IntheArmsofaLover (12 page)

The “floozy” comment really irritated Poppy.

It appeared to incense Stéphane. “How dare you!” He looked
ready to fight to defend her honor. Flattering but it would hardly help.

“Monsieur Prioux,” she said, speaking slowly and carefully. “Surprising
as it may seem to you. I was hired to run this farm on the basis of my
knowledge and experience in this field as I managed a lavender farm in the UK
for twelve years. I know a great deal about the cultivation and marketing of
lavender and will apply that expertise and my contacts in the business to
Les
Coquelicots
. Your brother and mother are more than satisfied with my
professional competence.” And he could put that in his pipe and smoke it! She
glared at Didier. He’d better not add another word.

To do him justice, he looked stunned. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s true.” Did he really think she’d make it up?
Poppy looked back at Jean and gave him the most utterly insincere smile she could
manage. “About the tour of the property, would you like to view our progress?”

He didn’t appear to be swept up with the idea. “What have
you had to do with this?” he asked Stéphane.

“As always, I followed my clients’ requests. Your mother
wished the farm put back into production, you gave her an ultimatum and I
ensured we satisfied that. I believe this coming Wednesday was your deadline.
As you can see, the farm is no longer abandoned.”

“Ha! You think a lick of paint and a few weeds pulled
counts.”

She was getting tired of this. “Actually it does. I believe
your requirements were that the house be habitable and the land used and it is.
More than a ‘few weeds’ have gone. My workers,” a bit possessive but she liked
the sound of it, “have cleared over a hectare and, I can assure you, the last
two fields will be done by your deadline.”

He really didn’t like her putting her spoke in. Too damn bad.

“This is not over!”

Poppy really hoped it was. He was a pain in the neck. How could
he and Luc be brothers and so totally difference?

“Poppy?” Didier had managed to disentangle himself from the
blonde and now approached her. “I must talk to you.”

“Not now!” Not ever if she were really lucky. Jean wasn’t
about to stop ranting on about the land still being abandoned and she was
tempted to leave them to it and make a cup of tea when the sound of another
engine approached. This place was a long way from abandoned. It was getting
busier than the
Cours Saleya
on Sunday morning.

Luc’s car pulled up right in the middle of everything,
Helen, Adele and another man she guessed was Branko, piled out of the back and
Luc opened the passenger door.

A tall, slender woman stepped out. She was carefully dressed
and perfectly coiffed, the sort of Frenchwoman who always made Poppy feel fat
and dowdy. What was she doing here and who was she?

Poppy soon found out.

The woman looked around the courtyard and nodded to Stéphane
before fastening her gaze on Jean. “Why are you here?”

“
Maman
, I came to look over your property.”

Maman?
So this was Luc and Jean’s mother.

“Stuff and nonsense! You came to pry and sneak and got
caught. Good thing Poulain was here ahead of us. And who are these people?” The
two women got the full force of her glare. They didn’t seem to enjoy it.

“Friends of mine,
Maman
.”

She replied to that with a snort. It was very dignified and
ladylike but it was still a snort. Impressive. Her glance only just
acknowledged Didier with a shrug and, “I see your petty puppy dog came along with
you.” Before she launched into a torrent of sarcasm, invective and verbal
attack that she unleashed on her younger son, adding a few insults to the two
women from time to time as little extras and yapping like a little puppy at Didier
when he tried to speak. Poppy began to feel sorry for him. No one needed that
much public humiliation. She met Adele’s eyes. She seemed as stunned as Poppy was
but everyone else appeared to take it as par for the course.

“Poppy.” Okay, Didier wasn’t mesmerized by all this, or perhaps
he was trying to become invisible and taking his chance. “Is it true you work
here?”

“What did I say earlier? Yes.”

“And that man, he is your lover?”

When had that become his business? “Goodbye, Didier, I
suggest you get your pal out of here before he gets skinned alive. “

“It was not supposed to be like this.”

