Cinderella on His Doorstep

by Rebecca Winters

  CHAPTER TWO

  FEW things had surprised Alex in life, but twice in the last eighteen hours Dana Lofgren had taken him unawares.

  “I have nothing signed and sealed yet. Is the season of vital importance?”

  Her nod caused her hair to gleam in the sun like fine gold mesh. “It has to be late summer. Right now if possible,” she said, looking all around, “but maybe that’s asking too much.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s available. My next tentative booking so far is with a Paris studio that won’t be needing it until mid-September.”

  “Good,” she murmured, almost as if she’d forgotten he was there.

  “Are you ready to see the interior?”

  “No.” She sounded far away. “I’ll leave that to my father. I’ve seen what’s important to him. The estate possesses that intangible atmosphere he’s striving for. I knew it as I drove in last night.

  “Over the years of watching him work I’ve learned he doesn’t like too much information. If I were to paint pictures, he’d see them in his mind. They would interfere with his own creative process.” She suddenly turned and flashed him a quick smile. “His words, not mine.”

  Alex couldn’t help smiling back. She had to be made of strong stuff to handle her father whose ego was probably bigger than his reputation. “Such trust in you implies a spiritual connection I think.”

  “I would say it has more to do with our mutual love of history. When I leave, I’ll phone him and let him know what I’ve found. Before the day is out you’ll hear from two people.”

  This fast she’d made her decision? Alex couldn’t remember meeting anyone like her before. Did she always function on impulse, or just where her father was concerned? “I’ll be waiting.”

  “SolArnevitz handles the financial arrangements. Paul Soleri is in charge of everything and everyone else when we’re on location. Paul will go over the logistics and has the ability to smooth out any problem. You’ll like him.”

  “As opposed to…”

  She made a face. “Who else?”

  Meaning her father of course. Dana Lofgren was a woman who didn’t take herself too seriously. Despite what he assumed was a ten-year age difference between them, he feared she was growing on him at a time when he couldn’t afford distractions.

  “What more can I do for you this morning?”

  “Not another thing.” But her blue eyes burned with questions she didn’t articulate, piquing his interest. “Thank you for dinner last night and your time this morning. It’s been a real pleasure, Alex. Expect to hear from Sol right away. Here’s his business card.” She handed it to him. “He’ll work out all the details with you.”

  To his shock she got in her car before he could help her.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” He wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

  “A daughter’s work is never done. I have to be in Paris this afternoon, then I’ll fly back to L.A. Enjoy your solitude before everyone descends on you.”

  The next thing he knew she’d turned around and had driven off, leaving him strangely bereft and more curious than ever about her association with a father who was bigger than life in her eyes. Alex saw the signs. Ten, twenty, even thirty years from now he had a hunch Jan Lofgren’s hold on her would still be powerful.

  He stared blindly into space. Whether strongly present in Dana’s life, or deliberately absent as Gaston Fluery had been in his daughter’s life, both fathers wielded an enormous impact. The thought disturbed Alex in ways he’d rather not examine.

  An hour later, after he’d changed clothes and had begun cutting down more overgrowth, his cell phone rang. It could be anyone, but in case it was Dana, he pulled it out of his pants pocket. The ID indicated a call from the States. He clicked on. “Alex Martin speaking.”

  “Mr. Martin? This is Pyramid Pictures Film Studio calling from Hollywood, California. If it’s convenient Mr. Sol Arnevitz would like to set up a conference call with you and Mr. Paul Soleri before he goes to bed at eleven this evening. It’s 7:00 p.m. now. Mr. Lofgren heard from his daughter and is anxious to move on this.”

  Alex was anxious, too, for several reasons. “Eight o’clock your time would work for me.”

  “Very good. Expect their call then.”

  After twenty more minutes loading the truck, Alex went back to the château and entered through a side door leading into the kitchen. He washed his hands, then poured himself a cup of coffee before carrying it to the ornate salon off the foyer, which he’d turned into a temporary bedroom-cum-office. He liked living with the few furnishings of his parents he’d had shipped.

  The salon’s original furniture was still stored on the top floor. Once he’d made inroads on the outside of the château, he would concentrate on the house itself, that is if he made enough money in time. For now he’d supplied himself with the necessities for living here: electricity, cable and Internet, running water hot and cold, a new water heater, a stove, a fridge, washer and dryer and a new bed with a king-size mattress and box springs.

  He snagged the swivel chair with his foot and sat down at his desk. No sooner had he booted up his computer than his call came through. Once the other two men introduced themselves, they made short work of the negotiations. The company would be on location from August 8 through 31. Sol quoted a ballpark figure, but left it open because other expenses always accrued.

  Alex didn’t know if Dana had anything to do with the actual amount, but it was a far greater sum than he’d hoped for. Sol sent him a fax, making the contract official before he rang off.

  Paul stayed on the line with him for another twenty minutes. They discussed logistics for the cameramen and staff. Alex e-mailed him a list of hotels, car rental agencies and other businesses in and around Angers such as Chanzeaux.

