There's Something About St. Tropez (8 page)

Holding hands, Sunny and Mac walked up two broad shallow steps. The wide glass doors stood open and they saw that the original farm house had been completely gutted. Now it was a single large lofty room open to the rafters and to the newer wings. In fact the whole place looked as though it had always been there. As though it belonged.

The hall was the same warm creamy color as the exterior, with that long
row of French doors leading onto a flagged terrace where grass grew in the cracks. Squashy sofas in coral linen looked so comfortable Sunny wanted to dive right into one and sleep for about a week, and the simple country furniture had achieved the soft luster of age. Large lamps with chocolate linen shades cast gentle pools of light. At one end of the room was a bar with an old-fashioned zinc counter. At the other, floor-to-ceiling shelves held books and DVDs, with tables nearby for card games and chess, backgammon or jigsaw puzzles.

A small dining room opened onto a flowery courtyard with a fountain and more tables set with coral-pink cloths. And everywhere were great bowls of old-fashioned carnations, the deeply scented kind, picked fresh from the flower fields above Grasse and rarely seen anywhere else in the world.

It was the perfect small, unpretentious family hotel.

“Omygod,”
Belinda said, stunned. “All my life and all that money, and I've never seen a room as inviting as this.”

Sara was nervous. “I know I can't afford it,” she whispered, and Belinda snorted impatiently and told her to wait and see what it cost before she complained.

“Gee, this is great,” Billy said appreciatively. “Beats the hell out of Chez La Violette.”

Little Laureen, still clutching her daddy's hand, took a quick look around. Her face wore its usual impassive expression, as though she were determined not to allow anything to affect her emotionally.

The young woman behind the gigantic bowl of flowers at the reception desk wore a pink carnation in her tight blond chignon. She was pretty, with a charming smile that matched her attitude. The badge pinned to her crisp white shirt said her name was Caroline Cavalaire.

“Bonjour, messieurs, mesdames.”
Her voice had that sweet high French singsong that sounded so much prettier that just plain “Good morning, sir, madam.” Sunny decided immediately she needed to learn it.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle, est-ce que vous avez des chambres à louer?
Mac said.
“J'espère l'hôtel n'est pas complet par-ce-que nous n'avons pas de choix. La maison que nous louons n'est pas propre à habiter et nous sommes loins de la maison.”

Caroline Cavalaire looked surprised, then she laughed, and said in English. “
Eh bien
, well done,
monsieur
. I understood every word. You are without a home.”

“Then you'll also understand why I'm praying.” Mac stopped and waved an arm at the others. “
We
are
all
praying, that you might have
six
rooms?”
He glanced ruefully at Pirate, sitting quietly at his side, and at Tesoro, hunched in Sunny's arms. “We also have two dogs.”

“No problem.” Like many French hotels, the des Rêves welcomed dogs. “Though of course there will be a small extra charge.” Caroline consulted her computer, fingers bouncing rapidly across the keys.

Sunny noticed that Caroline was wearing a beautiful ring, a square emerald offset with twin diamonds, large enough to impress, but since it was not on the third finger of her left hand obviously it was not an engagement ring.

“Alors.”
Caroline looked up from her computer. “Yesterday an entire family party canceled due to the illness of the grandmother. Their misfortune is your good luck. But we have only
five
rooms, and of those only three are doubles. The other two are singles, at the back of the hotel but still with a pretty view of the courtyard where you can take breakfast and other meals. All have balconies and the doubles have a sea view. And of course, as it is the season, you must take
demi-pension
, half board. That means a larger price, but it does include breakfast and either lunch or dinner.”

She consulted her computer again and came up with the prices. Mac asked the others what they thought.

“Three doubles,” Belinda said. “One for me, one for you and Sunny, and one for the Bashfords.”

“Little Laureen prefers her own room,” Billy said.

“And I can't afford any of them.” Sara's voice was flat. She wasn't into self-pity, she was simply stating a truth.

Belinda turned to look at her. “Tell you what,” she said. “Since Little Laureen has to have her own room, Sara can bunk in with me. Cost you nothing, girl. I'll charge it all to the husband.”

Sara's brown eyes bugged with gratitude. “Are you
sure
? I mean, a woman like you . . . Well, you know what I mean, a
rich
woman like you who is used to suites and all . . .”

“Let's just say I'm slumming, practicing for the future.” Belinda's cheeky grin turned her from blond rich bitch to someone who might be fun.

“I'll take the other single,” Nate said.

Pirate gave an encouraging
wuff
. Sunny eyed him doubtfully, then looked at Mac. “A
double
room?” she said. “And
both
dogs?”

He grinned. “Let's just look upon it as a test.”

 

7.

 

 

Caroline Cavalaire pinged the old-fashioned brass bell on her desk and two young men, smart in white shorts and polo shirts, came to take their bags. Everyone handed over their car keys except Nate who went to unhitch his bag from the back of the Ducati.

Typical man, Sunny thought watching him. All he needed for a month was contained in that one small black duffel. Of course her own two bags were stuffed to bursting, while Mac's luggage was also a single piece, packed in haste and which, Sunny knew, would consist of T-shirts and shorts. Not to worry though, St. Tropez was known for its shops and she couldn't wait to get him into that South of France look.

