His Perfect Partner

Jean-Luc got in beside her. Rachel shifted her position so that she sat as far away as possible from him, and made a pretence of looking out of the window.

‘The windows need repainting, do they not?’ Rachel glanced across at Jean-Luc, sensing the mockery in his tone. ‘You must be sorry to see the place so run-down,’ he added.

‘It still has charm,’ Rachel replied stiffly. ‘It’s still my home.’

‘But for how much longer?’ He leant forward, indicating to the chauffeur that they should be on their way.

‘Isn’t all this…’ Rachel glanced around the plush interior, her gaze taking in the driver ahead ‘…a little…extreme?’

‘In what respect?’ Jean-Luc’s gaze was steady upon Rachel’s face.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She shook her blonde head and glanced out of the window again. ‘I just never imagined I’d see you riding around in a chauffeur-driven limousine, that’s all,’ she murmured.

‘You never imagined that you would see me again,’ Jean-Luc replied. ‘I can understand why this has come as something of a shock to you.’

‘Oh, you can, can you?’ Rachel surveyed his handsome face with narrowed blue eyes. ‘How clever you are!’

‘Rachel—’

‘Don’t! I’m not interested!’ She swallowed, struggling against a throat that was tight with unshed tears. ‘I’m only here because of the Grange. Nothing else! That’s all I’m interested in. Not how you became a success, or what you’ve been doing in the intervening years. Only the Grange.’ She hardened her expression, turning briefly to look into the face she had once loved so much. ‘Do you understand?’

He didn’t reply immediately, simply looked deep into her eyes, making her suffer with the intensity of his gaze—so provocative, so full of power and authority. ‘Oh, I understand,’ he murmured. ‘More than you would imagine.’

There was little Rachel wanted to say on their way to the restaurant. The silence wasn’t particularly comfortable or companionable, but Rachel was damned if she’d struggle to fill the emptiness which sat so uneasily between them.

As she might have expected, the restaurant—situated in the main street of a picturesque country town, small and elegantly decorated—was of a high standard. The car drew up outside and they were greeted in the manner to which Jean-Luc had so clearly become accustomed.

‘We’d like to order immediately.’ Jean-Luc told the waiter as he showed them to their table. He turned to Rachel. ‘You still like scallops, I take it?’ She nodded. ‘Wild mushrooms?’

‘Yes.’

He ordered for both of them in ten seconds flat, casting a cursory glance at the menu, choosing wine with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before.

‘I am capable of ordering for myself!’

‘You do not like the food I have chosen?’ He raised his arm to summon the waiter.

‘No, it’s fine!’ Rachel wished she had kept her mouth shut. She took a sip of mineral water and glanced around at her surroundings, anywhere except at Jean-Luc’s handsome face.

‘You have been here before?’

‘No.’

‘It has a good atmosphere, don’t you think? But the decor is a little…’

‘Insipid?’ Rachel murmured, automatically noting what she would do to improve things.

‘Yes.’ Jean-Luc nodded in agreement. ‘Exactly that. But we didn’t come here to discuss this restaurant’s decoration, did we? You will have given a great deal of thought to the future of the Grange over the past couple of weeks.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You will lose it, you realise that?’

‘It seems a distinct possibility.’ Rachel worked hard at sounding as businesslike and as cool as possible. If Jean-Luc could do it, why couldn’t she? She continued to speak swiftly, refusing her brain time to conjure up a whole host of very good reasons. ‘Although I haven’t entirely given up hope that the bank will give me some more time,’ she continued.

‘You should.’ Dark eyes gazed penetratingly at her. ‘Give up hope,’ he added bluntly, when Rachel raised a brow in query. ‘The Grange is a lost cause—’

‘If that’s so, why are you here now, talking to me?’ Rachel cut in swiftly. ‘Why are you bothering?’

‘If you will allow me to finish…’ Jean-Luc paused, and took a sip of mineral water, increasing Rachel’s nervous anticipation with the length of his delay. Whether he did so for effect, to produce the biggest reaction, or simply because he was working out a way to frame his next sentence, Rachel wasn’t sure. ‘I believe,’ he asserted, ‘that the Grange would make an ideal high-class hotel, health resort and conference centre.’

