by Nora Snowdon
Antoine took her hand. “Ma petite. Trust me.” He brought her hand up to his lips.
Helen nodded as she tried to sort through the jumble of her thoughts.
The waiter appeared and Antoine ordered a Cajun chicken salad.
“The same please.” Helen couldn’t concentrate on the menu enough to choose anything. “Thank you.”
“I presumed the fundraiser would be easy. I assigned a charity team. Then the widow, Camille, became a bit of a thorn, I think you say?”
Helen chuckled. “What a surprise.”
Antoine appeared taken aback. “You do not like her?”
“No. I don’t think my father even trusted her that much. He never married her and he made her sign a palimony agreement.”
“Hmm. That is interesting. For now, I do not wish to think about this. I want to enjoy my lunch with you. Are you still in classes?”
“I finished the writing one. The marketing course starts later this month, so I have a bit of a break before that. I’m still trying to decide my role in the charity business. I’d hoped with this trip, I’d learn if I could do presentations and such. The thought of speaking in public is terrifying. Plus, I’d thought that I’d been instrumental in this gala coming about.” She rolled her eyes. “Now it turns out it was just a ploy to lure me back to the Bahamas.”
“Non, ma petite. You sold me your concept that first day, when you talked about the need for the charity and the benefits for the company. I am a businessman. I do not throw money away.”
“Whatever. I keep telling myself, the main thing is that children will benefit from this event, even if I end up a stuttering puddle of nerves in front of everyone.”
“You will be marvelous, Helen.” His eyes held hers with an unshakable confidence, not even breaking contact as the waiter delivered their meals.
“Anything else?” The waiter asked.
“That is fine, thank you.” Antoine raised his fork. “Eat first, we will discuss plans later.”
“It still makes me nervous when you say that.” She scrunched her nose.
“Good. You are beautiful when you are nervous.”
“What?”
“You are also beautiful when you are angry. And when you are happy.” Antoine smiled at her. “You did tell me that any plans with you must include food, and what you say goes.”
“Right.” Helen laughed. “I don’t know what is scarier, you saying that, or the idea that I might actually believe it.”
CHAPTER 11
“Tired, ma petite?” Antoine engaged the parking brake and then brushed her cheek with his finger.
“A little,” Helen admitted. She eyed the restaurant with resignation. After a day of shopping, flying and too much information, she’d much rather crawl into her bed to sort things out than deal with Camille and the others over another dinner. “Also confused and nervous.”
“Can I help?”
“No, but thanks.” She waited for Antoine to open her door. Even wearing pants with low heels, it was still an effort to exit gracefully from his car.
“I will see you in about an hour.” He kissed her forehead.
“Why aren’t you coming to dinner?”
“I told George I was busy. I cannot see the point of going out to cook my own food.” He smiled. “I do have to meet this Camille, so I will come in for drinks.”
“I thought you said you knew her?”
“Non. We have spoken several times over the phone, never in person. Stefan has warned me she is very demanding. She is staying at your father’s mansion.”
“What?” Helen’s jaw dropped in indignation. “She has no right! Isn’t it owned by the creditors?”
“It is owned by Dunhill Holdings. But Camille put in the residence as part of her agreement to let us hold the memorial gala.”
Helen stifled a gasp, horrified. “She doesn’t get to keep the house?”
“Mon Dieu. Non. She may stay there until after the gala. We had contemplated having others stay there as well. Then it was more convenient to keep the planners together at the same hotel.”
“Just make sure she doesn’t claim squatter’s rights,” she warned him. “Uh-oh, does that mean Bettina and Edward are working for her?”
“No. She tried to fire them. Stefan stepped in and straightened things.” Antoine kissed her again. “Now you had better go eat before I change my mind and steal you away.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a little while.” She hated to leave Antoine. After weeks of misery without him, even a moment apart seemed too long. Damn, she was setting herself up for heartache, again. Their lives were far too different to even consider anything long term.
