One Week with the French Tycoon

by Christy McKellen

  This made all her hard work worth it—the shine of pride on the faces of people who’d previously not believed they’d ever have the skills to cook anything vaguely edible for themselves, let alone something they’d be proud to share with friends or loved ones.

  The kitchen at the back of the café wasn’t stocked with enough culinary equipment to be able to teach more than five people at a time, but she was hoping that once the grant came through—she mentally crossed her fingers that it still would—she’d be able to afford to buy more so she could teach a larger group at one time.

  ‘Well, I think you’ve all done a wonderful job today; it’s great to see how much you’ve improved since you first started coming here,’ she said, beaming at them all.

  ‘It’s good to have you back, Indigo; we missed your lovely smile while you were off gallivanting in Italy,’ Ron, one of the gentlemen who had been coming to her for a couple of months, now called across the room, giving her a cheeky wink. He’d been a morose character when he’d first started coming, due to losing his beloved wife only a short time ago, but he’d slowly made friends and come out of his shell as, week by week, he’d allowed himself to be integrated into the group. She suspected there might even be romance blossoming between him and the only lady currently attending. They often had their heads together, chatting quietly as they worked.

  Pushing away a sting of melancholy at the thought of the dire state of her own love life, he returned his wink and gestured towards the table.

  ‘Okay, well, if you want to start tidying away, we’re just about out of time. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get home and eat after being tortured by the smell of your wonderful grub cooking for the last twenty minutes.’

  It was hard keeping up a chipper tone of voice when her heart was so heavy, but somehow she seemed to be managing it.

  When the group had asked her about her holiday she’d worked hard to sound breezy and upbeat about it, telling them as much as she could whilst studiously avoiding mentioning Julien’s name. She thought she’d pulled off making it sound as if she’d had a fun and revitalising time, though.

  The bell of the café rang in the distance and she glanced over to her friend and kitchen assistant, Lacey, sharing a questioning smile with her.

  ‘I’ll go and see who it is and tell them we’re closed,’ Lacey said, already walking towards the door.

  Grabbing some dirty bowls from the table, Indigo went to stack them in the dishwasher—wanting to pre-empt the tidy-up so she could get home a bit earlier tonight and have a soothing bath—and turned back to see Lacey walk into the kitchen, closely followed by a man.

  A man who was tall, with blond hair and mesmerising whisky-brown eyes.

  ‘Julien?’ she gasped, not wanting to trust her vision. She hadn’t been sleeping particularly well since she’d got back, her mind still whirling with thoughts about him, and she wondered for a second whether her addled brain had conjured him up to torture her a little bit more.

  He walked slowly towards her, smiling in that wry way that she knew so well, making her heart beat a little faster with the comforting familiarity of it.

  ‘What...what are you doing here?’ she stammered.

  ‘I hear you offer cookery courses to men who no longer have wives,’ he said.

  She blinked at him, confused by such a strange opening line. ‘To widowers usually,’ she said uncertainly. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. ‘But I guess we could make an exception for a divorcee,’ she finished, not wanting to look rude and uncomfortable in front of her class.

  ‘Is this the young man you met on holiday that you’ve been avoiding telling us about?’ Margery, the lone woman in the group, piped up, her eyes twinkling with good humour.

  The whole roomful of people seemed to shift at once as they all turned to look at each other, exchanging knowing glances.

  Had they been talking about her behind her back whenever she left the room?

  She sighed, feeling trapped and unprepared to deal with Julien’s presence here in her kitchen—a place she liked to think of as her personal sanctuary. ‘This is Julien,’ she said, gesturing vaguely towards him. ‘And yes, we met in Italy.’

  There was a murmur of friendly greeting from the group.

  Turning to face him now, she said with as much assertiveness as she could muster, ‘I’m afraid we’re just about to pack up for the evening, but if you’d like to come back at another time I’m sure we can talk about finding a place in a group for you.’

  There was a glint of determination in his eyes. ‘Actually, I was hoping I could walk you home tonight,’ he said, moving closer. ‘I have some things I need to say to you—and I’d rather not do it in front of all these strange people.’ He held up an apologetic hand to the group. ‘No offence.’

  ‘None taken,’ Margery called from the other side of the room, giving Julien a supportive grin.

  ‘Yes, Indigo, you go,’ Lacey said. ‘I can supervise the tidy-up and make sure the place is locked up before I leave.’

  Indigo opened her mouth to argue but, as one, the whole group shook their heads at her.

  ‘Go and spend some time with your friend,’ Ron said, flapping a dismissing hand at her.

  Well, it seemed as if she didn’t have much of a choice. Clearly, they weren’t going to let her stay. So much for her being the one in charge here.

  ‘Okay then,’ she said with an exasperated smile, pulling off her apron and going to hang it up on one of the pegs on the wall. She gave her hands a quick wash, then went to fetch her bag and coat from the small office behind the kitchen, taking a moment to drag in some steadying breaths before she went back out there to face whatever was in store for her this evening. No way was she letting herself get excited about him being here. She didn’t think she could cope with more disappointment when it came to Julien.

