Laurent chuckled. ‘I promise I haven’t bought anything offensive.’
‘I’m still terrified to open my fridge door.’
‘Even a year later?’ he asked, turning, his knee touching her thigh. Despite herself she jerked away.
She caught the disquiet that flashed in his eyes and said, ‘Some fears are deeply ingrained.’
He picked up another cracker, placed a thin slice of quince paste and then some creamy Brie on top. She shook her head when he offered it to her, feeling undone by the intimacy of this picnic, the act of him preparing and offering her food.
‘Dogs, pungent cheeses and hair down the plughole, I already know you fear all those...anything else you’d like to confess to?’
Reaching for a cracker and loading it with some more of the reblochon even though she really wanted to taste the Brie, she admitted, ‘After my flight here, you can add turbulence—we were thrown around for a good ten minutes.’
Laurent’s expression grew concerned. ‘Were you hurt?’
‘Luckily I had my seat belt fastened.’ She shrugged, trying not to make a big deal of it, but in truth when the plane had been tossed around the sky she’d longed with every fibre of her being for his calm reassurance. And, tragically, seeing him again brought home the sad truth that every night for the past year when she’d come home from work to her empty apartment, she’d longed for his company. It was him she’d wanted when she’d read, heard or seen something that had fired her imagination and had been bursting to share it with someone. But he hadn’t wanted her. She had to remember that. She rolled her eyes, forcing a light-hearted tone to her voice. ‘I was okay until the guy next to me panicked and grabbed my hand. His grip was incredible. I had to ask him to let go after a while. He’d already told me that he was a fireman from York on the way to see his sister in Bordeaux. You’d think after five years of service turbulence wouldn’t worry him.’
Laurent leaned back and threw her a sceptical look. ‘That sounds to me like a perfect excuse to flirt with you.’
She was still smarting from what he’d said last night at the restaurant about them not having a future. She hated his assumption that she might even think that that was a possibility, hated that he’d no understanding that there was no way she’d ever allow herself to fall in love with him again, hated that he must have been alarmed enough by her obviously poor attempt to disguise her attraction to him to even say it... Had she given him some unconscious sign? Had she stared at him too much in the boat, been too jumpy around him? So she said, ‘He did ask for my number when we landed.’
He leaned towards her, his expression a mixture of incredulous and irritated. ‘I hope you didn’t give it to him.’
Deciding not to answer his question, just to rile him, she said instead, ‘I loved my tour of the Cognac House earlier. Your father was a great host, fun and full of great stories.’
He picked up a cracker and snapped it in two. ‘He’s always had an eye for a pretty woman.’
Hannah couldn’t help but laugh at his disgruntled tone. ‘I think we both know that I was a convenient way for him to escape the château and your mother’s long list of things she wanted him to do.’
Throwing his head back, Laurent took long annoyed gulps of his water. Confused by how agitated he was at her mention of his father, she felt a desire to try to understand their relationship. She knew from their time together that he didn’t have an easy relationship with his parents, his father in particular, but he’d never gone into specifics; instead he’d shrugged and said that his parents were different from him.
When he’d learned of his father’s stroke, however, he’d been visibly upset. He had called her in her office, told her what had happened, and that he needed to leave for France immediately. Hannah had gone to his house, wanting to comfort and support him, but he’d rushed about packing, shutting down any attempts she’d made to discuss how he was feeling. He’d barely hugged her before he’d run out to the awaiting taxi. After that day, things had changed between them. He’d grown distant from her. Constantly preoccupied, he’d flown home to Cognac at every possible opportunity.
‘He said he’s probably never going to be able to drive again.’
Laurent let out a sigh. ‘It’s what frustrates him most.’
‘Losing that freedom must be hard.’
Arching his head back, he stared up at the canopy of the tree for a few moments before saying, ‘He’s certainly making life hard for those around him.’
After his father’s stroke, she’d once suggested to Laurent that she travel with him to Cognac but he’d said it wasn’t a good idea. She’d tried to hide how hurt she was, tried to remain supportive, but increasingly she’d known that he was excluding her from his life. Now, having seen his home here, the vastness of the Cognac House, his place as CEO of such a prestigious brand, she understood why he’d seen no place for her here. She cleared her throat, trying to focus on their conversation, and asked, ‘In what way?’
Propping himself back on his elbows, Laurent stretched his legs out on the grass. ‘For a start he doesn’t accept that he’s no longer CEO of the House.’
Distracted by the sight of his long legs, the narrowness of his hips and waist in his grey trousers, the gleam of light shining from the silver buckle of his belt, remembering all the times she’d clumsily, desperately, unbuckled his belts in the past, she asked weakly, ‘Can he take on another role?’
‘And give him a legitimate reason to come in and interfere? I don’t think so.’
His shirt was pulled tight across his chest, revealing the outline of taut skin and defined muscle beneath. She shifted on the grass, and against her better judgement angled herself a fraction closer to him, a thrilling sensation flourishing in her limbs. ‘All of his experience could be a valuable asset to the business.’
