Having only seen Leoni venting her spleen like a fishwife, Cat remained unconvinced. ‘What about your father?’
Max’s expression became bitter. ‘Oh, he’s like Leoni, he’s all about the business.’
Seraphina nodded sadly. ‘It’s true. It’s pretty much all he cares about.’
Cat watched them, wondering why they seemed so hurt. Guy, despite the way he had deceived her, seemed like a genuinely caring man so what was stopping him from connecting with his children?
‘And Xavier?’ Cat glanced at the glamorous photo on the back of the brochure, wishing her only other view of Xavier hadn’t been him skinny-dipping in the family pool.
‘He’s like Olivier,’ Max said with a laugh. ‘He loves women, has several on the go at the same time. Lucky bastard,’ he added enviously.
Seraphina shot him a glance. Xavier was nothing like Olivier! Trust Max to say something immature like that.
Cat didn’t really like hearing about Olivier and all his women but he had told her he’d been a bit of a playboy in his time. As for Xavier, sleeping around was just the sort of shallow behaviour she’d expect from him. From what she’d seen, anyway. ‘I meant, what’s Xavier like when it comes to the perfume business?’
Seraphina looked glum. ‘He’s not involved any more. He used to be the family nose, he’s so talented and intelligent but he’s just not interested, not at the moment, anyway. He stepped out around two years ago.’
When Elizabeth died, Cat realised. ‘Your mother’s death has affected you all greatly,’ she commented gently.
Max looked away. ‘The riding accident . . . it was devastating for all of us.’
Cat frowned. A riding accident? That was the reason Olivier had given for his own parents’ deaths. Did they all go around falling to their death from horses? It was unlikely but Cat couldn’t bring herself to question it, not right now.
‘But it wasn’t just our mother’s death that made Xavier step out of the business,’ Seraphina commented. ‘There was also this woman— ow!’ Jumping, she glared at Max who had just elbowed her, hard.
‘Shut up!’ he hissed. ‘You know Xavier hates being talked about.’ He spoke rapidly in French. ‘He’d go mad if he knew you were saying things about him . . . he thinks she’s insane, remember?’
They didn’t realise how good her French was; Cat understood every word. She smarted, wondering why Xavier had been bad-mouthing her.
‘That’s so rude! He doesn’t even know her,’ Seraphina defended Cat hotly.
Max stood up. ‘He said she must be mad to have got married so quickly, that only crazy people do things like that.’ He rolled his shoulders. ‘I reckon he’s got a point.’
Cat went scarlet. She hadn’t even spoken to Xavier! Yet apparently he had formed a very clear opinion of her.
‘I think she’s been very unlucky,’ Seraphina hurled back. ‘All those women Olivier was stringing along just before he went to St Tropez . . .’ Suddenly noticing Cat’s expression, Seraphina clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘You understand what we’re saying,’ she gasped, mortified.
Cat just nodded.
Max shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Seraphina. ‘Please don’t start thinking badly of Olivier.’
‘Really?’ Cat met her eyes. ‘I think we both know I probably should.’
Seraphina got to her feet. ‘I’m really sorry.’ Slowly, she walked away, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.
Left alone, Cat felt angry tears pricking her eyelids again. She gritted her teeth and pushed them back. Who were you, Olivier? She asked silently. Why did you marry me if you had a stable of other women? And why didn’t you tell me about Ducasse-Fleurie?
If Olivier really hadn’t been the genuine, loyal man she thought she’d married, Cat thought, feeling her heart constrict painfully, that turned everything upside down.
Xavier glanced upwards to search for the next handhold. He was halfway up Ceuse, the northernmost cliff in the Alps, which some said was the best and most beautiful cliff in the world. Certainly the orange and blue-streaked crest of limestone perched at the top of the Ceuse massif was exceptional.
Tethered to the cliff face by cables from the heavy-duty belt around his waist, he was totally focused on pulling on those handholds and balancing on footholds. He found climbing Ceuse hard, it pushed his body to the limits, but that was why he enjoyed it so much. It released his mind and enabled him to think clearly.
