Читать книгу Love Story Next Door!: Cinderella on His Doorstep / Mr Right, Next Door! / Soldier on Her Doorstep - Rebecca Winters, Barbara Wallace - Страница 8

FEW things had surprised Alex in life, but twice in the last eighteen hours Dana Lofgren had taken him unawares.

“I have nothing signed and sealed yet. Is the season of vital importance?”

Her nod caused her hair to gleam in the sun like fine gold mesh. “It has to be late summer. Right now if possible,” she said, looking all around, “but maybe that’s asking too much.”

“Don’t worry. It’s available. My next tentative booking so far is with a Paris studio that won’t be needing it until mid-September.”

“Good,” she murmured, almost as if she’d forgotten he was there.

“Are you ready to see the interior?”

“No.” She sounded far away. “I’ll leave that to my father. I’ve seen what’s important to him. The estate possesses that intangible atmosphere he’s striving for. I knew it as I drove in last night.

“Over the years of watching him work I’ve learned he doesn’t like too much information. If I were to paint pictures, he’d see them in his mind. They would interfere with his own creative process.” She suddenly turned and flashed him a quick smile. “His words, not mine.”

Alex couldn’t help smiling back. She had to be made of strong stuff to handle her father whose ego was probably bigger than his reputation. “Such trust in you implies a spiritual connection I think.”

“I would say it has more to do with our mutual love of history. When I leave, I’ll phone him and let him know what I’ve found. Before the day is out you’ll hear from two people.”

This fast she’d made her decision? Alex couldn’t remember meeting anyone like her before. Did she always function on impulse, or just where her father was concerned? “I’ll be waiting.”

“Sol Arnevitz handles the financial arrangements. Paul Soleri is in charge of everything and everyone else when we’re on location. Paul will go over the logistics and has the ability to smooth out any problem. You’ll like him.”

“As opposed to…”

She made a face. “Who else?”

Meaning her father of course. Dana Lofgren was a woman who didn’t take herself too seriously. Despite what he assumed was a ten-year age difference between them, he feared she was growing on him at a time when he couldn’t afford distractions.

“What more can I do for you this morning?”

“Not another thing.” But her blue eyes burned with questions she didn’t articulate, piquing his interest. “Thank you for dinner last night and your time this morning. It’s been a real pleasure, Alex. Expect to hear from Sol right away. Here’s his business card.” She handed it to him. “He’ll work out all the details with you.”

To his shock she got in her car before he could help her.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” He wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

“A daughter’s work is never done. I have to be in Paris this afternoon, then I’ll fly back to L.A. Enjoy your solitude before everyone descends on you.”

The next thing he knew she’d turned around and had driven off, leaving him strangely bereft and more curious than ever about her association with a father who was bigger than life in her eyes. Alex saw the signs. Ten, twenty, even thirty years from now he had a hunch Jan Lofgren’s hold on her would still be powerful.

He stared blindly into space. Whether strongly present in Dana’s life, or deliberately absent as Gaston Fluery had been in his daughter’s life, both fathers wielded an enormous impact. The thought disturbed Alex in ways he’d rather not examine.

An hour later, after he’d changed clothes and had begun cutting down more overgrowth, his cell phone rang. It could be anyone, but in case it was Dana, he pulled it out of his pants pocket. The ID indicated a call from the States. He clicked on. “Alex Martin speaking.”

“Mr. Martin? This is Pyramid Pictures Film Studio calling from Hollywood, California. If it’s convenient Mr. Sol Arnevitz would like to set up a conference call with you and Mr. Paul Soleri before he goes to bed at eleven this evening. It’s 7:00 p.m. now. Mr. Lofgren heard from his daughter and is anxious to move on this.”

Alex was anxious, too, for several reasons. “Eight o’clock your time would work for me.”

“Very good. Expect their call then.”

After twenty more minutes loading the truck, Alex went back to the château and entered through a side door leading into the kitchen. He washed his hands, then poured himself a cup of coffee before carrying it to the ornate salon off the foyer, which he’d turned into a temporary bedroom-cum-office. He liked living with the few furnishings of his parents he’d had shipped.

The salon’s original furniture was still stored on the top floor. Once he’d made inroads on the outside of the château, he would concentrate on the house itself, that is if he made enough money in time. For now he’d supplied himself with the necessities for living here: electricity, cable and Internet, running water hot and cold, a new water heater, a stove, a fridge, washer and dryer and a new bed with a king-size mattress and box springs.

