Chapter Five
GENEVIèVE
Neither Roux nor I said much on the train ride back to Burgundy. I was worn out, and the gentle rocking of the train soon lulled me to sleep.
At some point, it lurched, and I opened my eyes, then closed them again. No reason to break off such a nice, comfy nap.
Wait. Nice? Comfy?
My eyes snapped open, and I was mortified to discover I had fallen asleep with my head on Roux’s shoulder. But damn, did the man smell good.
And, oh. He was asleep too, with his head tipped against mine.
When the train lurched again, we broke apart, both awake. I stared out the window as if nothing had happened. And it hadn’t. Had it?
My cheeks heated as I blinked at the landscape.
Luckily, my phone rang, giving me something else to focus on.
“Oui, c’est moi,” I said when the woman on the line asked for Geneviève.
It was Lily, fiancée of Georges Delmont, grandson of electrician Jules Delmont.
“Madame Fontaine said you wanted to speak to me,” Lily said.
Boy, did I, because I had a great idea.
An idea I outlined in some detail, pausing only to send photos through.
My heart raced as Lily looked them over. Then she came back on the line.
“Let me get this right,” she asked. “You would let Georges and me hold our wedding at the chateau for nothing more than a cleaning fee of a few hundred euros.”
I nodded. “It’s all yours — the chapel, the beautifully converted stable, the ballroom…”
Technically, the chapel didn’t have a roof — yet — and the ballroom was months away from being presentable. But, hey. Everyone worked better under a deadline, right?
“You can even spend the night in the honeymoon suite,” I promised.
Once again, I congratulated myself on the genius move of talking my sister and Marius into a wedding, where we’d snapped hundreds of pictures to use in advertising.
Hosting Lily’s wedding wouldn’t generate any revenue, but it would get the wiring done, if this genius plot of mine worked.
We also stood to gain a good review and a chance to test all those newly developed areas of the chateau.
Once we actually developed them, that was.
“It looks amazing. What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” I assured her. “It will help our marketing efforts, and we’re happy to help someone with roots in Auberre, so it’s a win-win.
But I would appreciate it if you could get your future father-in-law to move us up his waiting list and complete all the wiring before then.
We’ll pay his regular rates, of course.” I paused a little breathlessly.
“Do you think he’ll agree?” I paused, then threw in, “Did I mention we have a vintage roadster from 1936?”
Roux’s eyebrows jumped up.
“A real classic,” I went on. “Your father-in-law can take it for a spin. Here’s a picture…”
I sent it through, and a moment later, a whistle of appreciation came over the line.
“Oh, I’m sure he can be convinced,” Lily said.
“You can choose any date you want. I mean, sometime after the wiring is done.”
My hinting knew no shame, but heck. That wiring was crucial.
“I have to say, that sounds a hundred times better than renting the local salle des fêtes,” she said.
I laughed. Better than the average community center? “I guarantee, it will be. No squeezing yourself in between scout meetings and senior bridge night. The whole place will be yours — and you can make things as grand or as intimate as you like.”
“I’ll talk to Georges and get back to you. Soon,” she promised.
Her giddy tone suggested that wouldn’t be long. I said goodbye, hung up, and did a little fist pump.
Roux didn’t look impressed, though.
“What?” I demanded.
“Is there another vintage car I don’t know about? One that runs, perhaps?”
I patted his shoulder. “I have faith in you.”
“I’m a tiger, not a magician. Getting parts has been impossible.”
I snorted, taking out my notepad. “What do you need?”
“Forget it. Those parts are impossible to find.”
I patted my chest. “I work in theater. We specialize in the impossible.”
He scoffed. “Even car parts?”
“Anything,” I assured him.
Men were hunters. Women were gatherers. And I was a champion gatherer.
“Theater is about illusions,” he pointed out.
“Tell that to the actor I had suspended from the ceiling on wires.”
“It’s one thing to put on Peter Pan. It’s another to meet road safety standards.”
“Try me,” I said flatly.
His look suggested I was wasting his time. I countered by pointing to the overhead display that said we were stuck on the train for another forty minutes.
Roux checked that against his watch — one of those massive devices that could double as a dive watch, if it didn’t drag him to the bottom of the ocean first.
With a sigh, he finally indulged me. “I need pistons, for starters. From 1936.”
I made a note. “What else?”
“I’ve been trying to track down a Wrigley carburetor for weeks. I’m telling you, it’s impossible.”
I shook my head. “If I can track down a vintage jack-in-the-box or parts to make a flying elephant, I can find a Wiggly carburetor.”
“Wrigley,” he muttered.
