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At the Chateau for Christmas
“Bonjour,” Laura said, in better French than before.
He sat up to see her walk into the den carrying a tray with brioches, juice and coffee. She wore a navy T-shirt and jeans and was charmingly barefoot.
“Stay where you are. It’s Christmas morning and you deserve to be waited on.”
She put the tray on the coffee table and handed him a mug of coffee. His attention was drawn to her fragrance and the blond hair she’d left long. It hung over one shoulder.
“Joyeux Noël! Your housekeeper has been helping me with the pronunciation.”
Ping went the guilt again, for enjoying this moment with her. He was close to speechless.
“That sounded perfect. But you shouldn’t be waiting on me when you’re the guest.”
“I think we’ve graduated beyond that point.”
Her laughing blue eyes traveled over him, warming him in new places.
At the Chateau for Christmas
Rebecca Winters
REBECCA WINTERS, whose family of four children has now swelled to include five beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wildflowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her romance novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.
Rebecca loves to hear from readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website: www.cleanromances.com.
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Dedicated to my two wonderful grandmothers, Alice Driggs Brown and Rebecca Ormsby Hyde.
I had these grandmothers in my life until just a few years ago and consider them two of life’s greatest blessings.
Contents
Cover
Introduction
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
Extract
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
THE FINANCIAL DISTRICT of San Francisco was known as the Wall Street of the West. Nic got out of the limo into sunny, fifty-eight-degree weather and entered the high-rise that housed the headquarters of Holden Hotels on Montgomery.
There might be no snow in this city by the bay, but Americans were big on Christmas trees. The tall one in the foyer decorated with pink bows, pink angels and pink lights was dazzling. The hotel chain started by Richard Holden had become one of California’s finest.
Nic had checked in to one near the airport upon his arrival at 3:00 p.m., a half hour ago. A smaller tree decorated the same way with a giant Santa Claus in the corner had illuminated its foyer. He was impressed by its unmatched American ambience that would enchant children of all ages and nationalities. Once it might have enchanted him, but no longer. These days Christmas was a painful holiday he had to get through.
A security guard at reception in the lounge of the foyer looked up at him. “May I help you, sir?”
“I hope so. I’m here to see Ms. Laura Holden Tate. I understand she’s manager of the marketing department.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I’m here on urgent business and must speak to her as soon as possible.”
“Your name?”
“Monsieur Valfort. She’ll recognize the name.”
“One moment, please, and I’ll ring her secretary.”
Nic had to wait a few minutes for an answer. The man gave him a speculative glance before he said, “If you’ll take a seat, she’ll be down shortly.”
So she was in...that was good. Saved him from having to hunt her down.
The name Valfort had probably given Ms. Tate a heart attack. He’d purposely left off his first name to keep her guessing. But Nic wasn’t surprised she was willing to drop everything in order to investigate this undesirable intrusion away from the eyes and ears of her staff. He had to admit he’d been curious about a woman who’d shown no interest or love, let alone curiosity, over her grandmother’s welfare all these years. It demonstrated a coldness he couldn’t comprehend.
“Please help yourself to coffee while you wait.”
“Thank you.” Except that Nic didn’t want coffee and didn’t feel like sitting. He’d done enough of both on the flight from Nice, France, which, being on the Côte d’Azur, showed no signs of snow and coincidentally had been fifty-eight degrees and sunny when he’d left.
The errand his grandfather Maurice had sent him on was one he wanted over. He wasn’t looking forward to this meeting, let alone the other business his grandfather had asked him to carry out.
There would be fireworks, but with so many people coming in and out of the building, he planned to convince Ms. Tate to talk to him away from everyone. If this woman was as bitter and unforgiving as her mother, then he had his work cut out.
He looked in the direction of the bank of elevators, braced for a confrontation. Every time he heard the ding, he watched another group of well-dressed people step out. Though he didn’t have a picture of Ms. Tate, he knew she was a midlevel executive, twenty-seven years old and had been born with blond hair. Not a great deal to go on. At this point all he could do was wait until she approached him.
When he decided something must have detained her, he suddenly noticed an ash-blond woman with silky hair to the shoulders of her chic navy suit walking in his direction from the stairway door on long, shapely legs.
