Heaven Scent (12 page)

Xavier sighed. Her asinine comment proved that Therese didn’t know the first thing about him. Sometimes the Ducasse millions were a curse, he thought, tight lipped, as he started the car. If only he could be more like Olivier used to be and not care about anything or anyone, Xavier was sure he’d find his life less irksome.

 

The day before the family gathering, Delphine was still seething about the meeting with Cat Hayes. It had been an unmitigated disaster; Guy had been totally hoodwinked and somehow the girl had turned the tables on them.

Her fingers tightened around the head of her cane. The girl was not as easy to intimidate as she’d hoped. And if the very generous offer they’d made wouldn’t buy her off, something else was needed. Which was why she had invited Yves Giraud to La Fleurie this morning.

Hearing a knock on the door, Delphine looked up. He was punctual; a good sign. ‘Come in,’ she called, taking a seat at a table by the window. A tallish man with brown hair and a swarthy tan came in. Delphine assessed him critically. He was younger than she’d expected – thirty, thirty-five perhaps – and he was wearing a flashy brown suit with a colourful lining and no tie.

Delphine’s mouth tightened in disapproval. But did it really matter what he looked like? She wasn’t hiring him for his wardrobe. She held her hand out.

‘Yves Giraud, at your service, madame,’ Yves murmured, bending over her hand deferentially.

Unmoved, she motioned him to a chair. Sycophantic gestures bored her.

‘What a wonderful château.’ Yves took a seat and gazed out at the magnificent view. It was a clear day and acres of gorgeous Provençal countryside could be seen from the window, along with an impressive collection of stables. ‘What beautiful views . . .’

Delphine inclined her head. ‘Indeed. But we are not here to discuss the delights of my family home.’ She linked her pale fingers together. ‘Before we begin, I assume I can rely on your absolute discretion?’

‘Of course.’ Yves drew a small, moleskin notebook out of his suit jacket and a slim gold pen. ‘I have worked for extremely well-known celebrities, as well as some of the best families in France.’ He touched his rather large nose with the pen. ‘You would be surprised what I know but I never reveal my findings. Not unless I am asked to, naturally.’

‘Good.’ She outlined what had happened since Olivier’s death, sparing no detail and filling Yves in on everything she knew about Cat Hayes.

‘So you see, Monsieur Giraud, I have a dilemma on my hands.’

Yves nodded. ‘Call me Yves, please. Yes, I do see your problem. The Ducasse-Fleurie empire must be protected.’

Delphine stood up restlessly, staring out of the window. ‘Nothing is more important to me, Monsieur Giraud.’

He hid a smile, noting her refusal to call him by his first name. And why would she? Delphine Ducasse was a traditionalist, one of only a few left of her kind, but she was paying him handsomely so he would keep his mouth shut and his eyes peeled. His role as a private detective to the rich and famous had left him relatively well off but opulence and breeding never failed to impress him.

Yves glanced out of the window again. He caught sight of a tall, handsome man by the stables, wearing what could only be an extremely expensive designer suit. Xavier Ducasse, Yves realised. Ever since Delphine’s phone call, he had been researching the family, making sure he was prepared. Xavier was the eldest of Delphine’s grandchildren, the famous ‘nose’, who no longer took part in the creation of scents for Ducasse-Fleurie. Yves was also aware of two other children, a boy and a girl, but no one had seen much of them over the past two years, not since Delphine’s son Guy had packed them off to a private boarding school whose annual fees could finance a couple of racehorses.

‘So you want me to find out everything I can about this Miss Hayes,’ Yves summed up. ‘Everything about her background, her upbringing, her old boyfriends – anything that could potentially discredit her in some way.’

Delphine winced. Put that way, it sounded so crude. But she nodded. It was exactly what she was hoping for – some detail, some fact about Olivier’s widow that could send her packing for good if she didn’t go of her own accord. ‘Check their marriage,’ she instructed. ‘Find out if it’s legitimate. If not . . .’ She let the sentence hang.

‘Leave it with me, madame,’ Yves said smoothly. ‘I will return when I have more information.’ About to kiss her hand again, he caught her expression and thought better of it. He gave her a polite bow instead and left the room. He planned to have a good look around the château before he went home, despite his proclamations about discretion.

