Lost and Found

by Ginny L. Yttrup

  It occurs to me that church is just one more thing I've sacrificed for Brigitte.

  But Jason and I were both set on a solid foundation at the little Baptist church—my foundation in Christ has sustained me through adulthood and through the trials of life. It has done the same for Jason. So, even though I heard the fatigue in his voice, know he's still grieving Gerard, as am I, I know he will be okay.

  It is more difficult, for some reason, to claim that same knowledge for myself.

  As the cab pulls up to the Starbucks, I whisper another prayer for Jason. He is waiting for me on the sidewalk. I get out and reach to give him a hug. I notice the bags under his eyes and the way his jaw is set. I pull back from him. "You look beat."

  "It was a long night. C'mon, I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

  We walk into Starbucks and Jason motions to an empty table in a corner. I go sit at the table while he gets our coffee. While I wait, I savor the rich aroma of coffee and relax to the hum of people chatting.

  When Jason returns, he sets a cup in front of me and sits across from me.

  "How are you, Jen?"

  Ever the big brother. "I thought we were here to talk about you."

  "We are. But first, I want to know that you're okay. Or at least as okay as you can be under the circumstances."

  "I'm okay. It's hard. There are so many unanswered questions about the future, but . . . it will all fall into place, right?"

  "Right."

  "So, what's going on?" I feel my brow furrow.

  Jason sighs and his shoulders slump. "It's Andee."

  "I wondered . . ."

  "I had dinner with her last night and she shared something from her past. A trauma she experienced. I don't think she'd ever talked about it. I don't know that she's ever told anyone else." He picks up his cup and takes a swallow of his coffee. "Jen, it was intense."

  "How'd you handle it with her?"

  He tells me about the rest of the evening, how she fell asleep, and that she asked him to leave once she woke.

  "She was in good hands, Jason. I can't think of anything else you could have done."

  "Yeah, I actually felt like maybe we formed a bond through it, you know? I've never seen her that vulnerable and I hoped she could experience God's love and mercy through me. But . . ."

  "But?"

  "When I called her this morning, she didn't answer. I left messages on both her cell phone and home line. Then I got concerned, so I went to her building, but she wouldn't see me."

  "Sounds like she let her guard down and maybe regrets it now."

  "Yeah, but why?"

  "I don't know."

  He leans an elbow on the table and rests his forehead in his hand. Then he looks back at me, "Are you sure I didn't blow it somehow?"

  God, grant me wisdom. But I don't sense His lead. Instead, I just say what comes to mind. "I don't think it's about you, Jason. If she's waited this long to tell someone, then, I don't know, maybe the wound is just too deep. Too hard for her to deal with." I shrug. "I'm just guessing."

  He nods. "I just hoped I could help. I've known there was something under the surface, you know? I hoped that if she'd let me in . . ."

  "Maybe you just need to give her time. Drop her a note, tell her you're available when she's ready."

  "Yeah, maybe." He leans back in his chair and sighs. "Thanks."

  We chat awhile longer and then Jason asks if I've talked to Dad.

  "He's called a few times since Gerard's service. Why?"

  "I don't know—he seems distracted. Just wondered if he's said anything to you?"

  I shake my head. "No, he hasn't."

  "Maybe it's nothing."

  As we stand to leave, Jason puts a hand on my shoulder. "You mentioned the future. Have you made any plans?"

  Now it's my turn to sigh. "No. I'm waiting on Brigitte. We need to talk through Gerard's trust. Hopefully, that will happen in the next few days. I . . . I need to know how to plan, financially, and otherwise."

  "What do you mean financially? Aren't you . . . set?"

  I shrug. "I don't know for sure. You know, Gerard received a good salary from Domaine de la Bouvier, but . . . nothing like what you might imagine considering our lifestyle. Keeping up with Brigitte hasn't been easy. Gerard grew up with extravagance and that's how he lived his adult life. He always knew that one day, when Brigitte was gone, the company and her vast estate would go to him."

