Island of Secrets

by Karen Abbott

  She almost hugged herself in delight as she parked her car in the Square. She removed the ignition key and swung her slim legs out of the car. Her simple pale blue dress showed off her diminutive figure perfectly. The fitted top had narrow shoulder straps and the short, flared skirt flowed over her slightly made hips, eliciting a long drawn-out wolf whistle from a group of grinning boys lounging outside a café.

  Gini tossed back her hair, though a smile hovered on her lips. She had chosen her dress with care, wanting to appear more sophisticated than she really was without being over-dressed. Monsieur Gaume had known her all her life and probably still thought of her as being a young girl. She had only to convince him otherwise and she would be well on her way to success.

  She glanced at her watch again. She just had time to walk past the shop to make sure it was still available.

  It was.

  The ‘For Sale’ sign was slashed across the window. She peered in at the empty fittings, imagining them full of her clothes. She looked critically at the door and window frame. A lick of paint wouldn’t go amiss. And a thorough cleaning. But that would be easily done. Jean-Claude would probably send some of the site-workers to help her for a couple of days.

  She stood back, to take in the whole of the shop-front in one glance, feeling a warm glow of pride flow through her. Then she swung around and set off jauntily in the direction of the bank. The shop was hers, she just knew.

  “I am sorry, Virginie,” the man facing her apologised sadly. “I had no idea that you were wanting such a large loan. I had thought maybe a second-hand car or a loan to tide you over until you were on your feet. Even a few months rent for a flat, though what your parents would say to that, I don’t know. I do know that they are expecting you going into the family business.”

  He spread his hands. “Have you discussed it with them? Maybe your father will see his way to giving you collateral, though I do know your cousin Jean-Claude’s plans to expand were hard-hit by the severe winter storm. I’m sorry, Virginie. I really am.” He stood up, extending his hand across the table, signalling that the interview was at an end. “Anything smaller … and I might be able to help you. Or in a few years’ time? Who knows?”

  Gini struggled to her feet, trying not to let tears of disappointment which she could feel pricking at her eyes, flow down her cheeks. She had been so sure of success that she hadn’t made any plans for failure. Somehow, she mumbled a reply to M. Gaume’s “Au revoir,” and quickly made her way outside. The sun hurt her eyes and she was glad of the excuse to pull a pair of sunglasses out of her bag as she returned to her car.

  She felt thoroughly deflated.

  What now?

  Determined not to give up her dream, she snapped the ignition back into life. Her father must be made to see the benefits of her plan.

  “No, Virginie. Definitely not!”

  Georges St. Clare’s voice brooked no argument. Not for the first time did he stand against his daughter’s pleas for something or other.

  She had half-expected his first reaction to be negative but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.

  “But, Papa, why not? I’ve worked it all out. I’ll soon build up a clientele and I’ll be able to repay you before you’ve had time to miss the loan.” She smiled winsomely, curling her fingers around his arm, her dark brown eyes pleading for a sympathetic hearing.

  “No, Virginie. The time isn’t right. The winter storm has cost us considerably. We …”

  “The storm! The storm! That’s all I hear! What has the storm to do with it? Is it going to rule our lives for ever-more?”

  “You know very well what the storm has done! We have lost over five hundred trees and much damage to the property. You saw the damage to the stable roof when you were last home and, instead of enlarging the lake, we’ve had to put the work-force to clearing away all the fallen trees. We’ll get nothing for the wood. There is a glut throughout the land. And we need to replant.” He turned away in exasperation. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned.

  But not so for Gini. She wasn’t ready to give up yet. Not by a long way!

  “I’m sorry about all that, Papa, but I don’t see why it should rule my life. What about my share of the business? An eighth is mine since Christi gave Luc and me those shares. Why can’t I sell those?”

  Georges turned back, disbelief written on his face.

  “You would sell your inheritance? And who do you think would buy you out? You know very well all our money is tied up.” His mouth set firmly. “No, Virginie. It can’t be done.”

  Gini’s mouth also set. She wasn’t her father’s daughter for nothing!