Xavier paused to take in the breathtaking view, dazzled by the blue and gold streaked limestone. His mind drifting, he wondered what had happened at the meeting with Cat Hayes. He couldn’t imagine it being much fun and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had gone by the time he got back if his grandmother had anything to do with it. He would find his grandmother simply terrifying if he didn’t know her; as it was, he found her austere and frosty – and he was allegedly her favourite.
Xavier slotted the toe of his boot into a small pocket, wondering how the hell he was going to secure his next draw. He wished Therese hadn’t come with him, even if she was sat in the car. She always found his rock-climbing tedious, yet she insisted on accompanying him all over Provence. Sometimes he just needed a break from her.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Matthieu. Matthieu was a friend of Olivier’s whom Xavier occasionally went climbing with. ‘Are you contemplating the view, Ducasse? Come on, I bet I can beat you to the top.’
Xavier never could resist a dare. Shrugging off his thoughts about Therese and Cat Hayes, he matched his friend’s handholds and bounces with increasing vigour. This was what it was all about! Xavier reached the top seconds before Matthieu and as soon as he’d unclipped himself, he rolled over and stared up at the sky.
‘Can’t believe you managed to beat me,’ Matthieu moaned, lying down next to him, exhausted. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything; I should have just charged past you.’ He glanced at Xavier. ‘What were you so lost in thought about, anyway? That red-headed girlfriend of yours?’
‘Therese?’ Xavier shook his head. ‘Not really. She’s pretty but she’s not the most intelligent person I’ve ever met.’
Matthieu shrugged. ‘Does she need to be brainy? With tits like that, I could forgive her lack of intellect. Hey, shame about Olivier.’ He took a swig of water and offered the bottle to Xavier. ‘I read in the paper about his widow turning up. Was that the one he used to take to Morocco all the time?’
Xavier shook his head and frowned. ‘Morocco? No, he met her in St Tropez, of all places.’
‘Really?’ Matthieu looked puzzled. ‘Olivier always said he hated St Tropez. Still, he went wherever there were girls so he wasn’t exactly choosy.’ He paused and sat up. ‘I could have sworn the girl he was nuts about a while ago used to meet him in Morocco a lot.’ He took back his water bottle and shrugged.
Xavier thought Matthieu must be mistaken – but then Olivier had no doubt enjoyed liaisons with girls all over the place.
Sometime later, Xavier joined Therese in the car. She was slumped over her book in the front seat, clearly bored senseless.
‘You took your time,’ she grumbled. ‘I’ve practically read this entire novel.’
Xavier doubted it. He doubted Therese had finished a novel in her life, not even one by Jackie Collins. ‘You could always join me next time,’ he suggested mildly, wondering what on earth they actually had in common.
Therese shuddered. ‘What, crawl all over a massive mountain with just a rope and a bit of metal holding me up? No thank you.’ She looked affronted. ‘Why do you like doing such dangerous things, anyway? You’ve got all the money in the world, can’t you just play polo or relax on a speedboat like ordinary rich people do?’
Xavier sighed. Her asinine comment proved that Therese didn’t know the first thing about him. Sometimes the Ducasse millions were a curse, he thought, tight lipped, as he started the car. If only he could be more like Olivier used to be and not care about any
thing or anyone, Xavier was sure he’d find his life less irksome.
The day before the family gathering, Delphine was still seething about the meeting with Cat Hayes. It had been an unmitigated disaster; Guy had been totally hoodwinked and somehow the girl had turned the tables on them.
Her fingers tightened around the head of her cane. The girl was not as easy to intimidate as she’d hoped. And if the very generous offer they’d made wouldn’t buy her off, something else was needed. Which was why she had invited Yves Giraud to La Fleurie this morning.
Hearing a knock on the door, Delphine looked up. He was punctual; a good sign. ‘Come in,’ she called, taking a seat at a table by the window. A tallish man with brown hair and a swarthy tan came in. Delphine assessed him critically. He was younger than she’d expected – thirty, thirty-five perhaps – and he was wearing a flashy brown suit with a colourful lining and no tie.
