“Come on, Rachel, you haven’t been down here for ages.” Tina continued her slow dismantling of Rachel’s defenses.
“Tina, you know that’s not true. I was there last year after we finished the renovation. The kids fell in love with Arianne … we had too much rosé wine — ”
“That, my dear Rachel, was work. I’m inviting you for a break.”
“Thanks, Tina, but I just can’t take a week off right now. I’m working on two large proposals, both due by the end of the month.” She glanced through the thick glass wall of her office at the group of people in the meeting room directly across from her. By tomorrow, they would need her input on the design — a design she’d hoped to finish this afternoon.
“Nonsense, Rachel. You work much too hard.” Then the tone in Tina’s voice changed as she said, almost pleading, “You’ve been isolating yourself ever since Stuart left you and the twins. I worry about you … we worry about you.” Tina paused and then continued, “I miss my Rachel.” Finally, in a small voice, she added, “And besides, if you have to work, why can’t you bring your blessed work with you?”
Rachel exhaled slowly, contemplating Tina’s words. It all sounded so tempting, and a break from the bleak London weather would be heavenly. And Tina was right — the last three years had been grueling. Rebuilding her life, as a single mother at the age of twenty-six, was not easy. But she had to do it, for herself and for her twin babies, Mia and Iain. They were the reason why she’d resumed her once-stellar career as an architect and worked so doggedly at building this fledgling business with her business partner — to recreate a life where her children would be secure again.
Irritated, Rachel shifted in her chair at the unpleasant memory of her gutless husband’s selfish words on that horrible day, when he walked out of her life.
“I need time for myself — I’m just not cut out for marriage and two kids. I’m still too young for this. I want to travel to Africa and … ”
And so, when Stuart boarded that aging Boeing 747 for Nairobi, he left her with nothing — no love, no hope, no money, and no way to contact him. To her dismay, she later found that he did leave her with something — his outstanding bills. The credit card statements for new photographic equipment, outstanding rent on his studio, and three unpaid installments on their leased Volvo — all landed on her desk.
She struggled to sell their house, the incomplete basement blaring “desperate seller” from below. Eventually the nightmare ended when a newlywed couple fell in love with the house. Anxious to minimize the disruption to their lives, Rachel settled on the first apartment she could find — actually, Tina found it. Probably too spacious for what Rachel needed, but it was renovated to her taste, and conveniently located in Putney. In that apartment, Rachel created a new home.
While all this happened around her, Rachel was well aware of her commitment to Peter and their new business partnership — and the new career she was carving out for herself. She soon found that their frail business venture was consuming every spare hour of her time. Her body learned to cope with less sleep, and her social life came to a jarring halt. Weekends and evenings became a carefully orchestrated balancing act between caring for the twins, the demoralizing task of running a household as a single mother, and catching up on an ever-increasing workload at the office.
She bit her lower lip while she rationalized. A short break in sunny Provence would give her some fresh perspectives — new ideas. Besides, her parents had been nagging her to take some time off as well, though she suspected the idea of having the twins all to themselves was their true incentive. She smiled inwardly at the thought of how, at three years of age, the twins had already mastered the fine art of manipulating her parents. A couple of days bonding with Granny and Grandpa might be a real treat for them.
Oh, hell, why not?
“Fine, but just for a couple of days,” Rachel relented on impulse, and laughed aloud as she pulled her head away at Tina’s excited whoop of joy shrilling over the telephone.
Chapter Two
The weather was balmy with a light breeze when Rachel’s flight from Gatwick landed at Marseille airport late Tuesday afternoon the following week. As she stepped from the terminal building into the warm afternoon sun, Tina waved her straw hat at her where she was waiting, double-parked in the taxi zone. She gripped her silver, wheeled suitcase and hurried toward Tina’s little red Italian convertible, enjoying the wonderful effect of the heat on her face where the late afternoon sun touched her skin. “Now if only I can get out of these jeans and jacket and into a light summer dress,” she mumbled, making her way through the crowd.
“Oh, how I missed this — the sun, the blue skies.” She laughed and hugged Tina. Radiant in a lilac linen shift dress, Tina flipped her honey-brown hair from her face, her eyes dancing with delight at seeing her friend again. A gendarmerie made his way over to them, frowning at Tina’s illegal parking. Rachel checked her face in the vanity mirror, and, with a playful wave at the police officer, they drove off.
The sun was still warm when Tina turned into the narrow lane leading to the restored Provençal villa, the white shutters offset by the honey-colored sandstone. The crunching gravel under their tires brought the Brownes’ two giant black-and-tan Beaucerons bouncing toward the car, barking in excited welcome.
The house in Cassis was once part of an ancient hamlet. When Luke and Tina stumbled upon the property, they bought it because they fell in love with the view, the established olive tree plantation, and the old vines. Their immediate plan was to demolish the derelict stone structure and build something new, but Rachel convinced them to restore and renovate the ancient buildings. For almost a year, Rachel selflessly devoted her spare time to managing the restoration project, refusing any form of compensation from the Brownes. A project during which Rachel learned to cope with the many frustrating challenges of the French construction industry. In the end, Rachel certainly learned a thing or two about working with French contractors and circumventing the daunting maze of the French bureaucracy.