She’d somehow twigged that. “It was supposed to be deserted
and abandoned and I was to be brought along to bear witness to that. Am I
right?”

He neither confirmed nor denied. Didn’t need to. The look on
his face said it all. Did he really think she was so thick as to not work it
out?

“You’re a cold woman,” he replied.

Stéphane would disagree and his opinion mattered far, far
more. “Goodbye, Didier.” She stepped back and bumped into Branko. “Sorry.”

His smile rather explained why Adele found him so
fascinating. “Please, don’t apologize. I am Luc’s secretary, Branko. Welcome to
the circus.”

It was an apt description.

“Is this another lover?” Didier asked.

Was there no getting rid of him? She stepped close, stood on
tiptoe so they were almost nose to nose. “Okay, Didier, I’m going to count to
five and then I will knee you in the groin.” His eyes widened like an owl’s. “One…”

He didn’t wait for two.

“Bravo!” Branko said, “I must remember never to anger you.”

“He didn’t anger me, just got on my nerves.”

And right now he was urging the two women into the car. Jean
was arguing with his mother and Stéphane was in the middle of it, rather ineffectively
advocating calm, while Luc weighed in on his mother’s side. It made the
disagreement with Tommy’s family seem quite milquetoast and sedate.

The whole fracas didn’t last much longer. Didier got into
the driver’s seat, started the engine and did a sharp U-turn, scattering
pebbles and gravel. That stopped the conversation but the next bit was almost
delicious—he drove off, leaving Jean standing mouth agape as he yelled out.
Five seconds later he was running down the drive, calling out to them to stop,
they were stealing his car.

Poppy couldn’t restrain herself. She roared with laughter.
It was a scene worthy of Monsieur Hulot or at least Mr. Bean.

“You find the situation so amusing do you, Madame?”

Luc’s mother must have levitated to cross the courtyard that
quickly, but she stood a meter from Poppy and was decidedly not amused.

“No, Madame Prioux, I do not. Discord within a family is
tragic, not amusing, but the sight of Jean racing down the dusty drive, yelling
after his car, was. He’s going to ruin his shoes. I hope Didier stops for him
as the buses don’t run very often on Sunday.

She didn’t exactly smile, but managed a little twist to her
mouth that might be taken as amusement. She held out a hand. “You must be
Madame Gordon, my new manager.”

“I am, Madame Prioux.”

“And you know that young man who made off with my son’s
car?”

“Through his grandfather, who’s a very talented
photographer. I went to an exhibition of his work a couple of weeks back.” None
of that was a lie…just not the whole truth, which was really none of her
business.

Nor did it appear to interest her. “So, at Poulain’s
recommendation, my son hired you. Why do you think you are competent to manage
my farm?”

“I ran one in England, Sussex Lavender. My partner and I built
the company together. I was in charge of accounting, publicity and developing
sales. I also helped in production and we both worked on the harvests. I know a
great deal about lavender and I can make
Les Coquelicots
productive so
that, in a few years, it will turn a profit.” Brave words but Poppy suspected
this woman would not be impressed by timidity.

“Good, I hope you live up to your confidence.” She turned to
her remaining son. “Well, Luc, you brought me up here for dessert. Let’s enjoy
it.”

It was quite impressive what three women working in concert could
achieve in fifteen minutes, while Luc took his mother on tour of the premises.
They only had six chairs but Stéphane found an old fruit box in the barn and
volunteered to use that instead. Table cloth and napkins from the shop gave a
nice Provençale look to the table, as Poppy sorted out six plates plus one
saucer and forks and spoons—she didn’t have seven of anything. She strongly
suspected Madame Prioux was far more accustomed to cut-glass flutes and fine
china than
Monoprix’s
best. Still, Poppy doubted anyone would even
notice beside Adele’s cake, which consisted of layers of meringue and sponge
sandwiched with alternating chocolate and coffee cream. She’d decorated the top
with a coffee glaze and twirls and rosettes of coffee icing, toasted hazelnuts
and chocolate-covered coffee beans.