In her room, Delphine stood by the window, watching Xavier. His dark head was bent and he was stroking his beloved horse Cassis, the horse he hadn’t ridden since his mother Elizabeth’s death.

Xavier has far too much time on his hands, Delphine decided. He needed a project, something to occupy him, preferably something that would benefit the family business. Delphine’s eyes gleamed as a germ of an idea occurred to her. As it took shape in her mind, her spirits lifted and she felt back in control again.

Guy watched his mother impatiently checking the slim gold Patek Phillipe watch on her wrist for the umpteenth time. She had called the meeting for nine o’clock sharp and she was clearly livid that he was the only member of her family seated at the boardroom table so far.

‘Do you think Miss Hayes will join us?’ Delphine inquired, her hazel eyes quickly scanning the agenda Guy had prepared.

‘I have no idea. She probably can’t stand the sight of us right now so I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t bother.’

Guy felt awful about Cat; he had honestly liked her as soon as he met her and his warmth towards her had been real. He had known they would be presenting her with the legal papers, of course, but he hadn’t anticipated the meeting turning so sour, nor had he expected Cat to feel so let down by all of them.

Guy glanced at Delphine. He had an idea his mother hid a soft-centre beneath the neat suits and the harsh tone she always used but the last glimpse he’d had of it was so long ago, he’d begun to wonder if it was wishful thinking rather than a distant memory.

‘I hope she makes the right decision,’ Delphine said imperiously. ‘That girl needs to understand why it’s imperative that she signs those papers.’

‘Any idea how long it will take to draw up new ones?’

‘I’ve instructed Pascal to get on to it immediately,’ Delphine told him, sounding more hopeful than she felt.

Guy let out a short laugh. ‘Good luck with that! It’s bound to take ages. And what’s to stop Cat leaving before she’s signed anything?’

Delphine averted her eyes. ‘Nothing, I suppose. As you keep reminding me, we can hardly keep her under lock and key, can we? If she decides to leave, we have no choice but to let her go.’

Guy narrowed his eyes at his mother. Her casual air was at odds with her usual insistent tones but she looked back at him haughtily, her hazel eyes clear and direct. Guy straightened his blue tie and shrugged his arms into the sleeves of his well-cut suit jacket. He always wore suits to family meetings like these because formal attire sharpened his mind. Still, today, all he could think about was how Olivier’s poor widow was going to cope with a full-scale family onslaught.

In her room, Cat had more important things to deal with. She had spent the past three hours turning the guest room upside down searching for the one thing she couldn’t get home without, but it was nowhere to be found.

Practically tearing her hair out in sheer frustration, Cat finally admitted defeat and tried to come to terms with the fact that she had lost her passport. She had never lost it in her life – nor when she’d backpacked through Thailand with friends, not even when she had undertaken a spontaneous but gruelling solo trip through the rainforests of Venezuela when her parents had died. Yet somehow, in a luxurious, sophisticated guest room in a château in Provence, she had managed to do just that.

Aware that she was late for the family meeting she’d promised Seraphina she would attend, Cat let out a howl. It was so infuriating! Her bags were packed and she was all set to make a quick getaway after the meeting. She had intended to tell the Ducasse family that any legal documents they wanted her to sign could be sent to her in England. But she wasn’t going anywhere now that her passport had disappeared.

Had she left it in the limo Guy had sent? No, surely someone would have phoned and told the family about it. Had it fallen out of her bag when she’d dumped it in the garden? Cat felt a flash of hope. That seemed likely. It was very possibly sitting in a flower bed somewhere.

Feeling more optimistic, Cat caught sight of the photo album Seraphina had given her. Unable to resist having another look at Olivier’s handsome, smiling face, she opened it, then shut it abruptly and threw it in the drawer of her bedside table. Cat had finally started to face facts: she’d married a man who was not only adept at lying, he also didn’t rate faithfulness very highly. She did not know how many women Olivier had been juggling at once or how many lies he had told her, but she knew he was far from the perfect man she’d believed he was before he died.

Cat put her shoulders back and headed to the boardroom. She was certain she must be the last to arrive but she found she didn’t care too much about how rude she might appear. Tardiness hardly seemed significant up against accusations of being either insane or a gold digger.