“I’m doing this for the love of it, you two. Accept my time as a gift and let me enjoy it,” she’d argued with them. And then, for good measure, knowing Tina wouldn’t yield that easily, she added, “Besides, you never know when I might need a reference for my brilliance as an architect here in France.”
“Only if you treat this house as yours,” Luke had insisted.
Tina parked in the shade of a huge chestnut tree and Luke appeared from the front door, dressed in leather sandals, casual khaki Bermudas and a comfortable white cotton shirt, and made his way over to them.
“Rachel, at last. We’ve missed you.” He smiled and hugged her.
Tina herded them to the large oak table under the old plane trees in the backyard. The table was laid with a light Provençal fare of crusty bread, sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil, fresh tapenade, grilled peppers, juicy olives, and a mouth-watering assortment of local cheeses. Luke pulled the cork on a light, ice-cold rosé wine.
“Rachel, now that you’re here, why don’t we discuss our plans for the weekend?” Tina said with a quick wink at Luke.
Tina’s smooth announcement was way too casual, and she looked up, warning bells ringing in her ears, waiting for the punch line. She knew Tina well enough that she didn’t miss the subtle manipulation in her casual request. Rachel sat back in the comfortable chair and untied the clip in her hair. Soft waves of chestnut brown hair tumbled onto her shoulders and down her back. Luke handed her a glass of cold wine and she nodded her thanks.
“Right, spill it. What’s bubbling in your cauldron?” she demanded.
“Not me … Luke.” Tina shot Luke a teasing look.
Luke smiled and sat down next to his young wife, draping his arm lovingly around her shoulders. “You’re probably aware of some of this, Rachel. We’ve had great results building our brand through last year’s sp
onsorship of a Formula One team. So much so that I increased our sponsorship program for this year.” He looked at her and shrugged before he continued. “Some of the benefits of the sponsorship include VIP tickets to key races this year. Sunday’s race in Monaco is the crown event in the calendar, and we should all go.”
Tina sat up, enthused, picking up from where Luke left off.
“Oh, Rachel, it’s such a glamorous event, and you love fast cars. We simply must go. Luke’s already arranged with Pierre for the last two executive suites in the Hôtel de Paris.”
Rachel looked at the two and shook her head.
“You’re so sneaky, Tina. You know very well I wouldn’t have traveled all the way here for a social event.”
“Yes, that I know, Rachel. But I think it’s time you get out a little. How long has it been since you let your hair down — just enjoy an evening out?”
“I didn’t bring anything formal to wear … ” Rachel started weakly, but she knew her argument wouldn’t fly. Tina’s well-stocked, walk-in wardrobe was a treasure chest of silky Armani gowns, rich Gucci eveningwear, and seductive Nina Ricci dresses — all ready to be plundered. She smiled at the image of their shared wardrobe at university. Their similar bodies and fashion taste made it possible for them to stretch their meager student allowances a lot farther than the other girls on campus.
Ever since they met at Cambridge, Rachel and Tina had been inseparable. After university, Tina moved to London to complete her apprenticeship at the international law firm of Dunkirk and Hobbs, specializing in security law. Her insatiable appetite for hard work, willingness to spend half her life flying all over the world, and her phenomenal intellect paid off. She made junior partner in four years.
It was during those years that Tina met Luke Browne. Luke had started Browne Investment Banking ten years earlier, but was facing the real danger of losing his company, and his reputation, in a case brought before the Financial Services Authority.
Tina was a natural choice for the handpicked team Dunkirk and Hobbs appointed for Luke’s defense, and for the next eight months, Tina fought like a tigress to rescue Luke’s honor and livelihood. It was during this period that their mutual respect turned into something greater. They were married a year later on the white sands of Luke’s holiday villa in St Barth’s.
Tina clasped her hands in excitement and announced with glee, “Do I have the perfect outfits for you — impulse buys I’ve never worn. A black number in which you will look absolute drop-dead gorgeous — and, wait for it — a stunning silver gown for the gala evening.”
“It’s going to feel like the good old days when I ransacked your wardrobe,” Rachel relented, and raised her glass in jest to Tina.
Chapter Three
Twenty miles east, near the hilltop village of Le Castellet, in the nearby appellation of the world-famous Bandol wine region, the magnificent estate of the renowned Chateau Léon overlooked the fertile valley below. The estate had been established in 1785 by the marauding count Maximilian Léon. For seven generations the Léon family estate had produced some of the world’s most awarding Mourvedre wines.
Alain Léon, the latest in the Léon line of men, sat at his walnut Louis XV desk, absent-mindedly tapping the burgundy-colored envelope in his sun-browned hand against his chin. His dark, almost black eyes darted over the complicated set of figures flickering on the computer screen in front of him. The small scar on his upper lip, barely noticeable in the fading light, contributed to a devil-may-care element, an almost buccaneer air, that lingered about him.
The rich, wood-paneled walls were decorated with only two oil paintings, illuminated with dim, twin antique wall lights. The paintings were small but exquisite — one a Provence landscape by Cezanne and the other a self-portrait by Rodin.