Delphine’s mouth tightened in disapproval. But did it really matter what he looked like? She wasn’t hiring him for his wardrobe. She held her hand out.
‘Yves Giraud, at your service, madame,’ Yves murmured, bending over her hand deferentially.
Unmoved, she motioned him to a chair. Sycophantic gestures bored her.
‘What a wonderful château.’ Yves took a seat and gazed out at the magnificent view. It was a clear day and acres of gorgeous Provençal countryside could be seen from the window, along with an impressive collection of stables. ‘What beautiful views . . .’
Delphine inclined her head. ‘Indeed. But we are not here to discuss the delights of my family home.’ She linked her pale fingers together. ‘Before we begin, I assume I can rely on your absolute discretion?’
‘Of course.’ Yves drew a small, moleskin notebook out of his suit jacket and a slim gold pen. ‘I have worked for extremely well-known celebrities, as well as some of the best families in France.’ He touched his rather large nose with the pen. ‘You would be surprised what I know but I never reveal my findings. Not unless I am asked to, naturally.’
‘Good.’ She outlined what had happened since Olivier’s death, sparing no detail and filling Yves in on everything she knew about Cat Hayes.
‘So you see, Monsieur Giraud, I have a dilemma on my hands.’
Yves nodded. ‘Call me Yves, please. Yes, I do see your problem. The Ducasse-Fleurie empire must be protected.’
Delphine stood up restlessly, staring out of the window. ‘Nothing is more important to me, Monsieur Giraud.’
He hid a smile, noting her refusal to call him by his first name. And why would she? Delphine Ducasse was a traditionalist, one of only a few left of her kind, but she was paying him handsomely so he would keep his mouth shut and his eyes peeled. His role as a private detective to the rich and famous had left him relatively well off but opulence and breeding never failed to impress him.
Yves glanced out of the window again. He caught sight of a tall, handsome man by the stables, wearing what could only be an extremely expensive designer suit. Xavier Ducasse, Yves realised. Ever since Delphine’s phone call, he had been researching the family, making sure he was prepared. Xavier was the eldest of Delphine’s grandchildren, the famous ‘nose’, who no longer took part in the creation of scents for Ducasse-Fleurie. Yves was also aware of two other children, a boy and a girl, but no one had seen much of them over the past two years, not since Delphine’s son Guy had packed them off to a private boarding school whose annual fees could finance a couple of racehorses.
‘So you want me to find out everything I can about this Miss Hayes,’ Yves summed up. ‘Everything about her background, her upbringing, her old boyfriends – anything that could potentially discredit her in some way.’
Delphine winced. Put that way, it sounded so crude. But she nodded. It was exactly what she was hoping for – some detail, some fact about Olivier’s widow that could send her packing for good if she didn’t go of her own accord. ‘Check their marriage,’ she instructed. ‘Find out if it’s legitimate. If not . . .’ She let the sentence hang.
‘Leave it with me, madame,’ Yves said smoothly. ‘I will return when I have more information.’ About to kiss her hand again, he caught her expression and thought better of it. He gave her a polite bow instead and left the room. He planned to have a good look around the château before he went home, despite his proclamations about discretion.
In her room, Delphine stood by the window, watching Xavier. His dark head was bent and he was stroking his beloved horse Cassis, the horse he hadn’t ridden since his mother Elizabeth’s death.
Xavier has far too much time on his hands, Delphine decided. He needed a project, something to occupy him, preferably something that would benefit the family business. Delphine’s eyes gleamed as a germ of an idea occurred to her. As it took shape in her mind, her spirits lifted and she felt back in control again.
Chapter Six
Guy watched his mother impatiently checking the slim gold Patek Phillipe watch on her wrist for the umpteenth time. She had called the meeting for nine o’clock sharp and she was clearly livid that he was the only member of her family seated at the boardroom table so far.
‘Do you think Miss Hayes will join us?’ Delphine inquired, her hazel eyes quickly scanning the agenda Guy had prepared.
‘I have no idea. She probably can’t stand the sight of us right now so I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t bother.’
