Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (3 page)

“So, what do you think?” Charlotte
asked her friend Taylor for the fourth time in ten minutes.

The two women had worked at the New York office of Faith
Clarkson International together. Taylor’s tyrannical mother owned the agency,
so, when opportunity knocked, the two had transferred to the London office the
previous year. Currently, Charlotte was looking for a house to raise babies in with
her husband, Liam.

Taylor pinched the bridge of her nose, a clear sign she was
fed up. “I’m hungry and thirsty! Charlotte, we’ve been back and forth between
the two houses, twice. I think they’re both fine, fabulous, perfect. Why don’t
we find a place to eat and take a look at your list of pros and cons?”

Charlotte ran a hand over her basketball-shaped belly.
Whoever was in there was doing somersaults. Looking at her watch, she realized
that it was long past time to eat. “Great idea. Want to try the Winning Post?
It’s where Giorgio Gomelsky spotted and signed the Rolling Stones.”

“If there’s food and liquid, I’m in.”

Half an hour later, the two women sat at a round picnic
table out back of the pub under the limited shade of a small oak tree. Taylor
held an ice-cold glass of white wine, while Charlotte looked disparagingly at
her glass filled with ice water. “I’d kill for a glass of wine.”

After dramatically enjoying a hefty swallow, Taylor said, “Only
two months to go! Your restraint is amazing! I didn’t think you had it in you.
I don’t think I could give up drinking for that long.”

“Continue with that attitude and you might be trying to
figure out how you’re going to give up drinking for life!” Charlotte chided her
friend.

Taylor stuck her tongue out. “Ha-ha! You’re so funny. Now,
while we’re waiting, let’s take a look at the pros and cons list for the Highway.”

“Why not the Grange?”

“’Because I like the Highway better!”

“You’re useless. And a snob!” Charlotte chose her insults
carefully.

“Snob?” The clipped word told Charlotte that her dig had
been delivered successfully.

“Yes. You like it better because it’s more expensive and all
hoity-toity.”

“The hoity-toity part is accurate. If you could get it for
the price of the other house, even
I
know that would be better.”

Failing to suppress a belch, Charlotte put a hand over her
mouth in surprise. “Sorry. I feel like I’m possessed. My bodily functions are
out of my control.”

“TMI!” Her friend held up a hand as she slid back into her
seat, wrinkling her nose.

“A few years from now, when you are in this situation, I’ll
remind you of this.”

Taylor sighed and fluttered her fingers, catching the ring
in the sunlight and making it sparkle. Still gazing at it, she declared, “All
right, back to the matter at hand. A £1.3 million, five-bedroom, two-bathroom,
mostly fixer-upper with the air of hoity-toityness,
or
a £750,000
four-bedroom, two-bathroom, complete fixer-upper with the air of country
dignified.”

A few tiny belches escaped Charlotte. “Sorry! I am
starving.”

“Good to know!” Taylor said sarcastically. “Which house does
Liam want?”

“Two guesses.”

“The less expensive fixer-upper or whichever one you want.”

“Correct on both counts.”

Fortunately, the server arrived with a tray of food. Taylor
attempted to get answers out of Charlotte while they ate, finally giving up
when it became clear that her pregnant friend’s only concern was filling
herself with cheesy potato goodness. When Taylor sighed, Charlotte looked up
and saw her friend staring longingly at her dish. Pointing at Taylor’s salad,
she said, “You can eat something besides rabbit food.”

After pushing back their empty plates, Charlotte picked up a
vase from the center of the table and inhaled the aroma of cowslips, a light
scent of citrusy milk.

“Did you know that each county of England has a flower? Here,
in Surrey, it’s the cowslip.” Taylor chattered away, relaxing in the sun,
enjoying not being in the office.

“No, I didn’t know that. But I know a couple of other
things.”

“What?”

“Well, to start with, I want the hoity-toity house but am
going to make do with the Grange. We can add a room and remodel for the price
difference.”

“Sounds great!” Taylor seemed relieved at her decision.

“The other thing I know is that I just peed my pants.”

Taylor shouted, “
What
? How?”

Charlotte shushed her friend. “The baby is sitting on my
bladder, and I sneezed. Not a good combo.”