  When she returned he was chatting comfortably with Lacey, who was leaning against the counter, looking up at him with big, friendly eyes.

  Huh, trust him to charm everyone as soon as he walked in.

  ‘Okay, I’m ready to go,’ she told Julien as she approached the two of them, making sure to keep her voice emotion-free. ‘Thanks, Lacey.’

  ‘Have a good evening,’ her friend replied, giving her a covert eyebrow-waggle.

  Indigo scowled back, intensely aware of Julien’s presence right there beside her.

  ‘See you next week, everyone,’ she called to the rest of the group, hoping to goodness her face didn’t look as flushed as it felt. They all responded with a wave and a smile and continued to watch her with interest until she put her hand on Julien’s back and ushered him towards the door. There was a gentle hubbub of noise as they walked out. No doubt tongues would be wagging once she’d gone.

  Out in the damp night air, she turned to face him and crossed her arms in front of her. It felt so strange to see him here, on her patch. He was as immaculately dressed as always and her tummy tumbled as she fully took him in for the first time since he’d shown up. He looked so darn handsome, standing there as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Which she guessed he didn’t. She wondered fleetingly whether it was going to be possible to get through this without entirely losing her cool.

  ‘So what’s this all about? Why are you here?’

  He let out a low breath and looked around him, as if gathering himself for what he was about to say. ‘Let’s walk, shall we?’

  ‘Can’t you just tell me here?’ she said, grasping on to the only thread of power she had left.

  He crossed his own arms and frowned down at the floor and she noticed for the first time that he had a black shopping bag swinging from one hand. She wondered what he could have in there. It was a strange receptacle for him to be carrying overnight clothes in.

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ she blur
ted, unable to keep her curiosity to herself.

  ‘You’ll see,’ he said, flashing her an enigmatic smile.

  ‘Really? You’re not going to tell me?’

  ‘Non. You’ll have to wait until we’re back at your flat and I’m ready to show you. I’m not prepared to do this out on the street either.’

  She bristled with frustration. ‘And you think I’m stubborn!’ Sighing, she took one more look at the determination on his face and gave him a resigned nod, knowing there was no way she could turn him away. Not if it meant she’d finally find out what was really going on with him. It had been eating away at her since she’d last seen him and she needed answers so she could move on.

  ‘Okay, fine, you win.’ She gestured for them to start walking. ‘It’s this way.’

  It only took them two minutes to walk to her flat from the café and neither of them spoke a word as they made their way down the noisy main road, stepping around the puddles that the earlier heavy downpour had left in its wake.

  ‘This is me,’ she said when they reached the end of her road.

  He followed her to her flat—the place she’d moved into after Gavin had left her. Hers was on the top floor of the converted terrace house, which she loved because she enjoyed falling asleep looking at the night sky through the skylight in the sloping attic ceiling.

  ‘I’m at the top,’ she said, letting them in through the main door and leading him up the stairs. It took her a moment to get the key to line up with the lock because her hands were shaking so much. He stood so close to her she could smell the wonderfully evocative scent of him and she had to take great gulps of air through her mouth so as not to become too distracted by the urge to turn around and wrap her arms around him and pull him close.

  When she finally got the door open, she led him through to the kitchen diner and gestured for him to sit with her at the small dining table that she had set up in the middle of the room.

  Blood pulsed in her ears as she waited for him to tell her why he was here.

  ‘Have you heard about your grant yet?’ he asked conversationally, throwing her for a loop.

  Was he still cross about her refusing to take the money from him? She hoped he wasn’t here to try and get her to change her mind. She didn’t regret the decision she’d made, firmly believing that things would work out here without his help. Somehow.

  She folded her arms. ‘Not yet. Soon, hopefully.’

  ‘That must be stressful.’

  She shrugged. ‘Yes, well, as you know, money and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.’

  He smiled. ‘That makes two of us.’

  What did he mean by that?

  ‘Are you having financial troubles too?’ she asked, confused.

  ‘No. But money seems to be my nemesis at the moment. It makes me do stupid things.’

  There was a tense pause while she waited for him to elaborate.

  He didn’t. Instead, he jumped up and started pacing around the room, moving into the living area and running his fingers lightly over her things, as if wanting to learn them by touch.

  ‘It’s a great flat. Exactly the sort of place I imagined you living in. It’s very you.’

  ‘Me?’

  He nodded, turning to look her in the eyes. ‘Sophisticated, but welcoming.’

  She couldn’t stop the smile from breaking over her face. ‘How very kind of you.’

  He started pacing around again and she realised with a shock that he was nervous.

  Standing up, she took a couple of steps towards him. ‘Julien, will you please just spit out whatever it is you’ve come to say? You’re killing me here!’

  He stopped moving and turned to face her again, his expression apologetic.

  Taking an audible breath, he walked closer. ‘Okay, first of all, I wanted to say sorry, about trying to buy my freedom—and your forgiveness. It was a crass and selfish thing to do. I knew how much you needed that money and it wasn’t fair to make you choose between that and me.’ He snorted gently. ‘Not that you did. In your inimitable style you turned your back on both options.’

