Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  She connected the hardly audible words. “You’ve been to a Chinese restaurant with a Malaysian student when you felt sick?” Leaning forward, she tightened her grasp on the phone. “Where are you now?”

  “Am… Amb… ” The strident wail of an ambulance siren interrupted his effort and Cheryl’s pulse raced at the sound.

  “Which hospital are you going to?” God, she should have insisted he take better care of his health.

  “ER… Cam…bridge Hos…pital…”

  “I’m coming.” It made sense that the paramedics had rushed him to the closest medical center to Harvard School of Architecture.

  “Don’t. I need… ” Doc’s voice, suddenly forceful, filled the line and then collapsed as if he’d lost his last shred of energy.

  “Yes, what do you need?” Her throat constricted in anguish. She’d do anything to help the man she’d considered a surrogate father for the last eight years.

  Her question must have triggered some awareness. “Go to France. My plane ticket in my office. Left drawer. Take my laptop… Password: statue.” His voice shattered, then came back. She didn’t know if she’d missed something. “Go. Careful. Watch… ” His panting reached her across the line, louder than his words. “Tell François…tell…”

  “Yes?” She probed, her heart drumming in the deafening silence.

  “Go…tomorrow.”

  “What about you?”

  “Maybe food poisoning… Better soon.” He grunted and gasped. “Go.” The connection was cut. Cheryl checked the calling phone number. His cell phone. Had Doc closed the line because a new surge of pain assailed him?

  Professor Howard sick? He hadn’t missed a day of work since she’d sat in his class for the first time eight years ago. Should she disobey his orders and rush to the hospital to reassure herself he wasn’t in danger? She bit her lip, hesitating. No, she couldn’t do that. If he’d taken the trouble to call her on his cell phone while in the ambulance writhing in pain, she’d better do exactly as he said.

  Her briefcase under her arm, she left the graduate students’ studio at Harvard School of Architecture and strode down the hallway to Professor Stanley Howard’s office. He’d given her a key two months ago when she worked with him on the statue’s project as part of her Ph.D. thesis. She unlocked his office, closed the door behind her and went straight to his desk.

  In the first drawer she found a plane ticket and Doc’s passport. She took the ticket as instructed and left the passport. Now, the laptop, his most precious possession, where he saved his plans, research and discoveries. It seemed incongruous that he hadn’t taken it with him. He never usually left the building without it.

  She scanned the well-organized but cluttered office, the double rows of books in the bookcase, the paper-covered credenza and the big computer sitting on a cart. Articles and engineering journals piled in four neat stacks on each corner of the desk. A scent of potpourri emanated from the small yellow bowl she’d given him for Christmas. She smiled affectionately and moved it aside to reveal several letters and official papers, waiting for answers or signatures but the laptop wasn’t on top of the desk, or in any of the drawers. She checked the inside of the credenza. Not there.

  Where had he hidden it? And why? She unlocked the closet and sighed with relief when she found it under a pile of journals. Sliding both the airplane airfare ticket and the laptop in her briefcase, she left the sanctuary where Professor Howard spent his days and most of his nights. She locked the door behind her and strolled down the Friday-evening-deserted hallway to the graduate students’ studio where she had a desk.

  At the beginning of July, most of the graduates had left for vacation or a break with their families but Cheryl had no family to go back to.

  In the privacy of her makeshift office, she called the airline, cancelled her professor’s ticket and booked one for herself using the student credit card Doc had given her to cover her expense account. Having obeyed her dear mentor’s orders, she speed dialed his cell phone.

  He picked up on the first ring. Thank goodness he’d kept his phone with him. “Yes?”

  “It’s Cheryl. I did everything you asked. How are you feeling now?”

  “Better… I may join you next week.”

  “Can I come to see you?”

  “No need now.”

  “What happened? How did you get sick?” Had he been feeling poorly in the last few days? As far as she remembered, he’d never complained of any ailment.

  “Later. Doctor here.”

