He was distracted by a muffled buzzing. He reached into his pocket for his phone, but it was Sara who took her own mobile from the capacious pocket of her shorts. She flipped open the screen and read the message there. “Oops,” she said, flashing him a brief, false smile. “Too late. I believe my certified check for $47,000 in taxes just made the transfer of ownership official. Sorry.”
It took him a moment, just a moment, to understand what she had done. He said flatly, “Until the courts determine otherwiseâwhich could take years, by the wayâI will remain Alyssa's guardian. Even if you manage to put the château into a conservatorship, I can block any move you try to make for the next sixteen years.”
“You can,” she agreed easily, “but you won't. Do you know why? Because you have a serious conflict of interest here, Ash. And if word should ever get out that you tried to sabotage a client's interests for your own financial gain . . . well, let's just put it this way. People in your position rely on their reputation for integrity, discretion, and efficiency. Once that reputation's gone, you've got nothing. And . . .” She turned to look at him, her expression deceptively placid. “If there's one thing I know, it's how to run a media campaign.”
He felt ice creep into his veins, his eyes, his voice. Without intending it, his eyes narrowed in challenge. “You don't have the resources to take me on.”
And she replied, her own gaze like granite, “You don't want me to try.”
This was fast getting out of hand. He searched for some way to smooth matters over, to level the playing field once again, but all he could do was stare at her. “Who are you?” he said softly. “I don't even know you.”
“Don't you?” She lifted her eyebrows in elaborate surprise. “Then you haven't been paying attention. Let me help you out. I'm the woman who took care of her alcoholic mother from the time she was six years old, who raised her little sister all alone, who put herself and her sister through college, who got a job with a firm so prestigious even you've heard about them, and who managed the accounts of the very same corporations whose deals you brokered. And I am the woman who is going to kick your ass if you get in my way.”
“Good God,” he murmured, and forced a small, mirthless smile. “I think I'm in love.”
She was not amused. “It's over, Ash,” she said. “You lose.”
She turned and walked away from him. He wanted to grab her and shake her hard. He wanted to hold her, just hold her, heart against heart, hands in her hair, lips on her skin, until the pain went away . . . her pain, and his pain. How had it come to this? How had
he
come to this? In all his life, there had never been anything he could not make right, given time. How had this gone so terribly wrong?
“Sara,” he said harshly, without moving, “listen to me. It's not going to happen. I know what you're feeling. Honestly I do. But I can't allow you to go through with this.”
She whirled on him, her color high, her hands in fists. The anguish in her eyes tore at him. “You don't have any
idea
what I'm feeling. I spent my whole life chasing a dream I didn't even want. I was married to a monster and I never knew it. I have nothingâ
nothing
âto show for my time here on earth. But now . . .” She drew a deep breath, calming herself. Her fingers unclasped, deliberately. “Now I have a chance to make a very big wrong right again. And you're not going to stop me. No one is going to stop me. Is that clear?”
He thrust his hands into his pockets, mostly to stop them from reaching for her. He said, “What if she's not Daniel's child?”
“Oh, for God's sake, Ash, look at her! Look at her eyes, her hair, her smile. She's Daniel's child.”
“She has beautiful French eyes,” Ash replied evenly, “and a lovely French smile. That doesn't necessarily mean anything at all.”
Alyssa, who had been happily jumping off a small step a few feet away, chose that moment to run up to them, and wrap her arms around Sara's legs in a brief hug. The tension in Sara's face vanished into tenderness as she bent down and scooped Alyssa up before she could scamper away again. She swung the little girl through the air until she giggled and squealed with delight, and then carried her over to a rusty iron bench where she set Alyssa on her lap and began to retie her shoes.
In a moment, Ash came and sat beside them.
“You're going to ruin that suit,” Sara said, without looking up.
Alyssa wriggled out of Sara's lap and climbed onto his, and surprised him by kissing his cheek. “Why are you so sad,
petit-papa
?” she asked in French.
