“Thanks, Leena. Same time tomorrow then?” The nanny turned to leave and Rachel locked the door behind her. She rested her head against the coolness of the doorsill and stood for a moment, exhaling slowly. With effort, she pushed herself away, made her way to the soft, wide sofa, and flopped down with a heavy sigh. With extended fingers, she gently massaged the dull headache throbbing at her temple. “Just a minute’s silence, please — just a minute.” She closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders, shedding the day’s pressure like a heavy coat.
With a deep sigh, she opened her eyes and retrieved a large envelope from her leather briefcase. Her hand started to tremble, as she once again read the return address on the back. She flipped the envelope and studied the embossed crest, proudly displaying the emblem of the family-owned Chateau Léon. A cold tingle ran down her neck. This letter could change her life if it bore the good news she was hoping for. She shuddered involuntary at the alternative.
For weeks, she had worked on drafting their firm’s bid on the contract for the restoration of the grand chateau in southern France. Once one of the finest examples of the French revival architectural style, the chateau was badly damaged in a fire in 1984. Now the owner, Eugene Léon, wished to commission a reputable architectural firm to oversee the project and restore the chateau to its former beauty. It was a lucrative project, and her throat closed at the thought of being awarded the work. It would leapfrog their firm from fragile startup to success. The news contained in the envelope was so important that Rachel had waited until she reached the safety of her own home before she could bring herself to open it. So many things would be different if this envelope bore the right message. So much would change back at the office space she shared with her partner in the funky West End of central London.
A soft smile touched her lips as she remembered the day when Peter noticed the wording on the brass nameplate as the contractor was fixing it to their office door. Swift & Simon — Architects the small bronze plaque read on the big red door.
“Swift before Simon … Where did you learn your alphabet, my pretty Rachel?” he asked in mocked seriousness, smiling at her over his red, horn-rimmed reading glasses.
“‘Ladies before gentlemen,’ that’s what my parents always taught me, my dear Peter,” she responded, laughing over her shoulder and stepped through the entrance to their offices. Peter, who’d stood by her during her dark hours of doubt and loneliness. In Peter’s company she was safe to speak her mind freely. During those months, it was thanks to Peter and his partner Gary’s patience and support that she managed to find balance in her life again.
Iain and Mia’s shrill shrieks of excitement interrupted her thoughts, and with a soft sigh, she put the letter aside. She smiled and clapped her hands in excitement at the two kids bursting into the room. They giggled, their little bare feet pattering on the whitewashed parquet flooring as they sprinted to her waiting arms. Iain streaked ahead, long and strong for his age, his deep blue eyes bright with excitement. Mia followed, a little more sedate, wiping a wet curl of ash-blond hair from her face. Bumping and laughing, they launched themselves at Rachel on the sofa. Their warm, clean little bodies squirmed and fidgeted against her until they finally began to calm down, waiting for her to start reading.
“What shall we read tonight, then?” Two little hands pointed in unison to the worn, yellow book on top of the stack.
“Again?” she asked with mock surprise. Two heads bobbed in unison again, and opening the book with flourish, she started reading in a clear, animated voice. At the tender age of three years, the twins still loved to hear the story of Peter Rabbit over and over again.
It was not until later, after the twins were tucked in their warm beds, that Rachel could bring herself to open the letter. She poured a glass of red wine, kicked off her shoes, and sank down on the comfortable sofa, tucking her legs under her. Without further hesitation, she ran the silver letter opener along the top of the envelope, and, ignoring the business card dropping on her lap, she glanced over the content.
“ … and it is my pleasure to inform you that our decision is to award this project to your firm, Swift & Simon.”
Rachel dropped her hands in her lap, and as she tilted her head toward the ceiling, warm tears filled her eyes. A soft relief flooded over her, and the tight knot between her shoulders relaxed. A nervous giggle escaped her, and she reread the entire letter again.
“Thank you,” she whispered once, and then joyous laughter filled the room.
“Peter — got to tell Peter,” she exclaimed, and with a little shriek of happiness, she leaped from the sofa and ran to the kitchen phone.
“Peter, we got it!” she blurted out, and, before he could say a word, “The Léon project is ours!”
For a moment the line went silent.
“Peter, you there?”
“Yes, of course. Are you sure … I mean, when did you hear?”
“I just opened the letter. Sorry Peter, I just couldn’t do it at the office.”
“Wow, Rachel darling — this is big. Big with a capital B!” Peter’s excitement increased as the news sank in. “We will have to think about expanding our little business now, won’t we?”
Rachel nodded enthusiastically at his comment. The excitement and relief made her giddy, and for a second she frowned with some guilt while pouring her second glass of wine. Then she raised her glass and consoled herself with the promise to run an extra two miles in the morning.
“We will have to look at our workload for the next year. You might have to relocate to Provence, Rachel. Will you be able to handle that?” The rational side of Peter started surfacing after the initial flurry of excitement.
Rachel popped an olive in her mouth and chewed on it, deep in thought. Then she sat up straight with sudden purpose, her eyes wide. “I can handle it. I will rent something close to the chateau and get a nanny for the twins during the day. Eugene sounds like a reasonable man, and I will structure the work around my schedule.” Then, with more excitement, “Oh, Peter, I can hardly believe it’s happened. We worked so hard for this, and now, we have it.”
For the next forty minutes Rachel and Peter’s excited conversation darted from project logistics to resources and staffing, and then finally drifted to scheduling for the project.
