One Night in Provence Page 8

  “Uh-huh. Guess this means the pregnancy is a reality,” she joked. “I was armed today, though. I bought an extra croissant. I should be fine until end of shift.”

  “Have you heard any more from...?”

  The pastry grew heavy in her stomach. “Not since our last conversation.”

  She and Philippe had spoken twice. Once when she took the home pregnancy tests and again when the blood test made the pregnancy official. Both times he treated her like a business call, his tone flat and emotionless. One hundred and eighty degrees from the man she knew in France.

  Could she blame him? Hadn’t she stood on the Tour Magne and listened to him say he didn’t want children?

  In case you haven’t guessed, I prefer to stay as entanglement-free as possible, he’d said.

  He was in shock. When she called to report the blood test, he’d replied by saying, “I don’t understand. We used protection.”

  “Nothing is one hundred percent,” she’d reminded him. “And neither were we. Remember?”

  The morning she departed France, when they’d been eager to make one last memory.

  They made one, all right.

  His silence had told her he remembered, and was kicking himself for getting carried away.

  “What do you want to do?” had been the second thing he asked.

  “I—I don’t know,” had been her reply. At the time she’d been as shocked as he was.

  But, as her mind—and body—got used to the idea, she came to a conclusion. She wanted the baby, whether Philippe wanted to play a role in its life or not.

  “You’ll come first, too, I promise you that.” She patted her stomach. “If your father doesn’t want to be around, that’s his loss. We’ll live our lives just fine without him.” The little life growing inside her belly would be the start of her new family legacy.

  The floor was quiet when she stepped out of the break room. Always was this time of morning. Most of the patients were still asleep. Jenna stifled a yawn. Thirty minutes and she could get some sleep. Between working nights and the new pregnancy hormones, she was wiped. Lord help her when she reached the last trimester. Especially since she’d be carrying an extra two hundred pounds of pastry weight.

  She was sitting at the nursing station, focused on logging patient notes, when the elevator door dinged. The morning shift had started to arrive. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to catch you up,” she said, eyes focused on the computer screen.

  A shadow crossed her desk. “Hello, Jenna.”

  It was Philippe.

  Eight weeks hadn’t changed much. Other than a few wrinkles in his dark suit, he looked as breathtakingly handsome as he had when they met.

  Jenna’s pulse stuttered. “What are you doing here?” In Nantucket. At the crack of dawn.

  “It’s good to see you, too.” He smiled, but it lacked the sparkle she remembered. “Your custodian let me in. I think he thought I was here to see a patient.”

  “That’s because family members are allowed twenty-four hours a day.” Jenna didn’t care how he’d gained entrance. She was way more interested in how he’d found her. “How did you know where I would be?”

  “There’s only one nursing home on your island. It wasn’t too difficult,” he replied. “And you mentioned how you often work overnights. How are you feeling?”

  Really? He thought they would simply chat like nothing was wrong? “You don’t speak to me for almost a week and then show up at my place of work unannounced. How do you think I feel?”

  “I meant...” His eyes dropped to her midsection. “You look tired.”

  “Happens when you’ve worked all night.” She left out the morning sickness.

  “Of course,” he replied. “I should have realized.”

  Meanwhile, he looked amazing.

  God, but this was awkward. What happened to the easiness they shared in Provence? Oh, right. Her hand pressed to her stomach.

  Philippe cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for...”

  He was interrupted by a loud moan coming from one of the rooms. Mrs. Symonds. The elderly woman always moaned for several minutes upon waking.

  “Morning, Mrs. Symonds,” she heard Shirley say in a cheerful voice. “I’m going to visit you in about five minutes to give you your morning pill.”

  Her friend’s shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she rounded the corner and stopped short. “Well, isn’t this a surprise,” she said.

  Philippe tilted his head. “Pardon?”

  “This is my friend Shirley,” Jenna said. “Shirley, this is Philippe d’Usay.”

  He reached for her hand, shaking it politely, not kissing it as he had done Jenna’s the day they met. “You are the woman with the shingles. I trust you have healed?”

  Shirley looked as surprised as Jenna felt. The last thing she expected was for Philippe to remember those kinds of details.

  “Right as rain,” she replied before shifting gears and moving into protective mode. Eyes narrowed, arms crossed in front of her chest, she assessed Philippe up and down like he was a stray dog. “Funny, but Jenna didn’t mention you were coming to the island.”

  “I didn’t know he was coming,” Jenna responded. “It was a surprise.”

  “Really? How interesting.”

  “Tell me about it.” To Philippe, she added, “I’ll be wrapping up my shift in a few minutes. We can talk after that.”

  “Very good.” He nodded. “I will wait for you outside.”

  As soon as he disappeared behind the elevator doors, Jenna’s composure vanished.

  “Are you going to be all right?” Shirley poured her a glass of water.

  “I... I don’t know.” She honestly hadn’t thought she’d ever see him again. Now that she had, her insides were a jumbled mess. “I suppose he wants to finish our discussion in person.”

