Having the Frenchman's Baby

She was trying to remain professional so she wouldn’t endanger her business relationship with him. But it seemed as if everything she was saying now caused his features to harden a little more.

“If you bored me, do you honestly think I would have driven from St Hippolyte to be here with you this early in the morning?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She averted her eyes, not knowing what to believe. All she knew was that by some miracle her hope of spending time with him this trip had just been granted. She never wanted it to end.

“The truth is, I already knew some of the Alsatian wines were excellent. But I have to admit it was my grandfather who put the idea in my head to come here.”

“The one who started the restaurants to honor his wife?” Luc interjected.

Rachel couldn’t have been more surprised. “Yes—how did you know about that?”

“I told Philippe to do some homework for me so I could better serve you.”

Rachel had had no idea Luc had gone to those lengths. No wonder he hadn’t asked her a lot of questions about the family business last night. He hadn’t needed to because his secretary had done it for him.

He left nothing to chance. The knowledge made him even more remarkable in her eyes.

“My grandfather has been ill. About three weeks ago he asked me to go through an old trunk for him and sort out his memorabilia.

“I’m making a journal of his life, so I was excited to see old letters and pictures he’d kept.

“When I handed him some photos to identify, I learned things I’d never known before. He heard I was leaving for France on another wine-buying trip, and urged me to come to Thann to look up an old French friend he’d met in Italy during the Second World War. Apparently they lost track of each other in the intervening years.”

“Ah, oui?” Giles spoke up. “What was his name?”

“Louis Delacroix.”

Giles smacked his forehead with his palm. “Sacré bleu—Louis? Did you hear that, Luc?”

“I did,” her host murmured, staring at her with a strange new light in his eyes that made her legs grow weak.

“Louis was a good friend of mine,” Giles explained, “but he died of pneumonia four years ago. Before he became ill, he went to live with his younger sister in Ribeauville.”

Rachel was crushed by the news. “Oh, I’m sorry, not only for your loss, but for my grandfather’s. He was eager to talk to him and reminisce about the old days. I have pictures I brought with me.”

The older man’s eyes dimmed for a moment. “Many of us from Thann were in the war. Not everyone came back, but Louis did.”

“So did you, thank goodness. It was Louis who told Gra

ndfather that Alsace produced the best white wine in the world. Of course my grandmother Lucia argued that Italian wine was better.

“Grandfather asked me to look him up so he could tell me which vintner in the region made the best white wine. After what you’ve told me, I have no doubt it was Chartier.

“When I couldn’t find any ‘Delacroix’s listed in the phone directory, I asked the hotel concierge his opinion. He told me the Domaine Chartier.”

“You’ve made our day,” Luc declared in a husky voice.

“Hasn’t she, Giles?”

“Mais oui!” The news had caused the old man’s expression to brighten again. “Your coming here is incredible!” he admitted.

Rachel found it pretty unbelievable too.

“I tell you what, Mademoiselle Valentine. Tomorrow we will drive to Ribeauville and pay Louis’s sister a visit.”

“Could we?” she cried eagerly. “Do you think she’d be willing to talk to my grandfather on the phone?”

He lifted his hands in a typical French gesture. “She will talk until his ear drops off.”