Roses Collection: Boxed Set

by Freda, Paula

  Of course, Julie accepted his proposal.

  Herb was there for her again. He'd never stopped being there for her. Only now, she had no excuse to avoid him. And no excuse for her parents not to show how very pleased they'd be if she reciprocated his feelings. Her father and mother must be hoping wholeheartedly that placing them together to oversee the new branch might result in their friendship evolving. Fat chance of that happening— Carol thought, glancing at Herb. He was immersed in the file he held open, seriously studying its contents. No denying that he was the best man for the legal end of the new branch. She had the intellect, the looks and the savoir-faire to handle the public relations end. Together, she and Herb were a formidable team. No doubt, also, her parents were glad that Herb was there once again to chaperone their eldest daughter.

  Her mother was right about her getting away from thoughts of Evan and her broken heart. She'd never truly understood why Herb had never turned against her. Why he was always willing to be near her. He might tease her, taunt her with his nickname for her, Cat, but she supposed it was the least she might allow him, in retrospect of her behavior toward him. All right, she relented. She'd appease her parents' wish and work with him. She owed them and Herb that much.

  * * *

  The signal flashed the digital alert that they were landing and the passengers must fasten their seat belts. The flight attendants checked each passenger to make sure they did so. As the plane descended past the clouds, the snowy Alps came into sight of the windows. Carol felt a renewal of her initial tourist excitement. They had arrived in Switzerland and new adventure awaited her, a new creative job where she could use her best talents, make her parents proud, and redeem her self-esteem. Who knew, perhaps someday the new branch would enable an inventor to patent some wonderful invention that might help to make the world a better place, and her creative efforts be a part of that event. The Good Lord would approve. Yes, she thought wistfully, as the plane's wheels hit the tarmac and began to roll. The Good Lord might not turn a deaf ear to less selfish efforts, as He had to her prayers to capture Evan's heart.

  As soon as the plane came to a full stop, the Captain's voice over the intercom began the usual greeting upon arrival. He added a comment about the weather and the temperature, for those unfamiliar with the country's climate, detailing today's weather report. Herb cringed at the low temperatures forecast.

  Carol asked with a taint of sarcasm, "You did bring warm clothing, didn't you?"

  "Not enough, it seems. I guess our first stop after we settle into our rooms will be the shopping mall."

  "We? Why would you need me?"

  "Well, for one thing, you're the fashion expert in your family. And if we're to work together creating this branch, meeting top officials and prospective clients, a coordinated first impression is a definite advantage."

  "I suppose that makes sense," she said, giving him some leeway. "So, what hotel are you staying at?" Mark had reserved a suite for her at an exclusive hotel.

  "Same as yours." Herb smiled benignly. "Your father procured adjoining rooms ... for ease of conducting our business discussions and research."

  The way her eyes widened and the flabbergasted expression on her face made Herb flinch. He quickly reassured her, "Carol, your Dad was only thinking of the business angle." He added, "And remember I'm only in this for the job." Lord, he pleaded, it's not a lie. I am in it for the job. Of course, if you could see your way into helping me win back her— friendship?

  Herb cast her a sheepish glance. "Okay?"

  Carol took a deep breath, gathered her wits, and said through clenched teeth. "OKAY!"

  CHAPTER FOUR

  They barely spoke on their drive to the hotel. Upon arrival, she and Herb registered, received their digital keycards, and were of the same mind to retire and sleep off their jet lag. Once inside their respective rooms, she made sure the latch on the connecting door was secured. Not her usual cognitive process, she found herself going over her motives. It wasn't that she didn't trust Herb. He had always been the perfect gentleman. Latching the door was more of a rebellious reflex that she hoped he noted.

  She showered, slipped into her nightgown, climbed into bed and snuggled under the thick comforter, yawning sleepily, ready for a good night's rest. Her thoughts, as she drifted off, revolved about her home far across the ocean, and the frigid weather outside, but the room was well heated, and Herbert was in the next room to protect her if the need arose.