Later, with the promise to clear her calendar for an early meeting in the morning, Rachel hung up. The light buzz in her ears wouldn’t stop, but despite her exhaustion, she smiled happily. Three years of hard work had finally paid off.
Taking her glass, she walked to her bathroom and started to run a long, hot bath. She undressed and glanced at her image in the mirror. Not bad, she thought. A mother of two children, at twenty-nine she still had a remarkable body. Rachel always enjoyed individual sports at school — triathlons and sailing Laser sailboats. The years of cycling, swimming, and running had shaped her body to be lean and lithe. She no longer competed in triathlons, but the discipline to train regularly had stayed with her. Her morning runs were important to her, mentally and physically.
She untied her hair, letting it tumble to her shoulders. She tilted her head and she studied the image of her naked body with a critical eye. Her gaze came to rest on her strong, well-formed shoulders.
“Too bony,” she mumbled.
Her gaze moved to take in the slender shape of her toned arms. “Hmmm, desperately need some sun,” she continued her critique.
Then, with a slight wrinkle on her forehead, she turned her focus to her waistline. Turning sideways, standing on her toes as steam started clouding the mirror, she carefully inspected the sensuous curvature of her flat stomach and hips for any unwelcome evidence of her weakness for chocolate. She traced her index finger down her chest, across her stomach, to finally hover, hesitating just above the hairline scar, barely noticeable, below her navel. She touched the scar lightly and smiled at the memory of the day the twins were born. The day that forever changed her life.
A dark thought suddenly crossed Rachel’s mind. Alain.
“That man,” she said with disgust.
For months she had buried any thoughts about him deep away, but as her hand touched the hairline scar, the hurtful memories of that night, more than six months ago, rushed back. Annoyed at herself for allowing any thought of him back in her mind, Rachel grabbed her robe and snapped it on with a sharp pull on the belt.
“Don’t let him spoil the day,” she said aloud and lifted her chin. Then she rested her hand lightly on the area below her navel and whispered, “Today has changed everything, my little babies.”
Rachel arrived at her office early the next day, two large coffees in hand. Peter studied her over his funky red reading glasses with a quizzical expression on his face. Then he pushed the design he was working on to one side, and smiled warmly.
“You’re early.”
“It’s the start of a new day, and we have a lot to discuss.”
The rest of the morning was spent in Peter’s office while they worked on drafting the rough terms of the contract for the project. Just before lunch, a knock on the door interrupted them. It was Rachel’s assistant, Darcie.
“Rachel, I have Monsieur Léon on the line for you.” Rachel inclined her head at Peter and then stepped out to take the call in her office.
“Monsieur Léon, bonjour.” She sat back in the comfort of her chair and opened her notebook. “I’m not fluent in French yet. I hope you will forgive me if I tell you that I’m studying the language and making progress — slowly,” she announced in French, grimaced and crossed her fingers. Her attempt at the language sounded so terrible. She paused, and as she realized he was waiting for her to finish, she continued in English, “I also want to thank you for your trust in our company. We’re ecstatic that you chose us, and look forward to working with you on this project.”
Monsieur Léon chuckled softly and replied in a warm voice, “Please call me Eugene, and if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Rachel. If we’re going to work together for the next year, we might as well be on first-name terms. And don’t worry about the French — I’m fully bilingual. In fact, an added bonus for you might be that I can help you with your French. What do you say?”
“D’accord,” she replied with a smile.
Warming to her client’s warm demeanor, Rachel relaxed as they started discussing the preliminaries of the work. But despite his gentle approach, Eugene had absolute clarity about the final outcome of the project. He articulated his goals with remarkable accuracy, and when Rachel pointed out some constraints they might have to consider, it was evident he had already studied them as well as their collective impacts.
“So what are the next steps, Rachel?” Eugene asked, curious to understand the timeline.
“Well, assuming we can get the legalities out of the way quickly, I plan to move into a house in Cassis to be closer to the project,” she informed Eugene.
When Tina and Luke heard of her plans to rent a cottage in Provence, they insisted Rachel use their house in Cassis. They had always felt indebted to Rachel for the months she selflessly dedicated to the renovation of the derelict hamlet they bought just outside Cassis. This gave them an opportunity to reciprocate. They insisted and wouldn’t accept any excuses from Rachel. In the end she relented, and accepted their offer graciously. Rachel also knew she wouldn’t be able to do it without Arianne, their trusted housekeeper. Not only was Arianne a lifesaver, but was also an excellent au pair and much loved by the kids.
“Hmm, Cassis … ”
And Rachel knew he had checked the references she had provided.
“Yes, I fell in love with the area when I did some work there … ” she replied in a neutral voice.
“I’ve seen the work you did on that hamlet renovation in Cassis. Your sympathetic touch for preserving the salient aspects of the architecture was what convinced me to use your firm. I’m glad you will be the one on the ground here.”
Sly old fox, Rachel thought. “Well, I’ll be living there while I’m working on our project. The hamlet belongs to my close friends and they insisted I use it.”
After her meeting with Eugene, Rachel sat back in her leather chair. Deep in thought, she tapped the pencil on her blotter. Her gaze drifted toward the London skyline to come to rest on the slow revolving London Eye, barely visible through the drab, foggy mist.
Her life was about to change. For the second time in a year, she was making her way down to the south of France. On her previous visit to that country, she came away hurt and wounded. This time her visit would ring in a happier period of her life, she vowed. After all, she thought with just a bit of sarcasm, one bad experience, and now one good experience. That leveled the score.