IntheArmsofaLover

by Madeleine Oh

  His smile rather explained why Adele found him so fascinating. “Please, don’t apologize. I am Luc’s secretary, Branko. Welcome to the circus.”

  It was an apt description.

  “Is this another lover?” Didier asked.

  Was there no getting rid of him? She stepped close, stood on tiptoe so they were almost nose to nose. “Okay, Didier, I’m going to count to five and then I will knee you in the groin.” His eyes widened like an owl’s. “One…”

  He didn’t wait for two.

  “Bravo!” Branko said, “I must remember never to anger you.”

  “He didn’t anger me, just got on my nerves.”

  And right now he was urging the two women into the car. Jean was arguing with his mother and Stéphane was in the middle of it, rather ineffectively advocating calm, while Luc weighed in on his mother’s side. It made the disagreement with Tommy’s family seem quite milquetoast and sedate.

  The whole fracas didn’t last much longer. Didier got into the driver’s seat, started the engine and did a sharp U-turn, scattering pebbles and gravel. That stopped the conversation but the next bit was almost delicious—he drove off, leaving Jean standing mouth agape as he yelled out. Five seconds later he was running down the drive, calling out to them to stop, they were stealing his car.

  Poppy couldn’t restrain herself. She roared with laughter. It was a scene worthy of Monsieur Hulot or at least Mr. Bean.

  “You find the situation so amusing do you, Madame?”

  Luc’s mother must have levitated to cross the courtyard that quickly, but she stood a meter from Poppy and was decidedly not amused.

  “No, Madame Prioux, I do not. Discord within a family is tragic, not amusing, but the sight of Jean racing down the dusty drive, yelling after his car, was. He’s going to ruin his shoes. I hope Didier stops for him as the buses don’t run very often on Sunday.

  She didn’t exactly smile, but managed a little twist to her mouth that might be taken as amusement. She held out a hand. “You must be Madame Gordon, my new manager.”

  “I am, Madame Prioux.”

  “And you know that young man who made off with my son’s car?”

  “Through his grandfather, who’s a very talented photographer. I went to an exhibition of his work a couple of weeks back.” None of that was a lie…just not the whole truth, which was really none of her business.

  Nor did it appear to interest her. “So, at Poulain’s recommendation, my son hired you. Why do you think you are competent to manage my farm?”

  “I ran one in England, Sussex Lavender. My partner and I built the company together. I was in charge of accounting, publicity and developing sales. I also helped in production and we both worked on the harvests. I know a great deal about lavender and I can make Les Coquelicots productive so that, in a few years, it will turn a profit.” Brave words but Poppy suspected this woman would not be impressed by timidity.

  “Good, I hope you live up to your confidence.” She turned to her remaining son. “Well, Luc, you brought me up here for dessert. Let’s enjoy it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was quite impressive what three women working in concert could achieve in fifteen minutes, while Luc took his mother on tour of the premises. They only had six chairs but Stéphane found an old fruit box in the barn and volunteered to use that instead. Table cloth and napkins from the shop gave a nice Provençale look to the table, as Poppy sorted out six plates plus one saucer and forks and spoons—she didn’t have seven of anything. She strongly suspected Madame Prioux was far more accustomed to cut-glass flutes and fine china than Monoprix’s best. Still, Poppy doubted anyone would even notice beside Adele’s cake, which consisted of layers of meringue and sponge sandwiched with alternating chocolate and coffee cream. She’d decorated the top with a coffee glaze and twirls and rosettes of coffee icing, toasted hazelnuts and chocolate-covered coffee beans.

  “It’s incredible,” Poppy told her. “It must have taken you ages.”

  “It did rather,” she said, “but I knew Luc wanted to celebrate. I don’t do this every day of the week,”

  “Then thank you doubly for doing it today.”

  “If I hadn’t, Branko would have spanked me.”

  “He still might if you’re lucky,” Helen said, as she smiled at Poppy. “You don’t look shocked.”

  “Was I supposed to?”