  Refreshed, in the morning, she took better stock of her surroundings. The hotel her father chose was not the most expensive or luxurious, but it was first class, clean and comfortable, with balconies that overlooked Geneva Lake where it emptied into the Rhone River. Also visible from her balcony and throughout the city, was Geneva's famous landmark, the Jet d’Eau, the water-jet, a mechanical fountain, rising 459 feet into the air. She had first seen it from the plane as they approached the airport. Her room was on the twelfth floor, and viewing the water-jet from her balcony, she marveled at the human ingenuity that had created the fountain. It had rained the night before. With the coming of sunshine, a rainbow curved through the cascading waters as they fell back into the lake. Carol breathed in the crisp cool air.

  The loud knocking at the connecting door intruded on her view. Well, it wasn't actually loud, indicative of a burly arm, she rethought. Firm, expecting a reply, would be a better description,. Herb wasn't burdened by overweight. He was big-boned, but he exercised regularly, ate with gusto, but minded his portions. Slim by no means, but a muscular torso. Most women found him attractive.

  She took her time walking across the living area. The knocking repeated.

  She reached the connecting door, and answered, "Yes."

  "Carol?"

  "Yes," she repeated.

  The doors and walls between contemporary connecting hotel rooms were often thin. His exasperated sigh came through clearly.

  "Let's use the shortcut your father provided us to our advantage. I'd like to speak to you."

  "What about?" she asked, making no move to unlatch the door.

  "Carol," his voice came through softly, laced with restraint. "We need to go over our itinerary. Also, your dad called me last night. Before signing the lease, he wants our okay on the rental space he plans will house the new branch."

  Carol pulled a face. Her father should have called her directly. But it wasn't hard to understand why he'd called Herb instead. Mark would expect her to be fuming that he hadn't told her about Herb accompanying her, chaperoning her and the legal side of the new endeavor.

  "Carol?"

  Again the restrained tone. Out of nowhere, a chuckle rose to her lips. Poor Herbert, she thought. Stuck with her for the next six months. She shook her head. She had better grant him access before the poor man lost all patience. She unlatched the lock and opened the door.

  Herb cleared his throat. "Good morning," he greeted and smiled at her.

  Another man might have railed at her for keeping him waiting. Not Herb, Carol thought, watching him shelve his irritation.

  "May I come in?" he asked,

  She nodded, and noted he held a file. They settled on the couch, a discreet distance between them.

  "Have you had breakfast?" he asked.

  "Yes, the continental breakfast, served in my room." A satisfying breakfast, she mused. Hot chocolate, a croissant, sweet jam, a small bowl of assorted cheese cubes, orange juice and complimentary Swiss chocolates.

  "Same here," Herb replied. "How did you like their coffee?"

  "I chose hot chocolate."

  "Like mother, like daughter," he remarked.

  Carol smiled. It was true. Her father often mentioned Cybelle's preference for hot chocolates and chocolate milkshakes. Like mother, like daughter, in more ways than one, Carol thought, except for winning the heart of the man she wanted most.

  "Let's go over the itinerary," Herb said, handing her a sheet from the file. "Shopping for a few business outfits so we can meet the prospective
landlord and check out the new location, dressed in our finery — First Impressions."

  "Oh, yes," she said, pushing aside thoughts of the man she'd lost. "Yes, I could use a shopping spree."

  "Today, we'll have to make it a short shopping spree, as we're expected by the landlord around mid-afternoon. And later we can take care of leasing a car. Your dad suggested one car between the two of us. He's financially secure, but not a millionaire. He's all for our comfort, but we need to exercise reasonable frugality, don't you agree?"

  "Yes, of course." Carol agreed. "I packed several of my best interchangeable outfits. I won't need to spend too much at the stores."

  Herb nodded in approval. "Your parents appreciate that trait about you. You seek the best quality, but are ever conscious of what they can and can't afford."

  He knew so much about her, Carol contemplated. Too much, she thought, discomposed. A man shouldn't know that much about a woman. She glanced away.

  "Carol, any comments on the itinerary?" Herb asked.

  She scanned the sheet quickly. Dinner at eight, no doubt with Herb. Maybe the first few evenings. When they'd both settled in, she'd change that item to dinner alone in her quarters,.

  "Nothing seems amiss?"Herb asked.