He snagged the swivel chair with his foot and sat down at his desk. No sooner had he booted up his computer than his call came through. Once the other two men introduced themselves, they made short work of the negotiations. The company would be on location from August 8 through 31. Sol quoted a ballpark figure, but left it open because other expenses always accrued.

Alex didn’t know if Dana had anything to do with the actual amount, but it was a far greater sum than he’d hoped for. Sol sent him a fax, making the contract official before he rang off.

Paul stayed on the line with him for another twenty minutes. They discussed logistics for the cameramen and staff. Alex e-mailed him a list of hotels, car rental agencies and other businesses in and around Angers such as Chanzeaux.

“Chanzeaux?” the other man said. “Dana mentioned she stayed at a hotel there last night. I believe it was the Hermitage. According to her it’s the perfect place for her father.”

It pleased Alex she’d given her seal of approval. “The food’s exceptionally good there. Mr. Lofgren should be very comfortable.”

“Since we’re behind schedule as it is, we all want that,” he admitted with a dry laugh that spoke volumes about Dana’s father. “The crew will arrive day after tomorrow. Everyone else the day after. I look forward to meeting you, Alex.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

After clicking off, he headed outside again. Dana would be back in a few days, this time with her father. Over the years Alex had been involved in various relationships with women, but he’d never found himself thinking ahead to the next meeting with this kind of anticipation. He had no answer as to why this phenomenon was suddenly happening now.

During the taxi ride to the house, Dana phoned Sol whose secretary told him the contract with Mr. Martin had been signed. Relieved on that score she called Paul, wanting to touch base with him before she saw her father.

“Hey, Dana—Are you back already?”

“Yes, but only long enough to pack before I leave again. Sol says everything’s ready to go.”

“That’s right. I’ve got us booked at three hotels fairly close together. Just so you know, the Hermitage didn’t have any vacancies, but with a little monetary incentive I managed to arrange adjoining rooms for you and your father for the month.”

She smiled. “You’re indispensable, Paul.”

“Tell your father that.”

“I don’t need to.” Except that nobody told Jan Lofgren anything. Little did Paul know that even though he’d arranged a hotel room somewhere else for Saskia, she’d probably end up staying with Dana’s father. “Listen, Paul—I’m almost at the house so I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”

“Ciao, Dana.”

After she hung up, her mind focused on her own sleeping arrangements. Since the film studio had the run of the estate until the end of August, Dana decided she would stay in the deserted château away from everyone. When else in her life would she get a chance like this? She’d buy a sleeping bag. It would be a lark to camp out inside.

Her dad wouldn’t need her except to do the odd job for him and bring him lunch. Once he settled in for work each day, he hated having to leave with the others to go eat. Maybe he used it as an excuse to be alone with his own thoughts for an hour. Who knew?

What mattered was that she’d have most of her time free to explore the countryside and only come back at dark to go to sleep. Her thoughts wandered to Alex. She wondered where he was staying. The concierge at the Hermitage indicated he lived in the vicinity. Considering the taxes he owed, she imagined he’d found a one-star hotel in order to keep his expenses down. It made her happy that the film company would be giving him a financial boost. He—

“Miss?”

Dana blinked. “Oh—yes! I’m sorry.” They’d reached her family’s modern rancho-styled home in Hollywood Hills without her being aware he’d stopped the taxi. She paid him and got out.

Just in case her father had brought Saskia home, she rang the doorbell several times before letting herself in. After ascertaining she was alone, Dana took off her shoes and padded into the kitchen to sort through the mail and fix some lunch.

The clock in the hall chimed once, reminding her France was nine hours ahead of California time. She doubted Alex would be in bed yet. Was he out with a beautiful woman tonight? And what if he was?

For a man she’d barely met, Dana couldn’t believe how he’d gotten under her skin so fast. It was that unexpected invitation to dinner with him. He didn’t have to take the time, but the fact that he did made him different from the other men she’d known. She found him not only remarkable, but disturbingly attractive.

While she finished the last of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, she reached for her mother’s favorite French cookbook from the shelf. It wasn’t a cookbook exactly. It was a very delightful true story about an American family living in France in 1937. Quite by accident they met a French woman who came to cook for them.

Everything you ever wanted to know about France was in it, including French phrases. It was full of recipes and little drawings, so much better than a Michelin guide. Both Dana and her mom had read it many times, marveling over a slice of history captured in the account. Dana would pack this with her.

