“Well, at least not ones as rich as Andre and Julian.”
They both tamped down their laughter, for fear of waking the baby.
After two days, the call Cecily had been waiting for came.
Peter Wittmeyer’s breathless voice delivered the news, “Tasha just left the de Laurent estate. And she’s alone.”
“Are you sure it’s her?” Cecily asked.
“Positive. She’s in a convertible.”
“Direction?”
“So far, it looks like Marseilles.”
“Great.” Cecily paused, mentally checking her excitement. It was too early for that. “With any luck at all, she’s heading for Marseilles.”
“Wherever she’s headed,” Peter said. “I’ll be right behind her.”
“Keep me posted,” Cecily said. “I want to know every move she makes.”
Tasha had made a few stops in Marseilles. First, to pick up a pair of red shoes she’d seen in a boutique window over the weekend. Then a local drugstore just around the corner from her favorite bistro, where she perused the aisles to get a few travel-sized toiletries. Andre had told her there was no point, but some things were a hard habit to break. Maybe someday she’d get used to the idea that jet-setting around the globe was common practice, but so far that hadn’t happened. Right now, Tasha was giddy about the upcoming weeks of travel ahead of her and Andre.
She’d been so wrapped up in the idea of running Mont Claire with Andre that when she strolled past the pregnancy tests, it slammed into her that she still hadn’t gotten her period.
Tasha stopped. Various notions flitted through her mind. How many days had it been since she’d thought her period should be starting? She counted mentally and moved her fingers in unison. Upwards of ten now. Tasha ran the facts through her head. Bloating, no. Pre-menstrual cramps, no. And that one pimple that always popped up on her chin, no. Breast tenderness, check. Tasha reached for one of the packages like it might be hot or something. Once she latched on to it, she tossed it into the hand basket she was carrying.
She’d take it when she got home. That way, when she and Andre left that evening, she’d know one way or another.
Tasha finished her business at the drug store and headed around the corner to grab a bite at the bistro. She was one of those rare people who could eat alone and never give it a second thought.
She’d settled in at a table by the window and ordered an iced tea. After the waitress brought it, she doused it with Splenda and stirred it with her straw. Just as she was about to take a sip, she saw someone approaching. Glancing up, she saw Cecily, Camille’s newly ex-nanny looming over her.
“Cecily.” Tasha set the glass down on the table. “Imagine seeing you here.”
“May I?” Cecily gestured to the empty chair across from Tasha.
“Sure.” Tasha shrugged. “Why not?” She waved her hand at the empty chair and sipped her tea with the other.
“Are you alone?” Cecily asked.
Tasha nodded. “Yeah, everybody’s busy.” She shrugged. “But I still have to eat.”
“As do I.” Her shaky tone didn’t match the big smile she’d plastered on. Something was going on, and Tasha intended to find out what.
“So I’m told that you’ve left our employ.” Tasha looked her straight in the eye. “I thought you were happy with us?”
“Oh, I was.”
“Then why’d you quit?”
“Quit?” Her tone rose an entire octave and then fell again before she added, “Is that what he told you?”
He? A bad feeling was starting to gather around Tasha. “Did you or did you not voluntarily leave our employ?” she asked uneasily.
“I did not.”
“What exactly are you implying, Ms. Mason?” Overcome by the feeling that this wasn’t a friendly meeting, Tasha moved the conversation to a purely professional level.
“I’m not implying anything.” She raised a high chin. “It’s a fact, I was fired.”
“By whom?” That feeling of dread that’d been creeping up on her wrapped itself fully around her.
“Your husband.”
“What?” That didn’t make sense to Tasha, and it showed in her voice. “Why on earth would my husband fire you?”
“Oh, he has a very good reason for wanting to get rid of me.” She was almost laughing now.
“And what might that be?” Tasha shifted in her chair, trying to ward off the uneasiness creeping up her back.
“He doesn’t want me to tell you the secret.” She was whispering now, like she had some deep, dark secret.
“But you’re going to.”
“That I am.” She nodded. “I gave him a chance to choose, but he didn’t like that idea.”
“Why don’t we cut to the chase?” Tasha was starting to get annoyed. “And you tell me what you think you know.”
“He had to marry you.”
Tasha looked at Cecily through squinted eyes. Andre didn’t have to marry her. But who told Cecily about the baby? “No one forced him,” she said in a hardened tone.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking, they did.”
“Who is they?”
“Well, not really a they so much as a who.” She hesitated, and Tasha figured it was on purpose. Tasha gave her a cold stare, which prompted Cecily to talk. “It’s the will. He married you because of the will. It said he had to get married and stay married for one year to inherit his uncle’s fortune.”
What? Tasha’s heart thudded against her chest. This could not be so. “And if he didn’t get married, or doesn’t stay married for the required year…?”
“He forfeits.”
“His share?”
“The entire thing.”
Did that mean Julian and Lecie’s inheritances, too? She thought about asking Cecily, but Tasha got the feeling that Cecily wasn’t on her side, and she wasn’t doing this out of some misguided attempt to help Tasha.
She could guess Cecily’s motives. Somebody had put her up to this, possibly even paid her. But Tasha didn’t care about what role Cecily truly played in this charade. What she did care about was that Andre had failed to share a very important stipulation of his late uncle’s will with her—and Tasha wanted to know why.
“Would you excuse me?” She took the napkin from her lap and laid it on the table in front of her. Standing, she added, “I believe I feel a headache coming on.”