later, after Paco had regaled us with a story about a run-in with some modern-day pirates early on in his boating career, he sat back with a pat of his belly and a satisfied smile. “Time for a nap.”
Dauphine let out a sound of disappointment.
“You want to watch a movie or something?” I asked her. “You don’t have to sleep, but maybe we should lie down for a bit until the food settles and the sun is not so strong.”
“You can set up a movie on the screen in the main salon,” said Andrea. “I’ll show you how everything works.”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
Everyone grabbed their plate and some glasses from the table, and we had everything cleared up in no time. Before long Dauphine and I were on the couch watching a singing Zac Efron, and it was only then I realized that Andrea hadn’t shared her story of how she came to work for Xavier Pascale.
If the stories at lunch were to be believed, every one of his employees had needed rescuing, so I had to assume Andrea’s story was a similar situation. So my new employer had a white knight complex. I supposed there were worse faults to have, I thought to myself wryly, irritated that I was finding more reasons to like than dislike him. A crush on a handsome man, I could get over quickly. A crush on a handsome and kind man … well kind was my kryptonite.
Dauphine lay on the sectional, her eyes drowsy, but glued to the movie. She’d pulled a cerise cashmere-looking throw over her bare legs.
“Be right back,” I whispered. The boat rocked gently beneath my feet as I stood.
The swimming and salt and sea air had tired her out.
I hoped they did the same for me come bedtime.
I caressed her hair and then got up and made my way to the galley to find Andrea and chat. Unfortunately, she was busy going through upcoming menus with Chef.
After making sure it was fine with Andrea that I leave Dauphine relaxing where she was, I retrieved my sketchbook and climbed to the top deck. I spent a blissful hour under the awning, sketching the houses built into the rock. Dauphine found me soon enough and was delighted that I knew how to draw. I tore a sheet out of my book, making a mental note to buy more paper when I could, and gave her a pencil. She drew a seascape, complete with a mermaid.
The sun was low, and the light hitting the villas and rocky outcrops as we gently swayed in the water made my heart twist in contentment. I found myself longing to explore the tiny villages. How close together were all those houses after all? Were all the alleys cobblestoned? Did little French ladies stand in front of their pale blue doors and sweep their stone steps and shoo the stray cats? Did they all walk home with fresh baguettes every day? How strange to have been plucked from my small Southern life I’d thought I’d wanted and plopped into the middle of the Mediterranean. This was the kind of thing I should have been putting on a vision board as a teenager. Not that I’d ever finished one. It had always been Meredith’s idea, and my logical left-minded brain didn’t put much stock in such a practice. Although Meredith was always trying to convince me that my Pinterest board about France was the same thing. Maybe it was. Maybe fate had indeed brought me here.
Dauphine and I ate with the crew again since Mr. Pascale had not yet returned, and later, I found m
yself restlessly trying and failing to sleep. My internal clock was still locked into American time. The boat rocked more heavily anchored in the bay than it had in port, and while the motion should lull me, all it did was make me constantly aware I was enclosed deep inside a vessel with no fresh air and surrounded by dark water. I debated getting up to go to outside, but then I heard the sounds of Xavier coming down the stairs and getting ready for bed. So he was home. Something inside me relaxed now that he was back.
Chapter Sixteen
I peered into the galley, expecting to find at least Chef in there too, but it was only Andrea. I didn’t think I’d missed breakfast this time as there were plates and food still on the table. She had her back to me as she fiddled with the coffee machine. “Morning,” she greeted as she looked over her shoulder. “Would you like a coffee?”
“Yes, please. Desperately. But just one, thank you. This jet lag might keep me awake again tonight, so I don't think adding too much caffeine into the mix is a good idea. I’m still six hours behind.”
“Let's sit and chat before everyone comes in,” she said and indicated the banquette seating. “The jet lag will take a few days, I’m sure.”
I slid onto the banquette with some fruit and a croissant. “What time do you all usually eat?”
Andrea sat down opposite me, setting two frothy cups of cappuccino in front of us. She glanced at her phone. “Around now, but they’re all trying to figure out the Wi-Fi. It’s glitching.” Her blonde hair was scraped back like she normally wore it, in a low bun behind her head. She wore minimal make-up, and her skin glowed healthy and smooth. “You probably gathered from lunch yesterday, but Monsieur Pascale … he likes to, uh—”
“Rescue people?"
She trilled tension-filled laughter. “I guess you could say that. I don’t even think he realizes it.” She waved her hands in the air dismissively. “It's probably best to bring you up to speed. And I didn’t want to talk about it in front of everyone. They know of course, but not Dauphine …” She cleared her throat. “You see,” she said. “I was, uh, in an abusive marriage.”
My eyes widened. “God, I’m so sorry,” I said.
She waved her hand again. “Not looking for sympathy. It’s been long enough I can say it for what it was without all the shame I dragged myself out of there with. But it's important you know about it because I have no doubt my husband would come looking if he knew where I was.”
“I don't know what to say. God. I’m so sorry you went through that.”
"There's nothing to say,” Andrea said. "The thing is, I ask myself why hiding out with an employer who's a paparazzi magnet like Xavier Pascale ever seemed to be a good idea. But then I ask myself what else could I do? He's been an amazing person to work for, and all of us who work for him would do anything for him. And so far I’ve stayed under the radar.”
I twisted my fingers together, fidgeting as her words chilled me. “Is there a chance your ex-husband could find you? Like, do you think he’s actively looking for you?”
“I don't see how he is after all this time. If I do go for a drink or dinner with the crew, they know we don't take pictures, and we keep a low profile.” She blew out a breath. “Unfortunately, he's not my ex-husband. I've been too nervous to file for divorce in case he could use that as a way to track me down.”
