by Jan Moran
“We must enjoy every day we’re allowed in this life,” Lance said.
“Oh yes, we must.” A mischievous glint sparkled in Mia’s eyes. “I miss the little things about Emile, the touch of his hand, the smell of his hair—always freshly washed with our sandalwood-scented shampoo—even the evening stubble on his chin.” She paused, and then added, sotto voce, “And my Emile was a wonderful lover.”
Lance raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. Mia might be coy, but she was certainly outspoken.
She laughed at his expression. “Don’t be embarrassed. Sex is a natural part of life. Young people seem to think anyone over the age of sixty reverts to a state of virginity.” She sighed. “I still miss my Emile.”
As she walked briskly through the lobby, she acknowledged the familiar staff with a smile. Mia clutched Lance’s arm and went on. “There was a time when I would visit the hotel to tend to celebrities, such as Elizabeth Taylor or Marilyn Monroe, in the pink bungalows. I remember that Marilyn liked bungalows number one and number seven. She used to call me to administer emergency facials the morning after late nights of filming or partying. Such a sweet girl, and such lovely skin.”
Lance enjoyed hearing the old Hollywood stories. “Please, tell me more.”
Mia smiled up at him. “The studios and stars paid me handsomely. I tucked most of it away in my Swiss bank account for retirement. A woman should have her own nest egg, and my darling Emile encouraged it. He once told me, “If you have the money to leave me, and don’t, then I know you really love me.” Mia shook her head sadly. “How could he have ever thought I didn’t?”
“I’m sure he adored you.” Lance kissed her cheek.
She patted his arm and smiled up at him. “You’re such a nice young man. I’m glad you met my Verena.”
“I’m glad we met, too.” In fact, Lance hadn’t stopped thinking of Verena. They stepped into the restaurant, and he greeted the maître d’, his friend. “Johnny, Madame Valent is dining with us today.”
“It’s always a pleasure.” Johnny inclined his head. “You look beautiful today.”
“Hello, Johnny.” Mia offered her hand, and Johnny air kissed it. “And what a handsome tie-dyed bow-tie you have on today. That’s quite the fashion statement.”
“Women seem to like it.” Johnny chuckled and smoothed his thick, wavy black hair.
“Of course they do, you’re a handsome young man. But you should be courting Scarlett.”
“No, I couldn’t do that. We grew up together. She’s like a sister to me.” Johnny offered her his arm.
Mia adjusted her colorful silk scarf and pearls before saying, “Come with us to the table, Lance, I’d like to introduce you to my friend.”
Johnny escorted her through the restaurant, returning nods to those they passed.
Mia continued. “It doesn’t matter, Johnny. My Emile and I were neighbors. She’s a fine girl, that Scarlett, a smart one, too.”
“Yes, ma’am, she certainly is. Too smart for the likes of me, I’m afraid. But I’m proud of her.”
Lance suppressed a grin. Clearly Mia loved making an entrance into the Polo Lounge, and enjoyed dispensing advice.
Amid chatter that rose across the restaurant, Johnny guided her through pink stucco arches to the patio, where bracelets of pink bougainvillea flowers brightened the festive, open air dining area bathed in California sunshine.
“Bonjour, Mia.” A chic older woman welcomed his companion with a kiss to each cheek. Johnny and Lance helped Mia with her chair.
“Bonjour, darling. Hmm, I believe, you’re wearing my favorite Dubois perfume.” Mia smiled with pleasure. “Camille, I’ve never seen anyone emerge from a hospital looking so beautiful. Is that a new Chanel?” she asked, admiring her friend’s woven emerald green jacket and jacquard silk scarf. “It sets off your eyes so well. And I love it with those black slacks.”
“Chanel, oui, but not new. Timeless, though, no?” Camille touched her friend’s shoulder. “And I’ve always loved this shade of mauve on you. Blondes wear it so well.” Camille turned to Johnny. “I remember when Marlene Dietrich had the ‘No Slacks for Women’ dress code dispelled here at the Polo Lounge. Back in the 1940s, do you remember?”
