His father was seated behind the vast leather-topped desk, a cigar in one hand, a phone in the other. Luc ignored the chair his father nodded to and walked across the office to look out of the window while his father finished his conversation. He’d lost count of how many times he’d sat in that bloody chair waiting for his father, dancing to his tune, and being told where he was going next. At least his father couldn’t do that to him now. He stared down at the trees on the wide avenue below, wishing that he was back at the château.
‘Luc!’ his father bellowed, and he turned.
‘Father. How are you?’
‘I’m well. It’s good to see you. Marthe phoned me. Told me you were here.’ Ah, that was how his father had tracked him down.
Luc nodded, slightly surprised by this. Marthe only interacted with his father when she absolutely had to.
‘How are things with the wedding? Alex was on the phone yesterday. Set me thinking, if we renovated the place, we could earn a lot more money renting out the whole place. Bet it’s turning the place upside-down.’
Luc smiled, thinking of Fliss, Solange and Hattie and the way that the kitchen had become their hub just like it had been when he was a boy. The château was a home again. ‘Something like that.’
‘Excellent. If this is a success, I’m considering opening the house up for more. It will keep you busy.’
‘I’ve got enough to do with the vineyard,’ said Luc stiffly. This was so typical of his father. A new idea, a new business venture that he would want Luc to set up for him. ‘You do remember that I’ve left the company.’
His father sighed irritably. ‘Yes. Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve had a discussion with Marthe. She says Gilles Roban has offered an excellent price for the grapes this year and she says I should accept it. That would give some more capital to refurbish the château and then you could make the champagne next year.’
There was a buzzing in Luc’s ears, like angry wasps bursting out of a hive.
‘Pardon?’ It was as if he couldn’t quite get his head around the words even though they were quite plain.
His father shrugged. ‘There’s always next year. If you want to make wine, come down to Bordeaux.’
‘Father, I want to make champagne. This year.’ Luc hated that he sounded like a spoilt brat but he knew his father. Next year there’d be another reason for the delay – and besides, this year’s harvest was shaping up to be a good one. No wonder Roban wanted the grapes.
‘I told Marthe that’s what you would say.’
‘I don’t understand. Marthe hasn’t said anything to me about accepting an offer from Roban.’
His father puffed on his cigar. ‘It isn’t her decision but I thought I’d check with you, especially as I heard you’re talking to D’Arreau about buying one of their wine presses. Is that a wise investment just yet?’
Luc sat down and went through in great detail exactly why the press was a good investment. Luckily Yves Brémont wasn’t a detail man but someone who was easily distracted by new toys, new technology and quick wins.
‘The idea of a press is a good one but you should wait until next year. By all means have your meeting but I agree with Marthe, we will sell the grapes this year.’
‘But…’
‘Your aunt knows her champagne. If she thinks it is a good idea, then so do I. My mind is made up.’
Luc gritted his teeth, knowing that arguing with his father was counterproductive. He would speak to Marthe, see if he could persuade her to change her mind. What had made her interfere this time? Surely she wasn’t scared of change, it wasn’t like her to be backward-looking or to duck out of a new challenge. Something wasn’t right but he was damned if he knew what.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Hattie walked briskly to Nina’s berating herself all the way. She wasn’t in love with Luc. All it was was too many endorphins from too much good sex. It was an infatuation. Nothing more. Just a reaction to the attention. The novelty of being desired again. It had gone to her head.
Even to her the words felt like excuses. With a heavy, heartfelt sigh she directed her attention to her phone. Just another street and then she’d be there.
When she walked through the door of Nina’s she wasn’t sure where to look first: the glass counter with a dazzling display of cakes and pastries, or the under the seascape mural that ran the whole length of one wall? Mermaids, with tails of iridescent greens and blues and streaming hair of red and silver, swam among rippling seaweed, ornate shells and sunken treasure. Tearing her attention away she approached the counter where a rather formidable older man waited.
‘Bonjour.’ She attempted a smile which was rebuffed by his stern expression. ‘I’m … I’m here to see Nina. I’m Hattie.’
‘She’s teaching a class at the moment. Perhaps you’d like to take a seat while you wait.’
‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’ She didn’t dare ask for a coffee in case he thought she was after a freebie. ‘I’ll just sit and stare at the mural. It’s beautiful.’
His face softened with a gratified smile. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll make you some coffee and perhaps I can persuade you to have an éclair.’