“God! A day with you would convince anyone to use birth
control.”

Charlotte winced. “Could you let the barman know I’ve had a
tiny accident and that we need to pay and go?”

“Say no more.”

Twenty minutes later, the two walked out of Mothercare, a
one-stop shop that provided for all the needs of parents and babies. “I like
this dress.” Charlotte smoothed the fabric over her extended belly.

Taylor took in the gray and white jersey dress with a
geometric pattern that looked quite nice on her ever-expanding friend. “Me,
too!” Then she proffered the plastic carryall. “Here, you get to carry the bag
with your pee-saturated clothes.”

***

“So, what do you think?” Hillary had
been counting her boyfriend Michael’s yawns while they sat amongst a few
hundred fashionably clad individuals under a covered stadium, carefully
protected from the warm August sun.

Michael leaned forward, gazing at the sky beyond the
roofline where there wasn’t a cloud in its blue vastness. His gaze returned to
the elegant woman on horseback as he raised the back of his hand to his mouth.
“It’s… interesting. It’s not the Aintree Grand National, but it’s… precise.”

Seven. Seven yawns.
“No. It isn’t Aintree. This is
Dressage.” Hillary sighed as she looked away. She should have taken the time to
explain the difference between horse racing and watching horses execute complex
footwork. The rider, moving a chestnut Hanoverian through a pirouette,
distracted her momentarily. She knew he’d picked his words carefully and was
trying hard to please her. It was equally obvious that he was feigning interest
in every aspect of the Normandy Horse Show, a beloved event she attended every
year.

“The weather’s perfect for anything,” Michael remarked. He
squinted. “Is that horse skipping?” His slightly bored voice turned animated.

Hillary nodded as she glanced at Michael and found his gaze
riveted on the horse. “It’s called Tempi Changes. As close as a horse can get
to skipping.” The rider and horse segued fluidly into another sequence, and his
attention was lost.

Looking for something to make him happy, she
blurted, “Have you ever heard of Horse Ball?”

Surprise overtook his disinterested expression. “What?”

“
Er
, Horse Ball. Ever heard of it?”

“No, what is it?”

“It’s a game like polo but with a larger ball and no mallet.
I’ve been told there are elements of rugby and basketball. The players are on
horseback, of course.”

Mention of this new game seemed to inspire a massive grin on
his gorgeous face. “Now
that
I want to see! Do they play it here?”

“Yes.”

“Could I give it a go?”

“No.”

He looked disappointed, so she soothed him by explaining,
“Only local or national teams are entered to compete. I could introduce you to
one or two players if you like, though.”

“Wait! There’s a whole league? When do they play?”

She handed him the schedule of events and pointed at the top
of the pamphlet. “I believe today’s first game is at 2:00.”

With only twenty minutes before the event began, he rose to
his feet, grabbed her hand, and said, “Let’s go.”

This was the most energetic he’d been all day, so she
followed him. She felt about the same enthusiasm he had shown for dressage.
Trailing behind, she found herself wondering why she was interested in someone
who was so wrong for her.

“There’re women’s teams and teams for kids sixteen and
younger! How have I never heard of this sport before?” Michael asked, as they
crossed the grassy field briskly to where the games were played. “Do you know
the rules?”

Trying to avoid catching her four-inch heels in ruts, Hillary
felt perspiration leak out of her pores. She slowed her pace. “No, I just have
a general idea.”

He took the opportunity to look up the rules on his phone
and scan them until they reached their destination. Spotting an accessible area
with a handful of empty seats, he pulled her along behind him, uttering,
“Sorry! Excuse us! Mind your toes!” to those around them.

An hour and many groans later, the score was close. The
Spaniards had a two-point lead. Michael sat with his elbows braced on his
knees, straining toward the field, clearly impressed. Hillary had to agree: the
speed with which the horses travelled and maneuvered was dizzying. Just then, a
player all in white leaned down, careful to keep himself seated in the saddle,
and scooped the ball off the field. He then stood up in the stirrups while
grasping the horse’s girth with his legs and threw the ball to his teammate on
the other side of the field, ten yards downfield. The players took off. One of
the Spanish players and his horse, going too fast, collided with the person who
had just caught the ball.

