by Susan Lewis
‘It’s something I’ve been wondering for a while,’ she began, already regretting getting into this, but apparently she was going to anyway, ‘why didn’t you take my job when Claudia offered it to you? You’re obviously more than qualified, you’ve got the support of everyone in the Paris office, so it’s not making any sense to me that you should have turned it down.’
To her amazement he laughed. ‘Patreesha, I believe you think I am hiding a wicked secret,’ he teased.
Because she did, she reddened slightly and turned away, saying, ‘Forget it. You obviously have your reasons, and as I’m extremely happy to be in Paris – most of the time – provided you don’t try to undermine me …’
‘Do you know me to do this?’ he interrupted, sounding concerned.
She gave him a sidelong look. ‘Actually, no, but we both know you could, if you wanted to …’
‘I can assure you, Patreesha, that I do not want to. I am most content with the position I have, and as the senior vice president de Paris I will do everything in my power to make things work for you and for the company. Already, everyone they like and respect you …’
‘Then they have a funny way of showing it,’ she said tartly, ‘but let’s not get into it. I’d much rather discuss these figures.’
‘As you wish,’ he conceded graciously, and opened up his own laptop so they could begin.
By the time the plane was preparing to touch down in Nice they’d managed to pass just over an hour in extremely useful debate on how to address the problem of sluggish retail sales. A full and workable strategy would eventually be drawn up by the executive team as a whole, but it was important, if she was to head the meeting, that she went into it not only prepared, but with some proposals for a solution.
‘This is a very beautiful approach to an airport,’ Frank informed her, looking out of the window as he closed his computer. ‘We are flying very low all along the Côte d’Azur. You see.’ Pulling back against his headrest, he pointed her to the landscape and as she leaned forward, careful to keep a distance in case he pounced, she soon found herself hypnotised by the dream-like view of sparkling blue sea and spectacular mountains that rose up behind some of the world’s most exclusive bays.
‘We have down there now the famous bay of Cannes,’ he explained, as the plane’s shadow glided over the glittering water like a dolphin. ‘In the middle of summer the sea here is very much full of yachts belonging to the super-rich people of the world. Ah, you will see, at the end of the Croisette – this is the road that goes in a curve and is lined with palm trees, yes?’
Patsy nodded.
‘This building at the end is the Palais des Festivals,’ he told her, ‘which is where they have the famous film festival in May each year, and where we also go for our annual show in October. You have never been to this show?’
Patsy shook her head. ‘I wasn’t senior enough until my last year in Europe, and then I had to cancel my trip at the last minute thanks to an attack of appendicitis.’
‘Oh, that is too bad,’ he sympathised. ‘A very painful thing, and had it not happened we might have met sooner, because I have been each year for the past seven. Ah, here we are passing over the Cap d’Antibes, with the very chic and very expensive Hotel du Cap at the end. It is beautiful setting, no, surrounded by blue sea. I have been there few times for dinner at the restaurant Eden Roc. I can recommend for the view, but there are better restaurants on the Côte d’Azur.’
Patsy’s eyebrows rose. ‘You seem to know this area quite well,’ she commented.
‘This is because I used to spend my summers here at a place called Roquebrune, which is further along the coast, closer to the border with Italy. I do not come so often any more, which is sad, but things change, life moves on. Very soon now we will land in Nice, which is where I am at university for one year, before I go to study in the States.’
Finding herself more interested in this little Fronk-biog than she wanted to admit, Patsy said, ‘I didn’t realise you’d studied in America.’
‘Si. At Berkeley in California, but this is a long time ago.’ He drew back to give her a clear view of the landing as the plane seemed to skim over the surface of the sea and only just manage to reach dry land before its wheels touched down.
‘Bienvenue au Côte d’Azur,’ Frank said warmly. ‘I hope you will have a very pleasant stay, but please remain in your seat until the plane has come to a standstill in case anything fall out of overhead locker.’
