“Maybe you simply underestimated me,” I said, and sipped my wine.
He laughed. “Compliments bounce off you the way rain bounces off an umbrella.”
“Don’t stop them coming, anyway. I don’t mind being in the rain.”
“Oh, I won’t. Don’t worry about that. Hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, we’ll go after we finish our wine. I’ve called Norbert, by the way. He sounded relieved.”
“Oh?”
“I think his partner was complaining about him not spending enough time with him. Looks like I came onto the scene just in time to save his relationship. And maybe,” he added softly, “to start one of my own.”
I didn’t say anything. I walked to the railing and looked out at the sea. Someone was being pulled on water skis and doing well. Farther out, a rather large yacht was making its way toward Monaco.
“Is that your parents?”
“No,” he said. “We don’t have one quite that ostentatious. That has a helicopter on it. I believe it belongs to a prince from Saudi Arabia. He usually comes this way about now.”
He stepped up beside me.
“I can’t help feeling that when I say something or do something to bring me closer to you, you step back.”
I turned and looked into his eyes. “What’s your favorite gelato?” I asked him.
“Gelato? Boring to others, plain vanilla. But with a little chocolate on top. Why? What does that have to do with what I just said?”
“Don’t you hate rushing it and hate it when you come to that final bite or lick?”
“So we’re still walking?”
“Still walking,” I said, and finished my wine.
He finished his, and we started out.
Margery stepped out of the kitchen. “Anything you need, Miss Wilcox?”
“Not at the moment, Margery,” I said. “Merci.”
She stood there watching us leave. I wondered if she was a lot more than just a housekeeper and cook here. Maybe she was another spy for Mrs. Brittany. I couldn’t resent her if she was. She and her husband probably were paid well and were comfortable. Why should she risk any of that for me?
Paul’s restaurant in Beaulieu was delightful. The food was delicious, and like the people at the Café de Paris, everyone, especially the owners, knew him well. We sat at his favorite table in a corner by a window. The room was small but elegantly decorated. I liked the intimacy of it.
Maybe it was the excellent wine and the comfort of really good food, but I found myself becoming less defensive as the evening continued. Paul talked about his youth and his relationship with his sister before she became so distant from the family. I think he was being more open and revealing in the hope that I would reciprocate and tell him real things about myself.
However, hovering close to me the whole time was Mrs. Brittany’s admonition not to do anything to destroy the mystery. I was tempted to tell him all about myself, nevertheless, as he prodded and pleaded.
“I want to know more about you. You fascinate me, Roxy. I feel at such a disadvantage.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t be so fascinating if you knew more about me,” I said, half in jest. “I’m here. I’m who I am right now. Why change that?”
“But I don’t know who you are right now.”
“Sure you do. You keep telling me. I’m bright, beautiful, fascinating. Think of me as someone with whom you have fallen in love on the movie screen. You don’t want to know anything that would stain that image, do you? Who wants his goddesses to have feet of clay?”
He shook his head and smiled. “You are amazing.” He leaned over to kiss me. Then, in a voice that vibrated with some fear and nervousness for the first time, he asked, “Will you spend the night with me in my family castle?”