To her surprise, when she entered the boardroom, only Guy and Delphine were there. Feeling slightly reckless in view of her recent aggravation, she deliberately took a seat in the middle of the table, knowing that Delphine would expect her, as a non-family member, to sit discreetly at the end.

Guy hid a smile as his mother bristled at the sight of Cat taking what was usually Xavier’s seat. She was looking particularly attractive in a pair of black trousers and a water-lily green top that made the most of her butterscotch hair and aquamarine eyes. He poured Delphine a cup of black coffee and raised the pot in Cat’s direction.

She shook her head, not meeting his gaze.

‘So are you leaving us after this meeting?’ Delphine asked.

‘I can’t.’ Cat drummed her fingers on the table. ‘I’ve lost my passport,’ she confessed, feeling idiotic.

Guy looked up. ‘Really? Surely it must be in your room.’

‘You’d think,’ Cat muttered. ‘But it’s not, I’ve looked everywhere.’

‘Oh well, I guess you’ll be staying with us for a little longer then,’ Delphine said, averting her eyes.

Cat shot a glance at her. Why didn’t she seem surprised by the news? Suspicion crawled up her spine. Could Delphine be behind the disappearance of her passport? Surely not! It was unthinkable . . . wasn’t it?

Max appeared in the doorway.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ he muttered, swaggering in wearing black jeans and a T-shirt with some French slogan emblazoned across it. He reeked of cigarette smoke and looked every inch the bratty teenager as he threw himself into one of the chairs at the far end of the table. ‘Breakfast can be
so
time-consuming.’

Delphine looked furious but she bit her tongue. Guy shot him a disapproving look and didn’t hold back.

‘Max! Don’t be so disrespectful. You know what time this meeting is. And since when do you eat breakfast?’

Max glowered, spoiling his good looks.

Seraphina, more sedately dressed in a pair of tailored trousers with a pink silk shirt, took a seat next to her brother, hiding a rolled-up magazine behind her back. Leoni arrived next, carrying a thick folder bursting with paperwork. Ignoring Cat, who she had hoped would be gone by now, Leoni smoothed down the skirt of yet another black tailored dress and sat down opposite Guy.

‘Xavier is on his way,’ she informed them, flipping open her folder.

Cat was astonished to see what looked like pages and pages of research, with neat, handwritten notes backed up by articles clipped from magazines and colourful sketches. Leoni certainly took her role in the business seriously, Cat thought, impressed but not really surprised. It was what she used to do at the advertising firm to ensure she was fully prepared and able to answer any unexpected questions in meetings. Watching Leoni push her glasses firmly up on to the bridge of her nose, Cat could tell she had something to discuss. Swallowing, she hoped Leoni’s already spiky claws weren’t being sharpened in her direction.

As Xavier, clutching his cigarettes and his mobile phone, slid into the seat next to Cat with a polite but distant nod, Delphine took charge of the meeting.

‘Thank you all for coming,’ she started, giving everyone a cool stare.

As managing director, Guy should surely be running the meeting, thought Cat. She wondered if he minded that his mother assumed control like this. Noting the way he was smoothing his silver hair down with an irritable flick of his hand, she decided that perhaps he did.

Next to her, Xavier shifted in his chair. Wearing a crisp white shirt with well-fitting grey trousers, he looked more professional than his younger brother but his laconic expression indicated he was there out of duty rather than desire. Glancing down, Cat saw that her assessment was accurate; beneath the table, Xavier was surreptitiously reading a text, no doubt from his girlfriend . . . or
one
of his girlfriends, she thought tartly, remembering what Max had said about Xavier sleeping with most of France.

‘We have many things to discuss,’ Delphine was saying, ‘such as sales, promotions and general targets.’ She threw figures at them blithely, comparing them to the previous quarter and painting an upbeat picture of Ducasse-Fleurie’s finances, despite the fact that they sounded slightly lacklustre, even to Cat’s untrained ear.

Moving on swiftly, as if she was aware she was effectively attempting to throw glitter over what was clearly a dull ornament, metaphorically speaking, Delphine handed round a copy of a recent review of Rose-Nymphea. It had been placed in the top ten in one of France’s best-selling but rather turgid magazines and Delphine waxed lyrical about it, seemingly impressed by the rather uninspiring review.