As she was locking up the lab, she received another call from Giles. But she had nothing to say to him yet, so she’d been putting him off and would continue to do so until after she’d met with Luc tomorrow. If nothing came of their meeting, then she needed to find another banker, even if Luc had explained she probably wouldn’t be successful. At some point, she’d get back to Giles, who no doubt wanted to be sure she’d cleared her calendar to be at the next board meeting when they voted her down.
On her way out to the car with one of her new samples, she saw that Fabrice Guillard, one of the chemists who worked at the perfumery, was waiting for her in his Peugeot.
“Salut, Fabrice. What are you doing here on a Sunday night?”
“Lying in wait for you,” he said in a seductive voice.
She laughed. If she could believe him, then she wished Luc were here to witness the irony of the situation. But she had an idea someone on the board, possibly Giles, wanted to know what she was up to and had encouraged Fabrice to ask her out. If they were trying to find information that could fortify their claim that she wasn’t the best choice to be CEO, they were using the wrong person to do it.
Fabrice pretended to be wounded. “You hurt me, mademoiselle. I saw your car and hoped I could take you out for a bite to eat.” The attractive, divorced Frenchman with the light brown hair and eyes had recently been brought into the company and was all the talk among the females at the perfumery.
But like André Malroix, a former boyfriend of Jasmine’s, and a lot of French men, Fabrice had that ability to chat her up in a seductive way, causing her to believe she was the most beautiful woman on earth. Jasmine had fallen for it until André showed his true colors. She didn’t know Fabrice’s true colors and didn’t want to know because he seemed like the same type. His intimate way of talking irritated her and she wasn’t in the mood.
“Thank you for asking, but I have other plans. My advice for you is to wait for one of the girls after work tomorrow. I can promise you’ll have better luck with Suzette. I heard she finds you intelligent and fun to be around.”
“Oh, là là. I think you’re afraid of men, chérie.”
“If you’re talking French men, you’re absolutely right.”
“Why do you say that?”
If he got her going on her list, they’d be out here all night. If he was innocent of an agenda and only wanted to be with her, it still didn’t matter. “I don’t think you want to know. Have a lovely evening, Fabrice. Ciao.”
* * *
Even though Luc had braced himself for his eleven o’clock appointment, Jasmine Martin’s appearance in the doorway of his office had managed to upend him until he was reeling from sensation after sensation. While he watched her take a seat, the mold of her body did amazing things for her summery print skirt and blouse in blues and greens on white. With legs that went on and on and a mouth that was temptation itself, how in the hell was he going to focus?
The buzz from the intercom drove him across the room to his desk. Thomas wouldn’t have bothered him if it weren’t important. He picked up his phone. “Oui?”
“You’ve had three calls, all urgent. Now Monsieur LeClos is on the line and says it’s vital he get in touch with you today.”
With two years of diminishing earnings reports, things were getting hotter at Ferriers. Luc knew LeClos wanted another extension of their existing loan and was going behind Jasmine’s back.
He darted her a glance, then checked his watch. “Tell everyone I’m in conference and will return calls after three, no sooner. In the meantime, Ms. Martin and I will need lunch brought in. With that exception, I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Très bien.”
After hanging up, he turned to her and rested against the edge of his desk with his hands braced on either side. “Let’s start with my visit to your lab on Friday. You stated at the time that you’d asked me to meet you there for two reasons. After eating crow, I never heard the second reason.”
She re-crossed her elegant legs. “If you hadn’t had to leave, I would have told you.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere now. The time is yours to explain. You made a comment on Friday when you said that you must have my help to solve a great injustice. That sounded cryptic and quite a different matter from the fact that your company is in arrears on your loan payment. Why don’t you begin by telling me about this injustice. Against whom?”
Her hands went to the arms of the chair. She stared into his eyes without wavering. “Against the rightful heir to the company.”
“Rightful heir?” Maybe he hadn’t heard her correctly. “In principle, all of you Ferriers are heirs.”
She nodded, drawing his attention to her glistening dark sable hair. “That’s true. All the Ferriers born to my grandparents are Papa’s heirs. But Papa wasn’t the legitimate heir to the Ferrier dynasty. Ferrier wasn’t even Papa’s legal name. Not in the beginning.”
Dumbfounded, Luc walked toward her. “What was it?”
“Tricornot.”
First the revelations during the television interview that had knocked him sideways. Now this... “Who is the real heir?”
“Papa’s cousin, Remy Ferrier.”
At this point, Luc was confused. “According to the media from years ago, he was the wealthy no-account alcoholic who crashed one sports car after another. I heard he was a womanizer who failed at several marriages and a race car business, then went off somewhere never to be heard of again. You’re telling me he’s the real heir?”
Whatever he’d said caused her to jump out of the chair and start pacing. He’d obviously offended her. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. I was only repeating the gossip that circulated when I was a younger man.”
She finally stopped pacing and turned to him. “Remy was a good-looking man who attracted women in droves with or without his money. He never knew if they loved him for himself or not.
