by Nora Snowdon
“Is this where I remind you that Bettina works for you, not vice versa?” Helen asked with a smirk.
“Ah, non, it is your reputation that will be sullied. Everyone knows us Frenchmen are terrible reprobates. However, when I do get my next chance alone with you…” Antoine ran his fingers down her cheekbone and his lips descended upon hers again, laden with promise. “You look enchanting, but overclothed. Shall we go, before I am forced to remove them?”
Helen sighed. “If we must.”
*
Helen wasn’t quite prepared for the emotional onslaught at her father’s house. Upon seeing Bettina again, Helen burst into tears. Bettina was soon weeping and even Edward appeared to have something in his eye.
“Oh, my Helen, I’m so glad to see you, child.” Bettina patted her back while trying to contain her own crying. “That’s it. You let it all out. It’ll do you good.” Bettina wiped the tears from under Helen’s eyes. “Come inside. I made some chicken with rice and peas, and Oscar opened a coconut, just for the occasion. Remember how when you were young, you used to bring home every coconut you found and want someone to open it? Edward explained you had to wait until they were ripe, but you were so sure I could cook them to make them taste good.”
“I was a pain.” Helen sniffled.
“I always thought it showed how much faith you had in my cooking.”
“Well, that too.” Helen looked back to see Antoine following them, deep in discussion with Edward. “I’m glad you’re still working here. How’s it going with Camille?”
“That woman is no good,” Bettina snapped. Then she realized that Antoine was in the room and lowered her voice. “She’s putting on all sorts of airs, weeping if she thinks anyone important might be listening. Otherwise she acts like the queen of France. She had Rosa in tears twice, treating her like a slave.”
“It’s just for a couple more days then with any luck she’ll be on her way.”
“I hope you’re right. Here, you have a seat and I’ll bring your lunches in.”
“Aren’t you eating with us?” Helen asked when she saw there were just two place settings. Then she noticed Bettina’s quick glance at Antoine. “Oh.”
“By all means,” Antoine said as he joined them. “This is supposed to be a chance for you two ladies to chat and catch up. I may have to drag Edward away to discuss some extra duties.”
Helen called after Bettina in the kitchen, “So, did Annalily have her baby?”
“Yes! Just last week. A beautiful, baby girl. She named her Audrey Selena. They’re back living with her mom, which is good. I’ll be babysitting on Mondays, as soon as Annalily is ready to go back to work.”
“Annalily is Bettina’s niece,” Helen explained to Antoine. “She taught me how to snap my fingers the Bahamian way.” She demonstrated the wrist-flick but her fingers failed to produce the sharp snap. She shook her head. “I wasn’t the best student. Mmm, that looks great!”
Antoine’s eyes widened in surprise at the massive plate of rice and peas Bettina put in front of Helen.
“Now you eat up. I know you haven’t had a real home-cooked meal in far too long.” Bettina turned to Antoine. “For you, Mr. Christoff?”
“Just a little, merci. I, unfortunately, ate before.” His request fell on deaf ears.
“You need real food to start your day,” she advised him. “Now dig in and I’ll get the Oranginas.” Bettina eyed Antoine. “Unless you’d prefer something else to drink?”
“Non. That will be fine.” Antoine smiled at Helen and shrugged his shoulders. He seemed unsure as to how to react to Bettina’s strong mothering nature.
They ate while Bettina continued to ply them with more food.
“That was delicious, Bettina,” Helen said pushing away her half-finished plate. “I can’t eat anymore or I won’t fit my dress tomorrow night.”
Antoine appeared relieved it was not mandatory to clean the plate. “Well, Helen, we could see if the seamstress could let your dress out a little more,” he teased.
“You should see the gorgeous gown I have for the event,” Helen enthused to Bettina. “It’s not black, though,” she worried. “You don’t think people will think it inappropriate?”
“No, honey. Not for a gala and memorial.”
“Well if you two ladies are discussing fashion, I will take Edward into the study to look at schedules. Mesdames.” Antoine bowed and the men took their leave.
