Revenge At The Altar. Louise Fuller
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familiar mix of pride and responsibility. She loved everything about the building—the cool, quiet interior, the sense of history in the wood-panelled boardroom and the symmetry of the façade. To her, it was more than just bricks and plaster. It was a legacy—and also a burden.
Just like the position of CEO.
Margot breathed out slowly.
Growing up, she had never imagined being in charge of Duvernay—never once wanted the power or the responsibility. By nature, she loathed being in the spotlight, and after graduating she’d been happy to head up the company’s newly created environmental department.
However, her older brother Yves’s tragic death on the ski slopes of Verbier had left her with no alternative but to take over the family business. Of course, Emile would have liked the status of running a global brand. But even if he hadn’t been cold-shouldered by his in-laws, he preferred topping up his tan to analyzing market trends. Her brother Louis might have been taller than her, but at just sixteen he had been far too young to step up, and her grandfather had been too old, too devastated by grief. It had been hard enough for him to deal with his daughter’s accidental drug overdose, but the shock of losing his grandson too had caused a series of strokes from which he had still not fully recovered.
And so it had been left to Margot to do what she had always done—pick up the pieces—and that was why she was hurrying back to Epernay this morning.
Inside the brightly lit foyer, the reassuring familiarity of everything calmed her slightly, but as she stepped into the lift her phone began to vibrate in her hand and she felt her composure wobble. Glancing down at the screen, she drew in a quick, shaky breath and her heart began to pound with a mixture of hope and relief.
Thank goodness! Finally it was her father.
‘Emile. I was just about to call you—’
‘Really? I thought you might be sulking.’
Gritting her teeth, Margot felt a spasm of irritation. Honestly, her father was so exasperating, and so monumentally thoughtless sometimes. When he hadn’t returned her messages she had started to panic, to worry that maybe he’d changed his mind. Clearly, though, he’d just been playing hard to get.
But now she could hear the elation in his voice and suddenly she didn’t care about his stupid games. What mattered was that she knew he’d been telling the truth. Finally he was ready to sell the shares.
Her heart began to beat faster.
The timing couldn’t be better.
Not only would it mean that the business would be whole again in time for her brother Louis’s wedding, it would also give her grandfather a much-needed boost. Since his last stroke he hadn’t been himself, but this would be the perfect tonic. For this wedding was more than just a romantic ceremony—it was about continuing the family name and ensuring the future of Duvernay.
She felt her chest tighten. And, of course, for her, buying back her father’s shares would have an additional and thankfully undisclosed benefit of sending a strong message to the bank.
‘Oh, Papa.’ Her father was such a child, but today of all days she was prepared to indulge him, and so, despite her annoyance, she spoke placatingly. ‘You know I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I must have rung you at least a dozen times.’
She felt a rush of excitement as she played back her father’s rambling message inside her head. He’d mentioned something about flying up to Reims, but that had been hours ago. She glanced at her watch. Surely he must be here by now?
Her mouth was suddenly almost too dry to get words out. ‘Where are you staying? I can come to you, or I can send a car to pick you up.’
Her pulse accelerated. She couldn’t believe it. Finally it was happening. The moment she’d been waiting for almost her whole life.
Buying back the ‘lost’ shares, as her grandfather referred to them, was a goal that had preoccupied her since she’d taken over the reins of the business. In doing so, she would not only make Duvernay whole again, she would also bring closure to the whole sorry complex mess of her parents’ marriage and the repercussions that had followed her mother’s tragic death.
She felt her pulse tremble.
Her father and her grandparents had always had a fraught relationship. Emile might look like a film star, but to them he was just a horse trainer—eloping with their nineteen-year-old daughter had not endeared him to her straitlaced and image-conscious family. His decision to live off Colette’s trust fund had merely deepened the rift.
But after her death, it had been his refusal to turn over her shares to his children that had turned a difficult relationship into a bitter stand-off.
Emile had always claimed it was an act of self-preservation. Her grandparents had seen it as an act of spite. Either way, the facts were undeniable. Her father had threatened to take her and her brothers to Switzerland if he wasn’t allowed to hold on to the shares, and her grandfather had agreed to his demands on two conditions: that he give up custody of his children to his in-laws and that they keep their mother’s name.
Margot shivered. Once she had thought that grief might bring the two sides of her family closer. In fact the reverse had happened. There was still such bad blood between Emile and his in-laws that even now they both took every opportunity to point-score.
But maybe now that might finally change.
The thought made her heart leap upwards. It would just be so wonderful to put all of this behind them before Louis’s wedding. Her first task, though, was to pin Emile down...
‘Papa?’ she repeated, trying to sound casual. ‘Just tell me where you’d like to meet.’
‘That’s why I’m calling—’
His voice had changed. He sounded a little uneasy—defiant, almost—and briefly she wondered why. But before she had a chance to give it any more thought he started talking again.
‘I did try, so you can’t blame me—Not now, chérie, put it over there. I waited as long as I could...’
Hearing a soft but unmistakably feminine murmur, Margot frowned. Even now her father couldn’t manage to give her his full and undivided attention. Her mouth thinned. No doubt he was already celebrating the upcoming sale of his shares with his current batch of hangers-on.
And then her heartbeat froze, and she felt her fingers tighten involuntarily around the phone as his words bumped into one another inside her head like dodgems at the funfair. ‘Blame you for what?’
‘I waited as long as I could, poussin, but it was such a good offer—’
His use of her childhood nickname as much as his wheedling tone sent a ripple of alarm over her skin. Her father only ever called her poussin—little chick—when he wanted something or when he wanted to be forgiven.
‘What offer?’ she said slowly.
The lift doors opened and she stepped out into the glass-ceilinged atrium. Straight ahead, she noticed her PA hovering nervously in front of her office door, and her heart gave a sickening thump.
‘What have you done, Papa?
‘I’ve done what I should have done a long time ago.’ The wheedling tone had shifted, become defensive. ‘So I hope you’re not going to make a fuss, Margot. I mean, it’s what you’ve been telling me to do for years—sell my shares. And now I have. And I have to say I got a damn good price for them too.’
It was as if a bomb had exploded inside her head. Blood was roaring in her ears and the floor seemed to ripple beneath her feet.
‘You said that if you were going to sell your shares you’d come to me first.’ Margot felt panic, hot and slippery, run down her spine.
‘And I did.’ There was a burst of laughter in the background and she felt her father’s attention