Rebecca Winters: At the Chateau for Christmas

“Do you have any questions, Ms. Tate?”

At this point her emotions were in chaos. “Only two right now.” She fought to keep the tremor out of her voice, but to her alarm, she had difficulty keeping her eyes off him. “Did you know her well?”

“Very” came the grating sound of his voice.

Laura sensed a wealth of meaning and possible rebuke behind that one word, stabbing her until she could feel herself bleeding out. But this man knew nothing about the private history of the Holden family and the horrendous gulf caused by his grandfather. She bristled at his unspoken censure of her.

Narrowing her eyes on him she said, “Am I to assume she was happy with your grandfather?”

“With him, absolutely.”

What exactly was that supposed to mean? “That’s your interpretation, of course.”

She got no response from him. His sangfroid crept under her skin. So did his lack of explanation that spoke volumes about the underlying issues of a marriage that had brought so much grief to her mother and to Laura personally.

Laura averted her eyes, needing to exit the limo and be strictly alone while she absorbed the gut-wrenching news about her grandmother’s death.

All these years without contact. Laura hadn’t seen Irene since she was six. Year after year she’d secretly yearned to visit her and get to know her. But loyalty to her mother, Jessica, had prevented her from getting in touch with her. Now the lovely older woman in the photos was gone... Death was irrevocable.

Another small sob escaped her throat. She traced her grandmother’s features with her index finger. These few pictures were all Laura would ever have of the woman who’d brought her mother into the world and raised her. The pain of loss over an opportunity never seized was excruciating. How empty and pointless that loyalty seemed now.

Without lashing out at her, Laura would have to search her soul to find the right words to tell her unforgiving mother that Irene was dead. She lifted her head, looking at Nicholas through dull eyes. Tears trickled down her throat, yet it was hard to swallow.

“It’s evident this was a task you would have done anything to avoid. Your loyalty to your grandfather deserves a medal. I suppose the least I can do is thank you for tearing yourself away from business to come all this way with her body.”

“You’re welcome.”

His cool reply had her floundering. Clearly this man found his errand repugnant. But as much as she knew anything, she realized he was a true gentleman, a quality she valued highly in a man. Otherwise he would have flung all this in her face with the greatest of pleasure. His restraint taught her a lot about his character, adding to the potent charisma no man of her acquaintance possessed.

He got out of the back to help her. As her body brushed against his by accident, an unlooked-for awareness of his male presence leaped to life, threatening her in ways she’d never experienced before. The knowledge that he was married only made her reaction to him that much more shocking. She clutched the photos and cards before running toward the building without looking back.

* * *

“Telephone, Nic. Line two.”

Nic had been making corrections to a drawing on the computer. “ Merci, Robert.”

After three years, his stomach no longer clenched every time a call came through for him, whether it was on his cell or the landline at work. For the first year following his wife’s disappearance, he’d imagined every call would be from Lt. Thibault, the investigating detective on the other end, phoning to give him news of Dorine.

“It’s five. I’m heading home and will see you after Christmas.”

That’s right. It was December 23. Nic’s assistant, Robert, was going home to a wife and two children. Nic wouldn’t be going home to anyone. Except to spend a little time with his family and siblings, he would work through this holiday.

Three years ago he and Dorine had spent Christmas with her family in Grenoble. They’d only been married five months before her disappearance in January. Their marriage had been of too short a duration to put down roots with children.

Robert paused at the door. “Thanks for the gifts. Pierre and Nicole will love them.”

He lifted his head. “My pleasure.”

“Nic—everyone at the research park is hoping Père Noël will bring some news that will give you closure, mon ami. ”

“After three years that hope is all but gone, but I appreciate the thought. Joyeux Noël. ”

Once the door closed, he pressed line two, putting the call on speakerphone while he worked. “This is Nic Valfort.”

“Mr. Valfort? This is Laura Tate.”

His head flew back, recognizing her California accent. That was another trait she had in common with Irene. Instead of forgetting this woman, to his amazement she’d managed to intrude into his thoughts. Up until he’d flown to San Francisco, his love for Dorine and the reason for her disappearance had been the only things on his mind.

Several times in the limo parked in front of Holden headquarters over a week ago, he’d heard little sobs catch in her throat. He’d had difficulty reconciling Ms. Tate’s icy demeanor at one moment and the tears that welled in her eyes in the next. She was an enigma he didn’t want to think about. There’d been no word from her since they’d talked.

To his chagrin the two questions she’d asked him had left an indelible impression. Once he’d told her he knew Irene well, her question about her grandmother’s happiness with Maurice had haunted him. Had it been a ploy to convince him she cared when she didn’t? Had she hoped to give the impression she wasn’t the unfeeling person he’d imagined when they both knew the truth?

The seven-day window he’d given her to meet with the attorney had already closed, so he couldn’t understand why she was calling.

“Is this a bad time, Mr. Valfort?”

Bad wasn’t the right word. More that he’d been in a state of grief-stricken limbo for an endless period of time without knowing the whereabouts of his wife. If she’d run off with another man, he was still having trouble believing it. The woman he’d fallen in love with couldn’t have done it, but his sessions with the psychiatrist convinced him it was possible.

Any other reasons why she’d disappeared had tortured him for so long he was desperate for any news, no matter how ghastly, in order to have closure. As for his grandfather, he was in bad emotional shape for another reason. Maurice had lost two women he’d loved and married. In his grief for Irene, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Both womanless men made a pitiful pair. Might as well answer this woman’s question with one of his own. “What can I do for you, Ms. Tate?”

“Am I too late to meet with the attorney?”

He grimaced. She couldn’t manage to see her grandmother in life, but she wanted to know what her grandmother had left her in death. How predictable. “You’ve missed the deadline by two days. He’s already left on vacation.”

A small cry of frustration escaped her throat. “I was afraid of that. Because of some personal matters and the graveside service for her, I couldn’t get here any sooner.”

His thoughts reeled. “Here? As in—”

“I’m at the airport in Nice.”

Nic’s adrenaline kicked in for no good reason. He jumped up from his swivel chair in surprise. “How did you get here? On a commercial plane?” She hadn’t called to arrange for the Valfort jet.

“The way most people do.”

Most people? “Not the Holden corporate jet?”

“I’m not that high up the chain.”

“Not yet, you mean.”