“Madame Dubois,” Johnny said, his dark eyes flashing. “If I may say so, I believe it was you who inspired Ms. Dietrich.”
Mia said, “Camille, I’d like to present a new friend, Lance Martel, the executive chef. My dearest friend, Camille Dubois, the founder of Parfums Dubois.”
“Madame Dubois, it’s an honor to meet such an icon of beauty, and a beautiful woman, too.” Camille held a hand to Lance, but instead of shaking it, he took her hand and executed a perfect air kiss over it, just as Johnny had. Legendary women should be shown respect, he thought.
“So nice to meet you, and what impeccable manners you have. American men seldom do that.” Camille turned to Johnny. “No need for menus, I’ll have my usual Maine lobster salad. Mia, your Wagu beef salad today?”
“Why not? And let’s share a slice of the chocolate pistachio roulade cake. Damn the cholesterol. I survived cancer; I might as well live a little.”
Johnny winked at Lance and smiled at the pair of old friends. “And your usual champagne?”
“But of course,” Camille replied, glancing around the restaurant. “These young people, sometimes I wonder—were we ever that young?”
“I still feel the same on the inside, Mia. It’s these old bones that betray me.”
“Nonsense, your old bones are still gorgeous. Look, there’s Pierre Chevalier looking your way.” Mia slid a glance at a nearby table, where two elegant, silver-haired gentlemen sat drinking cocktails.
“No, he’s looking at you. He always had eyes for you.”
“Poor Ondine. They were such a love match. She went so quickly.” As she spoke, Pierre lifted his hand in a small wave, and Mia smiled in acknowledgement.
A waiter appeared with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. With an expert hand, Lance poured the pale bubbly champagne into two crystal glasses for them.
Camille looked at Lance. “You’ve spent time in Europe, no? France, perhaps?”
“I worked for the Hôtel Ritz in Paris one summer.”
“How well I remember the Ritz,” she said, a wistful look crossing her face. “Did you like Paris?”
Lance nodded. “Loved it. In fact, I’m returning soon for a special engagement.”
“Engagement?” Mia asked. “To a lady in your life?”
“No, I’m not that fortunate. It’s a competition among the leading chefs in the world. I’m honored to be invited.”
Mia inclined her head. “A handsome man like you, there’s no one special in your life?”
Lance hesitated for moment. “Let’s just say, no one who returns the sentiment.”
They all laughed, but Mia seemed relieved. “My granddaughters—the younger twins, at least—are going with me to Paris soon. Verena might even join us. Perhaps we’ll be there at the same time.”
Lance was interested, especially if Verena was going, too. “I’m leaving in a few days.”
“Really? Why, so are we. And where are you staying?”
“At the Villa and Hôtel Majestic in the sixteenth arrondissement.” A friend of his managed the hotel. “And you?”
Mia waved her hand. “I don’t recall; my travel agent takes care of those details. But it’s a small world, perhaps we’ll run into one another.” She took a sip of champagne.
Camille slid her eyes from Lance to Mia, and pursed her lips.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Lance,” Mia said, brightening. “I hope we’ll meet again soon.”
Lance excused himself. He stopped at another table to say hello, but he could still see and hear Mia and Camille talking.
Camille could barely contain herself. “What was that about?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mia replied nonchalantly.
“Mia Valent, you cannot lie to me. I know
you too well.” Camille sipped her champagne, studying her friend. “Are you playing matchmaker?”
“What if I am?” Mia tilted her chin and sniffed. “He seems like a nice young man.”
Camille shook her head. “You’re unbelievable. Isn’t she engaged?”
“Have you seen a ring on her finger? I haven’t, and I don’t like that Derrick. It’s a mistake, I tell you. She’ll regret it. She thinks she has to settle for Derrick, but she doesn’t. She mustn’t. If only her father were still alive, oh, poor Joseph, and Angelica—” Mia’s voice broke. “I miss my son and his beautiful wife every day. I only want the best for their children, my grandchildren.” She pressed a hand against her chest. “Dear me, I have to watch my blood pressure. Maybe I shouldn’t interfere, but I feel so strongly about this.”