Helen took a deep breath, forced herself to smile, and entered the restaurant. She saw Camille first at the bar wearing a low cut, wispy, black dress with four-inch, spike heels. Somehow, she looked tall, sexy and fragile, all at the same time. She’d draped herself over Stefan while George regaled the rest of the party with some wild tales of lionfish. Apparently, he’d seen one when they had gone out in the glass bottom boat.
“You know, you should be very careful if you see one. They are a type of blowfish and their sting can be fatal. They aren’t even supposed to be in these waters. Ah, there you are Helen, good.” He signaled to the host. “Okay, everyone bring your glasses.”
George herded them to their table. “Now you sit next to me, Helen. And we’ll need Stefan nearby as well to discuss the order of events on Saturday. We’ll put the smokers over there.”
Camille shot George a petulant look for separating her from Stefan.
George continued, “I hope you all like fondues. I ordered a platter of seafood and a platter of meats. There are lots of vegetables and sauces as well. The main thing,” he took a dramatic pause, “is remember the color of your skewer!”
“This restaurant must be new.” Helen commented. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s part of a chain. They’re starting to get a lot more of the upscale restaurants from the States opening up in Nassau. I was going to book us into Nobu, then I got a craving for cheese.”
“Well this is great. Thank you.”
“I always believe in being generous with other people’s money.” George guffawed. “Do you ever come down to Florida, Helen? I’d love to show you around. That’s where I work for A.C. Enterprises.” He laughed again and Helen wasn’t sure why.
“Between work and school, I don’t get much vacation time.” Helen hoped like hell George wasn’t trying to ask her out.
“I get to travel a lot. I’m even in New York on occasion.” He either winked or blinked, she wasn’t sure. “Maybe next time you could suggest some good places to eat in New York.”
“I’m afraid I’m not much of an expert on New York dining,” Helen told him. “I can tell you where the nearest McDonald’s is… Oh good, here’s our food.”
The meal was fabulous. The server added wine and spices to two pots of melted cheese and whisked them. Then they dipped the various breads, apples, cauliflower and broccoli in the warm cheese. A few mock fights with skewers broke out and it seemed like this dinner would be much more pleasant. Helen ignored the salad that came next.
The meat and seafood came with a variety of dipping sauces and were also delectable. The wine flowed freely and this time she joined in. She was feeling much more relaxed. Camille seemed happy, trapped between Richard and Al, and wasn’t sending any nasty barbs at her. And Helen had almost stopped noticing George’s constant nervous laughter.
“I just finished the program for Saturday. We have a hot jazz trio who’ll be playing in the foyer when everyone enters. We figured since we were doing the Gala in Mr. Dun - I mean, your father’s mansion, we’d try to make it more relaxed. Almost like a house party. Your stepmother—”
Helen choked on her wine, and glanced over to make sure Camille hadn’t overheard George. Luckily Camille was whispering something in Richard’s ear at the time. George noticed Helen’s discomfort.
; “I mean Camille,” he corrected, “will greet people at the door as the hostess. Caterers will serve food and drinks. There will be buffets set up around the dining room as well as a few bar stations.” George winked and this time she knew it was intentional. “People always donate more if they’ve had a bit to drink.”
She nodded.
“The items to be auctioned off—there are some gorgeous pieces of art—will be on display around the mansion. People will submit their bids throughout the evening. We also got a sexy salsa band from Miami and some dancers to entertain in the ballroom.” George looked at Helen expectantly.
“Wow. That sounds great.”
“And the speeches, which will be kept to a minimum, will be in the ballroom, just before the salsa band starts up. There’ll be the representative from Dunhill Holdings and yourself.”
“Enough business,” Stefan interrupted. “We’ve got all the schedules, notes, addendums, and memos. Everything will be fine. And Helen, may I recommend the prawns, cooked in that broth with these two sauces.”
“I’ll try it, even though I’m running out of room and must leave space for chocolate.”
