would have left you buried in library stacks and instead made the switch to the business world.”
Paul snorted, aquiline nose and all. “Where she spends her time in a stuffy office on the phone with foreign repairmen.”
“Ah, but what she does with those repairmen,” Abigail said forcefully. “Do you realize Shelley’s the only woman I know who can get repairmen to do what she wants when she wants—and in several foreign languages? Darling, with that kind of talent, you could run most Fortune 500 companies.”
Shelley shrugged. “So I know how to say sump pump in French, German, Italian, Spanish and, if I stretch it, Portuguese. That’s not the issue. What’s really at stake is whether it’s wise for me to drop everything—and we are in the busiest time of year for finalizing arrangements—and rush off to try to retain the biggest contract that Dream Villas has under what are extremely delicate circumstances. Why, just last week when I met with my landlord, I was the one who offered to raise the rent by three percent when he told me Medicare no longer paid for his mother’s home health care. I mean, how do you think I am going to fare with a grieving French count?”
Paul shook his head. “You should have had me talk to your landlord. You always were too softhearted.”
“But thankfully not so softhearted that she made your mother’s salt-cod recipe,” Abigail argued in rebuttal. “Salt cod! It sounds like something the Pilgrims would have eaten!”
“Some of your relatives, no doubt,” Paul shot back.
“Enough!” Shelley threw up her hands. “I’ve really had it. I want to discuss something important to me and not have to negotiate between people who go at each other like the West Side Story’s Sharks and Jets.”
“Actually, I always secretly wanted to be Chita Rivera,” Abigail let drop offhandedly.
Shelley narrowed her eyes. “I mean it. This is not about you. It’s about me—rather I.”
“All right.” Abigail shrugged. “You want my opinion on you?” Shelley nodded. “I think that you’ll do a fine job. That said, you should feel free to call me at any time during contract talks to recommend tactics or counteroffers—or even things like what fork to use at a formal dinner party. You know these aristocrats—they’re big on elaborate table settings.”
Paul took a deep breath. “You want my opinion? Don’t go. If nothing else, I don’t like the idea of you out there all on your own.”
Shelley stared at the checkerboard tiles on the floor and thought. “All right, then.” She placed a determined hand on the table—first making sure that she wasn’t about to dip her fingers in mustard. “Abby, I appreciate your support. I really do. And I know you don’t mean to be holier-than-thou—you just come by it naturally, having spent too many of your formative years doing things such as pouring tea. But if I’m going to do this, I’m going to be the one to take charge of the teapot.” Shelley frowned. The image was a little weak. Never mind.
She turned to Paul. “And Paul, stop feeling you have to protect me from myself. I realize, as the son of a Lutheran minister you equate love with pastoral care. But you never loved me when we were going out and you don’t love me now that we aren’t. You just feel compelled to enlighten me. As surprising as this may seem, I managed to do quite fine for almost thirty years before we met and I have managed to function very smoothly since we broke up. In fact, as far as I can tell, you’re the one who needs help. Without me, you wouldn’t have a clean shirt to put on your back. Really. Do you even know where the dry cleaner is?”
She held up her hand when he started to say something. “Hear me out. I’ve had enough of being the responsible daughter and friend, seeking out a safe but unfulfilling job, falling in and out of almost-but-never-quite love. I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf. A new kick-ass side is about to emerge.” She paused, then smiled slyly. “And if the circumstances call for it, maybe even a wild, party-girl side.”
Abigail’s eyes grew wider. “Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing?”
“I’m sorry, what does that have to do with going to France?” Paul scrunched his brows in confusion.
Shelley leaned back against the banquette and crossed her arms over her chest. “Paul, you’re a bright, sensitive fellow. Okay, you’re not particularly sensitive, but you are bright. You figure it out.”
2
THE MAN WHO EMBODIED THE meaning of insensitivity—and the staying power of French cuffs—sat behind his desk early the next morning. No surprise.
“I prefer to maintain Europ-ee-an time,” Lionel had informed Shelley three years ago, when she had first started working for him and naively thought the job held the promise of glamour. “I find it cuts down on the jet lag on my trips to the Cah-ontinent,” he’d said.
Shelley always thought that for someone originally from Perth Amboy, New Jersey, Lionel certainly had transformed himself into a citizen of the world. In any case, fortified by a grande cafe latte and a new sense of resolve, Shelley watched Lionel tweak the knot in his ascot. The thought of losing one of their principal customers appeared to bring out his obsessive-compulsive tendencies.
“So-o, have you finalized your arrangements to France?” he asked. “It’s imperative that the company send a representative imme-e-diately. Just remember, the Remingtons will be out in the co-old if we do not secure the Montfort chateau.”
She positioned the tip of an index finger on the table in the same way she had seen Carly Fiorina, the CEO of Hewlett-Packard, do in a newspaper photograph and leaned slowly forward. The position really killed her knuckle, but she didn’t want to mar the effect. “I appreciate your concern, Lionel, and despite the rush, I can safely say I have things under control. First off, I was here until two in the morning making sure the office paperwork is ahead of schedule, and that means the arrangements for the rest of the properties won’t fall through the cracks.
“I’ve also contacted everyone—clients, homeowners, workmen—that for the next week or so I can only be reached by e-mail. I’ve left a similar message on the company phone line,” she went on. “In addition, I’ve downloaded all the relevant phone and fax numbers as well as e-mail addresses to my personal laptop, which I will take with me. I’ve also made arrangements to lease a cell phone with international dialing capabilities, but I plan to give that number only to a few people—you being one of them, of course—for emergency purposes.”
Lionel nodded. “Yes, I’m glad you limited the number of people with the phone number. The ca-ah-alling fees on those phones are monstrous.”
What a cheapskate. Actually, Shelley had been anticipating his reaction and she had purposely highlighted her fiscal prudence regarding the phone so that she could go in for the real kill.
She stood up straighter, accentuating her 34Bs. She had chosen a tight, powder-blue cashmere cardigan with tiny pearl buttons. Ladylike but va-va-voom.
The corner of Lionel’s mouth jerked in a spasm. Her mild walk on the wild side seemed to have an immediate impact. Shelley waited for him to swallow.
“I also contacted the travel agent yesterday and I should have the arrangements finalized today.” She paused. “Unfortunately, given the short notice, it seems that tourist class to Paris with a transfer to Marseilles/Marignane Airport is sold out. Business class