The tapping of the envelope stopped mid-air, and his eyes narrowed under the straight line of his dark brows. Figures changed on the screen, seemingly in chaotic patterns, and his sharp brain made the complex calculations. With a wicked smile playing on his lips, Alain waited for the exact moment before he hit the enter key and then sat back with an appreciative sigh.
Almost seven thousand miles away, in the luxurious executive meeting room of a Hong Kong five-star hotel, an excited junior executive quietly left his desk and hurried over to whisper in his diminutive boss’s left ear. A slow smile broke over the Chinese businessman’s face, his wide-set teeth glistening dully in his mouth. His successful bid on the international wine auction made him wriggle with pleasure and he giggled, almost girlish.
Back in Provence, Alain stood from his chair and, and like a majestic lion, stretched his lengthy, athletic frame with a soft groan of pleasure. Broad, muscular shoulders accentuated his narrow hips and hard, flat stomach. He turned and punched a pre-programmed number on his desk telephone.
“It’s done.” His voice was low and clear. “Can you arrange for shipping tomorrow?”
Alain killed the connection, and like the Chinese businessman in Hong Kong, a slow smile spread over his face. Unlike the Chinese businessman, Alain had reason to be happy. He had just netted close to half a million dollars in a single transaction on the wine he’d sold at the international auction.
With a deft flip of the silver letter opener, he opened the burgundy-colored envelope and studied the heavily embossed invitation. He was faced with choosing between two options.
On the one hand was an invitation to attend the weekend festivities planned around the glamorous Monaco Formula One Grand Prix at the luxurious Hôtel de Paris. The invitation held promises of a thrilling weekend that opened with the exclusive sponsors’ event on Saturday, where attendees could meet the drivers. On Sunday, the spectacle of the race could be enjoyed from the hotel’s garden terrace. Finally, the famous gala dinner on Sunday evening brought the festivities to a close.
“Black tie, formal wear, and all that jazz … ” he muttered to himself, but then reluctantly acquiesced to the reality that his attendance was required in light of his business relationships with the sponsors and hotel groups present at the event.
His other, more enjoyable option would be to spend the weekend in the relaxed company of his closest friends, watching the Formula One Grand Prix from his luxurious yacht moored in the Monaco marina.
“Much more fun … ” he muttered again.
Alain pondered his options, not liking what he was facing. So he made a decision. “Both. I’ll do both.” And with that he buzzed his trusty assistant.
“Genevieve, please RSVP to the Hôtel de Paris that I will attend the Monaco weekend. And then, can you arrange to have Vintage moved to her berth in Monaco before Friday?”
Alain killed the connection and nodded his head. “That’s better,” he said and strode from the office in his long, relaxed gate.
Chapter Four
Despite her original aversion to the weekend plans, Rachel experienced a growing excitement as they made their way toward the small principality of Monaco. She leaned back in the sumptuous, soft leather seat while Luke navigated his powerful Bentley through the twisting corners of the famous Moyenne Corniche road toward Monaco, past the ancient village of Eze, stuck precariously against the high rock cliffs.
Two fun-filled days in glamorous Monaco awaited her, and, deep in thought, Rachel pinched her lower lip between her thumb and index finger. The anticipation was strangely liberating. Time to relax, enjoy life, maybe even flirt a little, and she smiled at the oddity of her rebellious deliberation. But this weekend marked the starting point of a new chapter in her life. A life where she would make time to socialize, a life where she could meet new friends. And men.
As they slowed and entered the principality, Tina leaned back and rolled her eyes at Rachel when Luke gave them a quick recital of the two-day event they were about to enjoy. Rachel smiled back at Tina, but her interest was piqued, and she listened to Luke with more atten
tion.
“This is undoubtedly the most prestigious event on the Formula One racing calendar,” he continued. “It takes almost six weeks to build the race track through the narrow, twisting streets of Monaco.”
Luke parked at the Hôtel de Paris, and handing the keys to the valet, he continued, “And it is said that a driver would gladly give up any two other race wins to be crowned the winner here.”
“And tonight we will meet the drivers at the sponsors’ event,” Tina added, joining in Luke’s enthusiasm.
• • •
It was Saturday evening, the night before the group of brave drivers would risk their lives hurtling their machines along the twisting streets of the principality. The sponsors’ event, hosted in the glamorous setting of the Hôtel de Paris, offered a short list of exclusive guests the unrivaled opportunity to meet this group of drivers.
Rachel stood on the balcony of the Empire Ballroom, taking in the view of the yacht harbor below, packed with luxurious yachts. The sun went down in a fireball of red light, dipping behind the Cap Ferrat peninsula, just visible on the horizon. With a pleasant sigh, she turned and made her way back to the table where Tina and Luke were in deep conversation with a young man.
“Ah, Rachel.” Luke stood. “Let me introduce you to our star driver, Dominique Sanches.”
Rachel took in the lean shape of the young man standing in front of her. He appeared too young to be risking his life piloting a multi-million dollar racing car at high speeds through sweeping corners, but then she noticed the determined look in his eyes as he took her hand.
“You’re a brave man, Dominique, doing what you do.”
Heart to Heart Page 44