  Helen grinned. “No, but some might have. But I doubt you’d have been hired if you didn’t fit in.”

  What exactly did she mean by that?

  “Of course she fits in,” Stéphane said, just coming in from fetching the champagne. “She fits perfectly and she’s mine.”

  Was she? Really? At that point, Luc returned with his mother and between opening champagne bottles, cutting cake and passing around places and glasses everyone was occupied.

  The afternoon went far better than the beginning implied. Now Jean had disappeared in the dust, quite literally as it had been dry all week, Madame Prioux visibly unbent. A couple of glasses of champagne no doubt helped but Poppy would swear it was Adele’s incredible creation that worked magic. They sat there late into the afternoon, talking and making plans for the farm. They planned visitor tours, a shop and a tearoom, until Poppy felt obliged to point out that getting in their first harvest and replanting worn-out fields was the first step. She had great plans too, but knew how long it took to get established.

  “It will be famous from here to Grasse and beyond the Italian border,” Madame Prioux declared and no one appeared inclined to argue. Poppy crossed her fingers under the table and touched wood with her other hand.

  After they’d drained three bottles and left not much more than crumbs of cake, Luc left with his mother. The others helped clean up before they packed into Stéphane’s car for the trip down the mountain and she followed in her Mini, headed for her little room in Nice. It was hard to leave Les Coquelicots and Poppy promised herself to move in for good the minute her job in Nice ended.

  * * * * *

  Monday seemed a bit of an anticlimax, but she treated herself to a wander around the antiques market during her lunch hour. She restrained herself from buying a complete—well almost—china service decorated with poppies and even turned her back on a kitchen cabinet with china drawers for flour, sugar, coffee and spices. She could just see the patronne’s face if she walked in with those to be stored in the back room until closing. But she did indulge in three mismatched silver teaspoons and a butter knife. They’d add a little something to her morning coffee and fit easily into her handbag.

  Tuesday started off well enough and it looked as if she’d have an easy last week, although she was half looking over her shoulder in case Didier really didn’t believe things were finished between them.

  But it wasn’t Didier—thank goodness—who walked into the shop around noon. It was Luc. “I want you to meet me for lunch at two o’clock,” he announced, without any preamble. “I will be at Maison d’Or. They will be expecting you.”

  Nothing like being asked if it were convenient but he had a least picked the time she was off for lunch.

  He was gone before she could mention that, just maybe, she had a previous commitment. On the other hand the odd look she got from Madame Blanc, the patronne, made Poppy rather glad she’d already given her notice.

  “Another friend?” she asked, with a decided undertone in her voice.

  “My new employer,” Poppy replied, hoping to dispel the implication that she had legions of men angling to take her out to lunch.

  “I see,” she replied, with a knowing look.

  Oh hell, she no doubt thought Poppy was setting up with a pimp. Too damn bad. Besides, a large coach party of German tourist had just disgorged near the market and at least twenty of them packed the shop. Good for business but not so brilliant for getting off on time. When they’d eventually all wandered off, clutching their Provençale pottery, bags of Herbs de Provence and tablemats, it was fifteen after two and Poppy dare
d Madame Blanc to say anything about her nipping out the minute she could.

  Poppy hoped Luc wasn’t too much of a stickler for punctuality. Although why was she worrying about him? She hadn’t heard a word from Stéphane since Sunday afternoon, and that irked her. Okay, Luc was her boss, and a generously paying boss, but Stéphane… What was he? Her lover? Better still, her kinky lover? Lunch with him would have been nice but instead she was lunching with Luc.

  She was expected, just mentioning Luc’s name got immediate recognition. She was ushered upstairs to a deserted room, where Luc sat by the only laid table. He stood as she approached and the waiter deferentially held her chair.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, as the waiter spread a snowy, linen napkin on her lap. “We had a bus load of tourists arrive and I couldn’t walk out and leave the others to cope.”

  “Never mind, you’re here now and I have just a few questions.”

  Fair enough, she bet he had dozens after Sunday. “What do you want to know?”

