Marguerite Kaye - A Wife Worth Investing In

‘Then may I ask what has brought you to England—assuming that your concern for my non-appearance at the Procope in August is not the main reason.’

She took a visible breath. ‘The truth is that I have lost absolutely everything, including almost every penny of the settlement Eloise made on me. I could not have failed more abjectly and I can’t—I simply cannot face my family until I’ve found my feet again.’

‘Good lord! What on earth happened?’

‘Exactly what my sister Estelle predicted.’

‘Monsieur Solignac,’ Owen said, fatalistically.

‘You don’t sound very surprised.’

‘I wish I had misjudged him, Miss Brannagh.’

‘You cannot wish that more fervently than I.’

‘Tell me.’

She winced. ‘It sounds as if you have already guessed. I was dazzled by him. Everyone was, who came into contact with him—everyone that is, save Estelle and by the sounds of it, yourself. I thought myself the luckiest woman in the world to have been taken under his wing as his protégée, to be allowed to train under him, and I thought that I was progressing well.’

‘I remember,’ Owen said, ‘you had reached the dizzy heights of patisserie. I had no idea what that meant, but it seemed to mean a good deal to you.’

‘Yes, it did. And I kept progressing, or so I thought. Pascal even permitted me to introduce a few of my own dishes to the menu. The rest of the kitchen brigade treated me as a fellow chef, not a woman. I thought I was earning their respect too. Perhaps I was, but it was more likely they knew me for Pascal’s—Pascal’s lover.’ She coloured violently. ‘I expect you will think that a shocking admission—my sisters were both shocked to the core.’

‘Miss Brannagh, I guessed when we met that your—your heart was engaged.’

‘You did? I thought at the time that I had been discreet, but I should have known better. I’m not very good at disguising my feelings.’ She stared at him, her face set defiantly. ‘I’m not ashamed of them, or what I did. They view affaires of the heart very differently in Paris.’

‘And you were very much in love with Paris.’

‘And with Pascal—or so I thought,’ Miss Brannagh replied, looking mortified. ‘It is probably difficult for you to understand, but in the kitchen, passions run so very high, and Pascal—he was—he is—the most passionate of all.’

‘But your feelings were not reciprocated?’

‘I thought they were. Perhaps they were a little bit, for a time. Or perhaps I’m just fooling myself. You’ve guessed what happened, haven’t you? I don’t suppose it’s difficult. Anyone but me would have seen it coming. That’s what Estelle said.’

‘You were living your dream,’ Owen said. ‘That stayed with me, your sheer determination, the way you embraced it all, the way you defied convention to do so. Living life to the full, that’s what you said you were doing.’

‘Did I? That was what Mama used to say. She was rather more successful at it than me.’

‘What happened?’

‘Oh, it turned out that Pascal didn’t covet me at all, only my money. From the first, when Monsieur Salois—he is the Duke of Brockmore’s chef—recommended me to his kitchens at Eloise’s behest, Pascal knew I was rich. He was so—so—I couldn’t quite believe that I was actually there, in La Grande Taverne, working for Pascal Solignac. Not only working for him, but—he singled me out. He admired my work. He admired me—he seemed as fascinated by me as I was by him. Even at the time, I thought, why would a man so famous, so charismatic, with all of Paris at his feet would fall in love with me. I was enormously flattered, and I suppose it went to my head. I should have known better.’

‘Miss Brannagh, you do yourself an enormous injustice. If anyone had Paris at their feet, I’d have thought it would have been you.’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘Only because I gave you that impression, because when we met, I was still deluded enough to think that I was what I imagined myself to be. Living life to the full,’ she said sardonically. ‘I don’t have what it takes to make a success of that. I should have known better. I was simply basking in Pascal’s reflected glory.’

‘I think you underestimate yourself. When I saw you...’

‘As I said, when you saw me, I was deluded. We shared a common dream, Pascal and I, but only one of us would achieve it, and the other one would pay dearly. You can guess which was which. We spent hours after service talking of our restaurant, planning the menus. Pascal felt his genius was wasted, having to conform to the dictates of La Grande Taverne’s owner. Only in our own place would he be free to unleash his true artistry. And I would be there at his side, Paris’s best and most inventive sous-chef . That is what we agreed. That is what he promised me.’

‘But when he had your money, his promises proved to be empty?’

She shuddered. ‘The premises were purchased in his name. As a foreigner, I could not own property. As a woman I was apparently not permitted a bank account in France. I don’t even know how much of what he told me was true, I never thought to check. I trusted him implicitly. The new restaurant opened in June this year. What should have been the best night of my life turned into the worst. I had always admired Pascal’s burning ambition but it hid a ruthless streak, as I found out to my cost. He didn’t even wait until the staff had gone home. When the doors closed and the opening-night party began, he took me to one side and told me that he didn’t need me any more. I had served my purpose, and he cast me off like a dirty dish rag.’

She curled her lip. ‘I had been incredibly naïve not to realise that all he had ever wanted from me was my money, but I didn’t take it lying down. I didn’t fight for his affections, though I thought my heart broken, but I fought for what was mine. It was futile. Pascal can do no wrong in Paris’s eyes, and he wields a great deal of influence. No one would believe the word of a deluded, scorned Englishwoman, against Paris’s new culinary king. He made sure of that.’

Her eyes sparked with anger. ‘According to Pascal, he took me in as a favour to Monsieur Salois and tolerated me for far too long because as everyone knows, who has ever met Pascal, he is such a soft-hearted fool, beguiled by a pretty face and a well-turned ankle! Also according to Pascal, he covered up my many mistakes in the kitchen, and took me into his bed because I made it so difficult for him to refuse. The fact that it was my bed in my apartment—but that too, he claimed was my idea. Then when my inflated opinion of my own abilities caused me to demand that I had a place in his new venture, he had no option but to disillusion me. And to ensure that every other restaurant in Paris was similarly disillusioned.

‘So there you have it, my full, sorry and pathetic tale. I tried, heaven knows I have tried to secure gainful employment in another kitchen since. But no one would take me on, and the only offers I received were of a—a very different nature. Paris is a wonderful city when you are happy, when you feel that nothing is impossible, that the future is bright. But when your dreams are shattered, when you dare not look into the future for fear of what you might see, then Paris feels like living in a nightmare. I could hardly bring myself to stay in that apartment when he moved out, but I had nowhere else to go. Now the lease has run out, and I am quite penniless. If I started as a kitchen maid, perhaps I could scramble my way back up, but not in Paris. I love that city so much, but it is tarnished for ever for me now.’

Though her eyes were over-bright, she had not shed a single tear in the telling of this appalling tale. Owen would have given a great deal to throttle Solignac’s scrawny, arrogant neck, but Miss Brannagh was determined to take the blame for the man’s ruthless ambition and callous, abominable treatment of her. In fact she seemed to think she deserved it. Not content with stealing her money and her heart, Solignac had also stripped Miss Brannagh of her self-confidence. ‘And was he right,’ Owen asked tentatively, ‘about your culinary ability—or lack of it?’