  “I’ll call you in a couple of hours.” She had so many questions to ask before traveling to France and she needed to be reassured Doc was on the mend.

  After collecting her laptop carrying case, she left the studio and locked the door. She glanced down the hallway and gasped. A man was just stepping out of Doc’s office. What the hell was he doing there? Except for Cheryl and security, no one else had a key to her mentor’s office.

  “Hey, you,” she shouted but the intruder had already disappeared around the corner. She wouldn’t pursue him while carrying Doc’s precious laptop.

  Cheryl stopped at the security guard. “Did a man just go by?”

  The guard shook his head. “No one came out in the last fifteen minutes.”

  So the intruder still lingered in the building. She bit her lip, wondering what to do next. “I saw someone coming out of Professor Howard’s office.”

  “I’ll ask a policeman to make a round.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was nothing else she could do, but something seemed fishy. She frowned, recalling a detail she hadn’t had time to analyze as she rushed to fulfill Doc’s orders. He’d mentioned a Malaysian student. Doc didn’t have any Malaysian graduate students at the moment.

  Who was the man he had lunch with?

  Cheryl drove to the little apartment she shared with two roommates, planning a to-do list for tonight and tomorrow morning.

  In her room, she backed up Doc’s files on her own laptop and saved them on a flash drive. She couldn’t travel to France with two laptops. Since he’d asked her to take his, she copied the files she’d need, from her computer onto the tiny memory chip.

  Her mind reeling with the events of the evening, she had trouble falling asleep. A kaleidoscope of pictures rolled in her mind. A Malaysian student having lunch with Professor Howard. Doc suffering in a hospital bed. The intruder in Doc’s office. And finally, François de Valroux, the French count she’d visit soon. She’d only seen him a few times on his way in or out of Doc’s office, when he visited Harvard three years ago.

  How would he receive her? She doubted the French aristocrat would remember a lowly grad student from the School of Architecture. But she hadn’t forgotten him, although she’d done her best, at the time, to ignore the way her heart fluttered when he’d glanced at her. As she recalled the arrogant hazel gaze and chiseled features of the handsome count, a smile played on her lips before she drifted off.

  A good night of rest and a relaxing shower helped restore her composure. She tried Doc’s cell phone to get his latest news but was transferred to his answering service. When she called the hospital, she was informed he’d been admitted to the cardiac unit last night for observation and was undergoing more tests to determine his health condition. She’d have to call later.

  If he had been in danger, he’d be safer in a hospital surrounded by nurses and medical personnel than on his own at home or at Harvard. She’d do her best to substitute for him until he was able to travel and join her.

  All in all, Doc was in good hands. And she was going to France. To France.

  If Doc wasn’t in the hospital, she’d be dancing with excitement. Her trip would provide the basic elements for the last paper of her Ph.D. thesis with highlights on a famous missing statue. Her last and best article. One she’d publish right away to secure her imminent graduation.

  She checked the digital display of her radio-alarm. Oh dear, she hardly had time to pack. Not that
her wardrobe included a wide choice of fancy outfits. Her new assignment encompassed fieldwork without the comfort of hours wasted in an air-conditioned office. A few practical outfits were needed to work in the ruins, trudge through the old stones buildings, scrunch down on a dirty path or hunker on a scrappy rock.

  With a shrug, she walked to her closet and pulled out her practical clothes—a couple of pairs of jeans, several t-shirts and turtle-necks, one silk skirt and a couple of dressy blouses—and wrapped them around the laptop. That would do for her business trip. She shoved the whole package in a tote bag, filled a backpack with a few personal items and called a taxi.

  An hour later, her heart beating faster with anticipation and excitement, she left for her first trans-Atlantic journey.

  ~*~

  Standing on the platform near the station exit, François de Valroux scowled at the train jolting away toward the balmy fields of la Vallée de la Loire.

  Where was Professor Howard? He’d postponed his arrival twice and promised there would be no more delays. The last time he’d talked to François he’d seemed eager to start on the restoration of the chateau’s chapel and the search for the missing statue.