Out of nowhere Nic felt an unbidden rush of physical attraction. Not in years had that kind of powerful reaction to a woman happened to him.
This was the woman he’d flown all these miles to talk to?
Maybe he was wrong and she was meeting someone else, but no one else was standing by him. On closer inspection he noticed that her coloring and five-foot-seven-inch height could have been the way her grandmother Irene Holden would have looked at the same age. Irene had been an exceptionally beautiful woman.
Nic stood there stunned by the strong family resemblance. That had to explain why he’d been so taken with the woman’s looks. She had a certain elegance, like her grandmother, and wore white pearls around her neck as he’d seen Irene do many times. Their sheen was reflected in her hair.
The similarity of the two women’s classic features was uncanny, though the granddaughter’s mouth was a little fuller. Her mouth...and her eyes... They were a lighter blue than her grandmother’s.
But instead of the hint of wistfulness that was Irene’s trademark, he saw guarded hostility as her granddaughter’s gaze swept over him with patent disdain.
“I’m Laura Tate. Which of the Valfort men are you?”
Nothing like coming straight to the point with such an acerbic question, but he was prepared.
“Nicholas. My grandfather Maurice married your grandmother Irene.”
He heard her take a quick extra breath. Much to his chagrin, it drew his attention to the voluptuous figure no expensive, classy business suit could hide. She was Irene’s granddaughter, all right.
“Paul told me your business was urgent. It must be a life-and-death situation for you to make the long flight into the enemy camp.”
Nic changed his mind. This woman wasn’t anything like her delightful grandmother, which made him more irritated with himself than ever over his unexpected physical reaction to her.
“I’d rather talk to you outside in the limo, where we won’t have an audience.” He sensed her hesitation. “I’m not here to abduct you,” he asserted. “That isn’t the Valfort way, despite the rumors in your family.”
He noticed how her jaw hardened, but ignored the grimace and got down to the business of why he’d come. “I’m here to inform you that your grandmother passed away day before yesterday, at St. Luc’s Hospital in Nice.”
The second the news left his lips, Laura’s facade crumbled for a moment. In that instant her whole demeanor changed, like a flower that had lost its moisture. He knew he’d delivered a message that had rocked her world. For no reason he could understand, he felt a trace of compassion for her. Tears sprang to those crystalline eyes, bringing out his protective instincts despite his initial resentment of her lack of feeling for her own grandmother.
“My grandfather wanted you and your mother to hear the news in person. Since he knew he wouldn’t be welcome here, he asked me to come in his place. If you’ll walk out to the limo—the most convenient meeting place I could devise—I’ll tell you everything.”
Irene Holden had been his grandfather’s raison d’être. Nic was still trying to deal with the recent loss himself. He’d loved Irene, who’d been a big part of his life. Her death had left a huge void, one this unfeeling granddaughter couldn’t possibly comprehend.
* * *
Was it true? The grandmother she’d hardly known was dead?
If Laura were the type, she would have fainted. This tall, striking Frenchman dressed in an expensive charcoal-colored silk suit and tie had just delivered unexpected news that shook her to the very foundation.
He had to be in his early thirties and wore a wedding ring. She’d noticed something else—Nicholas Valfort spoke excellent English with a seductive French accent, no doubt just like the rogue grandfather who’d beguiled her grandmother. A man like this had no right to be so...appealing.
Is that what had happened to Irene—she’d felt an overwhelming attraction to Maurice the moment she’d met him? Like granddaughter, like grandmother?
The surreal moment made it difficult for Laura to function, let alone breathe, but she had to.
Without further urging on Nicholas’s part, she followed him to the front of the building. Once he’d helped her into the back of the limousine, he sat across from her.
She had an impression of vibrant black hair and hard-boned features, but all she could focus on were the moody gray eyes beneath black brows, studying her as if she were an unpleasant riddle he couldn’t solve and frankly didn’t want to.
“I brought these pictures of her with me. Please feel free to keep them. They were taken in the last year before she became so ill with pneumonia.”
Laura groaned. Pneumonia?
