He rubbed his chest without seeming to be conscious of it. “I didn’t know Jan Lofgren had a daughter.”
Most people didn’t except for those in the industry who worked with her father. Of course if Dana had been born with a face and body to die for…
She smiled, long since resigned to being forgettable. “Why would you? I help my father behind the scenes. The moment I saw your ad, I flew from Los Angeles to check out your estate. He’s working on the film right now, but isn’t happy with the French locations available.”
Dana heard him take a deep breath. “You should have e-mailed me you were coming so I could have met you in Angers. It’s too late to see anything tonight.”
“I didn’t expect to meet you until tomorrow,” she said, aware she’d angered him without meaning to. “Forgive me for scouting around without your permission. I wanted to get a feel for the place in the fading light.”
“And did you?” he fired. It was no idle question.
“Yes.”
The silly tremor in her voice must have conveyed her emotion over the find because he said, “We’ll talk about it over dinner. I haven’t had mine yet. Where are you staying tonight?”
Considering her major faux pas for intruding on his privacy, she was surprised there was going to be one. “I made a reservation at the Hermitage in Chanzeaux.”
“Good. That’s not far from here. I’ll change my clothes and follow you there in my car. Wait for me in yours and lock the doors.”
The enigmatic owner accompanied her to the rental car. As he opened the door for her, their arms brushed, sending a surprising curl of warmth through her body.
“I won’t be long.”
She watched his tall, well-honed physique disappear around the end of the hedge. Obviously there was a path, but she hadn’t noticed. There’d been too much to take in.
Now an unexpected human element had been added. It troubled her that she was still reacting to the contact. She thought she’d already learned her lesson about men.
Alex signaled the waiter. “Bring us your best house wine, s’il vous plait.”
“Oui, monsieur.”
When he’d come up with his idea to rent out the estate to film studios in order to make a lot of money fast, he hadn’t expected a Hollywood company featuring a legendary director like Jan Lofgren to take an interest this soon, if ever.
He’d only been advertising the château for six weeks. Not every film company wanted a place this run-down. To make it habitable, he’d had new tubs, showers, toilets and sinks installed in both the bathroom off the second floor vestibule and behind the kitchen.
Alex needed close access to the outside for himself and any workmen he hired, not to mention the film crews and actors. The ancient plumbing in both bathrooms had to be pulled out. He’d spent several days replacing corroded pipes with new ones that met modern code.
Since then, three different studios from Paris had already done some sequence shots along the river using the château in the background, but they were on limited budgets.
It would take several years of that kind of continual traffic to fatten his bank account to the amount he needed. By then the deadline for the taxes owing would have passed and he would forfeit the estate.
So far, at least fifty would-be investors ranging from locals to foreigners were dying to get their hands on it so they could turn it into a hotel. One of them included the attorney who’d sent out the letter, but Alex had no intention of letting his mother’s inheritance go if he could help it.
With the natural blonde beauty seated across from him, it was possible he could shorten the time span for that happening. There was hope yet. She hadn’t been turned off by what she’d seen or she wouldn’t be eating dinner with him now. Her father was a huge money-maker for the producers. His films guaranteed a big budget. Alex was prepared to go out on a limb for her.
Dana Lofgren didn’t look older than twenty-two, twenty-three, yet age could be deceptive. She might be young, but being the director’s only child she’d grown up with him and knew him as no one else did or could. If she thought the estate had promise, her opinion would carry a lot of weight with him. Hopefully word of mouth would spread to other studios.
After spending all day every day clearing away tons of brush and debris built up around the château over four decades, her unexplained presence no matter how feminine or attractive, hadn’t helped his foul mood. That was before he realized she had a legitimate reason for looking around, even if she’d wandered in uninvited.
“How did you like your food?”
She lifted flame-blue eyes to him. With all that silky gold hair and a cupid mouth, she reminded him of a cherub, albeit a grown-up one radiating a sensuality of which she seemed totally unaware. “The chateaubriand was delicious.”
“That’s good. I’ve sampled all their entrées and can assure you the meals here will keep any film crew happy.”
His dinner companion wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I can believe it. One could put on a lot of weight staying here for any length of time. It’s a good thing I’m not a film star.”
An underweight actress might look good in front of the camera, but Alex preferred a woman who looked healthy, like this one whose cheeks glowed a soft pink in the candlelight.
“No ambition in that department?”
“None.”
He believed her. “What are you, when you’re not helping your father?”
The bleak expression in her eyes didn’t match her low chuckle. “That’s a good question.”
“Let me rephrase it. What is it you do in your spare time?”
The waiter brought their crème brûlée to the table. She waited until he’d poured them more wine before answering Alex. “Nothing of report. I read and play around with cooking. Otherwise my father forgets to eat.”
“You live with him?”
Instead of answering him, she sipped the wine experimentally. Mmm…it was so sweet. She took a bite of custard from the ramekin, then drank more. He could tell she loved it. “This could become addicting.”
