Having the Frenchman's Baby

He’d just expressed the thoughts she’d always held.

Whatever else went on inside him, she sensed he was a man who was in love with his work. Apology aside, not many vintners she’d met cared enough to go out of their way to this extent for a buyer.

“What color is your Wagoneer?

“Blue.”

“I’ll watch for you.”

“Bon. Enjoy the rest of your meal. A bientôt.”

As he walked away Rachel noticed that quite a few interested female eyes followed his progress from the room.

After eating a little more of the delicious vegetable entrée, she charged the bill to her room, then went upstairs to change. She took the wine bottle with her for a souvenir of her first day in Alsace.

Once she’d slipped into jeans and a plum-colored knit top, she put on a pair of well-used walking shoes she’d packed in her suitcase.

With twenty more minutes to wait until he returned, she decided to do something productive in order not to think too much.

Before she’d agreed to go with him, she’d been so furious, she’d actually shouted names at him. That was something she’d never done to anyone in her life.

Not wanting to think about how badly she’d lost control, or, worse, how easily he’d won her around, she decided now would be a good time to make a call to the UK.

Pulling out her cell phone, she punched in the digits. After three rings a familiar male voice answered.

“Grandfather? It’s Rachel.”

“How’s my Black Beauty this even—”

But before he could even finish the question, a coughing spell ensued. The doctor explained it was to be expected with a pulmonary embolism, yet it still alarmed her.

“Just a minute,” he said in a croaky voice.

“Take all the time you need.”

She adored her Grandfather William, who’d called her his Black Beauty from the time she was a little girl.

Though she’d grown up tall and slender, her thick hair had some brown mixed in with the black, but he didn’t worry about small technicalities.

He’d given her the book of the same name before her mother had taken her and Rebecca to live in New York when they were ten.

His present for Rebecca had been a magnificently illustrated book of Sleeping Beauty.

“These are so that neither of my little beauties will forget me,” he’d whispered in a loving voice.

“I don’t want to leave you and Daddy,” Rachel cried between sobs. The divorce between his son Robert and their American mother, Diana, had taken a traumatic toll on the entire family.

His gray eyes moistened. “I know. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to do. But I’ll come to visit you, and when you and Rebecca fly to London to stay with your father, you’ll have sleepovers with your grandmother and me.”

True to his word, there were sleepovers, and her grandparents did make trips back and forth from the UK to Long Island when they could get away from the restaurant business long enough.

On those occasions he would say, “You’re the thoroughbred of the Valentine family, Rachel. Of course, you inherited your mother’s famous Crawford smile and her large blue eyes. On you their tinge of gray gives them a wistful quality.

“Now that you’re becoming such a lovely woman, you’re going to have to protect yourself from the many men who will want a relationship with you.”

Rachel had taken everything her beloved grandfather had told her so much to heart, she’d reached the ripe old age of thirty-three and was still single.

Over the course of the years she’d met a lot of appealing men in her position as wine buyer for her grandfather’s restaurants. However none of them was the right kind of man to marry because none of them measured up to him. Not in character or kindness.