Chapter 10
THOUGH LUCIEN DE GARMEAUX was old, he was also, quite clearly as sharp as a tac. They spoke for over an hour, just the two of them, with interruptions every fifteen minutes or so from his nurses, to check on his temperature and blood pressure. For Skye, the first half of the conversation was excruciating. All of her confidence had been shot by the conversation she’d overheard the night before, and it was almost impossible to speak to the elderly man without feeling like an unwelcome intruder, someone who had no place in this intimate setting. But then, something happened.
Lucien asked her about her childhood, and Skye mentioned the farm. Lucien had, it transpired, spent much time on an old family estate to the south, and had taken a keen interest in agriculture. “It was my first love,” he admitted gruffly.
“But you didn’t pursue it as a career?”
“I was the only son,” he said, coughing a little, so Skye reached for his water glass. “All of this had to be run.” He gestured to the walls of his room, but she took his wider point—the de Garmeaux business was an enormous proposition. “I am never happier than when my hands are in soil,” he said with a small grin.
“That’s just how I feel.”
After that, it became easier. She described the seasons in Australia, and the work that would take place at the changing of each—the calving process, the cows they’d selectively bred, the challenges, the joys, and through her stories, Lucien was transported to another world—her world. So it was with genuine reluctance that he allowed Skye to be taken from the room eventually, at a nurse’s insistence, so that he could rest. And for Skye’s part, she felt as though she’d run a gauntlet—and survived.
Matthieu was on the terrace, one ankle crossed over his knee, his body language relaxed, his expression impossible to interpret as he stared out at the vista.
“How did you go?” He asked without turning to face her.
Skye stopped walking, hesitating. The world slipped from under her feet. For a moment, she’d been happy and this had almost felt real, but the crisp business like tone in his voice reminded her of reality. This was all a game of pretend.
Only, when he turned to face her and their eyes met, her body trembled and she realized it was not pretend at all—not completely. There was desire here, as much as there ever had been, and they had to ignore it. For the first time since agreeing to this, Skye felt the danger that dogged her—she felt how easy it would be to blur the lines of what they were doing.
“It was fine.” She tried to make her tone as formal as possible. “He seems quite well.”
Matthieu’s frown was instantaneous. “Was he kind to you?”
“Did you expect him not to be?”
Matthieu stood as she approached, her legs being pushed into service once more. He held out a seat for her and she hesitated for only the briefest moment before taking a seat.
“With Lucien, it’s difficult to know what you’re going to get.”
“I see.” Her frown was instantaneous. “I presumed you were close?”
“We are.” He took a sip of his coffee. “But that’s not to say the relationship is not also…complex.”
“What relationships aren’t?” She responded with a wiggle of her brows.
He replaced the coffee cup, lifting his hand a little in the air. She looked over her shoulder, wondering at the gesture, only to see a servant walking towards them with a cool smile. “Yes, sir?”
“Darling, what would you like to drink?”
Skye could have burst out laughing. They were in a private home and yet she felt as though they were in the most exclusive restaurant in Europe. Really, who lived like this? Play along, she reminded herself. “Oh, gosh, erm, maybe a juice?”
Matthieu nodded, his eyes not leaving her face. He really did a good job of looking like a love-lorn teenager! What would it have been like if those looks were genuine? It was better not to think about that.
“Yes, ma’am.” The servant turned immediately, and when they were alone again, Skye let out a bemused sigh.
“This really is a crazy way to live, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said with a shrug. “But you get used to it.”
Skye considered that. “I don’t know if I ever could.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “I mean, it’s beautiful sure, and maybe for a week or two the novelty of not having to do my own laundry or make the bed would hold a bit of appeal, but I think that would wear off quick smart.”
“Why?” He pushed, leaning closer, as though he were genuinely fascinated by her and not simply playing a role.