A collective gasp echoed throughout the stadium. The
audience watched the horses sidestep, trying to get away from each other, while
the player in white held on tightly, trying to regain his balance while holding
the ball tightly. Moments later, all was well; no one was crushed beneath the
horses’ hooves. The audience roared with enthusiasm.

Michael badgered the Frenchman sitting beside him, “What was
that all about?”

“He kept hold of the ball and remained seated. So, no
penalty! That is good!”

Michael turned to Hillary, astonished. “Jaysus almighty! In
Ireland, people would have started a riot. You can’t run into a bloke with your
horse and not expect a clattering.”

Suddenly, irrevocably, she’d had enough. “I’m just going to
go watch the show jumping. Why don’t you come find me when this is finished?”

“I’ll come with you now,” he said, rising to his feet.

“No! Stay here and watch. It’s more your cup of tea.”

***

Lazing on the sundeck of
The
Sophia
, Tiziana and her brand new husband Ted sipped from tall, icy
glasses, trying to decide on a new name for their yacht.

Laughing at Ted’s suggestion, Tiziana responded, “I love you
very much, but I will not let you name the boat that!”

“If you loved me, then you would let me name it whatever I
like.” He slid the back of his hand slowly and gently up her arm while he
spoke.

His touch sent shivers across her body. Staring up at her
handsome husband, she flirted, “Sì, but I think Titti is a little
inappropriate, no?” She pronounced the word provocatively.

“Well, yes, if we pronounce it
titty
. But if we go
with
tee-tee
, then no.”

The huskiness in his voice lured her. Just as she leaned in
to kiss him, Ted’s cell phone buzzed. Sitting up, he answered, “Yes?” There was
a moment’s silence on his end, and then he responded, “Okay, thanks!”

Putting the phone down, he swooped his beautiful bride back into
his arms. “It seems a boatful of paparazzi has found our floating honeymoon. So,
unless you want to christen the boat with its new name now, the captain
recommends you stay out of sight while you are sans a bikini top.”

She squinted into the distance. “Are we safe here?”

His answer was to trail his long fingers over the silky skin
of her naked torso, holding her closely while tangling his other hand in her
hair. “We will be, even when the helicopters arrive. For now, I will protect
you. However, the crew has put up an awning on the rear deck. Thankfully, the
glass is tinted, so, while we can see out, it is hard for them to see in. We
can do pretty much whatever we like and be safe from prying eyes. There is only
you and me. I promise.”

Reassured, she kissed him passionately. When they moved
apart, she gazed far into the distance. At the shoreline, Calvi, Corsica stretched
lazily alongside azure blue waters. “So tell me, darling, why is this place so
special to you?” She knotted her wrap between her breasts and moved to the
rail, running her hands over the smooth, warm metal, while the bright red silk
of her cover-up flapped in the breeze about her hips.

Ted passed her a pair of binoculars from a nearby table. “To
start, it’s beautiful.” He draped an arm across her shoulders while she took in
the view. He continued, pointing at a lofty citadel, built in the stone of the
curved peninsula that formed a protected bay, “That is the home to the French
Foreign Legion.” The backdrop of snowy mountains was as rugged as the fortress.

She lowered the binoculars to scan the red-tiled rooves on
honey-colored buildings with vibrant awnings that crowded the shoreline, while lush,
green plants filled every nook and cranny of the foothills. “The town looks
charming.”

He pointed to numerous boats anchored offshore, gently
bobbing. “Many people sail here from Nice or Cannes. They come for the wine and
food, particularly the wild boar sausage.”

“
Ah
! So you are hungry!” Wanting to experience a
world that delighted him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and proposed,
“Darling, how about a bite to eat and then a walk on the beach?”

“Sounds perfect. Bout du Monde is quite popular. It’s on the
beach and serves seafood. There is a great view of the citadel from there.”

She heard hesitation in his voice. “But?”

He grinned. “There is a restaurant called Francesca’s. She,
er
,
they serve traditional Corsican food. Normally, wild boar and seafood are on
the menu. It’s one of my favorites. Want to try it?” He sounded like an eager schoolboy.

She questioned, “Is it the food or Francesca you like so
well?”

***