out on her alluring face. Luc’s breath caught. The memory of their heated exchange had caused him one restless night after another since his return. Twenty-six meant she was older than he’d thought, but it still rankled that she’d dared to accuse him of trying to pick her up.
She folded her arms and lounged against the edge of the lab table.
“You’re going to get your scoop now, Michel,” she teased with that same audacious maturity, so at odds with her lack of judgment when it came to her safety. There was a twinkle in her dark blue eyes. The first time they’d met she’d been wearing sunglasses. Luc had to admit he’d never seen anyone so natural in front of the camera. “I’m Maxim Ferrier’s youngest grandchild.”
Grandchild?
The well-known anchorman was taken by total surprise and looked as blown away as Luc felt.
“Since I came along last of his twenty-one grandchildren, he nicknamed me Jasmine. That’s because Jasmine is the flower harvested last in October. He said it was his favorite flower because of its beguiling scent. Though my parents named me Blanchette after my mother, his name for me stuck.”
Michel shook his head. “Just keep talking. I won’t interrupt because I’m speechless and enchanted, and I know everyone else is too.”
Her gentle laugh reached down to burrow inside a disbelieving Luc, who couldn’t comprehend any of it. “I used to hang around my papa. I thought of him as this amazing sorcerer and pretended to be his apprentice. He never seemed to mind.”
“Obviously not,” the journalist interjected. “Tell the audience why you think he chose you to run the company.”
“He once told me I was the only one in the family who got the nose. Not his own children and not any of his grandchildren got it, he said. Just me. I thought he meant I had a Roman nose like a horse. I was so hurt I ran out of the lab crying. He had no idea how much I loved him, but I was horrified that he thought I was ugly.”
The anchorman laughed heartily, but Luc’s throat closed up with emotion. Children were so literal, as he’d learned from being around his own nieces and nephews.
“Then he came after me and explained what he meant. He said I was so smart, he thought I knew what a nose was. He said I had a beautiful nose like my grandma. But he was referring to the fact that after sixty years, another perfumer had been born in the family, someone like himself who could identify scents. That person was moi and he was overjoyed.”
Michel smiled. “No wonder he named you to succeed him.”
“I still can’t believe he did that and I am still trying to come to grips with it. No one could ever fill his shoes. I’m stunned to think he believed I could.”
“I’m not surprised you’re in shock,” the anchorman commented at last. He stared at the camera. “Mesdames et messieurs, you couldn’t make up a Cinderella story as unusual as this, not in a hundred years. I wish we had more time for the interview. Before we have to end this segment, the audience wants to hear about your grandmother.
“We know she was a great beauty right up to the time of her passing. Not only was she a devoted wife, she was a great intellect who authored several books.”
“She was fabulous.”
“While you were growing up, you must have known over the years that the international press touted them the most beautiful couple in the world. The French have called them the Charles Boyer and Marlene Dietrich of the modern era. American media labeled him more handsome and sophisticated than Cary Grant. She has been compared to Grace Kelly and Princess Diana. What do you say to that, Jasmine?”
“What more can I add? They were beautiful people from that era, inside and out. She loved him so much, she died three months later.”
Luc hated to admit it, but part of him was spellbound by her and knew the anchorman was too.
“After seeing this broadcast, people will say you inherited her beauty.”
“No woman could ever compare to her. If you could have heard my papa on the subject. If ever a man loved a woman...”
Luc heard the tremor in her voice and couldn’t help but be moved by her humility. He could never have imagined this side of her after their explosive meeting on Yeronisos. Unless this was all playacting. If so, she was the greatest actress he’d ever known.
“Is it true he never gave an interview in his life?”
“That’s right. He disliked publicity of any kind. I’m only doing this one interview because our family has been besieged by the media for years. The outpouring of public sentiment over their deaths has been so touching and overwhelming, I hoped to be able to thank them through your program.”
“It’s a personal honor for me, Ms. Martin. Would it be too forward of me to ask if there’s a special man in your life?”
“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll answer with a ‘yes, it would.’” But she said it with a mocking little curve of her mouth that made Luc’s emotions churn in remembrance of her erroneous assumption about him. The anchorman was quick to recover, but he looked embarrassed. Luc knew what it felt like to be slammed by her like that, although she’d been gentler with the other man.
“Message received. Wasn’t your grandfather the one who coined the phrase, ‘Provence is God’s garden’?”
“Oh, no, but he often expressed that sentiment to me.”
“While you’ve been talking, I found another passage in your grandmother’s book where she quotes him. He must have been writing about you.
“‘Jasmine seems to be a flower made for nostalgia. It grows in doorways and winds over arches, linking it to the intimacy of home. It begins to bloom as the days become hotter, and it releases its scent at the hour when tables are set in the garden or in narrow lanes. It is associated with the melancholy of dusk and the conviviality of summer evenings. Its fragrance permeates the air, making it a background for love.’”
She cleared her throat. “I remember him saying those words. I think Papa had a love affair with flowers all his life.”
Watching this interview had tied Luc in knots. The woman he’d met two months ago was nothing like the flower just described.
The anchorman nodded. “For those of you who still aren’t aware, the book Jasmine’s grandmother wrote, Where There’s Smoke, is the definitive source on the life work of Maxim Ferrier. It’s being reissued in a second edition with several sections of new information to coincide with the announcement of the new head of Ferriers and will be out on the stands tomorrow. When the first edition of the book came out, it became number one on bestseller lists worldwide. I confess I was enthralled by it.”
“Thank you. Grandma worked on it for years. After my papa died, she had it published to honor him.”
“No one knew him better than she did, except for you, who came in a close second.” Again Luc saw the secret curve in her smile that reminded him of the way she’d smiled at him before letting him have it. The sensation twisted his gut as much now as then.
“Let me read one last thing your grandmother quoted from her husband.