Camille covered Mia’s trembling hand with her own, and said, “There now, I believe in intuition. If you feel so deeply about this, then you must act.”
Mia nodded, brushing tears from her eyes.
A moment later, Lance saw another one of their elegant guests, Pierre Chevalier, walk toward Mia. He whisked a monogrammed linen handkerchief from his jacket and presented it to her. “I hate to see a beautiful woman in distress.”
Mia blinked and looked up into his kind face. “Why, thank you, Pierre.” She accepted his offering and dabbed her eyes. “But I’m not crying. It’s my allergies.”
Lance grinned at her charming mannerisms. He couldn’t help but adore Mia. Would Verena be like that someday?
Pierre smiled down at Mia. “Terrible this season, aren’t they?” He touched his head in greeting to Camille. “Ladies, enjoy your brunch,” he said, and then returned to his table.
“They don’t make men like that anymore,” Camille said, watching him go.
Lance grinned. He could still hear every word they said. He continued watching the two women, pleased for them that they still attracted the attention they deserved.
Mia folded his handkerchief and studied it for a moment. After that, their food arrived, and the waiters presented their plates with discreet, courteous service. Mia recovered her composure, and slipped his handkerchief into her purse.
Camille raised her glass in a toast. “Santé, my dear, to your voyage.”
“And to yours, and your health,” Mia said, raising her glass, too. “And may those who carry our torches into tomorrow find nothing but happiness and success.”
A soft clink of crystal sounded, and Lance watched the two doyennes of beauty sip their champagne. He passed by another table and stopped to say hello, still keeping an ear open to the conversation between Mia and Camille, an art he’d perfected after years in the restaurant business.
Mia said, “Verena tells me you’re working from home.”
“I was for a short time, but not anymore. I love my home, but I can’t bear not going to the office. Mia, I’ll probably die in that office. Honestly, there’s nothing better than a day of good work to soothe my soul. I still have so many ideas, so much to create.” She tapped the table, her brilliant green eyes brimming with excitement. “Did I tell you about the new celebrity line we’re making? I’m blending it, but Dahlia is overseeing the deal, and she’s doing a marvelous job.”
“She reminds me of you when you were young. Amazing that our grandchildren—and great grandchildren—are taking over the businesses we began so many years ago.” Mia shook her head in amazement. “We barely had two coins to rub together when we arrived in America.”
“We ate a lot of bread and soup in those days, too,” Camille said, nodding in agreement. “My granddaughter Dahlia is so talented. I just hope she doesn’t make some of the same mistakes I did in love.”
“I was so lucky with Emile, but I fear for Verena.”
“Is she going with you to Europe?” Camille’s eyes misted. “I miss Paris, haven’t been in almost two years.”
“I wish she were, but Verena is staying here to prepare for the launch in Asia. So, it’s just me, Anika, and Bella.” She leaned over and patted Camille’s hand. “At our age, and with these recent health scares we’ve had, we have to make every day count. You should come, too.”
When Lance heard that, his hopes sank. He’d hoped he might run into Verena in Paris.
“Actually, I intend to go with Dahlia later this year, but she doesn’t know it yet. She’s quite busy right now. We’ve had to renegotiate our bank loans, too. ” Camille gazed over Mia’s shoulder at Lance and arched a finely drawn brow.
Lance nodded to her, feeling slightly embarrassed, and turned back to the kitchen. Had Camille realized he’d been listening to their conversation? He chuckled to himself. A man could learn a lot in a restaurant.
Back in the hotel’s gleaming stainless steel kitchen, Lance skirted the precision dance of the sous chefs and line cooks who moved in unison to produce gastronomic delights for the daily cadre of discriminating guests.
Even so, he couldn’t help thinking about Verena, and wished he had a good reason to call her. He stopped, and tapped his forehead. Of course, he thought. Mia Valent is the key.