“It’s incredible,” Poppy told her. “It must have taken you
ages.”

“It did rather,” she said, “but I knew Luc wanted to
celebrate. I don’t do this every day of the week,”

“Then thank you doubly for doing it today.”

“If I hadn’t, Branko would have spanked me.”

“He still might if you’re lucky,” Helen said, as she smiled
at Poppy. “You don’t look shocked.”

“Was I supposed to?”

Helen grinned. “No, but some might have. But I doubt you’d
have been hired if you didn’t fit in.”

What exactly did she mean by that?

“Of course she fits in,” Stéphane said, just coming in from
fetching the champagne. “She fits perfectly and she’s mine.”

Was she? Really? At that point, Luc returned with his mother
and between opening champagne bottles, cutting cake and passing around places
and glasses everyone was occupied.

The afternoon went far better than the beginning implied. Now
Jean had disappeared in the dust, quite literally as it had been dry all week,
Madame Prioux visibly unbent. A couple of glasses of champagne no doubt helped
but Poppy would swear it was Adele’s incredible creation that worked magic.
They sat there late into the afternoon, talking and making plans for the farm. They
planned visitor tours, a shop and a tearoom, until Poppy felt obliged to point
out that getting in their first harvest and replanting worn-out fields was the
first step. She had great plans too, but knew how long it took to get established.

“It will be famous from here to Grasse and beyond the
Italian border,” Madame Prioux declared and no one appeared inclined to argue. Poppy
crossed her fingers under the table and touched wood with her other hand.

After they’d drained three bottles and left not much more
than crumbs of cake, Luc left with his mother. The others helped clean up
before they packed into Stéphane’s car for the trip down the mountain and she
followed in her Mini, headed for her little room in Nice. It was hard to leave
Les
Coquelicots
and Poppy promised herself to move in for good the minute her
job in Nice ended.

* * * * *

Monday seemed a bit of an anticlimax, but she treated
herself to a wander around the antiques market during her lunch hour. She
restrained herself from buying a complete—well almost—china service decorated
with poppies and even turned her back on a kitchen cabinet with china drawers
for flour, sugar, coffee and spices. She could just see the
patronne’s
face if she walked in with those to be stored in the back room until closing.
But she did indulge in three mismatched silver teaspoons and a butter knife.
They’d add a little something to her morning coffee and fit easily into her
handbag.

Tuesday started off well enough and it looked as if she’d
have an easy last week, although she was half looking over her shoulder in case
Didier really didn’t believe things were finished between them.

But it wasn’t Didier—thank goodness—who walked into the shop
around noon. It was Luc. “I want you to meet me for lunch at two o’clock,” he
announced, without any preamble. “I will be at
Maison d’Or
. They will be
expecting you.”

Nothing like being asked if it were convenient but he had a
least picked the time she was off for lunch.

He was gone before she could mention that, just maybe, she
had a previous commitment. On the other hand the odd look she got from Madame
Blanc, the
patronne
, made Poppy rather glad she’d already given her
notice.

“Another friend?” she asked, with a decided undertone in her
voice.

“My new employer,” Poppy replied, hoping to dispel the
implication that she had legions of men angling to take her out to lunch.

“I see,” she replied, with a knowing look.

Oh hell, she no doubt thought Poppy was setting up with a
pimp. Too damn bad. Besides, a large coach party of German tourist had just
disgorged near the market and at least twenty of them packed the shop. Good for
business but not so brilliant for getting off on time. When they’d eventually
all wandered off, clutching their Provençale pottery, bags of
Herbs de
Provence
and tablemats, it was fifteen after two and Poppy dared Madame
Blanc to say anything about her nipping out the minute she could.

