TouchofaDom (2 page)

“He left no trace.”

Not entirely. “He sent money to Mother.” Not that the bank
had been exactly forthcoming when she’d asked some weeks back. All she had was
the name of a
notaire
in Nice who arranged the money but… “I know that
because—”

“Let it go, my dear. You have family now. Me, your aunt
Eloise and her family and, although sadly very frail, a grandmother. Spend your
time getting to know us. Now tell me what you think of the veal.”

That was easy enough—incredible, and the
fondant au
chocolat
that finished off the meal was superb, but when they parted she
felt, aside from a meal she could never have afforded to pay for, the visit had
been close to useless.

Yes, she now had an uncle, but she’d already known that. Her
aunt and cousins she hadn’t known about—but they were on the other side of the
world—and a grandmother who was frail and feeble. If she were staying longer in
Paris, she’d take up Uncle Alain’s offer to take her to visit. Maybe she’d find
time to come back in the next couple of weeks. Although if this job didn’t work
out, she’d be busily looking for another.

Mother had said her father had gone south and Uncle Alain
hadn’t denied it.

So, the South was where she was starting her search. But
first her interview, and fingers crossed that she got the job.

Helen Crew wasn’t too sure about this interviewing business.
First, because it had been dumped on her lap. Not that she really minded having
to spend a couple of days in Paris at the expense of her employer, Luc de
Prioux. But also because she’d made a thorough hash of the first
interview—maybe because the woman reminded Helen of a much disliked PE teacher
from her schooldays. The said interviewee hadn’t helped by going off in a huff
after learning the previous cook had been murdered. Sad but that was the fact
of the matter and if poor old Madame Louise hadn’t met such a dreadful end,
she’d still be reigning in the kitchen of Les Santons and there’d be no need
for a replacement.

But Helen liked Adele Royer on sight and after fifteen
minutes, decided she’d fit in nicely into their rather unorthodox household up
on the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. She had good references and
training, was quiet, obviously intelligent, asked good questions, gave clear,
sensible answers and had absolutely nothing of the severe teacher about her
manner.

There was only one nagging thought. If it hadn’t been for
the report from Luc’s private eye, Helen would have had a hard time believing this
sweet-faced girl—okay, young woman—was really into kink.

But appearances could be deceptive. After all, Helen had met
all sorts of people during the years she’d frequented clubs, fetish fairs and
gatherings and enjoyed kinky weekends.

Luc’s background check passed Adele. So it was up to Helen
whether or not to hire her and it was an easy choice. Getting along with Adele
would be heaps easier than it had been trying to make friends with the rather
forbidding Madame Louise. Would Luc and his secretary Branko feel the same?
Hell if she knew. Only one way to find out.

“Do you have any more questions?” Helen asked.

“Not really, we’ve covered most things. I should add though
that I’d very much like this job.”

So she’d said earlier. Was she too eager? Helen didn’t think
so. Adele was alone in the world, needed a job and, Helen guessed, was a bit
pushed for money. “I did make it clear, I hope, that any offer would be
tentative. There’s a six-month trial period after which both sides would be
free of obligation or if everyone agrees, we can renegotiate salary and so
forth.”

“Yes, but in that case, what about references?”

Helen had brought up the very same point with Luc. “This
isn’t the Victorian age, Adele. M. Prioux will observe all work protection
laws. In fact he’s a very fair and generous employer. The concern isn’t your
professional abilities—your references are excellent—but rather whether you
will enjoy working in what is a rather isolated environment. There’s not much
in the village.” Nothing in fact for a single young woman apart from tourist
shops and cafés and a couple of overpriced restaurants. “There are buses into
Nice and Monaco and I’d be willing to let you borrow my car if I’m not using
it.” Wild offer there, what if Luc objected?

Adele nodded. “That would be kind but I have my own car. I’d
really like to explore the area in my time off.”

“It really is gorgeous.” No lie there. “Weather’s fantastic
and the estate is in a wonderful position perched high on the cliffs. I love it
there and M. Prioux is a very reasonable employer.” And a bloody good Dominant
to boot, but she’d keep that to herself. At least for now.

“When would you expect the new cook to start?”

“As soon as possible. Would a week’s time be acceptable?”

She hesitated, as if weighing the question. “I could, but it
would be difficult. I’m still tying up my mother’s estate.”

“We’d pay travel expenses of course. You could put your car
on the auto-train if you’d prefer. Just let us know and Branko, Monsieur’s
secretary, will take care of the booking.”