He opened an envelope on the seat and handed her half a dozen five-by-seven color photos. Five of them showed her grandmother alone in different outdoor settings. The last one had caught her standing in a garden with a man who had to be her second husband, Maurice.
The same Valfort characteristics of height and musculature in the photo had been bequeathed to the arresting male seated across from Laura. But unlike him, the man’s hair in the picture had turned silver.
She studied the photos for a long time. Her grandmother had still been beautiful at eighty. Pain caused her throat to constrict.
“I brought her body on the Valfort corporate jet. Maurice called the Sunset Mortuary here in San Francisco to meet the plane. Here’s their business card.” She took it from him, cognizant of their fingers touching. Something was wrong with her to be this aware of him when she was in so much turmoil.
“They’re awaiting your family’s instructions. When your mother broke all ties with Irene, she told her that neither she nor my grandfather would ever be welcome at her home in this life.”
Searing pain shot through Laura. Her mother had said those exact words to Laura’s grandmother? Laura didn’t believe it. This man was biased and had colored the situation with his own judgmental version of the scandal. Still, it was so horrifying, the tragedy of it all overwhelmed her.
“My grandfather is still honoring her wishes, thus the reason I’m here in his place.”
That was another lie. His grandfather was a coward or he would have come himself!
“Maurice realizes your grandmother should be buried next to her first husband, Richard, and surrounded by her family.”
So in death Richard was finally remembered? The heat of anger and pain washed over her. “How thoughtful of him.” She hadn’t been able to hide the sarcasm.
Calmly he said, “If you have questions and need to talk to me, I’ll be staying at the airport Holden Hotel. You can reach me there until tomorrow morning, when I’ll be flying back to Nice at seven a.m.
“One more thing. Your grandmother had a will drawn up several years ago and left something specific in it for you. Unfortunately it means you will have to fly to Nice and meet with the attorney within the next seven days. After that, he’ll be out of the country for two months. It was her hope that your mother’s feelings wouldn’t prevent you from claiming it. She never gave up hope of a reconciliation.”
At the revelation, Laura couldn’t stifle a quiet sob.
“Should you decide to come, phone me and I’ll arrange for the Valfort jet to return to San Francisco and fly you to Nice. My grandfather insists on doing this for you to honor Irene’s final wishes. I’ll meet you at the Nice airport and drive you directly to the attorney’s office. This is my business card.” He handed it to her. “You can reach me at Valfort Technologies any time.”
He didn’t work for the fabulously wealthy Valfort family? They’d been hoteliers since the early 1900s. That much she did know about them. Why on earth would he stay in a Holden hotel after what his grandfather had done to their family? Or did he have a sick desire to see how the Holdens were doing business without the founder?
“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.”
“In other words you’re assuming I’m an ambitious female working my way up to the top of the Holden Corporation. Haven’t you learned yet? It’s still a man’s world in certain venues. Shall we get straight to the point? Your grandfather was decent enough to take care of the arrangements for my grandmother and send you to do his errand. That was more than my family could ever have expected. But I would never have taken him up on his offer to fly me here.”
Nic’s brows furrowed in resentment. Maurice had bent over backward trying to do the right thing. “It’s too bad you’ve wasted a trip. Call me in two months. By then the attorney will be back and you can make arrangements to collect your inheritance.”
“Whatever you insist on believing, I have no interest in one.” After a slight pause, she said, “I should have phoned first, but as you say, it’s too late now. Before I turn around and fly back, do you think your grandfather would accept a phone call from me? Or is his opinion of me as bad as yours?”
That all depended on how grasping she was. If she thought she could get Maurice to tell her what her grandmother had left her in the will before the attorney could read it to her, then she was in for a big surprise.
“Hello? Mr. Valfort? Are you still there?”
“Yes.” But he wasn’t sure he wanted her to talk to his grandfather right off. Maurice had tender feelings for Irene’s granddaughter even though he’d never met her. Nic didn’t want him hurt because Laura hadn’t inherited Irene’s sweetness. Death had a way of making all of them vulnerable one way or another. He needed to vet her first.
“My grandfather isn’t available right now. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll pick you up at the airport terminal.”