Laughing at his impersonation of a flight attendant, Patsy was just feeling as though she might start warming to him when he said, ‘This is a very beautiful place for all the beautiful people so you, Patreesha, are going to fit very well in here.’
Slicing him one of her more dangerous looks, she leaned forward to pick up her handbag, making ready to turn on her mobile phone.
In the event they were through the terminal and in the back of a taxi heading towards Nice Centre and the Promenade des Anglais before she finally got round to checking both her emails and text messages. Next to her Frank was listening to his voicemails, when his phone started to ring. After checking who it was he clicked on. ‘Si, chérie. J’écoute.’
Though Patsy didn’t want to listen to a personal call from a woman – presuming chérie was chérie and not chéri – it was hard not to when he was a mere two feet away.
‘Yes, the flight has just arrived,’ he was saying in French. ‘The weather is very good here, yes. A little cold inland, they say on the forecast, but sunny and warm on the coast … Oh la la, chéri(e), I told you yesterday that I will not be back until … I am sorry, you will have to … I am listening, but you are not. OK, I’m going to end this call now. Goodbye,’ and true to his word he cut the connection.
Not wanting to be accused of eavesdropping Patsy gave the appearance of being engrossed in her messages, while dying to ask what all that had been about. She couldn’t think how to, though, without giving the impression she was interested in his private life, which she most definitely was not. At least not usually, but in this instance she had to admit she wouldn’t mind knowing if chérie did have an e at the end, and if so, was chérie aware that he was on the French Riviera with another woman, who was his boss, of course, therefore definitely not a chérie, but another woman all the same.
‘I know you are wondering,’ he said after a while, ‘so I will tell you that was my wife, but not to worry, she is divorcing me.’
As Patsy’s cheeks flushed, her insides performed a peculiar lurch of shock. ‘Then I can only compliment her good sense,’ she snapped pettily, and to her annoyance he laughed.
A moment later her own phone bleeped with an incoming text.
So much to tell. Call when you can. Hope Riviera is gorgeous. Love Sx PS How are you getting on with Frank?
Trying to ignore fact he’s alive, never mind here, Pats texted back. Riviera stunning.
And it was, even more so than she’d expected with its dazzling vista of sun-drenched sea, so blue and inviting it was making her toes tingle with the urge to dip them. In the distance the Alps slumbered and swelled like watchful beings, while the pebbled beaches stretched out lazily across the bays, like exotic cats relaxing in the sun. It was no wonder the rich and famous had chosen it as one of their playgrounds, everything about it seemed to exude privilege and glamour, from the massive ocean-going yachts in the marinas, to the grand, glossy hotels, to the palm-lined boulevards where the world was strolling, jogging, cycling, roller skating and even kick-boxing its way through the day.
For the rest of the journey, which lasted about forty minutes, she continued to ignore Frank as she absorbed herself in the sensuous surroundings. She could hear him sending texts and emails, tutting and chuckling and occasionally sighing, fragments of noise washing up like flotsam on her private shores. She wanted to ask him to shut up, but judged it wiser not to engage with him again until forced – which happened when they entered the Principality and began winding through a labyrinth o
f towering apartment blocks and stunning belle époque villas. At first she could hardly believe how many exclusive car showrooms and international banks were co-existing in such close proximity. The entire place reeked of money in a way she’d never come across before. She found herself wondering about the indigenous people and how their lives blended with the rarefied existence of the tax exiles, indeed if they blended at all. There was probably some invisible barrier that no one with less than thirty, forty, fifty million was allowed to pass, except to clean or cook or garden or chauffeur. She tried to imagine what she’d do if she had a hundred mil in the bank, and had just got round to purchasing her second yacht complete with onboard cinema, jeep, jet skis and helipad when they rounded a sharp bend in the road and the view that unfolded before her virtually took her breath away.