He slipped an arm around her and replied gently, in the same language, “I'm sad because I have to tell Aunt Sara something she doesn't want to hear.”
“And then she will be sad also?”
Ash looked at Sara, who almost seemed to understand what they were saying. “Yes. I'm afraid so.”
Alyssa patted his cheek solemnly. “Don't make Tante Sara sad.”
Ash smiled at her and set her on the ground. “Go, play,
chérie
. But stay close.”
When she was out of earshot, Sara said, “What?”
His gaze followed Alyssa across the lawn. “I have to request a posthumous DNA test.” He set his jaw, took a breath, and looked at her. “If I don't, the court will.”
Sara lost a little color around her lips, and her eyes tightened. “You don't mean . . . exhumation?”
“Yes. That's what I mean.”
She brought her hand to her throat, as though to massage away an ache, and then let it flutter to her lap. She, too, focused her eyes across the lawn where Alyssa played. Her voice was small, and distant. “I was going to have him cremated. But he told me once he was raised Catholic. A very badly lapsed Catholic, he said. Still . . . I thought a Christian burial was what he would want.”
Ash reached for her hand, and covered it with his own. She did not pull away. He thought perhaps because she was in shock.
He said quietly, “Leave this alone, Sara. Let everything go back to the way it was. Alyssa's trust will take care of her. I can handle Michele. There's no reason to do this. Just let it go.”
“I can't.” Her voice was thick, and when she pulled her hand from his it was to wipe the corner of her eye.
“Why not?” he insisted, growing frustrated.
“Because,” she said. She swallowed hard, and drew in a breath, and seemed to compose herself. “Because Daniel accompanied his parents' bodies back to France in October of 2002 and he stayed until November 2003. When was Alyssa born?”
Ash said, without looking at her, “June 2004.”
“Daniel was in France when Alyssa was conceived, Ash, and you knew that all along.”
Ash said stiffly, “Daniel was in Europe in 2003. I have no way of knowing where he was when Alyssa was conceived.”
Sara nodded slowly, but without satisfaction or accusation, as though she had expected nothing more of him. “Every princess deserves a castle,” she said softly.
She lifted her chin, set her jaw. “Do it.”
“Good Christ, Sara.” His tone was fierce, but then he looked at her, and he saw the firm and quiet resolution in her eyes, and he didn't know what to say. He could not, in recent history, remember when that had ever happened to him before. So he simply repeated, softly, “Christ.”
“Tante Sara!” called Alyssa, waving to them.
“Voici! Voici les petits oiseaux!”
She had uncovered a collection of cracked concrete statues, a mother duck and ducklings. Sara called, “That's great, Alyssa!” And to Ash, “What do I say?”
“Très belle.”
“Très belle!”
she repeated. “
Très belle
, Alyssa!”
They watched her until she grew tired of chattering to the ducks and moved on to another game. Ash's frustration eased, almost without his having realized it, and so did Sara's sorrow.
Sara said, after a time, “You can't send her back to that boarding school.”
“No, I suppose not.” He frowned a little, watching Alyssa as she returned to her game of jumping off the steps. “I don't know what else can be done on this short notice. I could take her back to London with me, look for something there, I suppose. Mrs. Harrison could probably find a nurse for the short term. But it will take a while to get her documents in order.”
Sara said, “Leave her with me.”
He looked at her, startled, and she seemed as surprised as he was, as though she hadn't quite intended to say that. But even as he met her eyes, she seemed to come to a decision. “Yes,” she said. “That's the best thing, I think.”
“Sara, you can't mean to stay here.”
Stubbornness darkened her eyes. “Why shouldn't I?”
“You don't even speak the language!”
She said stiffly, “I'll learn.”
“You don't have a car, a European driver's license. What will you do with yourself up here all alone? For heaven's sake, be sensible!”
“I won't be alone,” she replied doggedly. “I'll have Alyssa.”
