Page 53 of The Paris Trip

‘Leo, my son, I’d like you to meet your new stepmother.’Sébastien gave a chuckle, slipping a possessive arm around Chanelle’s waist. ‘Your stepmother! What a thought, hein? Why, you’re not much older than her. You’ll wonder at us two getting hooked, I imagine. An unconventional couple… But there’s no accounting for love.’

Pulling her close, his father kissed the young woman on the lips, who stood mute and still under this very public show of affection.

‘Dad, please,’ Leo muttered, horrified now.

‘Oh, stop fussing. My God, who put that stick up your backside? As if I need ask… Your grandmother is to blame for this new prudery, I have no doubt. She tried that nonsense with me, you know. Guilt tripping. But I wasn’t interested in living like that, with my head in a damn yoke. That’s why I left Paris, even if it meant not being there for you and Francis. And look what I caught… Come, Chanelle, don’t be shy. Shake your stepson’s hand.’ And again, he laughed.

‘Congratulations on your wedding to my father.’ Politely, Leo shook Chanelle’s hand, and kissed her on the cheek as was expected.But all the while, he was aware of his father turning to Liselle and embracing her instead, whispering something in her ear that made his manager shriek with laughter. Something about him? Or was that paranoia?

His father was extremely skilled at inducing paranoia. One of his superpowers, in fact.

‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ Chanelle was murmuring as she looked him up and down, her gaze sharpening with interest. Her voice was soft and breathy. Was she channelling Marilyn Monroe? No doubt that approach had worked well with his father, who had very specific tastes in women. These days, at any rate. Leo’s mother had been a very different sort of woman. ‘Your father was right. You are very handsome.’ She leant closer. Rather too close, in Leo’s opinion, for a recently married woman. Her perfume was cloyingly sweet. ‘And I’m glad you lost the beard.’

She had blue eyes. Like Maeve’s.

And yet Chanelle’s eyes had zero impact on his libido. The only thing he felt for her was pity. She was too young and, he felt sure, too inexperienced in love to understand what kind of man his father was. Once Sébastien Rémy had used this beautiful model for his own purposes, mostly embarrassing his family and getting himself back into the public eye, he would dump her as he had dumped his previous lovers, and no doubt leave her broken-hearted.

While Chanelle was shaking Jean’s hand and kissing Liselle on the cheek, his father clapped him on the shoulder. ‘But enough about us,’ Sébastien said, grinning. ‘I saw that cosy snap of you with the English girl. You sly thing… Where did you meet her, eh? Should we expect wedding bells soon?’

Leo met his eyes with cold dislike. ‘There’s nothing between us. It was just Jean making mischief.’

‘Of course, of course.’ His father winked, his smile knowing. ‘And you have an exhibition soon. May we be permitted a sneak preview? Perhaps when we come to the château for lunch tomorrow?’

Leo stiffened. ‘Tomorrow? Have you checked with Grandmère that it’s convenient?’

‘I rang her before coming here. She invited us to lunch.’ Sébastien looked about the café-bar, his keen eyes taking in every detail. ‘I knew you’d probably be here. Francis had a better head for business than you, God rest his soul. The ruthless touch… So important for making money. But you’ve not been too bad at keeping an eye on things, I’ll say that for you, and Jean is a good manager here. I’m glad you’ve been running the estate so well for me.’ He paused, his gaze returning to Leo’s face. ‘Though I’m disappointed not to find the little English girl with you. I’d rather hoped to introduce myself.’

Over his dead body…

Leo was aware of a surge of aggression, and was surprised by his desire to protect their guest from his father’s intrusive, over-the-top personality.

‘You didn’t come to Francis’s funeral,’ he said bluntly. ‘Why not?’

His father looked taken aback by this direct demand. Shocked, even. Then, to Leo’s amazement, his eyes welled with tears. ‘Ah, my poor son. My dearest boy… ’ He shook his head, a tear trickling down his rugged cheek. ‘I couldn’t be there, don’t you see? It would have killed me too, being asked to stand at the graveside and watch as my darling son… No, the whole thing was impossible.’

He laid a heavy arm about Leo’s shoulders, lowering his head to mutter in his ear, ‘But I saw it on the internet afterwards. And it brought me to tears, what you said at… at the funeral.’ His voice had broken to a barely audible croak. ‘Thank you.’

Leo was not prepared for the wave of raw pain that hit him, listening to this. His brother’s death was still a weight on his heart. Now this…

‘Let’s take this back to the château, shall we?’ he said hoarsely, and turned without waiting for his father to follow. ‘This place is too public.’ His voice thickened with emotion as he strode from the bar, muttering, ‘I need to get out of here.’

He didn’t want his father and his new stepmother setting foot inside the château. But what could he do? Sébastien Rémy had every right to be there, as owner and chef de famille. And Chanelle was apparently pregnant. It would be extremely discourteous to turn either of them away. But there was no doubt in his mind that his father had come to make trouble and interfere in Leo’s plans. No doubt he’d want Jean kept on as the café manager, for instance, and would insist on that, undermining Leo’s authority.

Worse, judging by the phones that had been trained on their reunion, all this would be front page news tomorrow…

Maeve was downstairs in the labyrinthine kitchens at the base of the old château, a medieval-like maze of pantries, walkways, nooks and crannies, watching with interest as Bernadette demonstrated how to make croissants, when the distant jangle of the château bell sounded above them.

‘It's rather late for a caller,’ Bernadette said in surprise, reaching for a cloth to wipe her hands. ‘But I'd better answer the door. Grandma usually goes up to her room for a nap before supper, and Nonna’s too deaf to hear the doorbell. Though she always hears when I offer to make her chocolat chaud, funnily enough.’ She began removing her apron. ‘Why don’t you stay here and try folding and rolling the dough yourself?’

The process of making home-made croissants had been so lengthy and involved, Maeve was too terrified to touch the dough herself. If she messed it up, she might ruin the whole batch. Bernadette had already explained how she’d made the dough yesterday, kneaded it and rolled it several times, then left the dough wrapped in plastic in the fridge overnight. Now slabs of butter had to be folded into it before another chilling and rolling session, after which they could finally make the special croissant shapes ready for baking.

Given how complicated the process was, Maeve had no idea how people who made croissants themselves instead of buying them from a boulangerie had any time left for actually eating them…

‘Or I could answer the door,’ she said hurriedly, ‘if that’s okay. I’m not sure what the croissants would look like if I tried folding the dough myself. Like an advanced yoga position, I expect.’

‘I’d like to get back into yoga,’ Bernadette said, grinning. ‘I am so unfit.’ They had been speaking an uncomfortable blend of English and French but Bernadette was using simple words and going as slowly as she could when using French, often repeating sentences so that Maeve could catch up. ‘Still, I could do with rolling this batch for the last time before the dough dries out… Either that or I’ll need to wrap it in plastic and put it back in the fridge to finish later.’

‘I’ll go,’ Maeve said firmly.

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