  "Gerard did enjoy the finer things in life."

  "Our personal accounts are almost empty. Just before he died, he gave me an incredible gift—did he tell you about it?"

  It's Jason's turn to nod and there's a sparkle in his eyes. "The prayer chapel? He showed it to me the weekend we were in Napa with the two of you. It's beautiful."

  "It is beautiful and it was so thoughtful, but it was expensive. On top of that, I'd lost the diamond out of my wedding ring—the Bouvier heirloom diamond. And after checking our accounts, I realized that rather than reporting the loss to the insurance company, he replaced it with our personal funds. The diamond was under Brigitte's policy, and I'm sure Gerard didn't want to tell her."

  "Speaking of Brigitte, you won't stay with her, right?"

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Why would you stay with her?"

  "Because Gerard asked me to take care of her if anything ever happened to him. I feel . . . responsible. Plus . . . it's hard to explain, but Brigitte's been a significant part of my life since I was thirteen years old. I can't just walk away. She's alone now. I don't want to stay, but . . . I don't know what else to do."

  We get to the door and Jason holds it open for me. Once we're outside, he turns and faces me, his expression serious. "Jen, she's not your responsibility. She . . ." He shakes his head. "Never mind. You need to think of yourself now. Make a wise choice for yourself. Promise?"

  "That sounds so selfish."

  "Selfish? Taking care of yourself isn't selfish, Jen. It's stewardship—it's taking care of the life God's given you."

  His words are new to me—something I've never considered. I nod, but say nothing. I'll have to think through what he's said.

  He gives me a hug. "I'm here for you—for anything you need. And so is Dad. You know that, right?"

  "Right. Thanks, Jason. You know, Andee's a lucky woman, whether she recognizes it or not."

  "Thanks, Jen."

  Once Jason and I part, I decide to walk the rest of the way home. As I do, I consider Jason's thoughts about Brigitte. He may not see that I'm responsible for her, but I feel a deep sense of responsibility. Is my feeling of responsibility from You, Lord?

  I wait, hoping I'll get a sense from God. An answer maybe. But just like in Starbucks when I prayed for wisdom, I hear nothing from God. That's okay. I don't believe in the vending machine version of God—I put in a request and He spits out an answer. It doesn't work that way. Instead, as I told Matthew earlier, I believe He'll reveal Himself in time—His time.

  But still, all I've heard is silence. And it isn't the silence between two souls so comfortable with one another that words aren't necessary.

  No.

  This silence is different.

  I twist the band on my left ring finger as I walk—my reminder that whether I sense Him or not, He is present. He is my Companion, my Protector, my Husband.

  I shift my thoughts to Andee and say a silent prayer for her—for comfort and healing. God knows her needs. I wonder about e-mailing her again. Or rather, I wonder about Lightseeker e-mailing her again. Or do I wait? See if she contacts me? What should I do, Lord?

  But I receive no answer. The silence echoes in my soul like the tapping of my heels on the concrete sidewalk.

  God isn't speaking, it seems.

  I ignore the ripple of
fear I feel.

  The things you assume to be your virtues, God may see as faults.

  JEANNE GUYON

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Brigitte

  AS SOON AS Andee is gone, she returns to her desk and picks up the phone. She dials information and asks for the listing she wants. She waits, tapping her pen on the edge of her desk, while the operator searches for the number. It doesn't take long.

  "Thank you," she says, and then hangs up and dials the number she's been given.

  "Kelly Whitmore, please. This is Brigitte Bouvier calling." She reaches for a notepad while she waits.

  "This is Kelly."

  "Hello, Kelly, how are you?"

  "Brigitte, I'm well, thank you. But I was so sorry to hear of your loss."

  "Yes, it's a difficult time, as you know. How long has your father been gone now?" She taps her pen against the desk again. The pleasantries require such patience.

