Melanie was on an unstoppable roll now. ‘I was going to get her to drive around and pick up samples and menus and product lists from some of the places in my research file which coincide with the markets that she’ll find useful, but if she’s doing the driving she won’t be able to enjoy the scenery.’ She paused expectantly and Veronica gritted her teeth as Luc obligingly met his cue.
‘That’s very true. You really want someone else behind the wheel … Ashley, or Ross perhaps?’ he suggested helpfully.
‘Lucien! You know Ashley is hopeless with a left-hand drive and she wouldn’t be at all happy if we dragged Ross away from her side. Anyway, it should be someone who knows something about the area so Veronica won’t have to bury her head in maps.’
‘Mmm, I guess it’ll have to be Miles, then.’
‘Lucien!’ Melanie halted at the corner where the footpath gave way to the stony grass verge beside the rows of vines, her frustration turning to the tug of a smile as she realised that his bland response to her heavy-handed hint was a tease. ‘Miles is trying to get the new bathroom done by next week.’ Lucien opened his mouth. ‘And Mum is busy putting the garden to rights!’ she added with a twinkle.
Veronica could only watch helplessly as her destiny was whisked out of her own hands by joint conspiracy.
‘I could learn how to drive if someone could show me how.’ Sophie had cleverly worked out the adult game and joined in, grinning as she broke off a crusty end of one of the bread sticks and stuffed it in her mouth. ‘Luc could teach me. He’s a really good driver.’
‘Yes, I am, aren’t I?’ he said modestly. ‘And I happen to have a rather classy convertible, which is perfect for zipping about the countryside scoping out the scenery. And nothing much to do but sit around and fret over my misfortunes.’
‘So—this way we kill three birds with one stone. Well, that’s settled, then!’ beamed Melanie, wafting her swathed elbow like the wave of a magic wand.
Luc showed a rather terrifying affinity for reading minds as he directed a heavy-lidded look of searing amusement into appalled dove-grey eyes and declared softly:
‘Veronica—you shall go to the ball …’
CHAPTER SIX
FOUR days later Veronica had realised that she had referenced the wrong fairy tale. She felt more like Sleeping Beauty than Cinderella, as her mind and body were slowly awakened to an enchanting new world of bewitching possibilities, horizons that were once limited to what was practicable, expanded to the limitless vista of what if …
Not that Lucien continued to put overt pressure on her to change her mind about him—he had been far too cunning for that. After his initial aggressive move he seemed prepared to laze in wait and let the sensuous allure of the time and the place and the extravagant beauty of her surroundings soak into Veronica’s heart and soul, and undermine her efforts to maintain a polite standard of decorum. The landscape, which looked so harsh and stony at first sight, was astonishingly lush and verdant, and everywhere they went there were visions of bursting ripeness—from the heavily laden apricot trees they passed on the roads, the deep orange fruit clustered on the bowing branches, to the fields of corn and brilliant yellow sunflowers, their huge, flat faces turned to follow the path of their golden namesake across the azure sky, to the rows of glossy, brightly coloured fruits and vegetables temptingly laid out for display on the market tables.
Veronica had been seduced by Paris, but she quite simply fell in love with Provence, and Lucien was right there beside her to assist her fall. Under the benign instructions of her well-meaning fairy godmother, he introduced her to a feast of the senses that she would have had to be a saint to resist.
Even in holy surroundings he seemed to find a way to lead her into temptation.
‘Which ones do you like?’
Melanie’s latest errand had sent them to an early morning farmer’s market where Veronica had taken dozens of photographs and Luc picked up an order of thick-skinned dried sausages and olive oils, and then to the bookstore at the ancient Cistercian Abbey at Sénanque, a working monastery set amongst the blazing purple lavender fields in a remote valley high in the Vaucluse. They had already purchased the list of titles Melanie had asked for from the superb array of books about Provence food and customs and now Veronica had her nose pressed wistfully to the glass cabinet that displayed a range of religious souvenirs and crafts. She knew that santons were a famous product of Provence but she had never seen such fine examples.
‘I can’t decide. I love all of them.’ She sighed, looking at the groupings of small, hand-painted terracotta figurines depicting various nativity scenes.
‘Then why don’t you buy them all?’ murmured Luc, peering over her shoulder.
There spoke a millionaire!
‘Because I can’t afford to,’ said Veronica wryly. ‘But I am thinking that something like those packaged sets would look good in the Out Of The Box “Corporate Christmas” catalogue, although they might be a bit too expensive for bulk gifts—’
She broke off, biting her lip. She had tried to avoid talking directly about her company to Luc, conscious that he had suspected her of wanting free advice and determined to prove him wrong, but it was practically impossible to suppress her excitement when a great idea popped into her head or she saw something in a market that she was eager to add to her inventory.
‘Not if you’re interested in the top end of the market,’ said Luc, leaning in for a closer look. ‘These are obviously collector-quality, and don’t forget you’re looking at the retail price. You could make them small but exclusive private offerings to selected customers—that always goes down well. I can see company wives appreciating the unique character of a gift that could join the family Christmas heirlooms. If you played that angle up, the giving of additional pieces could even turn into an ongoing company tradition. And for non-Christian employees there are other santonniers who produce traditional secular characters representing different trades and crafts,’ he finished shrewdly, giving her yet another glimpse of the forward-thinking that was the reason he was a millionaire.
She had already jotted down all the details she would need to investigate further, enabling her to justify the expense as she gave into the temptation of selecting a boxed set for herself—a small, stylised Mary and Joseph and a thumbnail-sized baby Jesus firmly tucked up in his white swaddling-cloth in the manger.
Luc watched with indulgent amusement as she made her careful choice, with a regretful glance at the shepherds and animals, all cast to the identical, modest scale of her selection, that the shop assistant was locking back up in the display cabinet.
‘Don’t worry, by next year you’ll probably be so successful you’ll be able to come back and buy the whole stable,’ he said, and she hurried off to pay and bury her nose in a rack of calendars, turning her back on him to hide the absurd glow of pleasure at the implied praise in his throwaway remark.
They walked back to the car park past the rows of lavender, their spiky purple-topped stalks clotted with humming bees, and Luc paused to offload his paper carry-bags in the boot.
‘Do you prefer it up or down?’ he asked as they got into the car, Veronica looked at him blankly for a moment before she realised he was talking about the convertible’s hard-top.
‘Oh … I don’t mind—whatever you like,’ she