“You can't take care of this place by yourself, and the cost of keeping help for a house this size is beyond reasonable. This is absurd, Sara. I can't be a party to it.”
She lifted her chin fractionally, her eyes narrowing. “What are your choices?”
He opened his mouth to reply, and said absolutely nothing. Scowling, he jerked his gaze away. “You are the most exasperating woman.”
She called, “Alyssa, be careful!”
“Soyez prudent.”
“Soyez prudent!”
she repeated, and Alyssa, shrugging, lost interest in jumping two steps at a time and went to find another game.
Ash said, “I can't just leave her with you. I'm her legal guardian.”
“And I'm her stepmother.”
Once again, what he wanted to reply died in his throat. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to forestall the headache that was starting there. “I suppose I could try to get a nanny up from the village.”
“I don't need a nanny.” Her tone was impatient. “I know how to take care of a little girl.”
“Sara, there are procedures,” he began, as patiently as he could manage, and then, meeting the obstinacy in her face, he finished under his breath, “Oh, bugger it.”
Sara's expression softened, just a little. “It's only temporary,” she said. “I know that. I'll be here for a while. Let her stay until you find another school.”
He tried to think of alternatives, or even just one sound argument, and came up empty. He said, “The schools are unlikely to accept new applicants until fall term.”
She didn't blink. “I'll be here.”
She was staying the summer. That made him illogically pleased.
And worried.
Ash stood up, and walked over to Alyssa. Kneeling beside her, he said in French, “
Chérie
, would you like to stay here, with Tante Sara? Or do you want to go back to
l'école
and see your friends?”
But almost before he finished speaking she was shaking her head, curls whipping furiously.
“Pas d'école!”
she said adamantly.
No school.
She continued in the same language, “I will stay here, at my house. Tante Sara, she likes me. She thinks I am beautiful!”
Ash smiled at her, and tweaked her chin. “I think you are beautiful, too,
chérie
.”
He started to rise, but she caught his sleeve. “Will you stay here, too,
petit-papa
?”
He shot a quick, almost imperceptible glance toward Sara, who was watching them. “No,” he told Alyssa gently. “But I'll come visit often. And you will be very good for your Tante Sara, and do whatever she says, yes?”
Alyssa nodded solemnly. “I am a good girl.”
He ruffled her curls affectionately, and returned to Sara. She rose from the bench to meet him, her posture careful and her eyes wary, as though greeting an adversary.
He said, “I think we can work something out, on a temporary basis.” He reached into his inside coat pocket and removed a business card, and a pen, scrawling something on the back. “This,” he said, thrusting the card to her, “is my mobile number. Don't lose it. What's yours?”
She said, “I'm going to have telephones installed in the château.”
“Yes, well, good luck with that,” he muttered. “France Telecom may have you hooked up by the next century. In the meantime . . .” He waited with pen poised on the back of another business card until she drew out her cell phone and brought up the number.
“Keep your mobile turned on and on your person at all times,” he instructed her. “If you have any difficulties, anything at all, call me, and if I am out of range, call my office. Mrs. Harrison knows how to reach me, and if she can't reach me, it doesn't matter because she knows everything I know at any rate. In the storage pantry off the kitchen, taped inside the cupboard door that holds the linens, is a list of all the support personnelâthe housekeeper, the caterers, the grounds-men, the repairmen, and also emergency numbers for fire and police. Now, from your mobile, you will have to dial a six-digit exchange . . .”
Her eyes widened purposefully as she listened to him. “Ash,” she said, “I'm an American, not an imbecile. I can figure it out.”
He compressed his lips briefly, glancing beyond her, searching for words, not even knowing what he wanted to say. “Thisâunpleasant business,” he said at last, “may take some time. If you need anything . . .”
She lifted her chin a little. “I'm prepared to stay. Mr. Winkle is helping me set up bank accounts here, and get a visa when my passport expires. I think I can manage.”