“Yes, he did love fast cars and he did crash quite a few of them because he loved speed and should have raced in the Grand Prix with his friend Marcello. He was that good. When he realized he was getting too old to race, he designed a revolutionary race car, but the business he tried to establish along with it failed because he couldn’t find enough backers.”
“But he had millions.”
“No. He had nothing! His father cut off his funds. His one marriage failed, and yes, he drank too much. But that isn’t who Remy really is.” A world of sadness had entered those blue eyes.
“Is he still alive?”
“Very much so and living in Grasse.”
“You’re kidding—I don’t understand. Why hasn’t anyone heard about him in all these years?”
“Because he’s been quietly working on his own flower farm, which is thriving.”
“Flower farm?” Lines marred Luc’s features. “And yet he’s not associated with your family’s perfume business?”
Her lovely jaw hardened. “No. But once upon a time Remy was the business, the integral part,” she emphasized to the point that it raised hairs on the back of his neck. “But his birthright was stolen and given to another.”
“Stolen?” Luc was confounded by what she was telling him.
She nodded and sat back down again. “On behalf of my papa, I’ve come to you. He despised being the head of the company and never wanted any part of that aspect or the fame. I’m here to make certain Remy attains his rightful place at last. With a loan from you, I can make that happen.”
A loan, he mouthed. “We’ve already had this discussion, Jasmine. Are you talking about another loan for you personally?”
“For me, for Remy, for Papa, for the very preservation of the company. That’s why I’ve continued to darken your doorstep.”
Darken was hardly the word, but the revelations continually pouring out of her had him s
tymied. “Are you talking a real Jacob and Esau story here?”
“In a way.”
“Explain the twist to me.”
“The culprit wasn’t Remy or my grandfather.”
“Then all the accolades heaped on your grandfather are still true?”
“Of course. Just as all the ugliness about Remy’s supposedly profligate life was the work of someone as close to a monster as you can get.”
Luc rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. “Who would that be?”
“Remy’s father.”
More confused, he shook his head. “You mean the brother of Paul Ferrier? I don’t remember his name.”
Her gaze held his. “Gaston was Paul’s brother. But Remy’s father was Paul Ferrier, the tyrannical head of Ferriers all those years.”
“What?”
The things she was saying now were even more astounding than her announcement that she was Maxim Ferrier’s granddaughter. While he was attempting to sort out all this new information, there was a tap on the door.
Luc walked to the entrance and took the tray of sandwiches and salad from his assistant. “Remember,” he murmured. “No disturbance now, no mention of who’s inside my office. One slip and you’re fired.”
Thomas went stone-cold sober. “I swear I won’t say a word,” he promised before closing the door.
Luc walked back to the table and lowered the tray. Jasmine looked up. “Thank you for lunch.”
“I’m hungry too. Join me.”
She reached for a half sandwich and coffee before settling back in the chair. He fixed himself a plate and sat down. “Whenever you’re ready, I’d like to hear this amazing tale from the definitive source.”
“That’s moi.” Her head flew back, unsettling the hair sweeping her shoulders. Her comment had come out solemn rather than teasing.
“Papa’s father was a Tricornot, his mother a Valmy.”
Luc made a sound. “I remember seeing those names on your grandfather’s diploma.”
“Yes. They died, so he was adopted by his mother’s sister, Dominique. She was married to Gaston Ferrier. They couldn’t have children so they gave Papa their last name. But the situation was doomed at the outset because the three of them lived in the family home in Grasse with Gaston’s brother, Paul Ferrier, his wife, Rosaline, and their son, Remy.”
Luc poured himself some coffee. “How did they all stand to live together?”
“For Papa and Remy, it was a natural phenomenon because they didn’t know anything else. But it was on Paul’s insistence they lived together in order to keep the perfume recipes from falling into the wrong hands. He was a tyrant and it was his way of controlling everything to ensure the family business secrets stayed hidden from the rest of the world.
“Paul had a nose, but not a good one by anyone’s standards. Gaston tried to take care of the business, but was in fragile health. From the very beginning it was Remy who did the flower farming and virtually ran the whole business from distillation to marketing. Remy had that special gift to know the precise moment when to harvest, when to cut the flowers and prepare them for enfleurage.
“He knew every inch of ground, every flower, the seasons, the farmers he worked with, the demands of the market. Without Remy, Ferriers would never have become a great operation. But Paul destroyed his own son in the process.”
Totally intrigued he asked, “In what way?”
“Remy didn’t have the nose. The family discovered that Papa did.”
“How did that happen?”
“While Papa was fiddling around in the perfumery laboratory, he found some discarded slips of paper with different scents on them. To Gaston’s great astonishment, Papa could identify some of the various oils.”
“Exactly what happened to you!”
“Yes. Both families were stunned. The normal person can pick out three, maybe four components. A nose can detect a mixture of a hundred or more ingredients in their precise amounts, and blindfolded, pick out the various scents from the essential oils that contribute to a recipe. Even as a child, Papa exhibited this extraordinary gift to a much greater degree than anyone dreamed, including Paul.”