Alex enjoyed watching her savor her meal. “If I seemed to get too personal just now, it’s because the widowed grandfather I never knew threw my mother out of the château when she was about your age. Both of them died without ever seeing each other again.”
Her ringless fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass. “Since my mother died of cancer five years ago, my father and I have gone the rounds many times, but it hasn’t come to that yet.” She took another sip. “The fact is, whether we’re at home or on location, which is most of the time, he needs a keeper.”
Amused by her last comment he said, “It’s nice to hear of a father-daughter relationship that works. You’re both fortunate.”
A subtle change fell over her. “Your mother’s story is very tragic. If you don’t mind my asking, what caused such a terrible breach?”
Maybe it was his imagination but she sounded sincere in wanting to know.
“Gaston Fleury lost his only son in war, causing both my grandparents to wallow in grief. When my grandmother died, he gave up living, even though he had a daughter who would have done anything for him. The more she tried to love him, the colder he became.
“Obviously he’d experienced some kind of mental breakdown because he turned inward, unable to love anyone. He forgot his daughter existed and became a total recluse, letting everything go including his household staff. When my mother tried to work with him, he told her to get out. He didn’t need anyone.”
In the telling, his dinner companion’s eyes developed a fine sheen. What was going on inside her?
“Horrified by the change in him, she made the decision to marry my father, who’d come to France on vacation. They moved to Queensland, Australia, where he was born.”
“Is your father still there?”
“No. He died in a fatal car accident seven months ago.”
She stirred restlessly. “You
’ve been through a lot of grief.”
“It’s life, as you’ve found out.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“My father’s animosity toward my grandfather was so great, he didn’t tell me the whole story until after mother died of an infection two years ago. Gaston never wrote or sent for her, so she never went back for a visit, not even after I was born. The pain would have been too great. It explained her lifelong sadness.”
Earnest eyes searched his. “Growing up you must have wondered,” she whispered.
He nodded. “To make a long story short, in May a letter meant for Mother fell into my hands. The attorney for the abandoned Belles Fleurs estate had been trying to find her. When I spoke with him personally he told me my grandfather had died in a government institution and was buried in an unmarked grave.”
She shook her head. “That’s awful.”
“Agreed. If she didn’t fly to France for a probate hearing, the property would be turned over to the government for years of back taxes owing. It consisted of a neglected château and grounds. I discovered very quickly the whole estate is half buried in vegetation like one of those Mayan temples in Central America.”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “A perfect simile.”
“However, something inside me couldn’t let it go without a fight. That meant I needed to make money in a hurry. So I came up with the idea of renting out the property to film studios.”
She eyed him frankly. “That was a brilliant move on your part for which my father will be ecstatic. You’re a very resourceful man. I hope your ad continues to bring you all the business you need in order to hold on to it.”
Dana Lofgren was a refreshing change from most women of his acquaintance who came on to him without provocation. While they’d eaten a meal together, she’d listened to him without giving away much about herself.
Alex couldn’t tell if it was a defense mechanism or simply the way she’d been born, but the fact remained she’d come as a pleasant surprise on many levels. He found he didn’t want the evening to end, but sensed she was ready to say good-night.
When he’d finished his wine, he put some bills on the table. “After your long flight and the drive from Paris, you have to be exhausted. What time would you like to come to the château tomorrow?”
“Early, if that’s all right with you. Maybe 8:00 a.m.?”
An early bird. Alex liked doing business early. “Bon.” He pushed himself away from the table and stood up. “I’ll be waiting for you in the drive. Bonuit, mademoiselle.”
Monsieur Martin not only intrigued Dana, but he’d left her with a lot to think about. In fact, the tragedy he’d related had shaken her. His mother had become invisible to her own father, too. There were too many similarities to Dana’s life she didn’t want to contemplate.
She finished the last of her wine, upset with herself for letting Monsieur Martin’s male charisma prompt her to get more personal with him and prod him for details about his family. That was how she’d gotten into trouble with Neal. He’d pretended to be flattered by all her interest. She’d thought they were headed toward something permanent until she realized it was her father who’d brought him around in the first place—that, and his ambition.
Of course there was a big difference here. Neal had used her in the hope of acting in one of her father’s films. She on the other hand had flown to France because Monsieur Martin had advertised his property for a specific clientele. Dana wanted a service from him. The two situations weren’t comparable.
Neither were the two men….
At her first sight of the striking owner, Dana was convinced she’d come upon the château of the sleeping prince, and that before the wine had put her in such a mellow mood. But their subsequent conversation soon jerked her out of that fantasy.
He was a tough, intelligent businessman of substance with an aura of authority she would imagine intimidated most men. Maybe even her own scary parent. That would be something to witness.
Disciplining herself not to eat the last few bites of custard, she left the dining room and went to her room. She could phone her father tonight with the good news. He’d be awake by now expecting her call, unless he’d spent the night with Saskia, which was a strong possibility.
All things considered, she decided to get in touch with him tomorrow after she’d met with Monsieur Martin again.