  “I could sell them elsewhere,” she threatened, getting desperate.

  “Not until you are twenty-five,” Georges shot back at her. “Enough! I have work to do!”

  Gini’s face fell. She had forgotten that age-clause. She wouldn’t be twenty five for another four years. She turned to her mother.

  “Tell him, Maman. You know I have a flair for clothes and fashion. Remember the comments my Collection received. My tutors were full of praise.”

  Marie St. Clare looked helplessly from her daughter to her husband. As usual, she was caught between the two of them.

  “You must do as your father wishes,” she said flatly. “He will do what is best for the family.”

  “The family! The family! It’s always the family! What about me? I’m part of the family, aren’t I?”

  Gini turned to her cousin’s wife.

  “Christi, you know how I feel, don’t you? I don’t want to have to wait four years before I can begin.”

  Christi was full of sympathy. Her fair hair and complexion marked her immediately as of a different nationality, though she and her husband, Jean-Claude, shared the same great-grandmother. It was true, Gini did have a flair for fashion ... but it wasn’t that simple. She turned to Jean-Claude.

  “Isn’t there some way to help Gini, Jean-Claude? I know I had hoped she would help me with the horses but Emilie is keen to work for us, so there’s no problem there.” She smiled around at them all, hoping to smooth the way for this younger cousin.

  Marie cast her a swift glance. “But I thought you and Jean-Claude …”

  “No. It’s all right. We can manage,” Christi quickly interrupted. “That’s no problem.”

  Gini spared her a curious glance, but was too keen to follow up her advantage to be side-tracked. She looked eagerly at Jean-Claude. He was about ten years her senior and the true head of the family, since his father had been the elder brother. Now, he and Christi held half the shares and the other half were held by Georges, Marie, Gini and Luc, the latter two in trust until they reached their twenty-fifth birthdays.

  Jean-Claude looked thoughtful. He stroked his chin as he considered Christi’s plea.

  “There might be a way,” he began slowly.

  “Voila!” Gini cried exultantly. She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d help me!”

  Grinning at her exuberance, Jean-Claude disentangled himself and held her at arms’ length.

  “Save your excitement until I tell you what I’m thinking. It might not work out.”

  “Oh.” Gini sobered down, though she still looked expectantly at him.

  “Go on, then.”

  “I was talking to Vincent Depetrine the other day. You’ll probably remember him from school. He was a couple of years below me.”

  Gini nodded. He’d been quite a heart-throb. Head of Sports and academically bright as well. Every girl in the school had hoped to be noticed by him, though only a privileged few had dated him. He could take his pick and he made the most of it.

  “I haven’t seen him for years,” she conceded. “How can he help?”

  Jean-Claude smiled. “Give me time and I’ll tell you. He has made quite a name for himself in the business world. Computers and Internet and all that. He was saying that he is looking for something to spread his assets.” H
e held out his hand as Gini once more threatened to launch herself at him. “I’m not saying he’ll help you. Only that it’s worth a try.”

  Gini laughed. “He will! I know he will!”

  It was two days before Jean-Claude was able to tell her of his talks with Vincent.

  “Vincent is quite interested,” he told her. “I gave him a brief outline of what you want to do and told him the glowing reviews your Collection received. The only drawback is that he’s off to America tomorrow.”

  Gini’s face fell and her shoulders slumped in disappointment.

  Jean-Claude laughed. “Don’t look so downcast. He said he’ll see you this evening, if that suits you. Here’s his number. Give him a call.”

  Gini took the slip of paper, her heart thumping wildly. If it suited her? Wow! She could hardly believe it.

  It didn’t take long to set up the place and time. Vincent was out and had left a note with his secretary. He would collect her at 19.30 hours and had booked a table for 20.00 hours at the Hotel de France just off the main Square in Le Chateau. Gini could hardly believe it. She was to have dinner with Vincent Depetrine and discuss business matters with him!

  By 18.00 hours she was in a state of tension.

  “What’s the big deal?” Luc wanted to know, eyeing his sister. “Anyone would think you’d never had a date before.”