9
The brilliant stone caught the sunlight through the window, reflecting an arc of rainbow colors against Verena’s white blouse and the mahogany desk in her office.
“It’s about three carats,” Derrick said.
Perched on the edge of her desk, Verena admired the solitaire ring on her left ring finger, awestruck. Derrick must have felt guilty over not giving her a ring sooner. They’d talked on the phone several times while he was in Japan. “About? Oh Derrick, you always know everything of value to the exact degree.”
“You’re right,” Derrick said. “It’s on the appraisal I have.”
“I was only kidding. What a lovely surprise. But I thought we were shopping together for rings.”
“I saw this in Tokyo at Tiffany’s and thought it was perfect for you. I couldn’t wait, sweetheart.”
“And it is perfect, a perfect diamond.” She swung a leg as she gazed at it, guardedly excited. “Let’s set the date. October or November?” She reached behind her and flipped open the calendar on her desk.
“I really have to check my calendar.” He shifted from one foot to another.
She tilted her head. Now what’s wrong with him? “Come on, I have mine here, and I know yours is on that tiny phone you carry.”
“No, I need the office calendar. Roper is always adding dates. But I’ll call you with it.”
Verena faked a pout. “Promise?”
“You know it.” Derrick gave her a deep kiss. “Missed you,” he murmured. He pulled her into his arms and ran his hands down the length of her slim black skirt. “How about I show you how much I missed you?”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Verena wriggled out of his arms. “Lacey can hear everything through that door. It’s an old building, Derrick.”
“Come on, she wasn’t there when I came in.” He clasped her arm.
“Derrick, really.”
“Hold that thought until later, then.” He flopped into a garnet red chair beside her desk and took his phone from his pocket to check his text messages.
She stroked his dark, grey-shot hair. “So, did you have a chance to talk to Roper about our loan while you were in Tokyo?”
He tapped his phone. “I did.”
Verena trailed her fingers along his neck. “Don’t keep me in the dark. Put your phone away and tell me about it.”
Derrick sighed and put his phone down. “Okay.” He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and formed a steeple with his fingers. “Roper has agreed to lend the money you need, after the due diligence proves satisfactory. We’ll need to review your contracts and finances.”
“That shouldn’t take long.”
“We’ll work as quickly as we can.” He leaned in, a serious expression on his face. “Is there anything we should know about?”
She shook her head. “I have no secrets, Derrick. But we do need to meet payroll soon, as well as th
e obligations for the marketing in Asia.”
“Don’t worry, Verena. You’re doing the right thing.” He checked his phone. “I just got a message, I have to go.”
“What about lunch?”
“Rain check, sweetheart. I’ll have Jimmy Don send you the details that we need to begin the due diligence.”
“Who’s Jimmy Don?”
“Jimmy Don Herald is a twenty-four-year-old whiz kid we hired. Has degrees in business and chemical engineering, real bright. He can help you crunch numbers.” He tapped his watch. “Got to run, Verena.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Oh, sure.” She lifted her hand to wave, but he was already out the door. As he rounded the corner, she heard his mobile phone ring.
Verena sat down at her desk, feeling both bemused and perturbed. Derrick was always dashing off in the middle of something. I’ll have to get used to that.
Lacey walked into Verena’s office, and jerked her head up with a startled expression. “Oh, you’re here.” She looked befuddled. “I just saw Derrick, and I thought he was talking to you—I, I didn’t think you were here…”
“Look Lacey,” Verena said, holding out her hand. “Isn’t it spectacular?”
Lacey showed Jimmy Don Herald into Verena’s office, her eyebrows raised high. Verena looked at Lacey, who was usually a model of discretion. Something was wrong.
“Good afternoon.” Verena stood to meet him, and they shook hands. “I’m glad you could start so quickly.”
“I’m to collect documents for Herringbone’s due diligence.” He looked around her office. “I’ll wait.”
“I beg your pardon?” Verena gave him a tight smile, but the expression did not reach her eyes. No ‘hello,’ no ‘nice to meet you.’ She stared evenly at him. “I can have those for you tomorrow.”