She hesitated again. “Are you offering me the job?”

Helen stopped. Was she? Why not? “If you want it, it’s
yours. For the trial period at least.”

The girl’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled. “Really? I’m so
glad. And yes. I could be there in two weeks.”

“Perfect.” Helen held out her hand. “Welcome to Les Santons.”

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, Adele understood what walking on air
meant. From the hotel doorway to Tuileries Gardens was five minutes and it
seemed her feet hadn’t touched the pavement. She had a well-paid job in the
South and now all she had to do was find her father. She still had some sorting
and packing to do but she and her mother hadn’t owned much. She planned on
letting their small house and keeping it as a bolt hole in case she ever needed
one. As soon as she heard when they’d booked her car on the train, she’d be
off.

She bought an Orangina from the kiosk and settled herself on
a chair.

Should she stop in Paris on her way down and try to visit
her grandmother with Uncle Alain? No, two trips so close might seem odd, and if
she mentioned where she was headed, he’d start telling her not to look for her
father. She was alone on this and so be it. The six-month trial suited her
purpose perfectly. If she didn’t find any trace of him in that time she’d give
up and move on.

But for now it seemed everything was falling into her lap.

It probably wouldn’t last but for now, she’d enjoy her
prospects.

* * * * *

It was almost two weeks later to the day when Adele drove
off in her little red Renault, leaving her childhood home and her previous life
behind. She braved the traffic of Paris, survived the sheer insanity of the Boulevard
Périphérique ring road and deposited her car, containing most of her worldly
goods, at the Bercy station. She treated herself to a taxi and made her way to Gare
d’Austerlitz
.

With time to spare before her train left, she set off
wandering the neighborhood but, bored with looking at hardware stores and racks
of cheap clothes, she found a café, ordered a kir and settled to read. It was
no good. She was keyed up, excited and nervous, to say nothing of downright
scared.

Was she a total lunatic to walk out on everything she’d ever
known and race off into the unknown to look for a father who might well want
nothing to do with her? He hadn’t for the past twenty-five years after all.

On the other hand, what did she have to lose? She might
never find her father—it did rather come under the heading of “needle in a
haystack”—and if she did, he might repudiate her, but would that be anything
new? Okay, she had no tangible proof he went down south and even if he had gone
there twenty years ago, who was to say he was still there, or even still alive?

All she had to go by were three addresses, two in Nice and
one in Cannes, that she’d found in a folder in her mother’s desk and she wasn’t
about to ignore her uncle’s insistence that she not look for her father. If
he’d been dead surely he’d have known and told her.

Small, no minimal, clues as to his whereabouts, but on the
flip side she now had a well-paying job, a total change of abode and if the job
didn’t work out, so what? Living-in meant she’d have few expenses and could
save a chunk of the generous salary. She’d liked Helen Crewe, the woman who’d
interviewed her. Librarian, hadn’t she said she was? If this Monsieur Prioux
could afford a private librarian, he was loaded. Things might be pretty good at
Les Santons.

* * * * *

She got a foretaste of her new employer’s generosity when
she made her way back to the station. She’d been promised a
couchette
and
had been impressed that he’d sent her a first-class ticket but to find he’d
paid the supplement to have the compartment to herself was a definite bonus.

After a not exactly outstanding sandwich, Adele stretched
out on her
couchette
and with the help of three glasses of wine went to
sleep, lulled by the rocking of the train.

She woke to sunshine.

Seemed like a good omen.

It took longer than she’d expected to claim her car and get
on the road. She’d been tempted to go straight to the address that was burning
away in her handbag, but since her new employer knew exactly what time she was
arriving, best to get straight there. Searching out that old address could wait
until her day off. Didn’t take long to get out of town and head up the
Moyenne
Corniche
and the village of Eze.

Finding Les Santons took a little longer—she drove past the
gates twice but found them at last. She parked, called through to the house on
the intercom and, when the gates opened, drove down the drive, the sea
sparkling ahead in the distance as she pulled in beside a sporty blue car and
stepped out onto the gravel drive to look around.

“Estate” wasn’t an overstatement. The house was immense. “
Chateau
”
wouldn’t have been an exaggeration. The garage block across the drive was three
times the size of the house she and her mother had shared. And as for the
grounds, “expansive” was putting it mildly. She could spend the better part of
an afternoon exploring them.

“
Bonjour
,Adele.” It was Helen Crew, the woman
who’d interviewed her in Paris.