  “Yes, but this is Vincent Depetrine,” Gini replied, with awed tones. “He’s legendary! He doesn’t go out with just anybody. It’ll be all over town by tomorrow!”

  “Huh! No-one will even notice! Not with all the tourists who are about. Besides, we guys aren’t impressed. He thinks too much of himself.”

  “You’re only jealous!”

  Luc grinned at her. “Make the most of it! No-one lasts more than a few months! And there’s talk that he has someone stashed away in Paris. So, sister dear, you’d best get glammed up or you won’t even get a look-in!”

  Christi entered the room, still dressed in her stable clothes.

  “Give me five minutes, Gini, and I’ll do your hair for you. Have you chosen which dress to wear?”

  “I’ve got three laid out on my bed. You can help me pick which one.”

  The two girls got on well together, though Christi was a few years older than Gini. After their initial misunderstandings a couple of years ago, they had become firm friends. It didn’t take Christi long to wash and change and go to Gini’s room, where she surveyed the three dresses that were spread across the bed.

  “Not the black one,” she said firmly. “It’s nice … but too sophisticated for you.”

  “But Vincent likes his girls to be sophisticated. And he’s quite a bit older than me.”

  “Be yourself. You’re a pretty girl and have a gorgeous figure. You don’t need to try to make yourself look older. Why don’t you wear this one? It’s stunning!”

  Gini looked at the dress Christi was holding up and nodded.

  “It’s one of my own creations,” she admitted. It was made of white lace, over a plain white satin slip. The double thin shoulder straps each had a small rosebud at their base where they were attached to the fitted bodice. The skirt was short and would follow Gini’s gentle curves.

  “Perfect,” Christi announced, as she slipped it over Gini’s head. “Now, hair up, fastened by these rosebud clips.” She left a few tendrils of Gini’s dark brown hair curling attractively around her face. “Not too much make-up. Make the most of your youth. Don’t try to look older. There! You should knock him for six!”

  Gini studied her reflection in the mirror. Christi was right. She did look good. She was going to enjoy tonight.

  Chapter 2

  At 19.30 hours promptly, a low-slung silver sports car drew up outside and its tall, lithe driver slipped out. His skin was tanned and his almost black hair was cut short. A few slightly waved fronds fell attractively onto his forehead, drawing the gaze to his brilliant blue eyes. Life had been good to him. Born into a wealthy family and endowed with both good looks and more than average intelligence, he had slipped easily through school, university and his first few years in the competitive business world.

  Confident of his own prowess, he had risen swiftly through the lower ranks and now owned a successful computer business and had found added success in his ventures onto the Internet. His forthcoming trip to America was set to increase his business and wealth even further and he felt that he needed the challenge of diversifying into something completely different. Which was why he had been interested in Jean-Claude St. Clare’s description of his young cousin’s aspirations to enter the world of fashion retail.

  He frowned slightly as he made his way through the private gateway of the St. Clare residence to the main entrance of their home. It was a few years since he had visited here … before Jean-Claude had married his English bride … and he tried to envisage what Virginie St. Clare looked like. He seemed to recollect her being a skinny teenager with long, dark hair, attractive enough … but not so stunning as to distract him from the pick of beauties who surrounded him wherever he went.

  Not that that mattered. It was her skills in the world of fashion that he was interested in. At the start of her career, she had no expertise in business to give her much bargaining power and, if her portfolio was as promising as Jean-Claude had made it out to be, she would be well-worth any investment he might risk on her behalf.

  He was unprepared for the beautifully fresh young woman who opened the door to his knock. His eyes swept over her from her small dangling ear-rings to her thin, strappy shoes, in a swift appraisal. Not quite his usual type of ‘date’ … but certainly one who would grace his arm delightfully and draw envious looks from any hot-blooded males in the vicinity. He bowed slightly, as he took hold of her outstretched hand. “Mademoiselle St. Clare?”