  But he hadn’t even called to explain his absence. Totally out of character for the mild-mannered professor, unless he’d e-mailed at the last minute. François hadn’t checked his e-mail since yesterday morning. As he surveyed the few passengers rushing toward the exit, François sincerely hoped nothing serious had detained the professor.

  An elderly couple passed by, followed by a woman holding the hands of two small children. “Bonjour, Monsieur le Comte,” they all shouted.

  He absently returned the greeting, “Bonjour. Bonne arrivée.”

  The sun glinted off a mane of chestnut hair and drew his attention to a young woman striding toward the gate, a tote bag in hand and a backpack hanging from her shoulders. The afternoon breeze blew some curls across her face. His gaze lingered on the red t-shirt molded over high breasts and a narrow waist, then moved to the jeans hugging long legs and round hips.

  François forgot the professor for a moment. His problem seemed less vital as he focused on the pretty face. Prominent cheekbones, a straight, lovely nose. Not a resident of Valroux. He would meet her, eventually, in the small village. Everyone knew each other in Valroux.

  “Count François. Hi.” The young woman waved and hurried toward him.

  She knew him?

  His memory raked the long list of pretty women he’d dated in recent years. He couldn’t place her, though her smile dazzled him from across the width of the platform. Of all the embarrassing situations.

  Rooted in place, he studied her as she came closer, her eyes hidden behind thick-lensed glasses.

  His innate courtesy kicked in. “Bonjour. Bonne arrivée.” He stepped forward to grab her luggage. “Allow me.”

  “It’s nice to see you again,” she said in French tinged with an American accent. He arched his brows, appreciating the lead. His thoughts galloped back to his trip to Boston, three years ago. He’d gone out with three or four ladies, not as tall but all blonde and more sophisticated.

  Not a man to lose his cool under any circumstances, François deposited her tote bag on the floor and greeted her with the French welcome of three kisses, one on the right cheek, the left cheek and the right again. He inhaled the scent of jasmine with pleasure. Holding her shoulders at arm’s length, he gazed through the thick glasses at blue-violet eyes full of merriment.

  Who was the pretty girl he’d just kissed?

  “Did you have a good trip?” he asked, hoping and praying her name would pop into his mind.

  “Wonderful. Everything’s gone perfectly.”

  Lucky girl. In contrast, his life seemed to be a non-stop roller-coaster ride.

  “When did you leave America?” He was fishing for details that would help trigger a name. He could always call her chérie. The French endearment had saved him on several occasions. No woman ever resented him for calling her darling or sweetheart.

  “My plane left Boston last night. I landed this morning and went straight to Gare St. Lazarre for the train to the Loire Valley. And here I am.”

  “And here you are, chérie. Hmm…” He cleared his throat. This was going nowhere.

  “You haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you in Professor Howard’s office,” the young woman blurted.

  Professor Howard’s office?

  Of course. The professor’s graduate student. The nice girl who’d gone out of her way to retrieve reference books and photocopy documents. Shirley. No, maybe Charlene. Something like that. He got it. Sharon. He exhaled. Yes, Sharon.

  “And you, Sharon, are as pretty as I remember.” He grinned with relief.

  “Sharon?”

  Merde. He cursed inwardly.

  “Count François, you’re confused. My name is Cheryl. Cheryl Stewart. You had it right the first time.”

  He knew it. The endearment always worked. Relieved, he nodded, ready to offer her a ride.

  Suddenly, his smile caved in and his back stiffened. Why…was…she…here? He was almost afraid to guess.

  She smiled. “Professor Howard sends his apologies. He’s been detained at the last minute and asked me to replace him.”

  François’ jaw sagged. He fixed a blank stare on her face, the meaning of her words sinking in. No professor. No consult on the restoration.

  François clenched his teeth and spun toward the train vanishing in the horizon like his dreams and plans.

  “I hope you don’t mind this last-minute change?” Cheryl asked, her smile losing some of its brightness.