Poppy hoped Luc wasn’t too much of a stickler for
punctuality. Although why was she worrying about him? She hadn’t heard a word
from Stéphane since Sunday afternoon, and that irked her. Okay, Luc was her boss,
and a generously paying boss, but Stéphane… What was he? Her lover? Better
still, her kinky lover? Lunch with him would have been nice but instead she was
lunching with Luc.

She was expected, just mentioning Luc’s name got immediate
recognition. She was ushered upstairs to a deserted room, where Luc sat by the
only laid table. He stood as she approached and the waiter deferentially held
her chair.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, as the waiter spread a snowy,
linen napkin on her lap. “We had a bus load of tourists arrive and I couldn’t
walk out and leave the others to cope.”

“Never mind, you’re here now and I have just a few questions.”

Fair enough, she bet he had dozens after Sunday. “What do
you want to know?”

He indicated to her to wait and, as she looked around, a
glass appeared in front of her.

“I hope you like Kir,” he said. “And I’ve already ordered
lunch.”

A bit high-handed but he was paying. “Thanks.”

Once they were alone, Luc asked. “How did you know my
brother?”

“I didn’t even realize he was your brother until Sunday. I
met him only briefly, heard his name as Jean and there are lot of those
around.” He nodded but said nothing, waiting for her to go on. It didn’t take
long to tell about meeting Didier, she gave him the full version, and her
coming across him, Jean and Paul that afternoon. “It was very causal, they were
introduced, we exchanged a few pleasantries and then, once I got Stéphane’s
text, I want right back to his office.”

“Where was this café?”

“Five, ten minutes from Stéphane’s, I was headed for the
promenade to sit. It was called
La Chicorrée
.”

He nodded. “I know it. Now, this third man, do you remember
his last name?”

She shook her head. “No. In fact, don’t think they mentioned
last names. Because if I’d heard Prioux I know it would have rung a bell.”
Oh
dear, another idiom that doesn’t translate.
“I’d have noticed it was the
same as yours.”

“I understand. Can you describe him?”

After a five-minute meeting? “Let me think. He was taller
than both your brother and Didier. I noticed that when they all stood up. Brown
hair…” Like hundreds and thousands of Frenchmen. “I don’t remember his eyes but
he had a little moustache, the Hitler, Charlie Chaplin sort.”

“Ah! Paul Bornand.” Luc smiled rather grimly. “I should have
expected. That’s Jean’s lawyer. The three of them must have been hatching
something. Thank you.”

“There’s one more thing.”

“Indeed?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “What is that?”

As briefly as she could, she mentioned Didier’s insistence
that she spend Sunday with him.

It was the first time she’d ever heard Luc Prioux laugh. He
let out a great peal and shook his head. “That is almost unbelievable,” he said,
once he got control of himself.

“Absolutely, but I couldn’t have made it up, even if I’d
wanted to. I thought he was just being possessive…” Seemed tactless to say
“being male”. “But after the fiasco, I decided he’d wanted to use me as a
disinterested and independent witness.”

“But instead discovered you worked for me. No wonder he was
so put out.” She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Jean had struck her as being
a lot more than
put out
. “I must go,” Luc said, standing and reaching
for his jacket. “Stéphane will be here in a minute.”

“Hang on, what was this about?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to ascertain for myself that you were
not working for Jean. Stéphane insisted you were not but I wondered if sex had
clouded his judgment.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I don’t think you have it in you to look me in the eye and
lie. Besides, as you said, the entire situation was so outlandish, I agree, you
couldn’t make it up.” He shrugged on his jacket. ‘‘By the way, my mother was
impressed by you.” And with that he walked out.

Stéphane arrived moments later.

Poppy couldn’t help it. She jumped up and went to meet him.
The hovering waiter might look askance at her hugging Stéphane and kissing him
square on the mouth but she didn’t give a fig. Neither, it seemed, did he. He
wrapped his arms around her and returned her kiss.

