nodded. She had to check. They had staff flying in from all around the world, and they didn’t always arrive at the closest airport. ‘What’s the name?’
‘Jeanne DuBois. It sounds French but it’s American.’ Something must have flashed into his brain. ‘Oh.’
It was just the way he said it. ‘What?’ she questioned. ‘What’s “oh”?’
He pulled a face. ‘They’re supposed to stay with me. They were kind of a last-minute addition and hadn’t managed to sort out accommodation yet.’
Cordelia swallowed, then nodded her head appropriately. She gave a smile. ‘You’re turning into an old cat lady, Franc. Taking in every waif and stray.’
She shook her head. Her own apartment’s ceiling had collapsed last week after a neighbour upstairs had suffered a burst pipe. Franc had been gracious enough to let her stay in his own rambling mansion on the outskirts of Geneva. He often put up visiting researchers. Cordelia waved her hand. ‘Leave it with me. That probably makes things easier anyway. It means when I pick them up, I get to drive back home. Oops.’ She put her hand up to her mouth as she realised what she’d said.
But Franc just shook his head and gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘My home is your home, Cordelia. It always will be. Here’s hoping they take more than a month to fix your ceiling.’ He closed his eyes for a second. ‘It could be that soon you’ll be the only family I have left.’
Her stomach flipped. This was serious. Part of her wished she’d heard that phone call. She reached over and gave Franc a bear hug. He felt so frail. So thin. Had he lost more weight and she hadn’t noticed?
She whispered in his ear. ‘I think of you as family too, Franc. Always remember that. You need something—I’m here.’
Franc nodded. ‘Thank you, Cordelia.’ He pulled himself free from her embrace and put on his hat and tucked his passport into his jacket. ‘I’ll call you.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’ll message you. Go home and pack, and I’ll arrange the flights and transfers. Head straight to the airport and I’ll have things sorted by the time you get there.’
Franc nodded as he headed to the door. ‘What would I do without you?’ He gave a shake of his head. ‘Just glad I don’t need to find out.’
Her heart gave a little twist as he headed to the elevators. She’d have to send out an email to let everyone know Franc had been called away for a few days. And she’d do that—just as soon as she’d organised the flights, hotel and transport. She spent the next twenty minutes online then messaged Franc.
A little pink sticky note was sitting in the debris on Franc’s desk. She plucked it out and stared at it for a few seconds.
Geneva 20.00
She glanced at her watch. Please tell me that isn’t the flight for the visiting doctor. She rummaged amongst the papers on the desk. Franc’s desk had a notoriety all of its own. Some of the people who worked here thought that messages came to Franc’s desk to die. It certainly seemed like that. It was extraordinary. In all his research studies he was fastidious. Meticulous. Cordelia always joked that Franc’s desk was the one place he could leave his true mess behind.
Try as she might, she couldn’t find any other notes that resembled airport pick-up times. Darn it. She grabbed her purse. She’d barely make it.
The last thing she wanted to do was leave this poor doctor stranded at the airport.
If she hurried, she might just get there in time...
* * *
The first flush of passengers exited through the gates to screams and yelps from people waiting. Cordelia always felt a little like a voyeur at these times—intruding on private family moments. The joy on some of the faces was beautiful. There were obviously a few more painful reunions. People embracing and bursting into sobs as they hugged each other. It made her heart ache.
She looked down at her hastily scrawled black letters. Jeanne Du Bois. She didn’t even have any idea what age the doctor that was arriving from the US was. The only thing she was sure of was that they would be expecting Professor Helier, not a brunette in her thirties.
She people watched for a while. An elderly couple greeting adult children returning home. A woman dropping her bags and running towards a guy, almost knocking him flat with her embrace. A few tourists, walking out with maps in hand and heading to the taxi rank.
And a guy, complete with cowboy boots and Stetson, wearing jeans and a dark grey T-shirt. He travelled wearing a Stetson?
She watched in amusement as he glanced around arrivals. He was tall. He really didn’t need the Stetson to emphasise his height. As for those well-fitting jeans... She pulled her eyes away and focused on the door again, waiting to see if Jeanne Du Bois would appear. What would she look like? Probably tired. Most researchers who came from the US had to take two or three flights to get to Geneva.
She leaned against the barrier and tried not to dream of coffee and takeout food. She hadn’t had time to eat before she’d left the research centre. Her stomach gave a growl just as the click of the cowboy boots came towards her.
A pair of deep brown eyes fixed on hers as he tipped his hat at her. He gestured towards the sign. ‘I think you might be waiting for me.’
She blinked and looked down at her sign as if it might have changed while she wasn’t looking.
He was close enough that she could smell his woody aftershave and see his sun-kissed skin. But it was the accent that threw her.
It was a thick American drawl. Like treacle. Or maple syrup. Something that smothered you in gorgeousness and just made you go...whoa.
She frowned as she tried not to let her herself be distracted by those very chocolaty eyes. Why was she associating everything with food? She was obviously hungrier than she’d thought.
‘I’m waiting for a woman.’ She looked down at her sign again, checking she hadn’t been secretly pranked. Nope. It was still her writing. ‘Jeanne Du Bois.’
The guy gave a lazy kind of smile and put his hand on his chest. ‘I’m Jeanne Du Bois. Except it’s GENE. You know? Like Gene Kelly? Or Gene Hackman?’
She blinked. She still couldn’t get over that accent. She wrinkled her nose. It reminded her of her favourite US TV series. ‘Are you from Texas?’
He tipped his hat again. ‘My mother was French, but I’m a Texan through and through.’ He held out his hand towards her. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am. You’ve obviously dyed your hair, Professor Helier. And had a sex change,’ he added with a wink.
Her brain sparked back into gear. ‘Oh, yes. I’m sorry.’ She shook his hand swiftly, the warm touch sending a little pulse up her arm. ‘I’m Dr Cordelia Greenway, Professor Helier’s second in command. I’m so sorry. He’s had a family emergency, literally in the last few hours. I asked him who I was collecting at the airport and when he told me Jeanne Du Bois. I just assumed it was a woman.’
The guy shrugged. ‘You’re in Switzerland. I guess I can live with being mistaken for a woman.’
She wanted