  He sucked in a deep breath and slowly turned his head toward her.

  “The professor should have notified me. I would have made different plans.” He jammed his hands into his pockets.

  “Professor Howard got sick the night before his trip. We still don’t know if he suffered a heart attack or an acute case of food poisoning. He was unable to contact you. I’m here to help with the restoration.”

  She would replace the professor? He bit back a curse. “I was expecting the eminent Professor Howard, the Noble Prize winner. Never mind, I will contact another expert.”

  She tipped her chin up and briskly crossed her arms. “Professor Howard is a celebrity in the field of Romanesque architecture but I’m perfectly capable of handling our plans until he arrives. I thoroughly researched every aspect of this project. I wrote an entire thesis on your chateau and chapel. And I presented it to the professor.”

  The lady was certainly upset. He’d cast aspersions on her professional ability. The last thing he needed at the moment was an angry female venting her frustration. He inhaled and struggled to soften his tone of voice. “I don’t doubt your qualifications, Sharon, but you can’t replace the professor.”

  “My name is Cheryl.” She frowned. Her shoulders slumped, then straightened as she eyed him squarely. “Trust me, Count François. I know I can do a good job. Professor Howard claims I’m his best Ph.D. student and I’m about to graduate. On the specific subject of your chateau, I’ll be an asset to you, until the professor recovers.”

  Admiration for her assertiveness replaced his early disappointment. He suppressed a smile as he scanned her face. She certainly sounded confident. He shrugged and picked up her luggage. “Welcome to Valroux.”

  Cheryl grabbed his arm to stop him. “Wait. I can see you’re not convinced. If you don’t think I’m competent to handle your project, then I can’t stay.” She tried vainly to pull her tote bag from his grip.

  Visibly offended, she tilted her chin. François peered through her thick glasses and met her stormy gaze. Why did she hide those huge blue eyes?

  “Of course, you are staying at the chateau. Where else would you go?”

  Her head jerked back.

  Wrong words, wrong approach. He’d been too frustrated to watch his language.

  Her forehead creased in a mutinous scowl. “Please, don’t worry abou
t me. I can take care of myself. If you don’t need me here, I won’t waste my time trying to change your mind. There’s a lot I can see in France before returning home.”

  Professor Howard wouldn’t forgive him for turning away his prize assistant and to be honest, he would never treat a pretty woman with such callousness.

  “You don’t understand. I have so much at stake in this project.” He groaned and then wondered why he even cared to explain. “I spent three years trying to convince your professor to make this trip.”

  “Why are you so upset? It’s not like he’s dumping you. He got very sick at the last moment and asked me to replace him.”

  “And you’ve agreed. Why?”

  She gave him a strange look and pursed her lips. She had the most sensual lips he had ever seen. He wouldn’t mind tasting that expressive little mouth. He might give her a chance after all.

  “Because Professor Howard needed my help.”

  He raked his hair. What a gamble. If she failed or lied about her capabilities…

  ~*~

  Why had she agreed to come to France without any hesitation? Cheryl had rehashed that question at length during the long flight and the two-hour train ride. To help Doc, of course. Why else? Certainly not to see François again. Hmm… three years ago she would have given a lot to be noticed by the gorgeous count.

  Not anymore. Her infatuation had withered under the onslaught of hard work. Now, her graduation and Ph.D. mattered more than anything else. Pleased with her calm indifference, she noted she was immune to the charm of his alluring features and fascinating full lips.

  Absolutely immune.

  She smiled and tried not to waiver under his scrutiny. Beneath the shadow of tousled hair streaked with gold, his eyes drilled into hers. Eyes the color of a heady whisky. She wished he’d stop scowling and let her think.

  Drawing a deep breath, she hitched her chin and launched her explanation. “Because I didn’t want you to postpone your project again. You seemed so eager to start the last time you called Professor Howard. We couldn’t disappoint you. I thought I’d save you the headache of canceling all the preparations.”