“That’s what I like to see, a woman with priorities.” George chuckled. “Anyway, here’s the schedule, and I promise, not another word of business tonight. Except we will be meeting one more person at the hotel bar later. Oh, I guess you already met Monsieur Christoff today, didn’t you Helen?”
“Yes. He seemed nice.”
“Well watch yourself. He has a reputation as a ladies’ man. Right Stefan?”
“I hadn’t heard.” Stefan appeared uncomfortable.
Does he know of their affair? No, she was being paranoid.
“Come on.” George elbowed Stefan. “All those pictures in the French papers.”
She was relieved when they were interrupted by the server clearing and resetting the tables for the chocolate fondues.
“This is the one with brandy and this one has crème de menthe. Enjoy!”
“Oh, this looks too good.” Helen sighed. “Chocolate brownie dipped in warm chocolate. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“That’s too sweet.” George laughed. “The fruit is very good though.”
“Okay, one cheesecake dipped and then it’s official. I am full,” Helen declared. “As it is, I think someone may have to roll me out of here.”
“Don’t worry, Stefan and I will each grab a foot and drag you out.”
“Okay. Just don’t run down the steps.”
*
The full and rather drunk group waddled into the hotel bar, their already loud voices occasionally obliterated by Camille’s high-pitched laugh. Would they even get served? Helen had slowed down on the wine, but several others—most noticeable Camille and Louise—were sloshed. The waitress indicated a large table in the corner and after parking themselves, the drinking continued. Maybe only Americans worried about lawsuits for over-serving? It wasn’t as though anyone had to drive home.
Their server had just brought Helen’s coffee when the atmosphere suddenly crackled with electricity. Camille straightened in her seat, totally ignoring her sycophants. Richard broke off mid-sentence to follow Camille’s focus. Helen glanced as well and saw Antoine in the doorway. Her heart jumped as he noticed their table and smiled.
His dark suit, with a sage green shirt underneath, made him look powerful, emphasizing his physique. Even without speaking he exuded charisma. Helen sipped her coffee, unsure how she should act with him. Was he planning on pretending they were new acquaintances? She concentrated on her coffee, meticulously stirring in the cream while he approached the table.
“Ah bon soir, mes amies.” He paused and kissed Helen’s hand. “Helen, Stefan, George, Alaine, Louise.” He kissed Louise’s hand, as well, and Helen felt the older woman’s sigh in response. “Richard.” Antoine nodded his head, then turned to Camille. “And this must be Madame Dunhill?”
“Oh, of course—” George jumped in, “Antoine, may I present Camille Dunhill?”
“Enchantée, Antoine. Enfin, we meet in person.” Camille stood with a grace Helen wouldn’t have thought possible, given the amount of alcohol she’d consumed, and kissed Antoine on each cheek. The action was both intimate and sophisticated. Antoine smiled and deposited Camille back to her chair.
“I am so sorry I could not join you for dinner. I trust everything was acceptable?”
Camille answered first in rapid fire French that Antoine curtailed with a smile.
“Merci, Madame Dunhill. But, as not everyone is fluent in la belle langue, perhaps English would be a better choice for conversing. George, I received your notes for the evening and it looks like you have everything under control. And Richard, I appreciate your reports as well.”
Antoine turned to the waiter standing by his side, “A bottle of Cristal, thank you. When it arrives, we will toast the opportunity for Dunhill Holdings to start anew as a company committed to giving back to the global community. I am pleased we are able to get together, to make the Robert Dunhill Memorial Gala a reality.” The waiter popped the champagne cork. “To Robert Dunhill, les belles Dunhills, Camille and Helen, and to a new beginning.”
The toasts were downed and then conversations splintered off to different groups. Helen was intrigued to note that, even when he wasn’t speaking, everyone at the table seemed very aware of Antoine. A sexual heat poured off from Camille, and even Louise, that was a direct effect of his presence. Helen didn’t even bother to acknowledge her own physical reaction to him. That was a given.