His gaze lingered on her silver ankle bracelet. His blue gaze was darker than usual when he looked back up. ‘I don’t remember you ever wearing an ankle bracelet before.’
There was a low and seductive timbre to his voice. Her heart turned over. ‘I spent the New Year in India. I bought it there as a memento.’
He sat up, leaning back on one arm. ‘Did you go alone?’
‘The yoga teacher I follow online, Kim Ackerman, was running a week-long course there, so I signed up for it.’ She was tempted to add that it was the online videos from Kim, a London-based online yoga superstar, that had kept her sane for the past year—chasing away the memories of him that had threatened to subsume her, replacing her regrets with a more productive mindset of being grateful for what she had in life and the opportunities out there waiting for her to grab hold of. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I decided I couldn’t take any more of the wet weather we were having.’ She shifted away from him again, the chemistry between them making her way too jumpy. ‘There must be a role in the company your father could take on with all of his experience.’
He ran a hand tiredly against his jawline and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer her, but then he said quietly, ‘My father almost brought the business to ruin.’
‘I didn’t realise...’
He shook his head. ‘You had no reason to.’
‘Am I right in guessing that you have a strained relationship with him?’
He laughed at her question. ‘That must be hard for you to comprehend, given how well you get on with your parents.’
Despite his laughter, his voice contained an edge, a disappointment, a hurt that stabbed at her heart. ‘It’s a shame you don’t get along—is it the fact that you’ve taken over as CEO? In my work I often deal with family businesses. It’s not unusual for there to be conflict between generations, especially when the younger one takes over. It’s hard for the older generation to let go and for the younger people to listen to advice.’
He eyed her with exasperation. ‘Trust m
e, it has nothing to do with me not listening. The issues between us go back decades.’ A tic appeared on the ridge of his jawline. ‘Both of my parents had affairs when I was a teenager and left each other. When the affairs petered out they would eventually return.’
Hannah startled at the raw hurt in his voice. ‘Seriously?’
Laurent’s eyes widened. She flinched at the crassness of her response.
‘Would I joke about something like that?’
She shook her head, seeing the hurt in his eyes, her heart pulling, her mind racing to understand what it would do to a teenager to experience such turmoil. Emotion clumped in her throat—anger and sadness and compassion for a teenage Laurent trying to deal with his parents’ affairs; upset and regret that he’d never felt able to tell her any of this before now. She leaned towards him, her fingers brushing against his thigh. His eyes met hers. Softly she whispered, ‘That must have been so painful for you.’
* * *
Bewildered, Laurent felt the electric charge of Hannah’s touch, trying to reconcile it with the empathy in her eyes. He never spoke about his past. Why then was he telling this woman whom he knew he needed to keep his distance from? His mind reeling, he knew he had to somehow downplay it all. ‘It was chaotic. Escaping to Paris to stay with our grandparents helped to bring back some normality. That’s why I encouraged François to stay there.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I came back to Cognac in the hope of persuading my father to hand over the business to me.’ He began to fold up the cheeses in their parchment paper, placing them back into the paper bag, thrown by the realisation that it was more than just that. He’d returned because he’d feared for his mother, who had always become withdrawn and silent whenever his father left the family home. ‘From the age of sixteen I worked in every operation in the business from the distillery to the warehouses and Admin. I wanted to know every facet of the business inside out. When I turned twenty my grandfather and I made one final attempt to persuade my father to hand the business over to me but he refused. I left for Paris after that and then London. Staying in Cognac was pointless. The only reason I’m CEO now is because of his stroke. It was a decision forced upon him.’
‘That annoys you?’
He blinked at her question. He’d assumed his issues with his father were because of the past, but with Hannah’s question he realised it was also about his father’s lack of acknowledgement and recognition of everything he was doing to turn the business around. ‘He doesn’t trust me and questions every decision I make.’
He stood and went to a nearby bin, throwing the bag of half-eaten cheeses into it.
Hannah was waiting at the scooter when he turned around. She handed him his helmet and asked gently, ‘Are you enjoying the role of CEO?’
That was the first time anyone had asked him that question, the first time he’d stopped to consider it himself. ‘Yes, I am. We’re slowly turning the business around. I’ve appointed some new talent who are as keen as I am to see the business thrive. We’ve a great team with a world-class product.’ He paused as a sense of ease, almost the freedom of self-determination, swept over him in acknowledging to himself the job satisfaction the role was giving him. Then his heart lurched at Hannah’s smile at his words, at her obvious pleasure that he was enjoying the role. For some reason he wanted to include her in the conversation, to, in a small way, let her know that he still thought about her. ‘I travel a lot with the role. I try to incorporate some downtime in the places I visit, especially to go and see any alternative museums.’
A glint sparked in her eye. ‘I bet none have been as exciting as the lawnmower museum we visited in Finland.’
He grinned. ‘Well, I did visit a museum of bad art in Berlin and a balloon museum in Perth.’
She gave him a teasing smile. ‘And to think how you used to complain when I dragged you to museums in the past.’
‘What can I say? You converted me to the more quirky places.’ He was tempted to tell her that when he’d visited the museums he had missed her laughter, the serious way she would read out the exhibition notes, loving the peculiar facts.
