A Love Like This - Diana Palmer Page 0,134
to?”
“I’ll learn to catalog books as I go,” Gaby replied with a wicked smile. “And I’ll turn Goth Girl inside out as a personal favor to Mr. Chandler.”
Madame turned, her perfect eyebrows arching. “Excuse me?”
“Mr. Chandler’s niece lives with him,” Gaby explained. “She has more piercings than a soldier during the Napoleonic Wars, and tattoos that would grace a prison cell.”
Madame looked toward the ceiling. “What perils are you placing yourself into?” She turned. “You should go back right now and tell that attorney the truth of why you went to see him.”
“I will not,” Gaby said softly. “It’s a terrific opportunity.”
“Lies come back to bite you, my sweet.”
“These won’t. It will be all right. Really.”
Madame came forward and drew Gaby into a warm embrace while the delicate fragrant of Nina Ricci’s L’Air du Temps wafted into her nostrils. It was the only scent Madame ever wore. “If you say so, my darling.” She drew back and touched Gaby’s soft hair. “You must not put yourself in any more danger than you already face.”
“I’m not in danger.” She pointed to Tanner Everett. “Ask him.”
He chuckled. “She isn’t in any danger,” he parroted in his faint Texas accent. “I give you my word.”
“Well, that is something, at least. But you have to live in? I shall die of boredom here alone,” Madame wailed. “You won’t be here every day doing these little chores that make my life so much simpler!”
“You could invite Clarisse to stay,” she suggested. “She loves you, too. And she can answer the phone and keep up with appointments and do letters for you.”
“Clarisse.” She made another gruff noise under her breath. “She and her fiancé drive me almost mad. I have found them making out in every room of this apartment. Even the bathroom!”
“They’ll be married in two weeks and she’ll settle down.”
“Not in time. No Clarisse.” She sighed. “Well, perhaps I can tolerate Sylvie for a few days.”
Sylvie was her cousin, a sweet and gentle older woman who loved soap operas and swashbuckling movies.
“She’ll drive you mad with old Errol Flynn movies,” Gaby commented.
“Oh, I like pirate movies,” Madame said absently. “I’ll nap while she watches those vulgar soap operas, so that I don’t offend her with commentary.”
“Good idea,” Gaby said.
Madame sighed. “When do you move in with him?”
“With them,” she corrected and smiled. “Monday morning, so I must go back to my own apartment and decide what to take with me.” She moved forward, embraced her grandmother and brushed a kiss against the beautiful skin on her cheek. She drew back with a sigh. “You know, you have the most perfect complexion I’ve ever seen, even at your age.” Her grandmother was 72, going on 73. There would be a huge party to celebrate that birthday in the summer. There was always a crowd of dignitaries, because Grandmére knew film stars and soccer stars and TV stars and a great many other famous people. Even someone in the president’s cabinet! She was respected and loved by all her acquaintances, and she had friends who didn’t have money. She chose the people she had in her life, and they weren’t all wealthy.
Madame beamed. She touched Gaby’s face. “Which you have inherited, ma chèrie,” she replied, her voice as soft as the fingers that brushed over Gaby’s face.
“I have only your skin, not your beauty,” Gaby said, and without rancor. She glanced at the youthful portrait of Madame Melissandra Lafitte Dupont over the mantel. She had been debutante of the year in her class, wooed by princes and minor royalty all over Europe, but she chose to marry instead a fast-talking salesman of a business executive with grand ideas and no money. As people said, there was no accounting for taste.
“You were so beautiful,” Gaby remarked, staring at the portrait.
“The artist was blind,” the elderly woman chuckled.
“He was not. He captured the very essence of you,” Gaby argued as she moved closer to the portrait, so that the pale blue eyes were large enough to divine that they were alive with humor and love of life. “Grandfather never deserved you,” she added in a cold, angry tone.
There was a sigh behind her. “We live and learn, do we not?” was the sad reply. “He could have been anything he liked. But he was greedy, and you paid for his greed, my baby.” She hugged Gaby close. “I would give anything if you could have been spared that.”
Gaby hugged her back. “I had you,” she said softly. “So many people have less. I was lucky.”
“Lucky.” Madame made a curse of the word. She drew back. “I cannot convince you to give up this mad scheme?”
Gaby shook her head, smiling.
“Ah, well. At least I can make sure that he is your shadow,” she nodded toward Everett,
“I already am her shadow,” he chuckled.
“True enough,” Gaby returned. “Heavens, he can squeeze into the most incredible places. You never even notice him.”
“Which is why I’m still alive,” came the sardonic reply.
“So you are. Make certain that no harm comes to my granddaughter,” Madame told him. “Or I will find the deepest dungeon in my estate outside Paris, and you will rot there.” She even smiled when she said it.
“Did I ever mention that I always carry a nail file?” he replied, used to her threats, which he found more amusing than threatening. She knew he was good at his job.
Madame chuckled. She loved their repartee. “Very well. Good luck to both of you.”
“You mustn’t recognize me if you see me on the street,” Gaby cautioned her.
Madame made a face. “And what about my birthday party month after next?” she asked haughtily.
“In two months I’ll either have what information we need, or I’ll be suspended from the window of a penthouse apartment by a stocking with a gavel in my mouth.”
At which statement, everybody broke up.
* * *
HER SUITCASE PACKED with enough to keep her going for a week, Gaby took a cab to Mr. Chandler’s apartment. Everett was behind it all the way, in a black sedan.
She rang the doorbell at precisely eight a.m.
There were voices muffled behind the door. One was deep and loud, one was high-pitched and loud. Abruptly they ceased, and the door was opened.
Mr. Chandler looked at his watch. “Well, Ms. Dupont, at least you’re punctual.”
“So she can read a watch,” the Goth Girl said sarcastically. “But can she catalog books and answer the phone?”
“I have many talents, one of which is alligator wrestling,” she said with a straight face and looked directly at Mr. Chandler’s niece. He muffled a sound that could have been laughter. The girl glared at both of them and stomped off into her room.
* * *
Don’t miss Notorious by Diana Palmer, available in July 2021 wherever Harlequin® books and ebooks are sold.
Copyright © 2021 by Diana Palmer.
ISBN-13: 9780369700940
A Love Like This
Copyright © 2021 by Harlequin Books S.A.
White Sand, Wild Sea
First published in 1983. This edition published in 2021.
Copyright © 1983 by Diana Palmer
Fit for a King
First published in 1987. This edition published in 2021.
Copyright © 1987 by Diana Palmer
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