Guy felt awful about Cat; he had honestly liked her as soon as he met her and his warmth towards her had been real. He had known they would be presenting her with the legal papers, of course, but he hadn’t anticipated the meeting turning so sour, nor had he expected Cat to feel so let down by all of them.
Guy glanced at Delphine. He had an idea his mother hid a soft-centre beneath the neat suits and the harsh tone she always used but the last glimpse he’d had of it was so long ago, he’d begun to wonder if it was wishful thinking rather than a distant memory.
‘I hope she makes the right decision,’ Delphine said imperiously. ‘That girl needs to understand why it’s imperative that she signs those papers.’
‘Any idea how long it will take to draw up new ones?’
‘I’ve instructed Pascal to get on to it immediately,’ Delphine told him, sounding more hopeful than she felt.
Guy let out a short laugh. ‘Good luck with that! It’s bound to take ages. And what’s to stop Cat leaving before she’s signed anything?’
Delphine averted her eyes. ‘Nothing, I suppose. As you keep reminding me, we can hardly keep her under lock and key, can we? If she decides to leave, we have no choice but to let her go.’
Guy narrowed his eyes at his mother. Her casual air was at odds with her usual insistent tones but she looked back at him haughtily, her hazel eyes clear and direct. Guy straightened his blue tie and shrugged his arms into the sleeves of his well-cut suit jacket. He always wore suits to family meetings like these because formal attire sharpened his mind. Still, today, all he could think about was how Olivier’s poor widow was going to cope with a full-scale family onslaught.
In her room, Cat had more important things to deal with. She had spent the past three hours turning the guest room upside down searching for the one thing she couldn’t get home without, but it was nowhere to be found.
Practically tearing her hair out in sheer frustration, Cat finally admitted defeat and tried to come to terms with the fact that she had lost her passport. She had never lost it in her life – nor when she’d backpacked through Thailand with friends, not even when she had undertaken a spontaneous but gruelling solo trip through the rainforests of Venezuela when her parents had died. Yet somehow, in a luxurious, sophisticated guest room in a château in Provence, she had managed to do just that.
Aware that she was late for the family meeting she’d promised Seraphina she would attend, Cat let out a howl. It was so infuriating! Her bags were packed and she was all set to make a quick getaway after the meeting. She had intended to tell the Ducasse family that any legal doc
uments they wanted her to sign could be sent to her in England. But she wasn’t going anywhere now that her passport had disappeared.
Had she left it in the limo Guy had sent? No, surely someone would have phoned and told the family about it. Had it fallen out of her bag when she’d dumped it in the garden? Cat felt a flash of hope. That seemed likely. It was very possibly sitting in a flower bed somewhere.
Feeling more optimistic, Cat caught sight of the photo album Seraphina had given her. Unable to resist having another look at Olivier’s handsome, smiling face, she opened it, then shut it abruptly and threw it in the drawer of her bedside table. Cat had finally started to face facts: she’d married a man who was not only adept at lying, he also didn’t rate faithfulness very highly. She did not know how many women Olivier had been juggling at once or how many lies he had told her, but she knew he was far from the perfect man she’d believed he was before he died.
Cat put her shoulders back and headed to the boardroom. She was certain she must be the last to arrive but she found she didn’t care too much about how rude she might appear. Tardiness hardly seemed significant up against accusations of being either insane or a gold digger.
To her surprise, when she entered the boardroom, only Guy and Delphine were there. Feeling slightly reckless in view of her recent aggravation, she deliberately took a seat in the middle of the table, knowing that Delphine would expect her, as a non-family member, to sit discreetly at the end.
Guy hid a smile as his mother bristled at the sight of Cat taking what was usually Xavier’s seat. She was looking particularly attractive in a pair of black trousers and a water-lily green top that made the most of her butterscotch hair and aquamarine eyes. He poured Delphine a cup of black coffee and raised the pot in Cat’s direction.
She shook her head, not meeting his gaze.
‘So are you leaving us after this meeting?’ Delphine asked.
‘I can’t.’ Cat drummed her fingers on the table. ‘I’ve lost my passport,’ she confessed, feeling idiotic.
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