  “Oui, Monsieur Depetrine,” Gini acknowledged, a lively sparkle in her eyes. She recognised blatant admiration when she saw it and determined to make the most of it. “Do come in. My parents would like to reacquaint themselves with you.”

  She led him into the family sitting-room, where Georges and Marie stood to greet him. Jean-Claude was also there, and Christi. Only Luc was missing, having already gone out with some friends.

  “I am enchanted to meet you, madame,” he murmured, bowing gracefully over Marie’s hand. His eyes flickered over Christi. “Enchanté, madame,” he murmured again, as he took her hand. “You have a lovely wife,” he added, turning to Jean-Claude. “No wonder you snapped her up so soon.”

  Other pleasantries were made and, after a few moments, Vincent offered his arm to Gini.

  “Come. Our table awaits us. Bring your portfolio, then I may assess your expertise … though I am sure that you will be everything, and more, that Jean-Claude has made you out to be. Au revoir, mesdames, messieurs.”

  It was only a short drive to Le Chateau. The evening was warm and Gini enjoyed the brief journey. It gave her time to allow the build-up of nerves to disappear and she found herself fully relaxed by the time Vincent drew the car to a halt in the town Square. Vincent was around at her side of the car before she had had time to undo her own door and she gracefully took hold of his arm, sensing a thrill of excitement flow through her. Whatever Luc might think of her escort, she knew they made an attractive couple as he led the way towards the prestigious hotel. Vincent had tucked her portfolio under his other arm.

  “I’m so glad you wish to see my work,” Gini remarked. “I’m sure you won’t regret it.”

  “The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” Vincent smiled down at her, quelling the impulse to touch one of the tendrils of hair that bounced delectably about her face. “But, I will reserve judgement until I have had the opportunity to view your work.”

  A few tables were set out on the edges of the Square but Vincent led the way past them into the cool interior of the hotel.

  “I have reserved a table inside so that I might study your drawings,” he explained. He nodded at the waiter who approached them.
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  “Bonsoir, madame, monsieur. This way.”

  Gini felt as though she were floating on air as they made their way across the restaurant floor to the table reserved in a quiet corner of the room. Vincent’s right hand lightly cupped her left elbow and she could feel the warmth of it spread over her body. The room hummed with softly modulated voices and the clink of glasses. Heads turned to watch their progress. It didn’t occur to Gini that as much admiration was for her as for Vincent, but she felt her skin glow with excitement at the close proximity of his presence.

  A beautifully upholstered sofa was positioned at the side. In front of it was a low coffee table. The waiter gestured them towards it.

  Gini looked at Vincent questioningly.

  “I thought you might like to show me your portfolio before we begin our meal,” Vincent explained. “Unless you are anxious to eat straightaway?”

  “N …No. That’s fine,” Gini hastened to assure him. To tell the truth, she was too excited, both by their surroundings and the occasion to want to eat all. And she was keen to hear Vincent’s assessment of her work.

  Whilst Vincent had a quiet discussion with the waiter over which wine to serve, she looked around. The restaurant well-deserved its reputation. The decor was attractive yet subdued. Large plants subdivided the room into intimate alcoves. The waiters and waitresses were efficient but unobtrusive and the gentle background music promoted an air of tranquillity. A plate of hors-d’oeuvres was placed discreetly on the table, along with a bottle of wine.

  “You would like some?” Vincent enquired, lifting the bottle.

  “A little,” Gini requested. She wanted to keep a clear head, though she enjoyed wine with her meals. She was relieved to find it light and semi-dry.

  Vincent placed her portfolio on his knee and began to look through it, turning the pages slowly, fully taking in the drawings and swatches of material within them. Gini studied his face unnoticed, her eyes drawn almost immediately to the sensuality of his mouth, that both excited and alarmed her. The corners of his lips curved slightly upwards and tiny crinkles at the outer edges of his eyes gave him a look of perpetual amusement. His chin was firm … essentially so, Gini decided breathlessly. She had had plenty of boy-friends at College, but none with the experience and assurance that Vincent so obviously proclaimed … and he was seated here with her, seven or eight years his junior.