One Night In Provence. Barbara Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ history just happens to be a personal passion of mine,” he told her. “Particularly the d’Usay family.”

      Wait? Was he offering her an actual tour? “Won’t you get in trouble? With the hotel?” she added when he gave her a quizzical look. There was personalized service, and then there was personalized service. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from the other guests.”

      An amused smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure the other guests will survive.”

      Jenna debated the offer, turning her phone end over end as she thought. What the heck—it was only a walk around the hotel, not a marriage proposal. Besides, unlike most guys on the make, this one was actually entertaining. If he got annoying, she could always beg off by blaming jet lag. “In that case, I would love a tour.”

      “Wonderful. My name is Philippe, by the way.”

      “Jenna Brown.”

      “Enchanté, Jenna Brown.”

      Amazing how an accent could turn the plainest of New England names exotic and sensual. Particularly when the words were accompanied by a sweep of admiring eyes. Again, she found herself throwing out Nantucket rules. Instead of being insulted, she felt goose bumps trail in its wake.

      He motioned toward the door. “Shall we?”

      Jenna scooped up her wine on the way past her table. Let the adventure begin.

      * * *

      “An auction, you say?”

      “A fund-raising auction,” Jenna replied. “People bid on different experiences, each to be held at a Merchant hotel. One hundred percent of the profits went to build a clinic for recovering drug addicts on Cape Cod. Our area has a terrible opioid addiction issue.”

      They were descending a spiral stone staircase, having discovered the door to the western tower was locked. Philippe might have been flirting when he offered a tour, but, to her surprise, he took his tour guide duties quite seriously. Jenna found herself treated to a master class in regional history and the colorful role the d’Usay family played in it.

      At some point, the conversation had turned to her, though, and now she was explaining about the inheritance that brought her to France.

      “Sounds like a very noble cause,” Philippe remarked.

      “It is, although I have to confess that when my friend Shirley convinced me to go, helping the opioid crisis wasn’t my primary motive. I went looking for adventure.”

      “Is that so?” He stopped midstep.

      The spark in his eyes set the goose bumps skittering again. Tempted as she was to pretend otherwise—because why not pretend on vacation?—it was time to burst his bubble. In case he thought her a rich American on holiday. “The vacation,” she clarified. “I’m a nurse in a nursing home back in Massachusetts. One of my patients left me an inheritance with orders that I use the money to have an adventure.”

      “Interesting terms for an inheritance.” If he was disappointed by her lack of wealth, the reaction didn’t show on his face. She’d studied closely to notice a change. His eyes remained intently focused on her.

      “Not if you knew Beatrice. She was like Auntie Mame on steroids. Wore red lipstick and a silk kimono right up to the end.” She smiled at the memory. “The two of us would watch travel documentaries, and she would mock me for not having seen enough of the world. ‘If you’re not careful, you grow old and boring,’ she used to tell me.”

      “That doesn’t sound very sweet.”

      “It was all in good fun. I made the mistake of telling her I’d never been farther than Mexico on spring break. She insisted she was going to leave the nursing home and the two of us would take one last adventure together.”

      Feeling a lump rising in her throat, she looked away so he wouldn’t see the moisture teasing her eyes. “Adding the stipulation to the inheritance was her way of making sure one of us did.”

      “How fortunate for us you decided to have your adventure here.”

      “My friend Shirley was supposed to come, too, but unfortunately she got sick at the last minute.”

      “Well, if you find you need company...”

      The practiced way the words came off his tongue said she wasn’t the first to hear them. Didn’t stop her insides from growing warm, however.

      “It’s okay. I’m a pro at having fun on my own.”

      Sidestepping the offer for the moment, she pointed to a giant portrait hanging on the wall across from the bottom step. “What can you tell me about this painting?”

      The middle-aged couple in 1930s period clothing looked to be overseeing the tower traffic. There was something very striking about the portrait. The couple looked intimidating, but in a regal way. From their place on the wall, their eyes could judge everyone who went up and down the stairs.

      “That is Antoinette and Simon d’Usay.” Philippe stopped and leaned against the stairway’s stone rail. “They were the last of the d’Usays to actually live in the castle. After World War I, they built Château d’Usay.”

      “On the other side of the lavender fields.” Jenna had read about the smaller château, which was still three times as large as anything she’d seen, in the guidebook. Seeing it, and its rolling purple fields, was one of the trip highlights she’d most been looking forward to.

      “You won’t be disappointed,” he replied when she told him. “Château d’Usay remains the largest producer of lavender in the region. Many of the top perfumes in the country rely on d’Usay blossoms for their scents.”

      There was pride in his voice. She wondered if all the locals felt this way or if he had a particular affinity for the d’Usay family because of their rich history.

      She thought of her own family and its history of codependency and bad decisions. There definitely weren’t residents of Somerville waxing proudly about the Brown family’s contribution to society.

      “So much history attached to one family,” she mused. “In a way, it’s a shame they decided to sell the castle.”

      “Buildings this age are very expensive to maintain,” he replied. “Mold, rot, water damage—they take their toll. Better to let a corporation keep the building in existence rather than let it crumble from neglect like other abandoned French relics.”

      He had a point. Even if the castle weren’t centuries old, the size alone would make upkeep a fortune. Slowly, she made her way down the rest of the staircase until she stopped in front of the painting. The couple looked familiar. A byproduct of spending weeks studying hotel literature and web guides, she’d bet. “Does the family still live in the region?”

      “If you call a single person a family. There is only one direct descendent left.”

      “Really.” She’d expected him to say that half the valley was related to them or something. Glancing over, she noticed Philippe studying the painting with a frown.

      “Life hasn’t been СКАЧАТЬ