  "Almost six months."

  "Such a loss. Duke was a good man. He is missed in the valley, as I'm sure you know."

  "Yes, just as Gerard will be missed. What can I do for you, Brigitte?"

  She clears her throat. "Kelly, I have a business deal I'd like to discuss with you. I'd like to meet at your earliest convenience. I'd prefer we speak in person. I'm happy to come to your office."

  "Well, you've piqued my curiosity. How about tomorrow morning at 9:15?"

  She jots the time on her notepad. "Perfect, I'll see you then. Merci, Kelly."

  AT 9:00 A.M. SHE parks her Bentley Continental outside the offices of Whitmore and Whitmore Wines. Though Kelly is young—midthirties, she'd guess—she's earned a reputation as a strong businesswoman. She was running Whitmore and Whitmore long before Duke died and is proving she'll far exceed her father's vision for the business.

  The timing of this meeting is fortuitous. Duke never would have agreed to the offer she's about to make.

  She reaches to the passenger seat for her Chanel Black Caviar briefcase and exits her car. She enters the building through the large etched-glass front doors and stops at the reception desk.

  "Brigitte Bouvier for Kelly Whitmore." She brushes invisible lint from her suit jacket as she waits.

  "Brigitte." Kelly extends her hand.

  "Hello, Kelly. Nice to see you again." She notices Kelly's designer suit and the large diamond on her right hand. "You're looking well."

  They exchange the usual small talk on the way to Kelly's office. But once inside, with the door closed, the tone changes.

  Kelly sits behind her large glass and chrome desk, offering Brigitte a seat opposite her. Her choice is intentional, Brigitte assumes. And she respects her for it. She is young, bold, and she holds the power here. She won't let Brigitte forget it. Kelly reminds her of herself.

  "You said you have a deal you'd like to discuss?"

  "I do."

  They dive in.

  "It's come to my attention that you're holding a demand note for Azul." She sees a flicker of surprise in Kelly's eyes, but Kelly is quick to conceal it.

  "How did you happen upon that information?"

  "Does it matter?" There's no reason to reveal her source. That was Andee's stipulation—a wise one, of course.

  "No, I don't suppose it does."

  "I'd like to buy the note. I'm prepared to offer you a generous return, of course."

  Kelly swivels her chair and opens the credenza behind her desk. She pulls out a file folder, turns back to Brigitte, and opens the file. "You're aware of the amount owed?"

  "I am."

  "What kind of return are we talking about?"

  "I'll pay one hundred and fifty percent of the amount currently owed."

  Kelly nods. "Are you also aware that Bill Durand says my father cancelled this note? Told him he'd tear it up?"

  "I'd heard that." How foolish Durand had been, not to have that cancellation in writing and witnessed.

  "But there is no record of that discussion, nor, as you can see, was the note ever destroyed. Durand is lying."

  "Obviously."

  Kelly leans back in her chair and eyes Brigitte. She smiles and then laughs. "I'd love to know why you want it, but I won't ask. That's your business."

  "Oui . . . And I'd like your word that this transaction will remain anonymous. If you accept, I'll have my attorney contact you to take care of the details."

  Kelly nods, closes the file, and stands. She reaches across her desk to shake Brigitte's hand. "Your secret is safe with me. I accept your offer."

  "You'd be foolish not to." Brigitte stands and takes her hand.

  "I'm no fool, Mrs. Bouvier."

  "No, you've proven that. In fact"—she looks Kelly up and down—"you remind me a bit of myself."

  "Thank you. I consider that a high compliment."

  "As you should . . ."

  They laugh together as Kelly walks her to the door.

  She walks to her car, satisfaction knit into a tight smile. Soon, she will implement the next phase of her plan. Her meeting with Andee yesterday proved fruitful. She was glad to see that Andee didn't allow her personal relationship with Jason to interfere with business.