  Carol shook her head.

  "Then we better get started."

  They rode the trolleybus to the Rue du Rhone, ate lunch at a cafe, and shopped in the fashion boutiques, agreeing on basic business tailored outfits and matching color schemes to present a unified first impression.

  They downgraded the rental of a car to as needed. The city hummed with trams and trolleybuses, and taxis.

  They returned to the hotel to freshen up before heading to the prestigious neo-classical-style building that Mark had chosen to house the overseas branch of his firm.

  The wide corner building, mid-height, its facade glass-faced, conveniently extended right and left into the city's centre midst restaurants and shops that included fashion, jewelry and watch retailers, along with Switzerland's renowned cheese, beer, wine and chocolate shops. The centre, mainly services-oriented, was famous for its financial institutions.

  In addition to the United Nations office and the League of Nations, and the headquarters of the Red Cross, Geneva's further advantages were an inventor's smorgasbord of science facilities that included the Hadron Collider, the world's largest, most powerful particle collider, the most complex experimental facility ever built. Seventeen miles in circumference, as deep as 574 feet, beneath the France–Switzerland border, its purpose was to answer questions that remained unanswered in physics, quantum mechanics and general relativity.

  Mark had chosen the best locale, in his opinion, for European inventors seeking patent legal advice and support for their inventions.

  Each carrying an attaché case, monogrammed with their respective initials, Carol and Herb entered their new prospective office located on the tenth floor, overlooking Geneva Lake and the Jet d'Eau. A temp receptionist sat at the front desk. A few makeshift cubicles had been set up on one side. The rest of the office was bare, and extended behind the receptionist in the shape of a flat triangle lying on its side. Lined by tall windows, the office overlooked the busy shopping centre thronged by dwellers and tourists alike. In the background, behind the Lake and the water-jet spouting upward toward the sky, reigned the snow-capped Alps.

  The receptionist, a young, efficient-looking dark-haired woman, smiled at the duo entering. As soon as they reached her desk, she asked the proverbial question, "May I help you?"

  Carol about to answer, Herb spoke, "We represent Mr. Mark Carlson and are here to see Mr. Donovan in regard to renting this office. We have an open appointment for this afternoon."

  The receptionist greeted, "Oh yes, Mr. Donovan mentioned your coming." She glanced at Carol, noted the way she looked sideways at the gentleman, non-too-pleased. Quickly she inquired, "Miss Carol Carlson? Mr. Herbert DeLuca?"

  Carol faced her. "Yes."

  Definite feminist, the receptionist thought. "Please have a seat. I'll buzz Mr. Donovan immediately. His office is on the third floor. He mentioned your appointment as top priority."

  Within a few minutes of the contact, Mr. Donovan entered the office. His gaze fell on the couple seated on the brown leather couch.

  Tall, dark, lean, pepper-grey-haired. His face lit with a warm smile. "Herb!" he greeted, hurrying toward them.

  "Jack!" Herb stood up and met him halfway.

  Carol rose slowly and joined them. So they knew each other.

  Jack Donovan clasped Herb's hand in a hearty handshake. "So good to see you again."

  "Likewise," Herb hailed enthusiastically. "It's been a while." With his free hand, he clasped the man's shoulder. "Have you found a backer?"

  "Not yet," his friend replied, but my patent is out there for anyone interested, thanks to your help and Mark's. And now it's my turn to help you both. And Miss Carlson." He turned to Carol and extended his hand.

  Carol accepted the handshake. "Since we seem to be on first name basis, you may call me Carol." She glanced at Herb, restraining her annoyance. "My father, nor Herb, mentioned they were formerly acquainted with you."

  "I'm no one that important. Just another appreciative client, glad to likewise reciprocate their invaluable help."

  His earnest tone and genial smile soothed her ruffled ego. She returned them in kind. "I'm glad to meet you, Jack."

  Their meeting went well. Leases signed via proxy for Mark and his firm, Jack wished them well, expressing his pleasure to number Mark's overseas branch among his tenants. Warm handshakes again exchanged, he assured them of any needed assistance it was in his power to give. On his way out, Jack instructed the temp to give Herb and Carol, a copy each of his recommendation list for local painters, office furniture suppliers, stationery printing offices, etc., and business associates that might be of help in establishing and launching the new branch.