In the act of opening the cover, warm memories of her mother assailed her. A lump stayed lodged in her throat all the way to the bedroom where she flung herself on the bed to thumb through it. Chanzeaux looked just like the adorable villages in the book with their open-air markets selling the most amazing items. She rolled over on her back, wondering about Alex. Having lived on the other side of the world, did he find France as charming as she did?

There were many questions she’d like to ask him, but she’d already probed too much. Anything more she learned he would have to volunteer when they happened to see each other. He could be slightly forbidding. It would be wise to stay out of his way. That went for her father, too, except to feed him.

Oh, yes, and remind him to go to the local hospital for his weekly blood test. No one would believe what a baby he was, which reminded her she’d better check the medicine cabinet and make sure he had enough blood thinner medication to be gone two months. After they left France, they’d finish up the filming in Germany where Dana had already checked out the locations ahead of time.

With a sigh she got up from the bed needing to do a dozen things, but a strong compulsion led her to the den first. Ever since she’d heard that the Fleury family had once produced wine, she wanted to learn what she could about it. The wine she’d had with Alex had left the taste of nectarines on her lips. As she’d told him that night, it could become addicting.

She typed in Anjou wine, France. Dozens of Web sites popped up. She clicked on the first one.

The Anjou is one of the subregions of the Loire Valley producing a variety of dry to sweet dessert wines. The two main regions for Chenin Blanc are found in Touraine and along the Layon river where the soil is rich in limestone and tuffeau. Long after you’ve tasted this wine, it will give up a stone-fruit flavor on the palate. The Dutch merchants in the sixteen hundreds traded for this wine.

That far back?

Fascinated by the information, Dana researched a little more.

Coteaux du Layon near the river is an area in Anjou where the vines are protected by the hills. It’s best known for its sweet wines, some of the recipes going back fifteen centuries. By the late seventeen hundreds, several wine producers became dominant in the region including the Domaine du Rochefort, Domaine du Château Belles Fleurs and Domaine Percher.

There it was, part of Alex’s family history. Dana’s father would find the information riveting, as well, but for the meantime she’d keep it to herself. The owner was a private person. It would be best if she waited until he brought it up in the conversation, if he ever did.

A few minutes later she’d gone back to her room to do her packing. She had it down to a science, fitting everything into one suitcase. As she was about to leave and do some errands, her father came home and poked his head in the door. “There you are.”

She looked up at him. “Hi.”

“You just got back. How come you’re packing again so soon?”

Dana had anticipated his question. “I’m going to fly to Paris with the camera guys in the morning.”

“Why?”

“Because Saskia will be a lot happier if she has you to herself when you fly out the day after tomorrow.”

“Saskia doesn’t run my life,” he declared.

No one ran his life. Dana certainly didn’t figure in it except to fetch for him, but the actress didn’t like her. “I know that, but it doesn’t hurt to keep the troops happy, does it?” She flashed him a smile, hoping to ease the tension, maybe provoke a smile, but all she provoked was a frown.

“You really think you found the right place?” he asked morosely.

The film was on his mind, nothing or no one else. Until he saw the estate, he’d be impossible to live with. Good luck to Saskia. “If I haven’t, Paul will switch us back to Plan B outside Paris without problem.”

After staring into space for another minute he said, “Have you seen my reading glasses?”

“They’re on the kitchen counter, next to the script. Have you eaten?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I’ll fix you some eggs and toast.”

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, before leaving her alone.

He only said that if he needed something from her. Because he was a narcissist, it was all she would get. She knew that, yet because their natures were exact opposites, a part of her would always want more. Still, when she thought of Alex’s mother being cut off by her father, Dana realized her relationship with her father hadn’t degenerated to that extent. Not yet…

Alex was in his bedroom when the phone rang again. He’d just hung up from talking with another Realtor who hadn’t heard the estate wasn’t for sale and never had been. They never stopped hounding him. With each call he’d hoped it might be Dana.

“Monsieur Martin ici.”

“Bonjour, Alex.”

His lips twitched. Her accent needed help, but with a grown-up rosebud mouth like hers, no Frenchman would care. “Bonjour, Dana. How are things in Hollywood?”

“I wouldn’t know. How are things in that jungle of yours?”

Laughter burst out of him. “Prickly.”

“My condolences.”

“Where are you exactly?”

“In front of the château.”

He felt a burst of adrenaline kick in.