“All’s well?” he asked. “Luc wasn’t too difficult?”

“No. Just curious about Didier and how I knew Jean. Odd
really, does seem like a wild stretch of a coincidence but that’s how it was.”

“How did you meet them?”

“Let’s sit back down and I’ll tell you.”

That took care of the rest of her Kir and as she finished,
he asked, “You don’t think it was too much of a coincidence? That it could all
have been manipulated to seem by chance?”

“How? That was the first time I met Helen. I didn’t even know
who she was or where she worked and certainly had never heard of Luc or
Les
Santons
or any of you. So, unless you think Helen was in cahoots, which I
seriously doubt…”

“No, she would not do that. She is enamored with Luc. She’d
do nothing to hurt him or his interests.” At that point, the waiter returned
with a dozen oysters. Stéphane smiled appreciatively. “Luc said he’d ordered us
a meal to remember. Do you like oysters?”

“Love them but don’t usually eat them at a workday lunch.”

“This is not a workday lunch.” He picked up one oyster,
added a squeeze of lemon and held out the shell to her, smiling. “This is a feast
to cement our relationship.”

What could she do but smile back and take it. She tilted the
shell into her mouth and the luscious, salty, seaside taste burst on her
tongue. They were incredible and she shut her eyes to block out everything
except the taste. As she opened them, he was grinning. “You liked it?”

“It was almost as good as sex.”

“No,” he replied, “nothing is as good as sex.”

“I said
almost
but I agree. Nothing is a good as sex
with you.” That pleased him and she hoped to heaven the waiter wasn’t within
earshot.

“What about that other one? That friend of Jean’s, did you
have sex with him?”

Trust him to ask. She took another oyster to fortify
herself. “Yes,” she said and reached for the lemon and the pepper. She liked a little
bit of pepper on her oysters. “I did. Before I met you, I might add. Just
once.” She tipped the oyster in her mouth and chewed slowly. “He was a
thoughtful and considerate lover,” she added, after she’d swallowed it, “but he
didn’t give me what you can. I’d decided it was going to be a one-night stand
and I initially thought he saw it as the same.” After that, she deserved another
oyster. They had a dozen after all.

Stéphane nodded, as if accepting her explanation. Well, darn
it, he’d better. She was too old and too bad-tempered to play possessive and
jealous games.

“Will you see him again?”

“Given he lives here in Nice, it’s not impossible. But after
the way he tried to manipulate me over the farm, if he dares to speak to me, he’ll
walk funnily afterward.”

That made him laugh. “He really angered you.”

“Of course he did, but really…” She reached for another
oyster. “Don’t we have better things to talk about?”

He took another too. “Indeed we do. If only you had all
afternoon, there is a rather cozy attic room just up those stairs behind you.”

If only… “Not this afternoon, I’m afraid.” Although she’d be
very disposed to the idea another day. “I’m a working woman and don’t you have
work to do?”

“Always but…” He paused as the waiter removed the empty
dish. “For now, it is just us, this room and whatever Luc ordered next.”

“How long have you worked for him?” She’d been dying to ask
more about their mutual employer.

“Ever since I qualified. I started as assistant to Maître
Labreuche, Luc’s father’s man of law, and when he retired I took over. The Priouxs
have many business interests and they prefer to have one person handle
everything. I have overseas colleagues when needed but I handle the business in
France. How did I get the job, you perhaps ask?” That had been her next
question. “I grew up with Luc and Jean. My mother had been their father’s
secretary and she died when I was born. Monsieur and Madame Prioux brought me
up with their own children. I went to school with them and they educated me. I
didn’t have much choice about studying law, but I have enjoyed it.”

“That was very kind of them.”

He shrugged. ‘‘Perhaps, but since my mother had been his
mistress, I think they saw it as a responsibility.”

That left her speechless for a good minute. She was definitely
not in England any more. “You’re sure about that?”