she’d expected to see in his eyes wasn’t there.
“Follow me back to the Hermitage. We have to talk.”
ALEX was up in one of the tallest trees, cutting away dead branches, when he saw both cars leave the estate. Jan Lofgren couldn’t have been on the premises more than ten minutes. That was quick, but Alex guessed he wasn’t surprised. In less time, Dana had made the decision to rent the estate on behalf of the company.
His opinion of her father had been correct before meeting him. He personified conceit. Dana miraculously had none.
Two hours later, Alex was coming back from the landfill after another haul when his cell phone rang. Paul Soleri was calling to make sure he and the crew could get in. They were on their way to the estate.
The timing couldn’t be better. Once Alex could welcome them and answer any questions, he’d resume his work. The knowledge that Dana would be coming back to sleep after dark never left his mind.
Before long a car and two minivans pulled up in the front courtyard. Alex stepped out of the château to meet Paul and the dozen light and camera technicians assembled. They all appeared delighted by what they saw. Their enthusiasm escalated as they entered the château.
After Alex introduced himself and pointed out the location of the bathroom facilities, he told them to look around and explore all they wanted. Except for the petit salon on the main floor and the west turret round on the first floor, everything else was available to them.
If they wanted to do any filming in the building housing the winepress or down in the wine cellar beneath the château, they were welcome. Already he could tell they were getting ideas as they left the foyer and darted from room to room checking things out.
Paul, who was probably in his midforties, took him aside. “Has Jan been here yet?”
“Yes. A few hours ago. He didn’t stay long, then he left with his daughter.”
The dark blond man pursed his lips. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard from him yet.”
“Perhaps he was tired from the long flight.”
“That’s not like him,” he mused. “I assumed he’d be here.”
“I have to admit I thought it strange he left in such a hurry,” Alex commented.
“It doesn’t matter.” A pleasant smile broke out on his face. “We’ll go ahead without him.”
“Make yourself at home, Paul. As I told you over the phone, all the furniture is stored on the third floor. Nothing’s locked. Use whatever you need.”
He let out a long whistle. “When David gets here, he’ll be floored.”
“David?”
“The scriptwriter for this film. He’ll be arriving any minute with the set designer and staff from costumes and makeup. They’re all going to swoon.”
“And that’s good?”
“You have no idea. Since Jan wanted something unique for this segment of the film, we’ve been worried it didn’t exist. Only Dana could pull this off. She’s always had an instinct for picking the right places for him, but this time she outdid herself.
“Don’t quote me, but she’ll end up being a more brilliant director than her father.”
That piece of information came totally unexpected. “Is directing one of her aspirations?”
“Yes, but the last person to know it is Jan, and that’s another good thing.”
Alex remembered her answer when he’d asked what she did in her spare time. Nothing of report. I read and play around with cooking. Otherwise my father forgets to eat.
“If you’ll excuse me, Paul, I have to get back to my work outside. Phone if you need me.”
“Will do.”
Inexplicably disturbed by what he’d learned, he strode down the hallway leading to the side entrance of the château. Dana had been emphatic about not wanting to be an actress. Now it seemed Paul had supplied him with a viable reason.
Inherited talent happened on occasion, but he had the distinct feeling it would take uncommon courage for her to step out from Jan Lofgren’s legendary shadow. When she did break out, she’d be caught up in her own career. The thought caused Alex to grind his teeth.
Dana found a parking space outside the Hermitage and followed her dad inside to his room. On the short drive from the château she’d prepared herself to hear that he wasn’t pleased with her find.
She knew the place was perfect for the script, so it had to be something else he objected to. For the life of her she didn’t know what it was. That meant his mood had already turned wretched and the whole company would pay for it. If she knew Paul, he’d already assembled the crew over there to get to work.
It would be bad enough if they had to pack up again and leave for the Paris location, but there was Alex to think about. The contract Sol had sent him was standard. There was a clause that said Alex would only receive a percentage of the money if for any reason they chose not to film there after all. That wasn’t nearly enough compensation for him.
By the time she entered the hotel room, she was ready to fight her father. If he was going to pull out of this deal due to one of his mystical whims, then she would insist Alex be paid all the money agreed upon in good faith.
As usual his room was a mess, but for once she didn’t start automatically straightening things. Instead she shut the door and propped her back against it. While she waited for him to speak first, she folded her arms.
He stood next to the dresser, eyeing her while he lit up a cigarette, almost as if he were daring her to protest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him smoke. Her mother had begged him to stop. As a concession to her, he’d cut down a lot. Dana had hoped he would find the strength to quit altogether. Unfortunately Saskia smoked, too. Dana guessed it was asking too much.
“Tell me about Monsieur Martan.” He pronounced Alex’s last name the French way.
A red flag went up.
Months ago her father had started out another conversation in the same manner, only the subject in question had been Neal Robeson.
So…This was about Alex—not about the suitability of the château. Relief flooded her body.
No doubt when Alex had told her father to go ahead and explore on his own because of something Dana had confided, he hadn’t liked it. She knew her dad enjoyed being a mystery to other people, so it had made him uncomfortable to be more transparent to Alex because of her. That irritation would pass, particularly since Alex wouldn’t be around while her father worked.
“Martin is his Australian name,” she corrected him.
With one long exhale,