  When Donovan left, Carol and Herb walked through the new office, jotting down fashion, decor and furniture requirements, discussing and diagramming where walls should go up to create their two separate managerial offices, and others to accommodate additional patent lawyers as business increased; and cubicles for secretaries and typists.

  Herb perused the list of business associates recommended to assist him in advertising the new branch. "A good start," he remarked, as he and Carol took the elevator to the main floor and exited the building.

  "Yes, it was," Carol agreed, excited, her mind filled with decorating ideas, and public relation tactics and promotionals that could be held at the office itself, once it was completed and ready for use.

  Nearly evening, Herb suggested dinner at one of the excellent restaurants along the cobblestoned promenade.

  "Okay," Carol said, "but let's choose an international restaurant overlooking the Lake."

  "Of course, my lady," Herb acquiesced graciously.

  Carol scanned his expression. Was he being sarcastic? Shocked, she read nothing of the sort on his features. For the first time, in a very long time, an earnestly timid smile formed on her lips.

  They chose a restaurant with an excellent international cuisine and a terrace overlooking the Lake. Taking full advantage of Herb's tolerant attention, Carol found herself discussing without reserve several of her ideas for the office's decor, and advertising and marketing of the new branch. Her shock at Herb's unabashed interest in her ideas was so great, that when he finally expressed his own ideas on the legal side of the job, she found herself listening with interest, her ego apparently dozing. She had never denied to herself that Herb was an intelligent, learned, well-adjusted man, who rarely let excessive pride dictate his actions or reactions. He wasn't perfect. He had his moments. She hated when he teased her about her feelings for Evan. He didn't understand, or wouldn't, how much she'd admired and wanted Evan, or her pain of loss when he'd uncaringly refused to return her love, and chosen the plain, shy Miss Twisty Piggy Tails, in contrast to her charms and beauty. Not
fair, she chafed. Not fair at all.

  "Carol," Herb touched her hand, unconsciously balled into a fist. "Carol, where did you go?" he asked.

  "Oh, sorry, I-I—" She didn't want to spoil the evening, or Herb's present attentive behavior toward her. Mentioning Evan and Julie, might bring on a sarcastic remark.

  "Would you care for another cup of demitasse?" Herb asked.

  "No, thanks. I'm fine." She added as an afterthought, "I would like to visit the terrace," motioning with her chin toward a series of glass doors at the rear of the dining room. The doors opened onto a marble-tiled patio edged by an ornately carved stone balustrade. Beyond it, the rippling, moon-silver crested blue Lake Geneva flowed from its mother, the glacier mountain river Rhone. In the distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Alps held audience.

  Herb nodded, called the waiter for the bill, and paid it, with a generous gratuity. "Shall we?" he asked, helping her push back her chair and escorting her to the terrace. They strolled along quietly, enjoying the view, breathing in the crisp cool Alpine air.

  "It's truly beautiful," Herb said, gazing at the aesthetic panorama laid out before them.

  "Yes, it is. A lovers' paradise." She gazed at him, and noted his eyes. Gray eyes. Unexpectedly, their irises glinted silver in the moonlight. She couldn't deny it. Herb intrigued her. He was a handsome man, but he didn't seem aware of that fact. He was also an honest man who didn't use flattery to win his point. His approval when given was sincere. She enjoyed his approval, needed it, and that thought unsettled her composure. Suddenly feeling apprehensive, she turned away. "I'm tired. Let's go home."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Both reared in conservative, morally upright and Christian households, as children, Carol and Herb had faithfully attended Mass on Sundays with their respective families. But unlike Herb, who remained anchored in his faith, her years at college, and the world, and her obsession to capture Evan's heart, had distracted her from her Christian duties. She believed in God, attended Mass with her family on holidays, especially Christmas. But for the rest, she was always too busy with schoolwork and other activities to worry about her Faith. When Herb asked her to attend Mass with him on Sunday, she hesitated agreeing. This Sunday was not a Church Holy Day. Just another ordinary Sunday. She said as much to him.