She knew, even as half her brain railed against the idea, that Jean-Luc’s idea was viable. Her hotel and business acumen couldn’t be disregarded just because the Grange happened to be her home. She tried, though, she tried very hard to dispute it. ‘You are joking, surely?’ she replied.

‘Not at all.’ Ebony eyes held hers. ‘I never joke about business.’

‘You really think that’s the miracle plan that’s going to save the day?’ Rachel shook her blonde head, staring stubbornly down at the table so that Jean-Luc shouldn’t read her thoughts. Her mind was already assessing the possibilities, swiftly redesigning the interior to accommodate guest bedrooms and restaurants and leaping ahead to conference suites and leisure facilities.

‘I don’t remember mentioning miracles,’ Jean-Luc responded crisply, ‘just a business proposition that would be beneficial to both of us.’

‘You honestly think I could consider such a proposal?’ Rachel’s voice was tinged with half-hearted disbelief. ‘That I would want to enter into some sort of partnership with you?’

‘You know, Rachel…’ Jean-Luc lifted his glass and took a mouthful of wine ‘…that my proposition is the only thing capable of getting you out of this mess. I know you do—I can see it in your eyes.’

‘Can you, indeed?’ Rachel said through gritted teeth. ‘How clever of you!’

He raised a dark brow, his gaze steady and unflinching. ‘You’re not interested?’

‘There’s got to be another way!’ Rachel asserted. ‘How can you sit there and tell me that the best thing would be to turn the Grange into a huge hotel? It’s my home!’

‘Not for very much longer!’ Jean-Luc’s voice was clipped. ‘You know as well as I do that the Grange, in its present condition with all of its natural assets, is an ideal site—’

‘It isn’t a “site”, as you so callously call it,’ Rachel cut in. She gulped a breath. ‘I’ve lived there ever since my parents were killed—’

‘And now dear Aunt Clara is dead and the Grange is your responsibility! You were orphaned at a young age—that is tragic. Car accidents are tragic, death is tragic.’ He lifted his broad shoulders in, it seemed to Rachel, an uncaring shrug. ‘So is bankruptcy.’

Rachel pushed her plate aside. The mushrooms were good, but suddenly she had no stomach for them. She loved her work. The excitement and challenge of managing a hotel from day to day, when just about anything could happen and often did, gave her more satisfaction than she could say, but this shocking idea, that somehow she and Jean-Luc should have a shared interest—and in the Grange of all places—was difficult to contemplate. She shook her head again. ‘I cannot imagine a worse scenario!’

‘Except, perhaps, the one where you sack Naomi and the rest of the staff, pack up, move out and hand over the keys of the Grange to the bank?’ Jean-Luc picked up his wine glass. ‘You find that particular course of action more acceptable, do you?’ There was a tense silence. ‘Are you so naïve?’ Jean-Luc continued remorselessly. ‘What do you imagine the bank will do once they take possession?’

Rachel glanced down at her lap, avoiding his penetrating gaze. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

‘Well, it’s time you did! They’ll sell to the highest bidder. They won’t be concerned whether it’s split up into apartments or turned into the biggest conference centre in Europe!’

‘I haven’t lost it yet!’ Rachel persisted stubbornly. ‘There’s still time.’

‘There’s no time. Your aunt used up all the time and left you with nothing but debts,’ Jean-Luc informed her brutally. ‘You will be left with nothing.’

‘So, why do you care?’

Why, indeed? But he did—more than he cared to admit.

He looked at her, cold and hard and formidable. ‘I don’t. I have been looking for suitable properties in this area for some time. In fact, I was about to close a deal when I heard of your aunt’s death and subsequent problems.’

‘Oh! So…so your predatory instincts took over! How extremely fortuitous that the Grange got into difficulties when it did!’ Rachel replied unsteadily. ‘I’m sure your shareholders are going to be very impressed at such easy pickings!’

‘I have no shareholders,’ Jean-Luc informed her with a cold expression. ‘I own the company lock, stock and barrel.’

‘Oh, well, even better!’ Rachel continued scathingly. ‘Think of all those profits just for yourself—you’ll be a millionaire in no time!’

‘I already am one!’ The terse statement came as he pushed back his chair and rose from the table, throwing his napkin onto the plate in front of him in disgust. ‘I’m not prepared to put up with this. It’s clear from your behaviour that you’re not capable of taking my proposition seriously. That is your mistake and you will have to live with the consequences.’