‘Wow,’ she murmured, gazing down across the sloping sculpture gardens and frothing fountains to where the world-famous casino sat in all its baroque splendour, at the far end of the place. The green copper cupolas and rococo turrets glinted like jewels on a gloriously bedecked grande dame, while the shining balustrades and brazen cherubs could be the carriages and retinue in close attendance. She could only imagine the elegant salons and legendary gaming rooms behind the famous facade, and the exclusive clientele that frequented them, but it wasn’t too difficult for she’d seen it all many times in films.
‘This casino, he is designed by the same person who design the Opera House in Paris,’ Frank informed her, sounding as proud as if the architect were an ancestor of his. ‘His name was Charles Garnier. He was my great-great-great-uncle on the side of my mother.’
Patsy turned to him sharply, certain he was mocking her, but he appeared to be genuine. However, there was never any telling with Frank, especially when he employed his eyebrows to embellish his story the way he was now.
Turning back as they skirted the edge of the gardens, she watched the casino coming into full view, along with another iconic landmark of Monte Carlo, the Hotel de Paris. Uniformed valets and doormen were stationed outside to escort their visitors through every step from the car into the lobby, and she couldn’t help wondering why Frank hadn’t booked them in there.
‘Oh, this is because I have memories of times I spend there that I do not enjoy,’ he answered when she asked. ‘And also because this hotel is un peu fatigué now. A little dismal on the inside, very formal and how you say, a little sombre?’
Patsy nodded.
‘Whereas the Hotel Hermitage,’ he went on, ‘well, you will see, because we are now turning the corner, et … voilà.’
As he fanned out his hands Pats looked up ahead and felt herself starting to smile at the sheer romance of the exquisite white palace in front of them, glinting and sparkling in the midday sun, with sentries of starburst palms and flowering trees. Everything was gleaming like a wet painting in a frame of clear blue Mediterranean sky. ‘This is stunning,’ she murmured, as the taxi drove across the road and around the gardens to the front doors.
A host of staff was waiting to greet them, one to open the car door, another to stand aside as they entered the hotel, and another to bring in the bags. While Frank went to check them in Pats stood in the middle of the lobby, gazing up at the exquisitely frescoed ceiling and beautiful Tissot-style paintings on the walls. For all she knew they could be as genuine as the pale-coloured marble of the floors and pillars, or the elaborate sprays of fresh flowers that adorned every niche and occasional table.
‘OK,’ Frank said, rubbing his hands in a businesslike manner as he joined her. ‘Our first massage is at two, so can I suggest that we freshen up after the flight, and meet back here in half an hour to go over to the spa?’
‘But it’s only midday,’ she protested. ‘Why would we want to go so early?’
‘To have lunch, of course. There is a very good restaurant on their terrace that will serve us a light meal before we begin the process of destressing and relaxing.’
She nodded slowly. ‘OK,’ she agreed. Eating lunch with him might be marginally more agreeable than lunching alone, so why not?
‘Half an hour it is,’ he said, and gesturing for her to go ahead into the lift he surprised her by pressing a button, then stepping out again.
‘Where are you going?’ she demanded.
‘To check that our samples are here,’ he replied.
‘I don’t know my room number,’ she shouted, as the doors began closing.
‘Comment?’ he shouted back.
Quickly she fumbled for the button to reopen the doors, but it was too late, they were closed and the lift was starting to rise.
Taking out her mobile she pressed in his number. ‘Where am I going?’ she demanded when he answered.
‘Ah, si. Second floor, room seven hundred and thirty.’
‘And where are you?’
‘Me? I will be next door in seven hundred and thirty-two, but you will be very pleased to hear that there is a private door to connect …’
Cutting him off, she stepped out of the lift on the wrong floor and startled an old couple as she made an about turn with a noise that could have been a growl or a laugh, even she wasn’t entirely sure which.
‘I swear to you,’ she was saying to Susannah ten minutes later while pulling open a set of French doors in her luxury room to take a look outside, ‘I’m either going to belt that man, or sack him before this weekend’s out. He’s completely … Oh my God, you should see this,’ she murmured, as she stepped on to an ornate balcony that overlooked the marina, and a glittering expanse of sea that was so vivid and close she could almost reach out and touch it. ‘You have to come here when you’re one of the rich and famous,’ she told Susannah, meaning it. ‘It has to be seen to be believed.’