“My God, Andrea. I'm so sorry.” Jesus. I couldn’t imagine living with that kind of fear.
“Yeah. Well, I'm just telling you this because you need to keep a low profile too. Everyone on this boat is a target in their own way. Either themselves, as in my case, or as a way to get to Mister P or Dauphine.”
I pressed the side edge of my thumb nail against the highly varnished wood tabletop. “If you’re worried about me betraying your confidence, or attracting attention, please know I’d never willingly do that.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway” she said finally, “we all have something to lose. So, I hope you understand how seriously you have to take your job here.”
I nodded. “I do. Did I give you a different impression?”
“No, I don’t think so. But then again people have misled me before.” Her lips flattened.
“I do take my job seriously.”
“So far, we’ve been nothing but impressed with you.”
I was thankful to hear it, even though I didn’t think I’d done anything special beyond what a normal person would do.
The door to the galley smacked open behind me, and Dauphine flew in. She leaned over and planted a big smack of a kiss on each of my cheeks, then did the same with Andrea, and grabbed a plate, and then sat down.
“Wow,” I said. “Somebody’s in a good mood this morning.”
“Oui!” Dauphine clapped then reached for the butter. “Can you guess why?”
I shared a look with Andrea.
Dauphine pointed her knife. “You must not tell her, Andrea!”
Andrea made a zipper movement across her lips.
“I don’t know where to even start,” I said, amused.
“It is something to do with …” Dauphine paused, frowning, then said the word, “Shopping,” to Andrea.
“It is the same word in English. Shopping,” Andrea offered.
“Ah! Oui. Shopping.”
I raised my eyebrows. “We’re … going … shopping?”
“Not just shopping … we are going to the market! Papa said we can go today to the market in Antibes. It is not as good as the one in St. Tropez, mais … that is okay. You will love it! It is my favorite thing!” She was practically bouncing in her seat.
Confused at Dauphine’s excitement, I looked at Andrea for help. “A market has her this excited?”
“Well, the markets in France are a pretty big deal in the summer. Antibes is one of the best. Well, the covered market is there all summer, but they have a street market too where they close down the streets and vendors come from all over to set up their stuff.”
“Like a farmer’s market?”
“Sort of. But better. They sell everything. Even amazing antiques. The one in St. Tropez is famous but pricey. But after you’ve done this stretch of coast a few years, you realize that a lot of the same vendors travel to each place. You can buy linen dresses from Italy, amazing cheeses, unique jewelry, leather bags, cover-ups, flowers … you know what? I can’t do it justice. You’ll understand when you get there.”
“You aren’t coming?”
“Nah. I’ve been to lots. I have no room for any more clothes. Besides, I have a ton of stuff to do on the boat. Chef always goes though, to pick up supplies.”
Rod and Chef emerged from the crew stairs.
“Where am I going?” asked Chef.
Rod helped himself to a plate and sat down opposite me. “Mornin’.”
I nodded at him.
“The market,” Dauphine answered Chef through a mouthful of croissant. She swallowed. “You can get a beautiful new bikini, Josie. Then you don’t have to worry about your top falling off all the time.”
There was a beat of silence where heat traveled up my throat to my face, and eyebrows around me raised.
“Well,” Rod said, giving me a wink. “None of us would mind if you wanted to go topless. All the French ladies do. It’s one of my favorite things about France.”
Chef cuffed him over the head. “That’s a stereotype, and you know it.” He growled at the same time I felt the breeze of the door to the salon open behind me.
“Rod.” Mr. Pascale’s voice was an arctic rumble.
In front of me, Rod’s face suddenly went purple as he swallowed whatever he’d put in his mouth whole.
“Viens ici,” said Mr. Pascale’s low voice behind me. I turned to see him holding the door open and gesturing through it with one hand, his eyes like icicles trained on Rod.
Rod nodded with a gulp. “J’arrive.” He slid out of the banquette. “Sorry, Josie,” he mumbled at me as he passed.
“I�
�it’s fine,” I said. “I know you were just joking.”
His eyes darted from me to his boss.
Feeling awful for Rod, I chanced a look at Mr. Pascale, completely torn, but not wanting to undermine his authority. He glared at me, and I sank into my seat. Jeez. Was it my fault now? Rod went through the opening, followed by Mr. Pascale, and the door swung shut.
Silence ensued.
“Bien,” Chef said. “I think I speak for all of us when I apologize for Rod’s comment. He just doesn’t think sometimes. His emotional intelligence is still a work in progress.”
I grimaced. “It’s fine. I promise.” I knew it was technically sexual harassment, so I didn’t say anything else.
Chef shook his head and threw his arms up. “I must go and do my list. We should already be there, all the best things will be gone,” he muttered as he exited the galley.
“The Antibes markets are frequented by some of the best chefs,” Andrea explained as I frowned at Chef’s departure.
Dauphine glanced from one to the other of us. “I do not understand why Rod is in trouble. It is true, non? We do not mind if you go with no top.”
“It’s all right.” I patted her hand. “Maybe your dad wanted to talk to him about something else.”
“Hmm,” she said, then slid out of her seat. “I will go and get ready.”
Andrea gave me a tight smile. “Evan said you’re an architect, Josie. What on earth made you ditch that to nanny for the summer?” She gestured around us. “Not that it’s not a sweet gig.”
Dauphine pirouetted out the door.
I grabbed on to the topic change gratefully. “Well, uh, I realized I had no future at the firm. I was passed over for a promotion that should have been mine. Add in the fact one of the partners is a bit of a misogynist. And definitely implied I was easy on the eyes,” I lifted a shoulder, “and, well, I quit. It was hasty. I’m just … I’m not fully to terms with the fact my career I worked so hard for just exploded. And you all needed a nanny. My roommate runs the agency. And Mr. Pascale was convincing.”