“I was hoping you would let me in, but considering your plight, I’ll be happy to come back after you and your machete have emerged.”

The chuckles kept on coming. “I’m closer than you think. Don’t go away.” He hung up and strode swiftly through the foyer.

As soon as he opened the front door of the chateau, she got out of the car. Today she was dressed in jeans and a white short-sleeved top. If the pale blue vest she wore over it was meant to hide the lovely mold of her body, it failed.

Though she gave the appearance of being calm and collected, he noticed a pulse throbbing too fast at her throat. He knew in his gut she was glad to see him.

“When did you fly into Paris?”

“At six-thirty this morning with the camera guys. When their rooms are ready, they’ll crash until tomorrow, then probably show up around eight in the morning to start checking things out.”

“What about your father?”

“Everyone else will arrive at different times tomorrow.”

“I see. He didn’t mind you coming on ahead?”

“Most of the time we do our own thing.” She gave him a direct glance as if daring him to contradict her.

Alex had asked enough questions for now. It was almost noon. “Let’s get you inside. In case you’d like to freshen up, there’s a bathroom on the second floor at the head of the stairs.”

“Thank you.”

Dana followed him up the steps into the foyer dominated by the central stonework staircase. With no furniture, paintings, tapestries or rugs visible, the château was a mere skeleton, but she seemed mesmerized.

Taking advantage of her silence he said, “The place was denuded years ago. Everything is stored on the third level where the servants used to live.”

He watched her eyes travel from the walls’ decorative Italianate paneling to the inlaid wood floors. “There’s a chandelier packed away that should hang over the staircase. Without it the château is dark at night. I told Paul that if night interiors are called for, he’ll need to plan for extra lighting. Your father—”

“My father’s very superstitious,” she broke in on a different tack. “He gets that from his Swedish ancestry. When he stands where I’m standing, he’ll be frightened at first.”

“Frightened?”

“Yes.” She turned to him. “It’s always frightening for a figment of your imagination to come to life, don’t you think? At first he won’t know if it’s a good or bad omen.”

When her father saw the château, he would be speechless. His excitement wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer, but she’d see his eyes flicker and feel his positive energy radiate. For a while it would insulate him from his usual irritations. Even Saskia wouldn’t grate on his nerves as much, at least not at first. But that was his problem. Dana had done her part.

“Would you mind being more explicit?” Everything she said intrigued Alex. Besides her shape and coloring that appealed strongly to his senses, she had an inquiring mind. It engendered an excitement inside him that was building in momentum.

“My father gave his favorite screen writer some ideas and they collaborated on the script for this wartime film. Your château and grounds could have been made for it. For some time I’ve had the feeling this is the most important project he’s ever taken on.”

He folded his arms. “Can you tell me about it, or is it a secret?”

“A secret? No.” After a pause. “The film is filled with the kind of angst my father is best known for.” He heard her breathe in deeply. “Does that explanation help?”

“About the setting, yes, but I’m curious about the story itself.”

She gave a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “That’s for my father to decide. I don’t think he knows it all yet.” As far as Alex was concerned, she was being evasive for a reason. “Dad’s had a mind block lately. It’s made him more irritable than usual. It will take settling into it here for those creative juices to flow again. But to give you a specific answer to your question, his films always leave the audience asking more questions.”

That was the truth, but she was holding back from him and that made him more curious than ever. Evidently she knew better than to give too much away. Was that because her father wouldn’t like it? “Why do you think he came up with this particular story?”

“How does any author come up with an idea? They see something, hear something that arouses their interest and a kernel of an idea starts to form.”

She angled her head toward him. “Part of it could be the guilt he personally feels for his country’s compliance with the enemy in the first days of World War II. Another part might be that deep down he still misses mother and wishes he’d had a son instead of ‘moi.’”

She’d said it with a smile, but Alex felt the words like a blow to the gut. He’d heard emptiness, sadness in that last remark. It made him want to comfort her. “Still, I have my uses. Thanks to you, I found this for him.” She spread her hands, as if encompassing the entire château. “Heaven sent.”

Alex swallowed hard. “For me, too.”

“I’m happy if it helps you. I bet your mother is, too.”

She kept surprising him. “You believe in heaven, Dana?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“After this discussion, I want to.”

A faint blush filled her cheeks. “I’m afraid I’ve rattled on too long and have kept you from your work. Please go ahead and do whatever you were doing. If it’s all right, I’ll just wander around here for a little while before I take a nap. I picked up a sleeping bag in Angers and brought it with me.”

