At the Chateau for Christmas. Rebecca Winters

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      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.”

      “That won’t be necessary. I’ll go to a hotel to call him and fly home in the morning.”

      “I’m afraid it’s very necessary if you hope to make contact with him.”

      “You mean I have to get past you first.”

      He bit down hard. “He’s in deep grief, Ms. Tate. I want to protect him. You and I need to talk first, but not over the phone.”

      That seemed to take her by surprise. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind—”

      Mind? She could have no idea how determined he was to find out what she was up to.

      “My grandfather would expect me to accommodate you.”

      “But this will be putting you out.”

      Now she was going polite on him? He frowned. Was it part of her act? Whatever, she was doing a good job of it. “Au contraire. Since you want to talk to him, something I didn’t expect from you, my grandfather would never forgive me if I ignored your request and let you get away.”

      Nic hated to admit it to himself, but he was curious to see her again. Maybe the second time around she wouldn’t impact him in the same way as before. It was something he had to find out.

      A pause ensued. “I know this is another one of those tasks you don’t want to do.”

      He let go of the breath he was holding. “You’re wrong. This is the one Christmas present my grandfather hadn’t counted on.” If she was sincere, her arrival might just have saved Maurice from falling into a slump he’d never climb out of. Nic needed time to find out if avarice had brought her here or not. “Watch for me in front of the terminal. I’ll be driving a four-door black Mercedes.”

      “I’ll be there.”

      He heard the click. Making one of his gut decisions, Nic decided to take her to his house. That way no one in his family would know what was going on. Their disapproval of Maurice marrying a foreigner had never truly gone away.

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