“Helen,” Antoine interrupted her lustful thoughts from across the table. “I was wondering. Perhaps tomorrow, when the others are enjoying the sights at Atlantis, you would permit me to escort you to your father’s mansion? You might wish to see it, as it is now, before Saturday night. You will appreciate the art work being auctioned.”
“Oh,” Camille interjected, “I wasn’t planning on going to Atlantis with the others.”
“Then I’m sure Stefan could take you to Stuart’s Cove, if you’d prefer,” Antoine countered. “Helen may desire some privacy in her father’s house to grieve, if I am not being too presumptuous?”
“Thank you, Antoine. I’d like that.” Helen smiled.
“Of course.” George smacked his head. “I’m sorry Helen. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Don’t worry, George. If Antoine doesn’t mind, I’ll go with him.” Helen again sensed the hatred in Camille’s eyes, as she reassessed Helen as a potential competitor. Damn, just when she’d slid below Camille’s radar.
“Well, I’m going to pack it in for the night,” George announced. “Anyone going to Atlantis tomorrow morning, please be in the café at ten o’clock. Oh, and Antoine, could you give Camille a ride back to the Dunhill Estate on your way home tonight? I gave Edward the evening off as we’ll need him so much over the next three days.”
“Not a problem.”
Helen’s heart dropped at Camille’s smug expression. Did she stand a chance next to the blond bombshell who’d so intrigued her father? Maybe Antoine wouldn’t fall for Camille’s damsel-in-distress act. Or he’ll recognize her as the gold-digger she is. Helen sighed. Men don’t care why when a gorgeous woman pursues them. She was gathering her purse and George’s notes, when her hand was captured.
“Au revoir, Helen. I will pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven?” He brushed the back of her hand with his lips.
“Thank you.” She glimpsed Camille’s scowl; maybe all was not lost.
His fingertips stroked her palm while his eyes burnt into hers with promise. A sensuous smile and a nod, then he moved on to say his goodbyes to the others.
Helen’s insecurities flooded back in as she watched Antoine guide Camille to the door. His arm was at the small of her back while Camille leaned into him. Helen said her good nights and made her way up to her suite.
What a confusing day. Earlier today she hated Antoine—or was trying to. Then he made love to her. Her body flushed j
ust recalling his magical touch. Then shopping in Miami. And discussing his family life? That had somehow felt like it was off limits, as if they had to keep their real lives separate from their affair. Then at the bar, pretending they were new acquaintances. And watching him walk off with Camille.
She sighed. Camille was way more like the women he had on his arm in all the press photos. And she spoke the same language and knew how to dress well. And even though Helen didn’t like her, men certainly fell for her obvious charms. Helen drifted into a fitful sleep, with nightmares of Antoine and Camille entwined in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER 12
Helen managed to sleep in until eight and then went for a quick swim. If nothing else maybe it’d reduce her puffy eyes. Some tropical fruit and coffee after her dip and she felt almost human again. She spent half an hour polishing her speech for Saturday—too much time and effort on a six-minute speech. And then what was she going to wear today? Being daytime and that they were going to her father’s place, she didn’t have to be formal. Still she would like to look attractive.
She gave up and threw on some capris and her least baggy t-shirt. It was unrealistic to even attempt to compete with someone like Camille for Antoine’s attention. She’d just applied lip gloss and mascara when there was a light rap on her door. Helen peered through the peephole before opening the door.
“Bon matin, mon amour.” Antoine engulfed her in his arms. “Ah that feels much better.”
His hand tilted her face and he took her lips in a breathless kiss. Her body reacted to the feel of his erection pressed against her belly. Helen closed the door behind him and leaned back in for maximum contact. He groaned as her lips played down the front of his chest. He moved her away from him.
“As much as I desire you right now…” His eyes were black with passion. “We must go to your father’s place first. George felt guilty about not putting your visit on his many agendas, so to make amends, he has arranged a brunch there. Bettina is expecting us in thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds.”