  “Mighty nice of him, seeing as how he has fifty percent of the responsibility. This is a good sign, though, his showing up. Means he’s stepping up.”

  “Maybe.” Jenna was too mixed up to theorize. Whatever the reason, she’d have to wait until after her shift to find out.

  Who knows? Maybe her nerves would have dissipated by then.

  Along with the strange ache in her chest that arrived the same moment Philippe did.

  * * *

  Philippe took a seat on a bench just outside the nursing room door. The autumn air was brisk and damp; the sun hadn’t been up long enough to burn away the fog. Employees walked past, barely giving him a moment’s notice. How many of them knew Jenna? All of them? He imagined her being a popular coworker.

  His head ached. He’d never been good at sleeping on planes, and this last flight was no exception. Too anxious about seeing Jenna, he’d tossed and turned the entire trip. A decent cup of coffee would help. Whatever the black liquid was that he purchased at the local airport did not count.

  They’d had the most marvelous coffee that morning after in Arles. He smiled remembering how they’d strolled to the corner café for café au lait. Jenna’s hair had been damp from the bath, her face freshly scrubbed and shining. Neither of them could stop grinning. You’d have thought they were a pair of virgin newlyweds the morning after their wedding night.

  What did Jenna think of their week together now? Was it still a fond memory, or did she regret meeting him? His chest grew tight at the thought.

  As if his thoughts conjured her, the door slid open and Jenna stepped outside. He was struck, just as he had been upstairs, by the fact his memory hadn’t embellished the uniqueness of her beauty.

  In France, she’d favored bright colors and comfortable, modest clothing. The American version was no different. Her uniform was a bright purple over which she wore a heavy knit cardigan. Together they hid her shape. No matter, his brain filled in the gaps.

  Instinctively, he st
ood to kiss her hello, catching himself. If he’d only had this kind of restraint their last morning together...

  He settled for an apology. “I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. I should have called and let you know I was coming.”

  “Yes, you should have. In fact, you should have called, period.” Arms crossed over her chest, she glared at him with fiery green eyes. This was not, Philippe reminded himself, the time to be aroused by her feistiness. Before he could do or say anything, he needed to rectify the mistake he made by not communicating with her this past week.

  “You are right. I’ve been in the UK on business and wanted to wait to talk in person. Still, that is no excuse.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  He could see he had some ground to make up. “Well, I am here now, and I want to deal with this.”

  “This is a baby.”

  “Oui, I know it is a baby.” His baby. No matter how many times he repeated the phrase, the words continued to sound surreal. “Forgive me, I’m still in shock. I never expected to have a child.”

  She continued to glare, but her features softened slightly. “I suppose I’ve had a little more time to get used to the idea.”

  “A little,” he replied.

  The awkwardness between them was killing him. On the flight over, he’d mentally rewritten what he wanted to say until he had the perfect speech. Those words had vanished. All he could think about was how lovely she looked in the early-morning light. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk? I could use a drink.”

  “At seven thirty in the morning? Good luck.” For the first time in their reunion, Jenna cracked a smile. “You’ll have to settle for coffee.”

  “Coffee will do.” Anything that let him clear his head.

  They walked, in awkward silence, to a coffee shop a few blocks away. Looking around, Philippe took in Jenna’s world. Nantucket was not Provence. The air tasted salty. The landscape was more rugged. There was a sense of pragmatism to the surroundings, he’d noticed, even with the most elegant of homes.

  Despite it being a workday, the coffee shop was fairly empty. Only a handful of people waited in line to order. “Things quiet down here once summer is over,” Jenna told him. “Plus, the only people around at this hour are locals heading to work. We can sit out on the deck and we won’t be disturbed.”

  He let her lead the way to discover the small wooden structure overlooked a marsh pond filled with squawking birds. On a sunny day, the view was probably quite beautiful.

  “You never answered my question about how you were feeling,” he said once they’d settled in at one of the white plastic tables. She had refused his offer of coffee in favor of a sweet cheese pastry and a cup of warm water with honey and lemon. “You aren’t suffering any kind of complications or anything?”

  “Nothing sweet cheese croissants won’t cure. Morning sickness,” she clarified when he frowned. “Of course, it’s still early in the pregnancy.”

  “You intend to...see the pregnancy through, then.” Mon Dieu, but that sounded crass.

  “Yes.”

  He allowed himself to exhale. “Good. I was hoping you would say that.”

  “You are?”

  Given what he’d said in the past, he could understand her surprise. He was as surprised as she, really. Children—family—had never been in his plans. He’d always figured that when he grew too old to work, he would pass D’Usay International on to some deserving person and let the name live on through the company. The more he thought about having a child, however... “Once the news sank in, and I got used to the idea...” He paused while he sipped his coffee. “I like that I will have an heir.”

  “You know that whether you like the idea or not doesn’t really matter, right?”

  “I know,” he replied. “Which is why I’m glad you want this child as well.”

  “I see.” She sat back in her chair, studying him. Philippe’s skin warmed under the scrutiny. “Does that mean you’re planning to be a part of this baby’s life?”

