At the Chateau for Christmas

“I—I won’t say anything,” she stammered. Her silence on the subject appeared of the most supreme importance to him.

His energy drove through to her soul. He was close enough she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips. When she looked up, his dark gray eyes were pinpoints of pain. “Why did you really fly here?” he ground out. “Was the lure of the will so great, you had to find out what amount of money she left for you? Tell me the truth.” He gently shook her. “I can take it, but my grandfather can’t!”

She was devastated by his reaction. “I guess I’m not surprised by your accusation. Because of the hate on both sides, it appears you really don’t know one very important detail.”

“What’s that?” he demanded.

“My grandfather Richard left millions to our family—to me, personally. I’ve never wanted for money a day in my life and never will. The only thing I could never have was the joy of growing up around my grandmother. And though I’m loath to meet the man who took her away from us, I was determined to see what kind of man he is.”

Her eyes flashed with pain. “What kind of power does your grandfather wield to be able to entice her to give up her whole life in California and come live with him in France? She didn’t need money. My grandfather gave her everything!” Laura could tell her voice had risen. “Does that answer your question?”

A groaning sound came out of him.

“Mon Dieu,” he whispered, sounding utterly desolate. His hands slowly slid down her arms. But when he released her, she wasn’t ready. Her legs felt so insubstantial she grabbed for the wing-back chair so she wouldn’t fall.

While Laura was trying to recover from being held that close to him, she heard voices coming from the foyer. A woman and a man, both speaking French.

Shaken by the sound, she turned around and saw Nic’s housekeeper usher in Irene’s silver-haired husband from the photograph. He was dressed in a royal-blue sweater and cream-colored trousers.

In person he seemed young in demeanor for an eighty-one-year-old man whose face showed signs of recent grief. He was remarkably handsome and had passed on those genes to his grandson. Twenty-one years ago Laura’s grandmother had no doubt been swept right off her feet.

He crossed the room, staring at Laura with incredulity before he turned to Nic. “You must have seen it the minute you met her.” His French accent was more pronounced than Nic’s.

“Oui, Gran’père. Laura is most definitely Irene’s granddaughter.”

Maurice’s brown eyes swam with tears as they centered on Laura. “What she would have given to walk in this room and see you standing here! You’re ravissante, just like she was.”

From the first instant, all Laura could feel was love and warmth emanating from him. Though he and Irene had caused indescribable pain to her family, he couldn’t possibly be the man her mother and aunt had demonized. She cleared her throat, still shaken by those moments when Nic had reached for her in pain. “We meet at last.”

She had the sense he wanted to embrace her. Instead he held back and wept, pulling some tissues from his pocket. “It’s a miracle. When she passed away, I thought my allotment had run out, but it isn’t so. You’ve come. Please. Let’s sit.”

Once again she found a seat on one of the sofas. He sat next to Nic on the other. “How long have you been here?”

“I picked her up at the airport an hour ago,” Nic explained. “She made a reservation at a hotel, but I canceled it.”

She noticed Nic didn’t mention the name. He wanted to shield his grandfather from the fact that she’d chosen not to stay at the world-famous Valfort in Old Town. Laura hadn’t seen him do that. It must have been while she was looking at the photos in the hallway.

Maurice smiled. “Naturellement. You’ll come to the château tonight. I’m all alone, rattling around in the place.”

He wasn’t the kind of man who rattled. Irene’s husband seemed in excellent health. He was an exciting man, full of life and appeared athletic. She hadn’t known what to expect. Certainly not this.

“That’s very gracious of you, but I’d rather not impose when you weren’t expecting me.” No matter how taken she was by him at first glance, Laura wasn’t comfortable about accepting his hospitality. She wasn’t comfortable with Nic, either, for several reasons, but she’d had no choice.

Nic must have sensed her distress, because he said, “Laura’s staying with me tonight, Gran’père. The housekeeper has already made up one of the guest bedrooms for her. Tomorrow will be soon enough for the two of you to get better acquainted. Right now I believe she’s exhausted after her flight. It’s a long one across a continent and an ocean.”

Laura’s eyes met Nic’s for a second. She felt he was trying to break up this meeting, in the kindest way possible, of course. Was he still afraid she might say something about the will? She was pained over his suspicions, but she understood them. There’d been so much ugliness between the families—this was the result. Could they ever trust each other?