The Bashfords had half a dozen bags while surprisingly, Belinda had had only a couple of large Vuittons. “I left in a hurry, all I had time for,” she said. And the strange Sara Strange had just one small black Samsonite roll-on which made Sunny wonder how she'd ever planned to get through a cruise plus a week's vacation afterward. Sunny's shoes alone could take up that space.

The bellhops, known as Marco and Jules, led them up a wide wooden staircase with the dogs trotting after them, for once not fighting.

Sunny and Mac were shown to a spacious corner room with French doors leading onto a balcony and that famous sea view. It was simple and pleasing; just a double bed with plain white linens, a pine armoire, a couple of chairs, a small table, and striped cotton rugs on the wooden floor. The bellboy opened the shutters and the gauzy yellow curtains billowed gently in what had become a pleasant breeze.

Sunny smiled at Mac. “Let's forget Chez La Violette, I'll bet you there's a terrific bathtub here.”

And of course there was. A corner tub, the vinyl type to be sure, but big enough for two and with a separate shower and double sinks.

Elated, Sunny grabbed Mac, waltzing round with him.
“Heaven,”
she sang,
“I'm in heaven, I'm so happy I can hardly speak . . .”

Tesoro yapped jealously at Mac's heels as he pressed Sunny closer, and a discreet cough from the bellboy brought them back to reality

“Merci bien, Jules,”
Sunny called, in that new sexy French singsong, as Mac gave him his tip. Then the door closed and they were alone.

The dogs had priority; Sunny unpacked their bowls, filled them with food and water, put one set out on the balcony for Pirate and the other near the bedroom door for Tesoro, which was about as far apart as they could get. The dogs drank thirstily. Then she put Pirate on a chair out on the balcony and Tesoro on the bed and she and Mac walked into the bathroom, arms still round each other's waists.

Mac closed the door firmly, then turned on the taps. Sunny threw in a handful of the pretty pink bath crystals from the bowl beside the tub. Clouds of perfumed steam rose around them as they stripped off their clothes and kissed lingering.

Sunny stepped into the tub and sank into the bubbles, head thrown back, long dark hair floating round her shoulders. It wasn't the first time she had looked like a mermaid recently but this version was definitely an improvement. And it got even better when Mac climbed in beside her.

She gave him a lids-half-lowered glance. “I know lots of good games in showers,” she murmured, “but I'm not so experienced in bathtubs.”

“Better let me take charge of things.” He pulled her closer. Then he lost his balance and both of them slid, sputtering, beneath the foam.

Sunny emerged first, gasping and shaking her head, rubbing water out of her eyes. “So much for the famous sexy TV private investigator.” She laughed. “ ‘Every woman's Malibu fantasy. The man in charge. The guy who can do everything.' Except kiss a girl in a slippery tub.”

“Get over here.” Mac grabbed her again, running his hands over her familiar curves. And this time they had no trouble finding each other amongst all those scented bubbles.

“Let's begin where we left off,” Mac said, remembering the night before Sunny left, when Tesoro had sabotaged their lovemaking.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Now, right now, Mac.” She was no longer tired and
her hands were on him, on that firm muscular butt that looked so good in jeans. They were laughing as they skidded, clutching happily at each other. Making love in water was trickier than they had imagined. Somehow though, they managed it.

And they didn't even hear the mournful howl that came from the direction of the bedroom.

 

8.

 

 

Belinda Lord liked her double room though she was still pissed off about all the money she had paid for Chez La Violette. Still, the room was spacious enough, and simple, with its twin white beds and club chairs, and she liked the French doors with their green shutters opening onto a flowery balcony. A perfect place for a peaceful breakfast or a glass of wine while taking in the sunset.

For a moment she regretted inviting Sara Strange to share the room. Of course she had acted on impulse but there was more to it than that. Belinda had been in Sara's position; she knew what it felt like to be broke, to be cheated on, to have to go out and forge a life for herself. Only thing about Sara though, was Belinda was not sure she was the type to go out and get what she wanted from life.

Looking at Sara, still standing in the middle of the pretty room, brown eyes bugging with mixed apprehension and delight, Belinda sighed. She had too much on her own plate right now to worry about Sara. The girl would just have to get on with it.

She checked her phone and text messages. It was as she had expected. The mad Russian was even madder. He was too clever to threaten directly, knowing it could be traced and used against him in a court of law, but his entreaties to “come home, sweetheart, I miss you” held a note of menace that Belinda recognized. She closed her phone and sat on the balcony wondering what to do about it, and what would happen when the Russian husband caught up to her. A tremor of fear trickled down her spine.

“Is it all right if I take a shower?”

Sara's voice interrupted her downward spiral of thoughts.

“What? Oh, yes, of course it is. And by the way, I have first dibs on the bed by the window. Okay?”

“Of course. And I'll do your unpacking if you like. Anything you want. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.
A good woman
, that's what my mom would have called you, and she knew what she was talking about.”

Belinda laughed. “Then she'd have made a mistake this time, sweetie. ‘Good' I am definitely not. Bad? Yes. Wicked? Maybe. And on any given day you will get bits of all those characteristics. Meanwhile, what are you going to do about the bastard boyfriend?”