Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King. Susan Stephens
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‘WHAT do you mean, the electricity is off again?’ Kate asked Megan as soon as she arrived back at La Petite Maison. ‘Guy’s only just had it reconnected.’
‘Some snip of a woman turned up with a clipboard under her arm and a sheaf of papers under her arm. These are for you,’ Megan said grimly, handing Kate a package. ‘Where is his Lordship?’ she said, scarcely pausing for breath. ‘You might need him.’
‘Guy?’ Kate said distractedly as she headed for the kitchen table. ‘He had an urgent business meeting.’ Already she felt as if they had been apart for a lifetime—even a moment without him was too long.
‘At the château?’ Megan said, breaking into her thoughts.
‘I don’t know where he’s gone,’ Kate admitted, suddenly feeling very unsure of herself.
‘You did discuss the guest house with him?’ Megan said confidently.
‘No,’ Kate said uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry, Megan, but we just never got round to it. I saw to the plants and then went to bed and…’ Her voice tailed away. She was no better than Megan was at telling lies. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m afraid you won’t find our next batch of guests half as accommodating as the last if their e-mails are anything to go by,’ Megan said, looking anxiously over Kate’s shoulder while she emptied the documents from the foolscap envelope on to the table. ‘And I’d bet a pound to a penny that this isn’t good news either,’ she added ominously.
‘Where is everyone?’ Kate said, realising the cottage was very quiet as she focused on the first page.
‘With the Countess at the château,’ Megan explained, cheering up a little. ‘She invited everyone to take a tour of the gardens. That young chauffeur of hers came for them in a mini-bus.’
‘That young chauffeur,’ Kate echoed wryly, relishing the moment of distraction. But soon she was frowning again as she skimmed through the sheaf of papers. ‘But these are yet more translations of the covenants,’ she said, ‘and a covering letter that says if we continue to trade as a guest house the Villeneuve estate will close us down.’ Badly shaken, she dropped the whole lot on the table in disgust. Had Guy orchestrated this little surprise for her, knowing he would be well out of the way when the bombshell struck? Or could it be someone working independently—someone with much to gain, seizing the moment while he was away?
‘They’re not the translations you’re paying for, are they?’ Megan asked anxiously, cutting into her cogitations.
‘No, of course not,’ Kate confirmed. ‘I’ll only have sight of those when my solicitor returns from holiday.’
‘So these could be any old tripe and onions,’ Megan proclaimed contemptuously. ‘It’s not as if they were even delivered by Guy. He probably knows nothing about them.’
‘How can I be sure of that?’ Kate said, as the fear that Guy had betrayed her reared up and demanded a hearing.
‘You can’t be sure of anything until you speak to him,’ Megan pointed out sensibly. ‘You know his mother loves the idea of you having the guest house here. And you said it yourself—he was grateful for the part our activities are playing in her recovery.’
‘He didn’t say that exactly,’ Kate said. ‘He just guessed what we were up to and decided to turn a blind eye—for the duration of the party, at least. I’m not sure he would approve if we turn La Petite Maison into a full-time business.’
‘All right, then.’ Megan dismissed the licence she’d taken with a theatrical gesture. ‘So, all you need to do now is talk to him, Kate—’
‘If only life was that simple.’
‘But it is that simple, if you’ll only slow down and allow it to be,’ Megan said with her usual self-assurance.
‘Just because the Countess has decided to involve herself with such enthusiasm doesn’t mean Guy can be persuaded to do the same,’ Kate said. ‘You’re a hopeless romantic, Megan,’ she scolded gently. ‘Why would Guy have sent another set of documents over if he supported our venture?’
‘Who says he sent them over?’
‘This woman, presumably.’
‘Huh!’
‘He’s had plenty of opportunity to talk to me about it, but he chose not to,’ Kate said, trying to reason with an entirely adamant Megan.
‘Maybe he had other things on his mind,’ Megan murmured, pretending interest in some paintbrushes she had soaking in jars by the sink. ‘So, Kate,’ she said, swinging round with her hands planted firmly on her hips, ‘if his Lordship’s gone walkabout, what are you going to do about our little problem?’
Kate squared her shoulders as she made her decision. ‘Tell me about this woman.’
‘Blonde, beautiful, thirtyish,’ Megan said, screwing up her face as she thought about it. ‘With all the charm of a white shark hunting.’
‘You liked her?’ Kate suggested wryly to mask her concern.
‘She seemed pretty sure of herself,’ Megan observed, her lips pursing in a tight, disapproving grimace. ‘Who do you think she was?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Kate admitted edgily. ‘Estate manager, perhaps?’
‘You’ll find a solution. You always have before,’ Megan asserted confidently.
Maybe not this time, Kate thought. Maybe this time she had slipped up badly, and not just on the business front. But for now there was no point getting Megan all worked up. ‘I’ll take a shower and then I’ll get straight round to the estate office,’ she said, throwing herself into work mode.
After a quick shower, Kate telephoned the Villeneuve estate office and was eventually put through to the woman she had spoken to before. The woman she had always supposed was Guy’s secretary.
‘Mariamme D’Arbo, can I help you?’ The voice was lightly accented and sounded impatient even before Kate had a chance to state her reason for calling.
‘This is Kate Foster,’ Kate said in a pleasant enough voice that stopped short of encouraging pointless civilities.
‘Ah, Mademoiselle Foster—’ The voice had hardened considerably now. ‘I take it you have read the documents I brought round to the cottage? I hand-carried them to ensure that they arrived safely.’
Kate had no intention of being patronised and surmised that the woman also had taken the opportunity to have a good look around. And poor Megan would scarcely have been on her guard… She might have thought the woman was a prospective guest. Deciding to take no chances, Kate proceeded cautiously but firmly. ‘As Monsieur le Compte is out of the country,’ she said, ‘I would like to arrange an immediate appointment to speak to whoever is in charge while he is away.’
Seconds ticked until she was on the point of asking if Mariamme D’Arbo was still there, when the other woman spoke. ‘That would be me, mademoiselle.’
She sounded amused—and smug. Without missing a beat, Kate came back, ‘In that case, I’d like to make an appointment to see you.’ But the cogs in her mind were whirring off the scale. Who the hell was this woman?
‘That may not be possible, mademoiselle. I am very busy for the next couple of weeks, as you can imagine—’
‘Make time,’ Kate said coolly, reverting to business mode. ‘You can’t just serve eviction papers and then refuse point-blank to discuss them.’
A few moments passed and then she was informed in a bored voice, ‘I may be able to shuffle things around. I shall have to consult my diary.’
‘I’ll wait,’ Kate said. There was a great deal of paper-rustling at the other end of the line but Kate would