She would have preferred to stay at a hotel. It would have been the wisest thing to do, but clearly Nic had wanted to warn her not to hurt his grandfather before she met him. Maurice nodded. “Of course. Did Nic give you those pictures?”

“Yes. I love them.” Laura’s mother had refused to look at them.

“Good. I took those during our many walks. We must have logged hundreds of miles throughout our marriage, exploring the countryside. She was a walker.”

So was Laura.

The emotions Maurice evoked were choking her. “Nic told me you were very happy.”

“We were soul mates. I adored her.” His tears ran freely. “Up until the time she came down with pneumonia, we loved getting out every day together. No man could have been blessed with a better, more loving wife. I’m utterly lost without her.”

Touched to the core by the sincerity of his love for Irene, Laura stirred restlessly. “How long was she ill?”

“Two months. She caught a cold. It developed into a secondary infection and before we knew it, she had pneumonia. Two weeks in the hospital on a regimen of strong antibiotics and the doctor was certain she would rally, thus the reason you weren’t notified. But overnight she took a sudden, cruel turn for the worse and left this world quickly with one wish...that you and your family would know how terribly you were all loved.”

Unable to prevent the tears, Laura got up from the couch and walked over to the French doors, too heartbroken to listen to any more tonight. Nic’s words kept running through her mind: That story is so wrong and twisted, it’ll tear my grandfather apart when he hears it.

After listening to Maurice’s outpouring of love, she understood why Nic had asked her not to destroy this man while he was in mourning. This was no act, on Maurice’s part or Nic’s. She doubted she would ever repeat her version to his grandfather. There’d been enough suffering. Laura had lived an abnormal existence for years because of it. The bitterness in her household had tainted her life. She wanted no more of it.

“We’ll get together tomorrow, Gran’père.”

At the sound of Nic’s voice, Laura turned toward them. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Mr. Valfort.”

“Call me Maurice.”

“All right then. Maurice it is.” Moisture blurred her vision. “Thank you for sending Nic with my grandmother’s body and arranging with the mortuary. In light of the history plaguing our families, it was a wonderful, noble thing to do. I’m indebted to both of you.” Her voice caught.

His features sobered, showing his full years for the moment. “I must confess it was hard letting her body go.” He broke down once more, clearly overcome with grief. “But I can always depend on my grandson to help me.”

Her throat swelled, making it almost impossible to articulate. “He was very gracious.” In light of the way she’d treated him, Nic was a saint. “Two days ago the family held a graveside service for her. She was buried in the family plot.”

“Just as it should have been.” The tears in his tone tore her apart. “But in return, you’re here. I thank God you came.” His voice shook. “How she prayed for this day.”

Laura felt the same way. “I wanted to meet you,” she assured him in all honesty, but she just hadn’t expected this feeling that he and her grandmother had been wronged in some tragic way. “She had to have loved you beyond anything.”

“Not beyond anything,” he contradicted her. “A day didn’t go by that your name wasn’t mentioned. She longed for her little granddaughter.”

Laura couldn’t take much more. Neither could Maurice, apparently. Nic put a comforting hand on his grandfather’s heaving shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.”

She watched them go, but he didn’t leave her long. When Nic returned, his middle-aged housekeeper was with him.

“I did that flight a week ago and it wiped me out. Arlette will bring you a light supper. Sleep as long as you want and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think I could fall asleep yet. I need to relax. If you don’t mind, I’ll call for a taxi to drive me into Nice.” His head swerved in her direction. “I want to go down to the waterfront and soak in the atmosphere for a while. It will help me get a feel for the place where she lived all these years.”

His chest rose and fell visibly. “Your grandmother used to walk along the Promenade des Anglais with Maurice at night. They’d stop to listen to music from the mid-’60s at a local brasserie. The place features chanteurs who sing the songs Brel and Aznavour made famous.” He rubbed the back of his neck absently. “I’m wide-awake myself and will be happy to drive you.”

“No, no. You’ve done enough. I won’t stay out long. I’m used to being out at night in San Francisco. A half hour is all I crave.”

His eyes narrowed on her features. “Are you refusing me because you can’t forgive me for insinuating something about you that is patently untrue?”