  He indicated to her to wait and, as she looked around, a glass appeared in front of her.

  “I hope you like Kir,” he said. “And I’ve already ordered lunch.”

  A bit high-handed but he was paying. “Thanks.”

  Once they were alone, Luc asked. “How did you know my brother?”

  “I didn’t even realize he was your brother until Sunday. I met him only briefly, heard his name as Jean and there are lot of those around.” He nodded but said nothing, waiting for her to go on. It didn’t take long to tell about meeting Didier, she gave him the full version, and her coming across him, Jean and Paul that afternoon. “It was very causal, they were introduced, we exchanged a few pleasantries and then, once I got Stéphane’s text, I want right back to his office.”

  “Where was this café?”

  “Five, ten minutes from Stéphane’s, I was headed for the promenade to sit. It was called La Chicorrée.”

  He nodded. “I know it. Now, this third man, do you remember his last name?”

  She shook her head. “No. In fact, don’t think they mentioned last names. Because if I’d heard Prioux I know it would have rung a bell.” Oh dear, another idiom that doesn’t translate. “I’d have noticed it was the same as yours.”

  “I understand. Can you describe him?”

  After a five-minute meeting? “Let me think. He was taller than both your brother and Didier. I noticed that when they all stood up. Brown hair…” Like hundreds and thousands of Frenchmen. “I don’t remember his eyes but he had a little moustache, the Hitler, Charlie Chaplin sort.”

  “Ah! Paul Bornand.” Luc smiled rather grimly. “I should have expected. That’s Jean’s lawyer. The three of them must have been hatching something. Thank you.”

  “There’s one more thing.”

  “Indeed?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “What is that?”

  As briefly as she could, she mentioned Didier’s insistence that she spend Sunday with him.

  It was the first time she’d ever heard Luc Prioux laugh. He let out a great peal and shook his head. “That is almost unbelievable,” he said, once he got control of himself.

  “Absolutely, but I couldn’t have made it up, even if I’d wanted to. I thought he was just being possessive…” Seemed tactless to say “being male”. “But after the fiasco, I decided he’d wanted to use me as a disinterested and independent witness.”

  “But instead discovered you worked for me. No wonder he was so put out.” She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Jean had struck her as being a lot more than put out. “I must go,” Luc said, standing and reaching for his jacket. “Stéphane will be here in a minute.”

  “Hang on, what was this about?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to ascertain for myself that you were not working for Jean. Stéphane insisted you were not but I wondered if sex had clouded his judgment.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I don’t think you have it in you to look me in the eye and lie. Besides, as you said, the entire situation was so outlandish, I agree, you couldn’t make it up.” He shrugged on his jacket. ‘‘By the way, my mother was impressed by you.” And with that he walked out.

  Stéphane arrived moments later.

  Poppy couldn’t help it. She jumped up and went to meet him. The hovering waiter might look askance at her hugging Stéphane and kissing him square on the mouth but she didn’t give a fig. Neither, it seemed, did he. He wrapped his arms around her and returned her kiss.

  “All’s well?” he asked. “Luc wasn’t too difficult?”

  “No. Just curious about Didier and how I knew Jean. Odd really, does seem like a wild stretch of a coincidence but that’s how it was.”

  “How did you meet them?”

  “Let’s sit back down and I’ll tell you.”

  That took care of the rest of her Kir and as she finished, he asked, “You don’t think it was too much of a coincidence? That it could all have been manipulated to seem by chance?”

  “How? That was the first time I met Helen. I didn’t even know who she was or where she worked and certainly had never heard of Luc or Les Santons or any of you. So, unless you think Helen was in cahoots, which I seriously doubt…”

  “No, she would not do that. She is enamored with Luc. She’d do nothing to hurt him or his interests.” At that point, the waiter returned with a dozen oysters. Stéphane smiled appreciatively. “Luc said he’d ordered us a meal to remember. Do you like oysters?”

  “Love them but don’t usually eat them at a workday lunch.”