‘I have no problem with that,’ Susannah responded. ‘Are you meeting the Comtesse de Whatsit while you’re there?’
‘Du Petits-Louvens,’ Patsy supplied, her heart still melting in the beauty of the view. ‘No, she’s in New York. This is a complimentary weekend for me and Fronk – though why the Comtesse should be so generous when she’s the customer and we’re the supplier, I’ve no idea. Or when the spa here isn’t on the list of those she needs new products for.’
‘And you’re sure she actually exists?’ Susannah prompted. ‘It’s not some wildly romantic ruse on Fronk’s part to win you over?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve checked her out, and there’s no question she’s who he says she is. I’ve even had an email from her giving me an idea of the kind of package she’s hoping for, so it’s all above board.’
‘Oh, can you hang on a second, someone’s at the door with a parcel I need to sign for.’
As she waited, Patsy’s eyes drank in the scenery, up over the mountain that seemed to be tumbling into the town, then back down to the sea where she followed the progress of a flashy white yacht as it slid back towards its mooring. She wondered about the people on board, where they came from and how they’d made their money. How fantastic it would be if she could just trot down there and ask, better still if she could have a look round all those decks and staterooms. Her curious gaze moved on across the bay to where the Grimaldi palace seemed to be melding into an outcrop of rock, home to Prince Albert of Monaco and his stupendously elite little family. It must be quite something waking up to their view every morning, she reflected, looking back to the marina. She imagined them standing at one of the palace windows, or on a balcony as she was now, yawning and stretching as they surveyed it all. It was a bit like being in opposite boxes at the theatre, she decided, though there wouldn’t be many stages in the world that could boast the kind of props this one had, when most of them were multimillion-dollar yachts and top-of-the-range Ferraris.
‘Back with you,’ Susannah said. ‘So where were we? Ah yes, the comtesse and Fronk. Any idea how he made contact with her in the first place?’
‘No, but it’s an interesting question, because from what I can make out he seems to have all sorts of amazing connections. I e
ven heard him telling someone the other night that he was going to the Elysée Palace for drinks, but knowing him he was saying it to try and get some kind of rise out of me, which needless to say didn’t work.’
‘Why? You should ask, maybe he’d invite you along. It would be quite something to have drinks with the Président de la République, wouldn’t it?’
‘Let’s put it this way, it would be an improvement on spending a weekend in Monte Carlo with a nutter in Spandex shorts and a sequinned vest.’
‘You’re not serious,’ Susannah choked.
‘I wouldn’t put it past him, because there’s no knowing what he’ll turn up in next. Actually, to tell you the truth, I don’t understand why he came here. I mean, it’s not very masculine, is it, being pummelled and pampered in all kinds of perfumed oils and seawater scrubs?’
‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ Susannah replied.
With a laugh Patsy tore herself from the view and turned back into the room, where the contents of her overnight bag were spilling over the summery blue bedspread like little islands of frivolity in a tropical sea. ‘Oh, by the way, he’s married,’ she said, ‘but apparently his supremely sensible wife is divorcing him, presumably on the grounds of him being mad.’
Susannah gave another cry of laughter. ‘Does he have any children?’ she asked.
‘No idea. Honestly, I dare not ask about his private life or he’ll take it as some kind of green light, and the last thing I need is him thinking I’m interested in him.’
‘But you are.’
‘I am not.’
‘Then why do we spend so much time talking about him?’
Patsy blinked. ‘Let’s change the subject immediately,’ she said forcefully. ‘I’m almost done telling you how this place is gorgeous beyond reason. The sun is streaming into my room like it has nowhere else to go, and if I ignore the sound of traffic below I could probably hear nothing more than seagulls and waves. If that isn’t bliss, I don’t know what is. Now, tell me what’s happening your end?’