Rachel stared up at him in horror. ‘You’re leaving?’ she asked. ‘Just like that?’

‘I see no reason to stay. You’re clearly not interested in anything I have to say.’

Angry, tense, annoyed with himself at not being able to stay cool, he walked away, threading his broad frame through the tables of the restaurant.

Rachel sat for a moment, watching him go, stunned by his sudden departure. She didn’t know what to do. She could barely think straight. Jean-Luc’s words haunted her. Did she really want to lose the Grange? Did it honestly mean so little to her? She rose from the table, glancing at the other diners who, she realised belatedly, had been enjoying the cabaret, and followed Jean-Luc outside.

Rachel stood hesitatingly in the entrance to the restaurant, glad of the cooling night air on her heated skin.

What was she to do? How was she supposed to cope with this nightmare situation? He didn’t care, that much was clear. He had said it, and she believed him. His only thought was to strike a deal, to make money.

Jean-Luc’s first emotion was relief because there was always a risk in pushing too hard, and she might so easily have decided to go with her true instincts and reject everything, without giving a damn for the consequences.

‘You’d like a lift home?’

Rachel spun around at the sound of his voice. She looked up, and felt the immediate lurch of awareness deep down in the pit of her stomach at the sight of him. ‘I’d like to talk about the Grange,’ she murmured.

He pushed a little harder. ‘I think we’ve said all there is to say.’

‘No.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘No, we haven’t.’ She paused. ‘Maybe…maybe I was a little hasty just now…’

‘Maybe?’ His dark eyes pierced her.

‘Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?’ Rachel murmured. ‘I don’t particularly want to go back into the restaurant.’

‘My car?’

‘You have a chauffeur,’ Rachel reminded him.

‘Emile can go get himself something to eat.’ Jean-Luc placed a guiding hand at the small of her back. ‘This way. Would you like something to drink?’ He pulled open a cabinet, once the chauffeur had been temporarily relieved of his duty and they were both installed in the back of the Rolls Royce. ‘Vodka? Martini?’

‘Just mineral water for me, please.’

Jean-Luc’s smile held precious little humour. ‘So that you can keep a clear head?’

‘It makes sense, in the circumstances,’ Rachel responded smoothly.

As far as business propositions were concerned, it was well thought-out and covered all the angles. The gist of Jean-Luc’s proposal was that his company would pay off all the outstanding debts, agree to invest a substantial amount of money in the Grange and take the bulk of any profits in return.

‘So, where do I fit in?’ Rachel enquired eventually. It had been difficult to concentrate on much of the detail because as Jean-Luc had talked she had found her attention wandering away from the business of the house and estate towards more…immediate matters. He looked so…incredible. More mature, more compelling…more everything.

Usually so good at concentrating on business matters, Rachel’s eyes had wandered as he spoke, drifting away from his mouth across the broad chest, down the length of his long, muscular legs, clad in dark trousers, then back to his face once again. It wasn’t fair that he could still do this her, she thought, that it still mattered after all these years….

Rachel cursed silently, and dragged herself back to the important discussion in hand. ‘I agree it all sounds perfectly feasible,’ she continued in businesslike tones. ‘The market’s there—this area could do with a top-notch hotel and the layout of the Grange is, to a large extent, custom-made as far as the main features are concerned, but—’

‘You don’t seem to have paid a great deal of attention,’ he replied coolly, his dark eyes meeting hers. ‘I thought I’d made your involvement perfectly clear.’

‘Evidently not clear enough!’ Rachel retorted, annoyed by his superior tone and embarrassed by her previous inability to concentrate.

‘I want you to run the hotel,’ he informed her. ‘That will be one of the conditions that I will insist upon.’

‘What?’ Rachel stared at him, her blue eyes wide with shock. ‘Me?’

‘I don’t see anyone else in the near vicinity.’ Jean-Luc’s tone was dry. ‘You are the obvious choice. You have been in the hotel business for the last few years, have you not?’

Rachel frowned. ‘You know about that?’

‘I know all the relevant details which might have some bearing on this investment.’ His gaze was direct. ‘You imagined that you would be able to lounge around in glamorous idleness while I wasted unnecessary money employing someone to—’

‘I do not lounge around! I have never lounged around!’ Rachel stormed. ‘I work.’