  ‘I couldn’t feel like I was indebted to you, Julien, it would have destroyed any equilibrium between us.’

  He nodded, his expression telling her he understood what she was saying. ‘It seems to have become a bad habit with me to throw money at things to try and fix them quickly and without pain. It was ignorant of me to do that and I can see now why you were offended. I apologise.’

  A heavy weight seemed to lift from her chest. ‘Apology accepted.’

  * * *

  Julien looked at the woman he loved and knew that if he wanted to repair things between them he had to tell her everything. He owed her an explanation after all the strife he’d caused. But now he was here he was having trouble finding the words he needed without making himself sound like the worst kind of low life.

  This was exactly why he’d not talked to anyone else when it became apparent that his marriage was over. The shame had stopped the words—kept them lodged inside him, somewhere between his chest and his throat, like a cork pushed too far down to extract.

  ‘I want to tell you why I was such a nightmare to be around in Italy,’ he said. ‘So you understand that my behaviour was never about something you did or didn’t do.’

  The apprehension in her eyes made his blood pump faster and he watched with concern as she walked further into the living area and sat down heavily on to her small red velvet sofa as if her legs had suddenly refused to hold her any longer.

  ‘Okay. Go on,’ she said quietly.

  He sat down too and turned to face her, making sure he had her full attention before he started his sorry tale.

  She looked back at him with such apprehension he hoped to God this wouldn’t be the last time he’d ever see her after making his confession.

  ‘My ex-wife’s name is Celine,’ he began, deciding to cover the basic facts first, hoping the rest would flow from there. ‘We met at a mutual friend’s wedding. Both of us were late and we snuck into the back of the church together and somehow managed to knock over a huge flower display and disrupt the service at a key moment. As you can imagine, that didn’t exactly make us popular guests, but it banded us together as social fugitives.’

  ‘Is your mutual friend speaking to you yet?’ she asked with a smile in her voice.

  He grimaced, too aware of the regret pulling at him to enjoy the gentle joke, but relieved that she felt comfortable enough to tease him still. ‘Only just.’

  She flapped a hand. ‘Sorry to interrupt; do go on.’

  ‘At that point in my life I’d been working so hard I’d not given any of my relationships—with perfectly nice women—a decent chance of surviving and it had begun to occur to me, as I watched all my friends get married and move on with their lives, that I’d put my career before my personal life for too long, and if I didn’t do something about it I was going to end up a lonely old man.’

  She shifted on the sofa, pulling her legs under her, and he took her cue and settled back, making himself more comfortable.

  ‘Celine made me feel like there could be an exciting future ahead of me and, after our first meeting, we started seeing each other regularly—though when I say “seeing” I mean we spent a lot of time in bed together. It was a crazy whirlwind of a relationship and she turned my entire world upside down. She had this energy that electrified me: she was wild and spontaneous and creative, all the things I’m not, but she was also highly strung and only seemed to thrive when all the attention was on her. I can see that now, with the benefit of hindsight, though I was blind to it at the time.’

  He was quiet for a while as he relived the memory of what he’d thought was the most passionate and extraordinary interlude in his formerly routine life—until he’d met Indig
o and realised what passion really was.

  ‘So what happened?’ she prompted gently.

  He sighed. ‘We jumped into getting married too quickly.’ He took a breath. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, but it was a huge mistake.’

  ‘What do you mean, “doing the right thing”?’ she asked with a careful tone to her voice, which made him think she’d already figured it out.

  He turned to give her a sad, knowing smile. ‘Oui, she was pregnant.’

  She looked at him steadily for a moment and he saw her throat bob as she swallowed hard. ‘Ah. I see. Well, that was honourable of you.’

  ‘Yes, well, my father left my mother after he got her pregnant and she struggled for money and support for years, raising me. It was very tough on her. I didn’t want Celine to suffer like that and I wanted to be there for my child. I worked hard for years to be successful so I’d be in a good position to support a family, should I have one. It didn’t happen the way I was expecting it to, but I thought: so what? This was my child and I was prepared to make a go of the marriage so we could all be together.’

  ‘So you do have a child?’ she asked quietly.

  He shook his head and averted his gaze, staring instead at a print of Monet’s Poppies that she had on the wall behind the sofa, finding comfort in the vibrant colours. ‘Non. We lost the baby a few weeks after our wedding.’

  When he turned back to look at her, the expression on her face was so full of sympathy it made his stomach drop.

  ‘Oh, Julien, I’m so sorry to hear that.’

  He nodded to acknowledge her commiseration. ‘It wasn’t just the failed pregnancy that wrecked our relationship, though,’ he continued. ‘It felt to me as though Celine gave up her individuality as soon as we got married, as if she didn’t need to try at anything any more. She’d already handed in her notice at the place she worked and I became her whole universe. It was stifling. She wanted my undivided attention and I tried to give her as much as I could, but she’d phone me ten or twenty times a day and turn up when I had important meetings and make a scene if I didn’t have time to see her.’