  She considers again the stipulation Andee demanded. Complete anonymity. As Andee reminded her, it is in both their best interests. They each know too much. Brigitte has a flash of doubt. Did she reveal too much to Andee with her call just after Gerard's passing? Will Andee use her knowledge against her? No. That is the brilliance of Andee's plan—neither of them will reveal the details because both have too much to lose.

  It's perfect. Her respect for Andee has grown over the last twenty-four hours. She lives up to her philosophy—she doesn't let anything or anyone stand in the way of her goals—not even her relationship with Jason Durand.

  The only Durand she'll have to deal with now is Jenna. And this little business transaction ensures that Jenna Durand Bouvier will remain a Bouvier.

  What choice will she have?

  The end, as the Americans are so fond of saying, justifies the means.

  Her laughter fills the interior of the Bentley as she pulls out of the parking lot.

  The external actions of a person's life proceed from the inward man. When you live in your old self, you have a strong will and many desires, with ups and downs of all sorts.

  JEANNE GUYON

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Andee

  I GUN THE Porsche around the final curves in the road before turning off on the winding drive that leads to Azul. As I pull into a parking space, I reach for the radio and turn off the talk of KGO that filled the void in the car, and my mind, as I drove.

  I called Bill last night and set this appointment, making sure it was set for a time Jason wouldn't be at the winery. All I revealed to Bill was that I had news after speaking with Kelly Whitmore's attorney.

  Sorry, Bill, the news isn't good.

  I could have delivered the news over the phone, but a personal visit makes me look good. Facts are facts.

  I reach for my briefcase, get out of the car, and set the alarm. I take a deep breath to clear my mind. Don't overthink this, Andee. It's business. That's all. If Bill had been wiser in his business dealings, this wouldn't be happening. You're just delivering news of his consequences.

  Anyway, I remind myself, I don't know what Brigitte will do with the demand note. Maybe she'll leave well enough alone. Maybe she's just bailing out a family friend. Yeah, right.

  As I walk toward the winery offices, I run through the plan one more time. There's just one risk: Brigitte. Can I trust her? No. But I have some collateral—she doesn't want her involvement known at this point either.

  We'll see . . .

  In any event, I don't work for Azul. I took nothing from them in
return for my services. Just listened to Bill and, as far as he's concerned, made a helpful phone call to check out the situation.

  I pull open the heavy oak door of the winery tasting room, take an immediate left, and follow a hallway that opens into the winery offices. Bill stands at a coffeepot in the reception area, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  "Andee, good to see you." He sets his cup down and reaches to shake my hand. "May I offer you a cup?"

  I look at the weak brew and shake my head. "No, thanks." Has he spoken to Jason in the last thirty-six hours? Does he know . . . ? I put the thought out of my mind.

  "Well, then, follow me and we'll have a seat in my office."

  "Great."

  We round a corner and enter Bill's office, where he motions me to a brown distressed-leather chair. He sits on the matching sofa. In front of the corner arrangement is a large cowhide-covered ottoman scattered with wine magazines. The office's decor is what I expected: warm, comfortable, relaxed. Just like Bill. Just like Jason.

  I scoot forward in the large chair. Don't get comfortable, Andee. This isn't a social call. "Well, Bill, I'm afraid I have some potentially bad news."

  "I was afraid of that." He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

  "I spoke with the Whitmore's attorney, as I told you on the phone, and he told me that sometime within the last week, Kelly sold your note to an anonymous investor who offered her substantially more than the value of the note."

  He takes in the information, nods. "So what does that mean for Azul?"

  "I don't know for sure. That's why I said it's potentially bad news. It could mean that whoever bought the note will demand payment immediately. If you can't pay, then they will ultimately force Azul into bankruptcy."

  He shakes his head.

  "Or maybe whoever purchased the note just wants to protect you—help you out. If Kelly made it known that she was holding such a note, then it's possible someone you know stepped forward on your behalf and wants to remain anonymous."