‘I’m jealous. They sound really cool.’ Her hand coming to rest on the gear shift of the scooter, she gave him a tentative smile. ‘Why did you never tell me about your childhood when we were together?’
‘There was never any real cause to.’ Which was the truth. But not the full story. How could he tell a woman who had grown up in a textbook happy family the truth of his dysfunctional one? What would have been the point?
‘But you have now,’ she said.
‘In London, I didn’t handle our split well. I was distracted by my father’s illness, taking over as CEO, wrapping up my affairs in London. I should have explained myself better. I saw how unhappy and chaotic my parents’ lives were, growing up. I don’t want any of that... I can’t give you what you want in life—marriage, commitment.’
‘Trust me, Laurent, I’m more than aware of that fact. Anyway, I don’t recall ever asking you for those things.’ With an angry tilt of her chin, she asked, ‘So, are you enjoying being back in Cognac? Do you miss London at all?’
Mixed with the irritation of her question was a hint of wistful hope. Softly, not wanting to hurt her, he answered the truth. ‘I feel completely at home here. I hadn’t realised just how much I missed Cognac when I was away. It’s where I belong. Bonneval Cognac is my legacy. I passionately want to make it a success.’ He rubbed a hand at the tension in his neck rather than give into the temptation of reaching over and touching the soft skin of her cheek in a bid to wipe away the frustration in her expression. ‘There are aspects of London that I miss greatly, but the decisions I took when coming back to Cognac were the right ones.’
She worked her jaw, unhappy with his answer. ‘You say Bonneval Cognac is your legacy but who will inherit the business if you don’t believe in love, in marriage? Or will you have children regardless of all that?’
‘Look, up until my father became ill, it was never certain I would inherit the business in the first place. I think for now I should concentrate on having a business to pass on. Who actually inherits it is a far-off issue that doesn’t concern me right now.’
She stepped back from the scooter. ‘François is so eager and happy to marry... How can two brothers be so different in their views on relationships?’
He grimaced at her question. ‘When something is wrong in your life, it can make you reject it even more fiercely or the exact opposite—crave it with all your being.’ She frowned in confusion so he added, ‘Our teenage years were extremely volatile. My guess is that François is looking for security.’
She shook her head and laughed. ‘I’m sure François has more reasons to marry than just looking for security.’ She paused before adding, ‘You really are cynical about love, aren’t you?’
He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘What other reasons would he have to marry?’
She blinked at his question. ‘Shared dreams, friendship, companionship, loyalty, commitment...love. Will that do, or do you want me to list even more?’
‘And what happens when it all goes wrong?’
‘It doesn’t have to.’
‘More than a third of marriages here in France end in divorce.’
Hannah stared at him, the anger in her expression shifting to frustration and then sad resignation. Pulling on her helmet, she said, ‘I need to get back to the Château to prepare for the wedding rehearsal later this evening.’
In no mood to prolong this conversation he jumped onto the bike and fired the engine. They were driving back towards the old town centre, her warm palms disturbingly placed on his waist, when he heard her say, ‘Maybe someday you’ll meet the right person who’ll change your mind.’
CHAPTER FOUR
OUT BEYOND THE dining room, the softly lit swimming pool beckoned Hannah. She shifted in her
seat, the silk skirt of her halter-neck dress welding to her legs. What she wouldn’t give to stand and run across the lawn, unzipping her dress and tossing it aside, before diving into the water. The cool water would wash away the unbearable heat of the night. Wash away her exhaustion from trying to converse in French. The seating plan for the rehearsal dinner taking place in the formal dining room of the château had placed her at the centre of the long dining table, Nicolas Couilloud, a business associate of the Bonneval family, on her right, a school friend of François’s from Paris on her left. Both men had spoken of sport and politics all night and Hannah had struggled to keep up, with her schoolgirl French.
The blissful pool water might also wash away her ever-growing anxiety about tomorrow. The earlier rehearsal hadn’t gone to plan. To start with they hadn’t been able to locate Antoine and Lara’s dad. When the errant fathers had eventually returned to the château Lara’s dad had sheepishly admitted that they had gone to visit a friend of Antoine’s who owned a nearby vineyard and had stopped to taste some of his cellar. Lara and François had been decidedly tetchy and the whole rehearsal had been conducted with a frostiness in the air. Hannah had tried to lighten the mood but no one else had been inclined to follow her lead. And Laurent’s silent and brooding presence hadn’t helped matters either. Having him standing beside François and continually stare at her had caused her to stumble over her words.
What if the same happened tomorrow? What if she failed to capture the magic of the event? The wedding celebrant was like the conductor of an orchestra; it was she who would set the tone of the wedding. What if she messed up? Messed up in front of her best friend and the two hundred and fifty influential guests. Messed up in front of Laurent.
She cast her eye around the rest of the table. No one else seemed inclined to leave even though the meal had ended over an hour ago. Would they notice if she slipped away to work on her blessing speech? She still wasn’t certain it fully captured the essence of Lara and François’s relationship.
Second Chance with the Best Man Page 5