I handed him the notepad.
“One of the best directors I ever worked with had a saying. You want to hear it?” I asked as he noted the correct spelling.
“No.”
I plowed ahead. “Can-do energy is more productive than can’t-do energy.”
He gave me a hard look and underlined 1936 on the notepad.
“What about the chapel? The ballroom? Oh, and the honeymoon suite?” he challenged.
“What about them?”
“You can’t promise things that aren’t ready.”
“They’ll be ready. I know I’ve been busting my ass. How about you?”
“We’ve all been busting our asses,” he growled.
I glanced down at the body part in question. It was hard to appreciate from this angle, but I knew his to be magnificent. On par with Clem’s, not that I’d gotten up close and personal with either.
My body warmed at the thought, so much that I couldn’t help conducting a quick reassessment when we filed off the train at our destination. And when I did…
Truly magnifique.
The car was parked what seemed like miles away. Given that walk and the ensuing drive, it was pitch-dark when we approached Auberre. My phone beeped with an incoming text, and I motioned for Roux to read it to me.
“It’s from Lily.”
I rolled my hand impatiently. “What does it say?”
He scowled. “Heart emoji, heart emoji, heart emoji. Thumbs-up.”
I grinned and did another fist pump.
When the phone beeped again, he squinted at it. “It says, Maybe early June?”
“Tell her yes.”
He typed three letters, then looked at me. “Send?”
I shook my head. “Add a smiley face. The kind with hearts for eyes.”
His expression said that was beneath his dignity.
I pointed firmly at the phone. “Do it. We could wait years for an electrician if this doesn’t come through.”
He grimaced and hit a few keys. I swear, the man would have been more comfortable firing off live weapons than a few emojis.
“Okay?” He held out my phone.
I glanced at the screen, then nodded. “Perfect. Send it.”
My mood soared…for about thirty seconds. Then the car coughed and sputtered. I’d barely coasted to the side of the road before the engine died completely.
I cursed, trying to restart it. No go.
Roux leaned over to the peer at the instruments. And, oh. He smelled nice, even after a long day of train rides and traipsing around Paris.
“Lights. Many lights. But not a single red one,” I pointed out defensively.
He muttered, exited the car, and motioned for me to release the hood. I did, then joined him.
Give me a theater stage to design, and I could do it — from an underwater set for The Little Mermaid to outer space for an adaptation of The Magic School Bus. Making sense of a car engine, on the other hand…
Roux poked around while I held my phone light. Then he pulled out a rubbery thing.
“Snapped fan belt. When was the last time you had this thing inspected?”
Probably during Jacques Chirac’s presidency, but I didn’t volunteer that. I just shrugged. “Can you fix it?”
“If I had tools and a replacement belt.”
I gave his cargo pockets a significant look.
“But I don’t,” he grumbled.
“Pity.” I grabbed my things, zipped my jacket, and set out for home, less than a mile away.
Roux muttered and joined me.
My breath showed in the dim light of the quarter moon, and my shoes crunched over dry leaves. My ears were freezing. Still, it was invigorating in other ways. Pleasant, even. Especially when I turned the corner to the long drive to the chateau and spotted lights at the end of the tree tunnel.
My heart warmed. The chateau called to me, as it always had. I could be blindfolded and turned until I was dizzy, and I would still be able to find the place.
I smiled. Soon, I would be home with a warm mug of tea and the delicious meal Madame Picard had left for us. In the meantime, I would take this as a sign to get out more often to enjoy the crisp, quiet nights.
Too quiet, hard-wired instinct warned.
I shook off the feeling. No need to get creeped out. Bad things happened in big cities, not out in the countryside.
Still, I walked a little faster, focusing on the chateau lights.
Faster, they seemed to whisper.
Roux fell behind, then caught up. “In a hurry?”
A twig snapped in the forest, and we froze, listening.
Leaves stirred ever so slightly. Too quiet for a normal sense of hearing, but not for someone with my shifter ancestry.
Somewhere behind me, something was moving through the forest.
My heart rate tripled, and I broke out in a cold sweat.
“Keep walking. Slowly,” Roux whispered.
I did, sniffing the air. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing from the wrong direction, giving me no hint of what that might be.
But whoever — or whatever — it was, they continued stalking us.
“If that’s Bene, I’ll kill him,” I whispered.
“If that’s Bene, I’ll kill him,” Roux grunted. “But it isn’t.”
“Who, then?” I whispered.
He shook his head. “No idea.”
I pulled out my phone as I speed walked, thinking to call Bene.
“Already alerted him,” Roux rumbled, pushing me along.