“But if Maxim wasn’t Paul’s son, then how did he inherit his ability to create perfume? He couldn’t have gotten it from his birth or adoptive parents.” Luc reached for another sandwich, completely engrossed.
She shook her head. “There’s no explanation as to why one person has the gift and another does not. By some inexplicable reason, Papa was gifted. And he was the only nose in the Ferrier family dating back ninety years who didn’t have a Ferrier gene in him.”
“But he had the genius to create scents.” Luc was finally getting the picture. “Fascinating since he had the greatest nose this generation has seen. So the true Ferrier was replaced by the adoptive son.”
“More than replaced!” she cried. “Paul idolized him, gave him everything...his time, his possessions. He ignored his own wife, who by then was in a wheelchair. Papa became his raison d’être. Remy was virtually invisible to his father. Paul Ferrier was a terrible, terrible man.” Her voice shook. “He kept Remy tied to him to do the work, not giving him time off to race cars in the seasonal rallies with his Italian racing friend, Marcello. Remy was his father’s slave.”
“That’s the worst story of its kind I’ve ever heard,” Luc murmured emotionally. He was pained for people he didn’t even know.
“You don’t know the half of it. Remy’s mother begged him to leave and make a different life for himself, but he loved Rosaline and wouldn’t leave her in her crippled condition from arthritis. Paul forgot his wife and son existed.”
Tears escaped her eyes. “You can’t imagine how this killed my grandfather. It was all so unfair. To think he was set on the exalted Ferrier throne because he’d been blessed with a very keen olfactory sense, and Remy was not. Papa loved Remy, Luc!” she cried.
“He grieved over the situation and knew Remy was the greatest flower farmer in the South of France, that he ran everything seamlessly and should always have been at the head. When Remy turned twenty-nine, Paul cut off all money that should have gone to his son, money Remy had earned. Six months later Paul died.
“As soon as he passed way, Papa begged him to come back to Grasse and take over the business. But by then Remy was in a bad way and refused to talk to anyone. Papa heard he was in Paris trying to build a race car business. He sent him money through Marcello to help him get started, but Remy never touched it.
“Papa begged him to come back and run the whole company, but Remy’s pride wouldn’t allow him to go there. Too much damage had been done. All these years Papa has kept in touch with Marcello, begging him to talk to Remy for him and get him to come home. But Remy couldn’t do it.”
Luc knew there had to be a lot more to the story than she was telling, but he let it go for now.
“Remy had started drinking heavily by then and his business failed. Later on, he married and they had a son, but their marriage fell apart. His wife left him because there was no money, but his son stuck by him. They came back to the house and small property Remy’s mother had left him. He began flower farming again, but he’s had no contact with the family.”
She wiped her eyes. “Papa had to live with that sorrow for the rest of his life. I became his confidant. Papa put me in charge because he expected me to fix what he couldn’t while he was alive.
“He hated the honors Paul bestowed upon him. All he’d wanted was to create perfume. Remy should have run the empire. This ate Papa alive. Behind all the success, both their lives were a giant sore that never healed because Paul forgot Remy even existed.”
A shuddering breath came out of her. “Papa developed a plan to restore Remy’s birthright and change the map for the future betterment of the company as soon as I was put in charge. W
ith your help, I can give Remy back his dignity and set him up to run Ferriers the way he should have been able to do years ago. He’ll make it greater than it has ever been.
“But because of his wounded pride, Remy will never accept the position unless he feels he has something vital to contribute.” Her eyes implored him. “So I’ve come to you for the loan that will accomplish the miracle.”
Luc couldn’t have foreseen this coming, not in a million years. He was still trying to grasp the enormity of the Ferrier family tragedy.
“You have to understand Remy has a great business mind. Papa wanted him installed so he can run the show as only he knows how to do. Once, when Papa went to South America for six weeks, Remy was put in charge and went to Paris. He ran the company without a hitch and brought in new accounts without effort.”
Once.
“I know what you’re thinking. But when Papa asked him to do it, he did it flawlessly.”
Luc closed his eyes for a minute while he digested what she was asking.
“Remy’s brilliant, Luc. So’s his scientist son, Jean-Louis, who runs his own firm in the Sophia Antipolis complex here in Nice and is helping Remy. Today he sells the harvest from his crops independently. The kind of crop he’s been cultivating could bring millions of dollars to the family business if he had the money to buy up more property to grow more crops. I know where to lay hands on the kind of land he needs.
“I have the figures worked out to show how we can recoup our losses. Papa kept the business on top as best he could, but since his death, one bad decision after another has been made. Everything’s here on paper.” She got up and handed him the folder she’d brought in.
Jasmine had pled her case and had won him over emotionally without showing him anything. But financially, all the negatives against the idea had been stacking up. “How old is he?”
“Sixty-six.”
Ciel! That was old for the bank to go with a supposed recovered alcoholic. Maxim Ferrier couldn’t honestly have believed his cousin could take on the whole board at Ferriers and gain their trust. Certainly Luc’s bank wouldn’t consider it, no matter that his pipe dream was well meant.
Taming the French Tycoon Page 5