*
As soon as they’d departed, Bettina turned her shrewd eye on Helen. “Mr. Christoff seems quite taken with you.”
“What?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.” Bettina chuckled. “He’s a good man. You could do worse.”
“He’s very nice,” she agreed. “But he’s from a different world. He’s used to flashy models and socialites. You know I couldn’t be like that.”
“You are beautiful as you are, Helen.”
“I know. Just not beautiful in the same way that Camille is beautiful. Anyway, enough of this topic. Bring out those baby pictures. I know you’re holding out on me.”
“Well, I do have a few.” Bettina lugged out a large album from the bottom of the china hutch.
*
Later, Antoine took Helen around the mansion to show her the artworks up for auction. Although the pieces were beautiful, many nicer than her father’s had been, she was far more distracted by Antoine. He was so close to her, and yet, he seemed to be keeping his distance. Finally, in the less formal living room, he laced his hands around her stomach and pulled her back against him. He nibbled at her ear and murmured, “Mon dieu. I want you.”
Helen turned in his arms and reached up to bring his lips down to hers. She felt his pent-up passion as he lifted her against him. His lips devoured hers and she was drowning in her need for him. He tunneled his fingers through her curls, pulling her head back as his tongue probed deeper into her mouth. One hand had just slid beneath the waistband of her capris, when he abruptly pulled back.
“Non, mon amour. This is not the place.”
Helen looked up at him in surprise. “Maybe you’d like to kidnap me?” she asked with a smile.
“More than you know.” Antoine brought his forehead to rest on hers. “But there is too much to be done. Soon, ma petite.” Antoine straightened her clothes and hair and then his own. “I will drive you to your hotel and then I shall see you later tonight.”
“That’d be nice.” Helen smiled, pretending not to notice the rejection. Had Antoine realized seeing her next to Camille last night just how inappropriate she was, even as a temporary mistress? Was he trying to let her down discreetly? He was still attracted to her, but maybe he was one of those guys who are always ready for sex, regardless of the woman.
Helen said goodbye to Bettina and Edward and then got in Antoine’s car for the quiet trip back to the hotel. Despite his passionate kiss as they parted, Helen wondered if he meant it.
He drove away and she went to the gym to work off her sexual frustration. She still had a few hours before she was expected to meet George and the gang for one more social thing before tomorrow night’s gala. Helen avoided thinking about the actual event, so she wouldn’t panic. She had memorized her speech and written up cue cards just in case.
After pounding on the treadmill and the stair master for over an hour, she felt a little less keyed up. The steam room, then the shower, further relaxed her, until she was incapable of anything more energetic than sitting and staring blankly out the window of her hotel room.
*
That evening, George had more entertainment planned for them. They were in yet another bar watching fire-eaters and limbo dancers. Antoine hadn’t shown. Camille was tossing back her drinks. And Helen had just decided to beg off early with a headache when two breathtakingly stunning women came in. Stefan rose to greet them and there was a rapid discussion in French. Helen’s stomach lurched as Stefan introduced Laurenne Gallois and Angeline Dumont to the group.
Laurenne was even mor
e beautiful in person than in the press photos. Her wide eyes, chiseled cheekbones, straight nose, and plump lips were framed by artfully disheveled and lacquered hair. Her mini skirt and spike heels showed off long toned and tanned legs and her casual tank top displayed more glowing skin than it covered. And yet somehow, even wearing such suggestive clothes, Laurenne appeared fashionable rather than slutty. The younger woman, though more conservative in her attire, also exuded an exotic beauty. Stefan dragged two more chairs over for them and Helen was appalled to find Laurenne perched next to her.
“Ah, you are the daughter of the founder of Dunhill Holdings?” Laurenne asked.
“Yes.” Helen racked her brain for a safe topic. “I just love your shoes. Are they Manolos?” She hoped she’d guessed right. That was the only name of a high-end shoe designer she could remember from Sex and the City.
“No.” Laurenne turned to her friend to chat in French.