‘You are currently managing a small hotel in the Cotswolds, I believe? It will be easy enough for you to work through your notice while the Grange is being refurbished. I do not know why you are looking at me like that,’ he commented smoothly. ‘It seems an eminently suitable arrangement. The Grange will still be your home, after all, and as you already have suitable experience in the hotel profession this will give you something worthwhile to direct your energies to.

‘You will have help of course,’ he added. ‘I already have in mind an employee who will suit the position of assistant manager. He is efficient, reliable, English…’ a flicker of a smile ‘…but I try not to hold that against him.’

‘You’re pleased that this has happened, aren’t you?’ Rachel declared shakily. ‘You’re not really interested in turning this into a profitable business. You just want to…to humiliate me!’

‘I’m saving your family home and offering you a job into the bargain—I don’t see where humiliation comes into it!’ he replied crisply. ‘Now, I suggest you drop the pathetic accusations and stop wasting time! I will have my solicitor draw up an agreement, which you will find fair—not to mention generous. Tomorrow afternoon you can sign and then everything will be able to proceed without delay.’

‘I don’t actually recall hearing myself agreeing to any of this!’ Rachel snapped.

‘But you will.’ Jean-Luc’s gaze was compelling as he turned to look at her. ‘Won’t you?’

CHAPTER THREE

NAOMI was over the moon about the last-minute reprieve for the Grange, and couldn’t see anything wrong with the proposal.

‘The place will still be in the family, where it belongs,’ she replied firmly, serving Rachel breakfast the following morning. ‘That’s the main thing. You might not have complete control but, in the circumstances, it’s just about the best any of us could have hoped for. You say this man has guaranteed us jobs in the new venture?’

‘Yes.’ Rachel spooned a piece of grapefruit into her mouth discontentedly.’ If you want them. The new regime might be a little different from the old one, however.’

‘He’s a bit of a looker, isn’t he?’ Naomi bustled around the large kitchen with an ebullient air. She grinned at Rachel, her brown eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘If I were thirty years younger! Actually, I’ll tell you who he reminds me of…’ she continued. ‘You remember that French boy—the one you had a bit of a crush on?’

‘What?’ Rachel pushed the half-eaten grapefruit away from her. ‘Oh…yes,’ she murmured.

‘This man’s different, of course—’

‘In what way?’ Rachel couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.

Naomi cast her a frowning glance. ‘Well…he’s rich, for one thing. Sophisticated. And he’s not French.’

‘No?’

‘Is he, then? There wasn’t a hint of accent when he spoke to me the other day.’ Naomi, cloth in hand, began to wipe over the kitchen surfaces with vigour. ‘Very cultural tones. I wish more people spoke the Queen’s English the way that young man does.’ She paused, staring across the kitchen at a point above Rachel’s head.

‘Yes…’ she murmured, ‘quite the sort of man your aunt would have approved of. He’ll not do anything to harm the old place.’

‘You think so?’ Rachel struggled to keep her irritation under control.

‘Well, he won’t be allowed to, will he? After all there is such a thing as planning and good taste. And you’re going to be here in charge of everything.’ Naomi waved her cloth in Rachel’s direction. ‘No, it will turn out all right, you’ll see. I’ve got a good feeling about all of this.’

Rachel rose from the kitchen table, and carried her bowl and cup across to the dishwasher. She could hardly believe the conversation they were having. The awful irony of it! A small part of her was tempted to reveal the truth of Jean-Luc’s identity, but only a small part. Just thinking about him made her feel miserably confused, angry, upset…

Naomi would find out about him eventually, she was bound to, but Rachel would be more than happy if that occasion was a long time in the future. When—if there ever was going to be a when—she herself had come to terms with Jean-Luc’s involvement in her life, albeit on a purely commercial basis.

‘I’ve got to get ready,’ Rachel murmured. ‘I don’t want to be late.’

‘Your navy suit is cleaned and pressed,’ Naomi called. ‘Oh, and by the way, did you see my note?’

Rachel paused at the kitchen door. ‘What note?’

‘I left it on the hall table. Shaun called again last evening.’

