Love Story Next Door!. Rebecca Winters

I haven’t, Paul will switch us back to Plan B outside Paris without problem.”

      After staring into space for another minute he said, “Have you seen my reading glasses?”

      “They’re on the kitchen counter, next to the script. Have you eaten?”

      “I don’t remember.”

      “I’ll fix you some eggs and toast.”

      “That’s a good girl,” he muttered, before leaving her alone.

      He only said that if he needed something from her. Because he was a narcissist, it was all she would get. She knew that, yet because their natures were exact opposites, a part of her would always want more. Still, when she thought of Alex’s mother being cut off by her father, Dana realized her relationship with her father hadn’t degenerated to that extent. Not yet…

      Alex was in his bedroom when the phone rang again. He’d just hung up from talking with another Realtor who hadn’t heard the estate wasn’t for sale and never had been. They never stopped hounding him. With each call he’d hoped it might be Dana.

      “Monsieur Martin ici.”

      “Bonjour, Alex.”

      His lips twitched. Her accent needed help, but with a grown-up rosebud mouth like hers, no Frenchman would care. “Bonjour, Dana. How are things in Hollywood?”

      “I wouldn’t know. How are things in that jungle of yours?”

      Laughter burst out of him. “Prickly.”

      “My condolences.”

      “Where are you exactly?”

      “In front of the château.”

      He felt a burst of adrenaline kick in.

      “I was hoping you would let me in, but considering your plight, I’ll be happy to come back after you and your machete have emerged.”

      The chuckles kept on coming. “I’m closer than you think. Don’t go away.” He hung up and strode swiftly through the foyer.

      As soon as he opened the front door of the chateau, she got out of the car. Today she was dressed in jeans and a white short-sleeved top. If the pale blue vest she wore over it was meant to hide the lovely mold of her body, it failed.

      Though she gave the appearance of being calm and collected, he noticed a pulse throbbing too fast at her throat. He knew in his gut she was glad to see him.

      “When did you fly into Paris?”

      “At six-thirty this morning with the camera guys. When their rooms are ready, they’ll crash until tomorrow, then probably show up around eight in the morning to start checking things out.”

      “What about your father?”

      “Everyone else will arrive at different times tomorrow.”

      “I see. He didn’t mind you coming on ahead?”

      “Most of the time we do our own thing.” She gave him a direct glance as if daring him to contradict her.

      Alex had asked enough questions for now. It was almost noon. “Let’s get you inside. In case you’d like to freshen up, there’s a bathroom on the second floor at the head of the stairs.”

      “Thank you.”

      Dana followed him up the steps into the foyer dominated by the central stonework staircase. With no furniture, paintings, tapestries or rugs visible, the château was a mere skeleton, but she seemed mesmerized.

      Taking advantage of her silence he said, “The place was denuded years ago. Everything is stored on the third level where the servants used to live.”

      He watched her eyes travel from the walls’ decorative Italianate paneling to the inlaid wood floors. “There’s a chandelier packed away that should hang over the staircase. Without it the château is dark at night. I told Paul that if night interiors are called for, he’ll need to plan for extra lighting. Your father—”

      “My father’s very superstitious,” she broke in on a different tack. “He gets that from his Swedish ancestry. When he stands where I’m standing, he’ll be frightened at first.”

      “Frightened?”

      “Yes.” She turned to him. “It’s always frightening for a figment of your imagination to come to life, don’t you think? At first he won’t know if it’s a good or bad omen.”

      When her father saw the château, he would be speechless. His excitement wouldn’t be obvious to the casual observer, but she’d see his eyes flicker and feel his positive energy radiate. For a while it would insulate him from his usual irritations. Even Saskia wouldn’t grate on his nerves as much, at least not at first. But that was his problem. Dana had done her part.

      “Would you mind being more explicit?” Everything she said intrigued Alex. Besides her shape and coloring that appealed strongly to his senses, she had an inquiring mind. It engendered an excitement inside him that was building in momentum.

      “My father gave his favorite screen writer some ideas and they collaborated on the script for this wartime film. Your château and grounds could have been made for it. For some time I’ve had the feeling this is the most important project he’s ever taken on.”

      He folded his arms. “Can you tell me about it, or is it a secret?”

      “A secret? No.” After a pause. “The film is filled with the kind of angst my father is best known for.” He heard her breathe in deeply. “Does that explanation help?”

      “About the setting, yes, but I’m curious about the story itself.”

      She gave a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “That’s for my father to decide. I don’t think he knows it all yet.” As far as Alex was concerned, she was being evasive for a reason. “Dad’s had a mind block lately. It’s made him more irritable than usual. It will take settling into it here for those creative juices to flow again. But to give you a specific answer to your question, his films always leave the audience asking more questions.”

      That was the truth, but she was holding back from him and that made him more curious than ever. Evidently she knew better than to give too much away. Was that because her father wouldn’t like it? “Why do you think he came up with this particular story?”

      “How does any author come up with an idea? They see something, hear something that arouses their interest and a kernel of an idea starts to form.”

      She angled her head toward him. “Part of it could be the guilt he personally feels for his country’s compliance with the enemy in the first days of World War II. Another part might be that deep down he still misses mother and wishes he’d had a son instead of ‘moi.’”

      She’d said it with a smile, but Alex felt the words like a blow to the gut. He’d heard emptiness, sadness in that last remark. It made him want to comfort her. “Still, I have my uses. Thanks to you, I found this for him.” She spread her hands, as if encompassing the entire château. “Heaven sent.”

      Alex swallowed hard. “For me, too.”

      “I’m happy if it helps you. I bet your mother is, too.”

      She kept surprising him. “You believe in heaven, Dana?”

      “Yes. Don’t you?”

      “After this discussion, I want to.”

      A faint blush filled her cheeks. “I’m afraid I’ve rattled on too long and have kept you from your work. Please go ahead and do whatever you were doing. If it’s all right, I’ll just wander around here for a little while before I take a nap. I picked up a sleeping bag in Angers and brought it with me.”

      Why would she do that? “If you’re that exhausted, I’ll call the Hermitage