After getting ready for bed, she set her alarm for 7:00 a.m. She was afraid she’d sleep in otherwise, but to her surprise, Dana awoke before it went off because she was too excited for the day.
She took a shower and washed her hair. Her neck-length layered cut fell into place fast using her blow-dryer. Afterward she put on her favorite Italian blouse. It was a dark blue cotton jersey with a high neck and three-quarter sleeves, casual yet professional.
She teamed it with beige voile pants and Italian bone-colored sandals. Since she was only five foot five, she hoped the straight-leg style gave the illusion of another inch of height. Dana was built curvy like her mother. Being around Monsieur Martin, she could have wished for a few more inches from her father who stood six-one. Barring that, all she could do was keep a straight carriage.
With her bag packed, she headed for the dining room where rolls and coffee were being served. She grabbed a quick breakfast, then walked out to talk to a woman at the front desk Dana hadn’t seen yesterday. “Bonjour, madame.”
“Bonjour, madame. How can I help you?”
“I’m checking out.” After she’d handed her back the credit card, Dana said, “Last night I drank a wonderful white wine in the restaurant and would like to buy a bottle to take home with me.” Her father would love it. “Could you tell me the name of it?”
“Bien sur. We only stock one kind. It’s the Domaine Coteaux du Layon Percher made right here in the Anjou.”
“It’s one of the best wines I ever tasted.”
“In my opinion, Percher is better than the other brands from this area. Sadly the most celebrated of them was the Domaine Belles Fleurs, but it stopped being produced eighty years ago.”
Dana’s body quickened. The woman did say Belles Fleurs. “Do you know why?”
She leaned closer. “Bad family blood.” Dana had gathered as much already. There’d been a complete break between Monsieur Martin’s mother and her father, but he hadn’t mentioned anything else. “It’s an ugly business fighting over who had the rights to what.”
“I agree.”
“The present owner has only lived in the vicinity a month or so,” the woman confided. “The château has been deserted for many years.”
So Monsieur Martin had told her. “It’s very sad.”
“C’est la vie, madame,” she said with typical Gallic fatalism. “Would you like to buy a bottle of the Percher?”
“I—I’ve changed my mind,” her voice faltered. It would seem a betrayal.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, merci.”
Dana turned away and left the hotel. She was in a much more subdued frame of mind as she drove the five or so kilometers to the bridge where the trees cast more shadows across the road. The morning light coming from the opposite side of a pale blue sky created a totally different atmosphere from the night before.
This time as she reached the fork in the road, Monsieur Martin was there to greet her. It sent her pulse racing without her permission. She pulled to a stop.
He walked toward her, dressed in white cargo pants and a burgundy colored crewneck, but it didn’t matter what he wore, she found him incredibly appealing. It wasn’t just the attractive arrangement of his hard-boned features, or midnight-brown eyes framed by dark brows.
The man had an air of brooding detachment that added to her fascination. Combined with his sophistication, she imagined most women meeting him would have fantasies about him.
Under the influence of the wine, Dana had already entertained a few of her own last night. However, because of her experience with N
eal, plus the fact that she was clearheaded this morning, she was determined to conduct business without being distracted.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Martin.”
When he put his tanned hands on the door frame, the scent of the soap he’d used in the shower infiltrated below her radar. “My name’s Alex. You don’t mind if I call you Dana?” His voice sounded lower this morning, adding to his male sensuality.
“I’d prefer it.”
“Bien.” He walked around to the passenger side of her car and adjusted the seat to accommodate his long legs before climbing in. His proximity trapped the air in her lungs. “Take the left fork. It will wind around to the front of the château.”
Old leaves built up over time covered the winding driveway. It was flanked on both sides by trees whose unruly tops met overhead like a Gothic arch. Dana followed until it led to a clearing where she got her first look at the small eighteenth-century château built in the classic French style.
Beyond the far end stood an outbuilding made of the same limestone and built in the same design, half camouflaged by more overgrown shrubs and foliage. No doubt it housed the winepress and vats.
She shut off the engine and climbed out to feast her eyes. He followed at a slower pace.
The signs of age and neglect showed up in full force. There were boards covering the grouped stacks of broken windows. Several steps leading to the elegant entry were chipped or cracked. Repairs needed to be done to the high-sloped slate roof. It was difficult to tell where the weed-filled gardens filled with tiny yellow lilies ended and the woods encroached.
Dana took it all in, seeing it through her father’s eyes. She knew what the original script called for. This was so perfect she thought she must be dreaming.
“It’s like seeing a woman of the night on the following morning when her charms are no longer in evidence,” came his grating voice. Trust a man to come up with that analogy. “Not what you had in mind after all?”
Schooling herself not to react to his cynicism, she turned to her host, having sensed a certain tension emanating from him. “On the contrary. It will do better than you can imagine. Knowing how my father works, he’ll need three weeks here. How soon can you give the studio that much time?”
Cinderella on His Doorstep Page 2