Helen decided to make her escape.
“Thanks again, George. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” She picked her purse off the floor and stood to leave.
“If you are heading back to the hotel, I will share a cab,” Laurenne offered. “I am very tired from the jet lag.”
“Great.” Helen smiled, trying not to react to the men drooling as Laurenne passed by. God, she hoped she wouldn’t want to chat in the car. After striking out on the shoes—Helen had no more fashion chatter.
Laurenne appraised her as she ducked into the cab. “You are more attractive than your photo.”
“Excuse me? What photo?”
“The one from Antoine’s dossier on you.” Laurenne feigned surprise. “Surely you knew that Antoine had you followed and photographed before he came out to meet you? He likes to know everything in advance about his quarry. It makes the pursuit so much simpler.”
Damn, the bastard lied about not knowing what I looked like. Helen composed her features. “Yes, I know he wanted my shares. So what? Now he has them.”
“Ah oui. You are thinking, he is wanting you now, only for yourself. You Americans have such naiveté.” Laurenne’s laughter was laced with condescension. When Helen didn’t bite, she continued. “You cannot believe Antoine is attracted to someone like you? He needs you to make him look innocent in your father’s death. He is stringing you along for credibility until he launches his new image of Dunhill Holdings. Then he can build prices and dump it for a huge profit.”
“He doesn’t need me for that. Camille, dad’s widow—” Helen hated using that word for Camille, “—would be more than happy to stand beside him.”
“Oui. Her price is too high. She would not step away quietly when he no longer required her.” Laurenne caught her eye. “Let me guess, he is pretending you are just ‘friends’ to save your reputation?”
“This is none of your business.” Helen tried to sound confident.
“Believe it or not, I wish to help you. I have been with Antoine for many years. I despise the trail of devastated women he throws to the gutter. You are young and vulnerable. It is not right.”
“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” Helen stated and turned to look out the window.
“Very well.” Laurenne smiled. “We are here at your hotel. I will see you tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you staying here too?”
“Non. I am staying in Langford Quays, as usual. Bonne nuit.”
Helen got out of the cab and walked into the hotel careful to avoid letting Laurenne see her tears. It didn’t matter. She had known Antoine couldn’t really love someone like her. And to his credit, he’d never said that he did love her. She had willingly gone to his bed anyway.
It would’ve been nicer if he just broke up with her instead of pretending he still wanted her. Still she wasn’t going to freak out this time. She would give the speech then go on her way. Disadvantaged children would benefit from her affair, she’d learned a lot, and now she knew what great sex could be like. Helen felt old and weary as she crawled into her king-sized bed.
*
Antoine rubbed his hand across his eyes as he negotiated through his long list of e-mail responses. He took another sip of wine. If he was in Paris, this would’ve been much easier to organize. He shut down his computer. The die was cast. A knock at the door startled him. Perhaps his visitor would help to relieve his pre-gala tension.
“Laurenne. What a surprise.”
“May I come in?”
“Certainement.”
CHAPTER 13
It was pouring rain. Helen usually loved the rain in the Bahamas. The torrential monsoon drenched everything in seconds and an hour later it was as if the storm had never happened. And if you swam during the downpour, the ocean seemed even warmer. Today though, she sat staring out her hotel window feeling miserable.
George had called to invite her to Paradise Island with “the gang.” Helen couldn’t imagine anything worse. She didn’t want to be out with Laurenne again. And if Laurenne and Antoine weren’t there, she’d be even more upset. It was bad enough she spent all last night envisioning the two of them in bed, today she’d be more productive.
Helen tried to think of something useful to do. She could call Bettina and offer help, but that might not go over too well. From what George said, everything for the evening was more than ready. Maybe a light lunch and then a long workout in the gym. If she ate now and stopped for the day, she would have less tummy bulge later in her new blue dress.