‘Did he?’ Rachel frowned. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘That you were out. He says he’ll drop by,’ Naomi added. ‘I must say, he sounded more than a little upset. Mind you he was pleased when I told him about the new developments.’

Naomi, never particularly sensitive to other people’s moods, ignored Rachel’s look of dismay and continued cheerfully. ‘I said the situation was really looking far more hopeful with regard to the house and estate, and that things were moving at a pace, and that all the tension that had been affecting you lately would soon be gone and that might mean that you and he—’

‘Naomi…’ Rachel ran a hand through her tousled blonde locks, debating whether now was a good time to tell her that she really had to start minding her own business—even if Shaun was her great-nephew. ‘You shouldn’t have talked like that to Shaun. I don’t want him knowing my business and, apart from anything else, nothing’s settled yet, and even if it were—’

‘But it will be.’ Naomi resumed her cleaning with a satisfied smile. ‘It will be very soon though, won’t it?’

‘Yes, but that’s not the point…’ Rachel released a tense breath. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to cope with all the tension and anxiety the day ahead was undoubtedly going to bring. Having to spend time with Jean-Luc was going to be difficult enough, without the complication of Shaun trying to make contact again.

‘I’ll get dressed.’ Rachel gave up. It was no use trying to make Naomi see the error of her ways now. She glanced at the kitchen clock. She didn’t have the time for anything more—there were far more pressing things on the agenda.

The rest of the day disappeared in a blur of anxious trepidation. The trustees of her aunt’s estate, solicitors, the bank—everyone—were more than happy with the arrangement offered by Jean-Luc and his powerful company, and, despite Rachel’s innumerable reservations, they urged her to accept. In financial terms at least, it was clearly an offer that couldn’t be refused.

She fled home from the offices in town once the papers were signed and sealed. It was late afternoon, and she desperately needed time on her own to come to terms with all that had happened—and all that was about to happen in the future.

She hardly dared to look too far ahead. It was impossible to predict anything. Jean-Luc’s deal was generous—she had been made to see that by the bank manager and the trustees. Profit, despite the accusations she’d flung at him last night, seemed to be taking a back seat. So what were his motives in all of this? Why come to the rescue? What did he hope to gain?

The questions kept spinning round and round in Rachel’s head until she almost felt dizzy with the speed of them. The biggest and most important question was, of course, why he had returned. Why?

She loved the old orchard—one of her favourite places on the estate. The buds were just beginning to show white on the gnarled apple trees. Rachel, having changed from the business suit of the day, was now dressed in a snug woollen cardigan and dark trousers in a matching shade of green. She walked slowly, breathing in the fresh spring air and thinking about what needed to be done.

She’d have to hand in her notice at the hotel almost immediately. From the talk at the meeting this morning, Jean-Luc wanted everything to proceed as swiftly as possible. The Grange was to open by the end of summer, and that meant a lot of work—both for the planners and building contractors, as well as for herself, if everything was going to be ready on time.

Rachel thought about recruitment—that was going to be high on the list of priorities. People were the mainstay of any organisation and she needed to make sure they got the best that were available. And what about the look of the place? She paused, turning to glance across at the imposing exterior of her home. Country house, yes, but not too country house, not too predictable. The Grange needed to have its own style, something people would remember long after they had left.

The daffodils were at their best, crisp and cheerful, great swathes of them as far as the eye could see. Rachel inhaled a steadying breath. She was going too fast. It had only been a day since Jean-Luc had dropped this bombshell on her, and here she was, planning and organising things already.

A lone blackbird warbled tunefully in a branch overhead. Rachel looked up and watched him sing, glad of the momentary diversion. Turning the Grange into a hotel was a good idea. She could admit that now she was over the initial shock. It was just Jean-Luc’s involvement that was so difficult to handle. She needed to focus on her own professional expertise to prevent herself from dwelling on the personal minefield which undoubtedly lay ahead, to concentrate on what she was good at, on what she loved doing—that was the best way.

She had to be strong. OK, so as soon as she’d set eyes on him it had been as if the clock hadn’t moved a second. She felt…Rachel slowly shook her head. She felt just the same attraction for him as she had ever done, purely physical attraction, of course—she didn’t like him any more, certainly didn’t love him the way she once had, she told herself firmly—but this…thrill she felt whenever she set eyes on him, that was bad enough.

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