  “I take my responsibilities seriously. I intend to make sure he—or she—wants for nothing. I’ve already talked to my attorney, and he is making all the necessary arrangements.”

  “Financial arrangements, you mean.”

  “Yes. I want to make sure my child, and its mother, are well provided for,” he said.

  Jenna was frowning.

  “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. “Go on.”

  He hated when women used that word. Nothing never meant nothing. She was upset with him, probably still angry for his being out of touch this past week. There was little he could say that would go over well until her irritation cooled. “Perhaps we should wait and have this discussion when we’ve both had some rest,” he said. When they weren’t tired and peevish. “Tonight, over dinner?” Good food, the right atmosphere. Yes, dinner was definitely a better plan.

  Jenna shook her head. “I can’t. I have to work.”

  “Not until later on. We can eat early, and then I can drive you to the nursing home.”

  “I...”

  Acting completely on impulse, he reached across the table to clutch her hand. The first thing he noticed was how cool and damp her skin was. It reminded him of that afternoon in Arles when they’d gotten soaked to the skin. He covered hers with his second hand to warm her. “Please, Jenna. I want to do this right.”

  Her eyes darkened. Was she thinking of that day as well? “All right, dinner.” She pulled her hand free. “But I’ll drive myself.”

  “Very well.” Why her answer bothered him, he wasn’t sure, but no sooner had she mentioned driving herself than he felt a wave of frustration. “I’m staying at the Merchant Seafarer.”

  * * *

  Naturally Philippe would stay at the Seafarer, the hotel where the adventure began. As she walked into the lobby, Jenna recalled how excited she and Shirley had been when they attended the fund-raiser. The sumptuous hotel wasn’t someplace they regularly hung out, it being far too pricey for anything but special occasions.

  “I guess dinner with your daddy counts as a special occasion, too,” she said as she settled in amid the seascapes and whaling artifacts to wait for Philippe. Apparently talking to her stomach was going to be a thing.

  The fire in the giant fireplace gave the room an old-fashioned warmth. Under different circumstances, the setting would be romantic with its candlelight and black ocean views. Two months ago, she and Philippe would have been exchanging simmering smiles from across a table. Tonight they would be discussing financial arrangements for their child.

  The thought made her stomach churn. Why did his emphasis on money bother her so? Seriously, what else did she expect? The man had made his feelings about children quite clear that afternoon on the Tour Magne. As far as he was concerned, she was carrying an unexpected liability. She should be grateful he wanted to shoulder responsibility at all, and that times had changed enough that he didn’t feel the need to do “the right thing.”

  What was it about the women in her family and accidental pregnancies, anyway? First there was her grandmother—unless her mother had been the healthiest five-month preemie ever born—then her mother, and now her. Talk about a family legacy.

  “How about when you grow up, you break family tradition,” she said to the baby. “Find someone who loves you back, and then have the baby.”

  When she put it like that, she sounded like she was in love with Philippe. She wasn’t.

  At all.

  Not a bit.

  At precisely six o’clock, the elevator doors opened and Philippe emerged, accompanied by a blond man who looked vaguely familiar. When he saw her sitting by the fire, he smiled. Jenna hated how her insides swooped in response. Months later and she was still reacting to him physically. Had to be hormones.

  He greeted her with a kiss on t
he cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  No, she didn’t. She’d worn the most staid outfit she owned. Black slacks and a bulky gray turtleneck. She looked like she was attending a funeral.

  “This is Kit Merchant,” he continued, turning to his companion.

  That was why the stranger looked familiar. The hotel owner had sponsored the charity auction.

  “Kit and I spent a summer sailing in St. Tropez back before I took over D’Usay International. It was a fortunate coincidence that he was here this week as well.”

  “I understand you recently stayed at the Château de Beauchamp,” Kit said after the introductions. “I hope your trip was everything you imagined.”

  “And then some.” To Jenna’s surprise, the answer rolled right off her tongue without embarrassment or awkwardness. The trip had been wonderful. It was only her carelessness that she regretted.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” she added. “I read in the paper that the clinic is just about complete.”

  “Yes, and not a minute too soon, what with cold weather coming. Beating an addiction is hard enough without the added pressure of finding a safe place to stay. This clinic will help a lot of people.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “I wish I could do more. The islands have as big a problem as the rest of the Cape.”

  “It’s a good start.”

  “You’re right, and if we’re lucky, we’ll help spare a family the torture of losing a loved one to the streets.”

  As he finished, his eyes took on a faraway look. This wasn’t mere generosity on his part; it was personal. At the auction, someone said Kit lost a friend to an overdose. Clearly the story was true.

  “And,” he added, “thanks to Philippe, we’ll be able to provide some of the extras we had to strike from the budget.”

  Philippe had made a donation?

  “It was the least I could do,” the Frenchman replied. “Matt was a good guy.”

  “It’s still greatly appreciated,” Kit said. “If there’s anything I can do in return, let me know. It was good seeing you again, my friend. Ms. Brown, I hope you won’t be a stranger.”