“
Bonjour
,Madame
.”
Adele held out her
hand.

“Call me Helen,” she said, shaking Adele’s hand. “I’ll call
you Adele—if that’s okay with you?”

Why not? “Very well.”

“How about I show you your apartment and let you get
unpacked. Once you’re settled, if you come over to the house, I’ll show you the
kitchen and explain the security system.”

Helped by Vito, one of the gardeners, they lugged Adele’s
luggage up to the apartment over the gym.

“This is beautiful!” She had a bedroom and bathroom, a
kitchenette and a sitting room that overlooked the gardens and the sea far
below.

“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” Helen agreed, adding, “Luc
believes in making his staff comfortable.” That caught Adele’s attention. Helen
referred to their employer by his Christian name? Were they really that
informal? Or was she more than a librarian? Time would tell.

“Look around,” Helen went on, “and if you’re missing
anything let me know. Take your time, grab a nap if you want one. I know those
night trains aren’t the most comfortable places to sleep. No one is here but
me, so no hurry to get busy.

“When you’re ready, walk over to the main house. The French
windows by the fountain will be open. Come in that way, cross the salon and
there’s a door on the right down the hallway. It’s my office. I’ll be working
there.”

With that, she went out, leaving Adele to wonder if she was
dreaming.

Spacious living quarters, generous travel arrangements and a
salary she still couldn’t quite believe. Fortune was smiling in her direction,
or there was a catch somewhere.
Maman
would have insisted the latter.
Adele decided to wait and see. For what Monsieur Prioux was paying, he’d expect
good meals and on time. She’d be earning her money, but earning it in gorgeous
surroundings and with free time to pursue her rather doubtful quest.

Adele allowed herself two hours for a much-needed shower and
some unpacking. Then, not sure why she was so nervous, she crossed the
courtyard and entered the house by the door Helen had pointed out.

The salon was a vast room with long windows looking out onto
the garden and across to the blue sea beyond but she wasn’t here to linger. She
turned into the hallway and plowed right into a man. Dear heaven, was he her
employer? What a way to start.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Oh dear!”
Her face was burning. Even her neck felt red. “I really am sorry, M. Prioux.”
His hands on her shoulders only seemed to exacerbate her embarrassment. “That
was clumsy of me.” He probably thought she smashed and dropped dishes too.

“Don’t worry.”

For some reason she didn’t. Not any longer. His voice was
warm and smooth with an accent she couldn’t quite place. Definitely not
American like Helen. She looked up at him and her jaw dropped. He was utterly
gorgeous and she felt as awkward as a one-legged cow.

“I should have been looking where I was going.”

“Where are you going?”

“Monsieur Prioux.” She stepped back and held out her hand.
“I’m Adele Royer. The new cook. I was looking for Madame Crewe.” “Helen” didn’t
seem right when talking to their mutual employer.

He took her hand, his grasp confident but oddly relaxed too.
“Welcome to Les Santons, Mademoiselle. I’m Branko Odic, Luc Prioux’s
secretary.”

Double faux pas. “Oh!” Well darn, she might be still
blushing but she wasn’t apologizing all over again. “Madame Crewe mentioned
you.”

“Helen?” Seemed Christian names were the norm here. “I bet
she did. I hope it didn’t put you off me?” She looked up at his face and his
dark, dark brown eyes. Given his tone of voice—and a very nice voice it was
too—she’d expected a flirtatious twinkle and little bit of a smile, even a grin
but he looked completely serious.

“I don’t yet know enough about you to be put off.” Yes, a
little familiar this early in their meeting but it was out and hovered in the
space between them.

“I hope you never do.”

That could be taken several ways and she wasn’t even trying
to sort out the various ramifications. “Please to meet you, Monsieur.”

“I’m Branko and I’m happy to have bumped into you.”

Helen had been right, they were informal here. Fair enough,
she’d use first names as well. “Could you tell me where Helen’s office is?”

“It’s right here.” Helen stood in a doorway not three meters
away. “Come along. I’ll show you the kitchen and explain things.”

“I could do that,” Branko offered.

“Yes, you could, but I doubt you know where the egg poachers
or the
bain marie
are kept.”

Definitely a put down. Was there something between these
two?

Adele walked past Branko and followed Helen down a couple of
passages into a large, airy and very light kitchen. “It’s beautiful.” She’d
half-expected some dark, dingy basement but the wide windows overlooked a
well-tended kitchen garden.