Did Camille and Laurenne ever eat real meals? So far, every time she saw Camille, she ignored the food and hoovered her alcohol. Laurenne, being so tall, could eat some food without gaining weight. It was hard to imagine her in a gym sweating, though. Probably the only time she worked up a sweat was in bed with Antoine. Helen grumbled, as she realized her mind had snuck back to the verboten topic.
The hotel offered some delicious sounding lunches. Although tempted by the deep-fried conch fritters and the seafood chowder, she ordered a low-cal conch salad. Imagine living your life in fear of gaining weight. Helen could almost be thankful that she wasn’t someone that cared that much about her appearance. Until her mind went back to the prize.
Look like that and you could get a man like Antoine.
Right. She would also have to grow six more inches and have plastic surgery. Even if Laurenne did have Antoine, he’d still cheated with Helen. And a guy that cheats for monetary gains is even worse than a guy blinded by lust.
That made him a prostitute—or would he be a gigolo? Helen giggled out loud at the concept. This could be her vacation pretending to be a rich heiress, complete with a paid stud on her arm. It’d felt like a lot more, but only because Antoine was so good at his role. Was there a way she could rub Laurenne’s face in the fact that Antoine preferred Helen’s connections to Laurenne’s obvious charms? A plan began to form as she crunched down the last of her salad.
*
Antoine struggled to contain his impatience with his sister. They had argued through much of lunch and she showed no sign of even listening to what he had to say. Finally, he threw money on the table to cover their lunch bill and stormed from the restaurant. Although he would have preferred to include Angeline in his plans, she was so controlling in her own environment, she assumed she could control his life as well.
Antoine’s dark mood continued as he ran through the downpour to his car. He sat drenched in the driver’s seat wrestling with his will power. Without having made the decision, he found himself outside the Wyndham Hotel. He went up to Helen’s room before he could change his mind. A light rap on the door. Then a more persistent knock. Antoine’s mood darkened further. Where the hell was she?
George had said she’d declined his trip to Paradise Island. It was too wet for tennis with Jordana, although they could well be out to lunch somewhere. A discreet call to the Dunhill estate confirmed they hadn’t seen her. Antoine drove back to his house. He was relieved that at least his visitor was gone. Sacre, Angeline! When would she learn to keep out of his affairs?
Helen swam in the pool as she formulated her revenge. It may not strike back at everyone, but maybe she’d make one small blow for the vertically challenged and unsophisticated. She made sure to give herself lots of time to get ready for the evening. She’d look the best she could and that’d have to be good enough. A couple of more circles around the pool—it was hard to call them laps given the shape of the pool—and she was off to her room to prepare.
Helen pinned up her washed and curled hair, dusted her body with jasmine-scented body talc, and set to work on her make-up. A pale, silver and blue eye shadow, mascara, a hint of shimmery blush on her cheeks, and a warm, subtle lipstick.
With all the excessive make-up that would be at the event, she’d try for the pretty girl-next-door look instead. She’d shopped earlier and was shocked at how much cosmetics cost to seem like you weren’t wearing any. At least they were products she could use again.
Helen put on the new blue gown, shoes, and shawl, and surveyed the effect in the mirror. The dress was absolutely stunning. Her hair was good. She re-tucked one curl already attempting an escape. Was the blush too much? She shoved aside a pang of self-doubt. One could only work with what nature gave you.
She focused again on her beautiful gown. The people she didn’t know would just consider her the charity representative. And those that did know her would admire the dress. It emphasized her hourglass figure. Take that you stick-figure mannequins! She rolled her eyes at her conceit. More likely the fashionistas would resolve to starve themselves even more to avoid her tacky curves.
At six o’clock Edward arrived to drive her to the estate. He grinned at her.
“Miss Dunhill, you are beautiful. You will bring a real class to this event.”
“Thanks, Edward.” Helen chuckled. “I imagine there’ll be some pretty expensive designer couture on display tonight but who cares, I won’t be able to tell them from the cheap knock-offs. How’s Bettina doing with all the extra party planners around?”
“She’s enjoying bossing the caterers. After you say hello to everyone, try to drop into the kitchen. She’ll want to see you in that dress.”