Gene looked at the never-ending mountain of paperwork on her desk and for a split second she wished Christine was still there. Then the sensible Gene reared up and told her how stupid she was. As that thought hit her, she recalled the letter from France she hadn’t opened. It could only be bad news—her grand-mère had died. She was after all in her nineties. A good span, but at the same time it meant that she was alone without any close family. The Desrosiers were not known for being prolific in the multiplication of progeny. Was this why she wanted to be close to Dee? A sense of belonging to something other than a fragrance? Or, was it that she loved the old battle-axe, and didn’t want to acknowledge the truth, wishing things had been different?
“Cherie, sometimes situations happen that cannot be explained. It should have been me.”
“I don’t understand, Grand-mère, you want to be dead?”
“No, silly child, I do not.”
The acid response was enough for Gene to know it was yet another mistake on her part. Her grandmother was never going to accept her unless she excelled in the business on all levels. “I’m sorry, Grand-mère.”
Then she was drawn into the most warm and comforting hug she had ever received aside from her mother.
“Never be sorry, Genevieve, not for something like this. Love, my child, is the one thing that helps us through all the practical dramas that life throws at us. If…no when, you find that love you will understand, it makes you feel that miracles can happen.”
Gene swivelled the pen between her fingers. “I think finally I understand.” She picked up the top-most paper.
†
Quinn sat at the bar where she figured she was becoming more of a local than she’d ever been since leaving her hometown. Flicking the rim of the glass for no other reason than she could, Quinn sighed.
“That’s a damn sorry sound from such a pretty woman.”
The voice was vaguely familiar, and she looked up to see the wide smile of the owner of the bar. “Some days you just don’t understand life I guess.”
“Well, to be honest, the only people who come to my bar and look and sound like you are in love or think they are…am I close?” He wiped the bar immediately to the left of her.
Quinn shrugged and gazed at her beer. This is one crazy town for sure.
“Unrequited then.” Quinn gave him a sharp gaze, and he laughed. “Ah, I bet you thought I wouldn’t know such a big word. I was the best winner at spelling bees in town when I was a kid. I liked words but wasn’t that good at stringing them together. Lots of crazy notions for stories but no one wants to read them…at least I don’t let them.”
“Why not?” Quinn allowed his poignant words to replace her depression over Simone’s rejection of a meeting when she’d called the bank earlier.
“No one was interested.” He threw up his hands. “This is the family business, not being a wordsmith.”
“Wow, you never let anyone read your work, even your wife?”
“Haven’t had time for a wife,” he winked, “or a husband. Anyway, enough about me what about you?”
Quinn shook her head but chuckled at the same time. “Oh, I’m being selfishly stupid as a friend of mine would say. I like my own way and right now I think I’m on the back foot. I’ll survive, I always do, and then move on.”
Ray gave her a long look, his pale blue eyes pierced hers and he smiled. “Same situation as me then.”
A shout from a brawny man at the bar caught his attention. “Have to go. Dan gets upset if he doesn’t get served immediately. He suffers from PTSD, an Afghanistan casualty.”
“Veterans deserve the service. Thanks for the chat, Ray.”
He flicked her a small wave and headed for the end of the bar.
She watched Ray chat quietly with the war veteran who calmed down as soon as he entered his private space. This town is full of surprises. Damn, what do I do next?
†
Charlie sighed. Quinn’s revelation about the Driscol’s had hit hard. For a couple of days, he had actually thought that he was useful but in reality, he wasn’t. He liked Quinn, really did, but knew deep inside that she had her own agenda. That agenda didn’t include him keeping this job. It wasn’t, of course, Quinn’s fault. She was right, it was for the company. Would Gene accept not controlling her own company? He didn’t know her that well, but he did know her enough to believe she’d hate the idea.
He placed his head in his hands and wanted to cry at the futility of what must be a small number for a bank, but the effect of it on the rest of the town would be devastating.
He stood and walked away from his desk, heading for Felix Lawrence. Tonight needed the senior staff to make this place ready for Samantha Driscol even if it meant his demise in the company. He found Felix on the factory floor.
“Felix, I need this evening for you and anyone else you can muster, unpaid, to get this place looking like new for our VIP tomorrow.”
†
“She’s in love with her boss?”
Max almost choked at the wide-eyed expression from Megan.
“Well I never said that. Dee said, verbatim. ‘The answer is Gene Desrosiers.’ You asked, I delivered.”
“Ali, you look more shocked than Megan?”
“Well…well….” Max rolled her eyes at Alice who was lost for words.
“My god, what will Felix say?” Megan blurted out and took another drink from her glass.
Max looked at the clock. She needed to open up or the regulars would think something was wrong. Well, it was different that was for sure.
“I can’t answer that one, Megan. Sorry, guys, I need to open up. I’ll bring you some more food. I think you both might need it to soak up the alcohol.” She stood and collected the two empty bottles. “Be right back.”
Max grinned as she left the table and whispered, “You are one sly chick, Dee. I never saw this coming.” Her gaze strayed to the window onto the street and saw several people waiting. “Time to get the party started,” she said and headed for the door.