  “Chanzeaux?” the other man said. “Dana mentioned she stayed at a hotel there last night. I believe it was the Hermitage. According to her it’s the perfect place for her father.”

  It pleased Alex she’d given her seal of approval. “The food’s exceptionally good there. Mr. Lofgren should be very comfortable.”

  “Since we’re behind schedule as it is, we all want that,” he admitted with a dry laugh that spoke volumes about Dana’s father. “The crew will arrive day after tomorrow. Everyone else the day after. I look forward to meeting you, Alex.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.”

  After clicking off, he headed outside again. Dana would be back in a few days, this time with her father. Over the years Alex had been involved in various relationships with women, but he’d never found himself thinking ahead to the next meeting with this kind of anticipation. He had no answer as to why this phenomenon was suddenly happening now.

  During the taxi ride to the house, Dana phoned Sol whose secretary told him the contract with Mr. Martin had been signed. Relieved on that score she called Paul, wanting to touch base with him before she saw her father.

  “Hey, Dana—Are you back already?”

  “Yes, but only long enough to pack before I leave again. Sol says everything’s ready to go.”

  “That’s right. I’ve got us booked at three hotels fairly close together. Just so you know, the Hermitage didn’t have any vacancies, but with a little monetary incentive I managed to arrange adjoining rooms for you and your father for the month.”

  She smiled. “You’re indispensable, Paul.”

  “Tell your father that.”

  “I don’t need to.” Except that nobody told Jan Lofgren anything. Little did Paul know that even though he’d arranged a hotel room somewhere else for Saskia, she’d probably end up staying with Dana’s father. “Listen, Paul—I’m almost at the house so I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”

  “Ciao, Dana.”

  After she hung up, her mind focused on her own sleeping arrangements. Since the film studio had the run of the estate until the end of August, Dana decided she would stay in the deserted château away from everyone. When else in her life would sh
e get a chance like this? She’d buy a sleeping bag. It would be a lark to camp out inside.

  Her dad wouldn’t need her except to do the odd job for him and bring him lunch. Once he settled in for work each day, he hated having to leave with the others to go eat. Maybe he used it as an excuse to be alone with his own thoughts for an hour. Who knew?

  What mattered was that she’d have most of her time free to explore the countryside and only come back at dark to go to sleep. Her thoughts wandered to Alex. She wondered where he was staying. The concierge at the Hermitage indicated he lived in the vicinity. Considering the taxes he owed, she imagined he’d found a one-star hotel in order to keep his expenses down. It made her happy that the film company would be giving him a financial boost. He—

  “Miss?”

  Dana blinked. “Oh—yes! I’m sorry.” They’d reached her family’s modern rancho-styled home in Hollywood Hills without her being aware he’d stopped the taxi. She paid him and got out.

  Just in case her father had brought Saskia home, she rang the doorbell several times before letting herself in. After ascertaining she was alone, Dana took off her shoes and padded into the kitchen to sort through the mail and fix some lunch.

  The clock in the hall chimed once, reminding her France was nine hours ahead of California time. She doubted Alex would be in bed yet. Was he out with a beautiful woman tonight? And what if he was?

  For a man she’d barely met, Dana couldn’t believe how he’d gotten under her skin so fast. It was that unexpected invitation to dinner with him. He didn’t have to take the time, but the fact that he did made him different from the other men she’d known. She found him not only remarkable, but disturbingly attractive.

  While she finished the last of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, she reached for her mother’s favorite French cookbook from the shelf. It wasn’t a cookbook exactly. It was a very delightful true story about an American family living in France in 1937. Quite by accident they met a French woman who came to cook for them.

  Everything you ever wanted to know about France was in it, including French phrases. It was full of recipes and little drawings, so much better than a Michelin guide. Both Dana and her mom had read it many times, marveling over a slice of history captured in the account. Dana would pack this with her.

  In the act of opening the cover, warm memories of her mother assailed her. A lump stayed lodged in her throat all the way to the bedroom where she flung herself on the bed to thumb through it. Chanzeaux looked just like the adorable villages in the book with their open-air markets selling the most amazing items. She rolled over on her back, wondering about Alex. Having lived on the other side of the world, did he find France as charming as she did?

  There were many questions she’d like to ask him, but she’d already probed too much. Anything more she learned he would have to volunteer when they happened to see each other. He could be slightly forbidding. It would be wise to stay out of his way. That went for her father, too, except to feed him.

  Oh, yes, and remind him to go to the local hospital for his weekly blood test. No one would believe what a baby he was, which reminded her she’d better check the medicine cabinet and make sure he had enough blood thinner medication to be gone two months. After they left France, they’d finish up the filming in Germany where Dana had already checked out the locations ahead of time.

  With a sigh she got up from the bed needing to do a dozen things, but a strong compulsion led her to the den first. Ever since she’d heard that the Fleury family had once produced wine, she wanted to learn what she could about it. The wine she’d had with Alex had left the taste of nectarines on her lips. As she’d told him that night, it could become addicting.

  She typed in Anjou wine, France. Dozens of Web sites popped up. She clicked on the first one.

