“Great Uncle Jerome was the genius who gave me the idea before he died.”
“Nevertheless, I can’t imagine the company without you.”
“I’ve been wanting to leave for years.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was bound by a secret and couldn’t tell you the real reason why I didn’t join you in Paris. But with Grandfather’s death, I no longer have to stay silent. The truth is, I would have joined you in Paris when I turned eighteen, but by then Jerome was diagnosed with lung cancer.”
“You’re kidding—”
Raoul shook his head. “He swore me to secrecy and didn’t even tell Danie. You know what he was like. Because he was a scientist, he handled his health care in his own way and turned to alternative medicine.”
“How did he do it exactly?”
“He used holistic interventions of supplements, herbs, enzymes, plus he changed his diet and he prayed. Knowing he would eventually die, I couldn’t leave him because I loved him too much. But it was hard not being able to tell you the truth at the time.”
“I understand totally. Gran’pere Armand never liked or acknowledged him, but Jerome had you and loved you like the son he could never have.” Dominic eyed him solemnly. “What’s so sad is that your father has to know he lost you years ago.”
“Amen,” Raoul ground out. “Before the day is out everyone will have heard about the divorce being granted, but that’s irrelevant. Right now, I’ve got to see about getting my villa furnished, starting with the nursery. Alain needs a crib. Want to come with me for a couple of hours?”
“What do you think?” an elated Dominic cried. “I’m all yours for now.” He gave some instructions to his assistant Theo, then turned to Raoul. “Let’s go!” They left the building and climbed into Raoul’s Jaguar.
* * *
At 8:00 a.m., twenty-six-year-old Camille Delon, known to her friends as Cami, packed a lunch for her and her mother. Together they left their apartment on the main floor of the eight-plex located in the lower income area of Vence, France. They walked toward the van parked around the side with the company logo, Nettoyage Internationale.
A chilly breeze would have blown Cami’s shoulder-length black hair around if she hadn’t formed it into a chignon. Her blue pullover sweater felt good over her T-shirt and jeans as she got behind the wheel. From the time she’d started working with her mother seven years ago, they’d agreed Cami should do the bulk of the driving since her mom didn’t feel that comfortable maneuvering the van in heavy traffic.
She closed the door and drove them to the housecleaning office in the heart of Vence to get their next assignment. NI, a premier housecleaning and housekeeping service, had offices all over Provence and were great employers.
“Bonjour!” the manager, Helene Biel, greeted them when they walked inside her office. Three other full-time coworkers, Jeanne, Marise and Patrice, who usually worked together, had come in another company van and were already assembled.
“Now that you’re all here, I’m sending the five of you out on a lengthy assignment. The new owner of a property with a large, ultra-exclusive villa needs a total housecleaning: walls, ceilings, woodwork, windows, thorough scrubbing of kitchen and bathrooms, main rooms, fixtures, vents, floors, fireplaces, patio, you name it. The only room you’re not to touch is the study on the main floor, which will be locked.
“He wants it spotless before he can start furnishing the place. After visiting the site, I estimate it will take you ladies four to five days. I’ll let them know you’re on your way now. That’s it. This is the address.”
After hearing its location, Cami eyed her mother wordlessly. This villa was located in the most elite, prestigious area of Vence. Only billionaires could afford to live on the top ridge of hills that overlooked the whole spectacular landscape stretching to the Mediterranean.
With an address like that, it had to be near
her favorite fairy-tale-like Château Fontesquieu, one of the wonders of Provence, set in the middle of its world-famous vineyards. The thought brought incredibly happy memories associated with her father. When Cami had been little, her dad, who’d been a taxi driver before his fatal car crash, had driven her and her mom to the estate every fall to see it and she’d never forgotten.
She must have been five years old when he’d first taken them on a tour through the vineyards at harvest time so they could watch the workers picking the grapes. Every year after that during the harvest he did the same thing, stopping each time for them to take in the sights.
One particular incident stood out in her mind and had always lingered there. At the age of twelve, she’d seen an older man walking through the vineyard with a young dark-haired man, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He was so handsome, she’d put down the back window so she could lean out and look at him a little better. They appeared to be supervising the workers before they reached the man’s elegant black car with the gold hood ornament. As the younger man turned to get in, he caught Cami staring at him and smiled.
A thrill ran through her young girl’s heart and she smiled back before the other car drove off. When she asked her father about the ornament, he said it was the emblem of the royal Fontesquieu family, which had existed for hundreds of years.
Cami sat back. In her mind’s eye the younger man had to be one of the royals, the fictional prince who lived at the château. Nothing could have delighted her more and caused her to dream about living in there with him one day as his princess.
But in November of that very year her father had been killed. The pain and shock of losing him stripped her of such a foolish fantasy. No more trips to the vineyard or anything else. By the time she’d turned twenty-one with a brief, failed marriage behind her, she’d been forced to face another personal crisis.
Her doctor had said that in time the genetic heart murmur she’d been born with would have to work too hard. He explained to her that she had a bicuspid aortic valve. The surgeon ran tests and decided to put off surgery until the symptoms began to affect her life, possibly when she turned twenty-six. By then the technique would have been perfected and become less invasive, possibly avoiding open-heart surgery altogether.
She was allowed to do her normal work, but there could be no running marathons or doing any physical activity that raised her heartbeat to too high a level. To make certain she was taking care of herself, she had to go in for regular checkups. The doctor said she could continue to clean houses, but to do no heavy lifting.
This last October the doctor scheduled her operation for mid-December. The heart surgeon had plans to leave the country over the holidays, so the operation had to be done before that time.