  “This is not a workday lunch.” He picked up one oyster, added a squeeze of lemon and held out the shell to her, smiling. “This is a feast to cement our relationship.”

  What could she do but smile back and take it. She tilted the shell into her mouth and the luscious, salty, seaside taste burst on her tongue. They were incredible and she shut her eyes to block out everything except the taste. As she opened them, he was grinning. “You liked it?”

  “It was almost as good as sex.”

  “No,” he replied, “nothing is as good as sex.”

  “I said almost but I agree. Nothing is a good as sex with you.” That pleased him and she hoped to heaven the waiter wasn’t within earshot.

  “What about that other one? That friend of Jean’s, did you have sex with him?”

  Trust him to ask. She took another oyster to fortify herself. “Yes,” she said and reached for the lemon and the pepper. She liked a little bit of pepper on her oysters. “I did. Before I met you, I might add. Just once.” She tipped the oyster in her mouth and chewed slowly. “He was a thoughtful and considerate lover,” she added, after she’d swallowed it, “but he didn’t give me what you can. I’d decided it was going to be a one-night stand and I initially thought he saw it as the same.” After that, she deserved another oyster. They had a dozen after all.

  Stéphane nodded, as if accepting her explanation. Well, darn it, he’d better. She was too old and too bad-tempered to play possessive and jealous games.

  “Will you see him again?”

  “Given he lives here in Nice, it’s not impossible. But after the way he tried to manipulate me over the farm, if he dares to speak to me, he’ll walk funnily afterward.”

  That made him laugh. “He really angered you.”

  “Of course he did, but really…” She reached for another oyster. “Don’t we have better things to talk about?”

  He took another too. “Indeed we do. If only you had all afternoon, there is a rather cozy attic room just up those stairs behind you.”

  If only… “Not this afternoon, I’m afraid.” Although she’d be very disposed to the idea another day. “I’m a working woman and don’t you have work to do?”

  “Always but…” He paused as the waiter removed the empty dish. “For now, it is just us, this room and whatever Luc ordered next.”

  “How long have you worked for him?” She’d been dying to ask more about their mutual empl
oyer.

  “Ever since I qualified. I started as assistant to Maître Labreuche, Luc’s father’s man of law, and when he retired I took over. The Priouxs have many business interests and they prefer to have one person handle everything. I have overseas colleagues when needed but I handle the business in France. How did I get the job, you perhaps ask?” That had been her next question. “I grew up with Luc and Jean. My mother had been their father’s secretary and she died when I was born. Monsieur and Madame Prioux brought me up with their own children. I went to school with them and they educated me. I didn’t have much choice about studying law, but I have enjoyed it.”

  “That was very kind of them.”

  He shrugged. ‘‘Perhaps, but since my mother had been his mistress, I think they saw it as a responsibility.”

  That left her speechless for a good minute. She was definitely not in England any more. “You’re sure about that?”

  “So I was told. I’ve never had my DNA tested but why should I?”

  “So you’re part of the family business.”

  “As are you now.” He reached over and took her hand, just as the waiter returned with the most tender and tastiest steaks Poppy had ever eaten. The rich sauce was verging on decadent and the garnish of miniature vegetables completed the dish.

  Chewing slowly and appreciatively, Poppy thought about his last statement. “Part of the family business? Me?”

  “Of course you are. You’re the manager of Madame Prioux’s latest passion. Les Coquelicots lavender farm. We’re all cogs in the family machine and I think you’ll do well. You certainly impressed Madame Prioux, if Luc is to be believed.”

  “So he said.” She went on, “Do you think Jean is jealous of you? Is that why he is so difficult?”

  “Jealous? Maybe. But he and Luc were the sons, I was the dependent if you like. I never saw myself as their equal, or competing with them that way. I worked hard at school as was expected of me and later did my best at university because I saw it as a way I could repay their generosity. As for Jean, oh Poppy, he is a troubled and unhappy person. I don’t understand his motives and I don’t think Luc ordered this expensive meal for us to sit here and talk about his errant brother.”