Why would she do that? “If you’re that exhausted, I’ll call the Hermitage and tell them to get your room ready now.”

“No doubt they’d make concessions for you, but I’m not staying there, so it’s not necessary. Thank you anyway.”

Alex rubbed the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture. “Paul told me he would arrange rooms there for you and your father.”

“He already has, but while I’m in France I intend to be on my own most of the time. After everyone goes home at the end of the day’s shoot, I plan to stay right here where I can have the whole château to myself.”

An angry laugh escaped his throat. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

She flashed him an ingenuous smile. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t frighten easily and love being alone.”

His eyes narrowed. Dana had seemed such an innocent she’d almost fooled him. “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he ground out. “My ad didn’t indicate the château could be used for anything but the filming.”

A long silence ensued while she digested what he’d said. “I assumed that since the company had rented the estate for the filming, it wouldn’t matter if I found myself a little spot in the château to sleep at night.” Her supple body stiffened. “My mistake, Alex. I’m glad you cleared it up before any harm was done.”

“Dana—”

She’d almost reached the front door before turning around. “Yes?”

He started toward her. “Where are you going?”

“To find me a place to stay.”

“Wouldn’t you be better off with your father?” he asked quietly.

“You want your pound of flesh, don’t you.” Her cheeks filled with angry color. “First of all, if I were seventeen I’d agree with you, but I’m going to be twenty-seven next week, slightly too long in the tooth to still be daddy’s little girl.”

His estimation of her age had been way off.

“Secondly, my father isn’t in his dotage yet. In fact, his latest love interest is one of the actresses in the film and will be sleeping with him, which makes three a crowd. When you see Saskia, you’ll understand a lot of things.” She smiled. “If my dad ever found out your impression of him, he’d have a coronary.”

Alex hadn’t seen that one coming. It knocked him sideways.

“Thirdly, while I’m in this glorious region of France, I’d like to pretend I’m an independent woman who needs to spread her own wings for a change. It must have given you an uncomfortable moment thinking I’d made you my target. Again, I apologize.”

He’d anticipated her flight and moved in time to prevent her from opening the door. Their hips brushed against each other in the process, increasing his awareness of her womanly attributes. The tension between them was palpable. She slowly backed away from him.

The last thing he’d wanted was to make an enemy of her, but that’s what he’d done. One word to her father and he could kiss this deal goodbye. The hell of it was, he couldn’t afford to lose this film studio’s business, not when he needed the money so badly. A large portion of his life’s savings combined with the modest inheritance from his father were all invested in this venture.

“Dana—it never occurred to me you might want to stay in the château.”

She refused to look at him. “You’re not a dreamer.”

“You’d be surprised, but that’s not the point.” Trying to gauge what her reaction would be he said, “I live here.”

Her gaze flew to his. By the stunned look in those blue depths, he knew instinctively his revelation had come as a surprise.

“The concierge at the Hermitage intimated you lived somewhere in the vicinity. To me that ruled out the château…” Her voice trailed.

Alex’s first impression of the French woman in Chanzeaux had been right. She was a busybody. When Dana’s father arrived and she learned of his importance, it would bring a flood of unwanted curiosity seekers to the estate. His mouth thinned in irritation. He would have to fit the gate with an electronic locking device to give the film company privacy while they were working. Today, if possible.

“I’m afraid there’s been a lot of speculation about me since I flew in from Bali.”

“Bali—What were you doing there?”

“My work. I’m an agricultural engineer.”

She rubbed her palms against womanly hips, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “Are you taking a sabbatical of sorts then?”

“No. I resigned in order to settle mother’s estate before leaving for the States.”

Following his remark she said, “Then you’re only in France temporarily.”

“Very temporarily, even if my business venture should succeed—” he drawled.

“What is your plan exactly?”

“To restore the château and grounds to a point that the estate can be put on display alongside the others in the area. Millions of tourists pour into France each year willing to pay entry fees for a look around. With a couple of full-time caretakers, it could prove to be a smart business investment, leaving me free to pursue my career overseas.”

Her expression had undergone a subtle change he couldn’t decipher. “It’s an ambitious undertaking, but with your work ethic I’m sure you’ll make it happen.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to go and let you get back to your work.”

“Not so fast.” He looked around before his gaze centered on her once more. “It does seem unconscionable not to let you live here when this was originally built to house several dozen people. Under the circumstances I insist you stay, but it means we share the château.”