  The Anjou is one of the subregions of the Loire Valley producing a variety of dry to sweet dessert wines. The two main regions for Chenin Blanc are found in Touraine and along the Layon river where the soil is rich in limestone and tuffeau. Long after you’ve tasted this wine, it will give up a stone-fruit flavor on the palate. The Dutch merchants in the sixteen hundreds traded for this wine.

  That far back?

  Fascinated by the information, Dana researched a little more.

  Coteaux du Layon near the river is an area in Anjou where the vines are protected by the hills. It’s best known for its sweet wines, some of the recipes going back fifteen centuries. By the late seventeen hundreds, several wine producers became dominant in the region including the Domaine du Rochefort, Domaine du Château Belles Fleurs and Domaine Percher.

  There it was, part of Alex’s family history. Dana’s father would find the information riveting, as well, but for the meantime she’d keep it to herself. The owner was a private person. It would be best if she waited until he brought it up in the conversation, if he ever did.

  A few minutes later she’d gone back to her room to do her packing. She had it down to a science, fitting everything into one suitcase. As she was about to leave and do some errands, her father came home and poked his head in the door. “There you are.”

  She looked up at him. “Hi.”

  “You just got back. How come you’re packing again so soon?”

  Dana had anticipated his question. “I’m going to fly to Paris with the camera guys in the morning.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Saskia will be a lot happier if she has you to herself when you fly out the day after tomorrow.”

  “Saskia doesn’t run my life,” he declared.

  No one ran his life. Dana certainly didn’t figure in it except to fetch for him, but the actress didn’t like her. “I know that, but it doesn’t hurt to keep the troops happy, does it?” She flashed him a smile, hoping to ease the tension, maybe provoke a smile, but all she provoked was a frown.

  “You really think you found the right place?” he asked morosely.

  The film was on his mind, nothing or no one else. Until he saw the estate, he’d be impossible to live with. Good luck to Saskia. “If I haven’t, Paul will switch us back to Plan B outside Paris without problem.”

  After staring into space for another minute he said, “Have you seen my reading glasses?”

  “They’re on the kitchen counter, next to the script. Have you eaten?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I’ll fix you some eggs and toast.”

  “That’s a good girl,” he muttered, before leaving her alone.

  He only said that if he needed something from her. Because he was a narcissist, it was all she would get. She knew that, yet because their natures were exact opposites, a part of her would always want more. Still, when she thought of Alex’s mother being cut off by her father, Dana realized her relationship with her father hadn’t degenerated to that extent. Not yet…

  Alex was in his bedroom when the phone rang again. He’d just hung up from talking with another Realtor who hadn’t heard the estate wasn’t for sale and never had been. They never stopped hounding him. With each call he’d hoped it might be Dana.

  “Monsieur Martin ici.”

  “Bonjour, Alex.”

  His lips twitched. Her accent needed help, but with a grown-up rosebud mouth like hers, no Frenchman would care. “Bonjour, Dana. How are things in Hollywood?”

  “I wouldn’t know. How are things in that jungle of yours?”

  Laughter burst out of him. “Prickly.”

  “My condolences.”

  “Where are you exactly?”

  “In front of the château.”

  He felt a burst of adrenaline kick in.

  “I was hoping you would let me in, but considering your plight, I’ll be happy to come back after you and your machete have emerged.”

  The chuckles kept on coming. “I’m closer than you think. Don’t go away.” He hung up and strode swiftly through the foyer.

  As soon as he opened the front door of the chateau, she got out of the car. Today she w
as dressed in jeans and a white short-sleeved top. If the pale blue vest she wore over it was meant to hide the lovely mold of her body, it failed.

  Though she gave the appearance of being calm and collected, he noticed a pulse throbbing too fast at her throat. He knew in his gut she was glad to see him.

  “When did you fly into Paris?”

  “At six-thirty this morning with the camera guys. When their rooms are ready, they’ll crash until tomorrow, then probably show up around eight in the morning to start checking things out.”

  “What about your father?”

  “Everyone else will arrive at different times tomorrow.”

  “I see. He didn’t mind you coming on ahead?”

  “Most of the time we do our own thing.” She gave him a direct glance as if daring him to contradict her.

  Alex had asked enough questions for now. It was almost noon. “Let’s get you inside. In case you’d like to freshen up, there’s a bathroom on the second floor at the head of the stairs.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dana followed him up the steps into the foyer dominated by the central stonework staircase. With no furniture, paintings, tapestries or rugs visible, the château was a mere skeleton, but she seemed mesmerized.

  Taking advantage of her silence he said, “The place was denuded years ago. Everything is stored on the third level where the servants used to live.”

  He watched her eyes travel from the walls’ decorative Italianate paneling to the inlaid wood floors. “There’s a chandelier packed away that should hang over the staircase. Without it the château is dark at night. I told Paul that if night interiors are called for, he’ll need to plan for extra lighting. Your father—”

  “My father’s very superstitious,” she broke in on a different tack. “He gets that from his Swedish ancestry. When he stands where I’m standing, he’ll be frightened at first.”