Peach (51 page)

It was Leonie’s opinion that Jim should have given up control of the de Courmont company before now. He was too old to be constantly hurrying up and down to Paris trying to solve its problems. That’s why she had insisted that Mr Maddox came down here to talk with him.

And if she thought Jim were too old to travel what about herself? Had Paris seen the last of Leonie Bahri Jamieson? The last time she had been there was for dear Caro’s funeral two years ago and with Caro gone, her old ties with the city were severed. Now she spent her time quietly pottering around her garden or simply sitting on her terrace watching the sea and thinking about the past. Even her little cat was old now and preferred a cool corner in the shade nearby or else simply to curl up on her knee, contemplating its life too.

Leonie couldn’t remember the exact day she had started looking at life from this new angle but it was an odd sensation approaching the end of your allotted time and looking back instead of forward. Was it then she had begun to
feel
old? Her body just wouldn’t respond the way it used to and her bones were stiff, though she still managed the walk around the headland and she still swam every day in the sea.
Over the years she had watched her beloved Côte d’Azur—the beautiful blue coast—change from a simple innocent turn-of-the-century beauty to a painted bejewelled courtesan luring the summer hordes into her temptingly baited trap. Leonie and the Riviera had begun their lives together but
her
part of the coast was still green and unspoiled because Jim had bought her all those surrounding acres forty years ago.
Could it really be forty years? Where had the time flown?

Now the highlights of her year were when the family came to visit them and she lived vicariously, enjoying their stories and sharing their experiences. Darling Amelie and Gerard had always been so happy together, and it was so pleasing to be with Lais and Ferdi, who lived at their castle in Germany and whose contentment and tenderness for each other were so touching. Of course she saw Leonore more often because she ran the Hostellerie in the summer season, returning to spend the winter months at the new mountain-top resort in Switzerland, and what a successful woman she was. It was Leonore’s energy and flair that had turned the hotels into such world-renowned successes. And then, of course, there was Peach.

Leonie stroked the cat on her lap, gazing at the calm blue sea. A couple of sailboats tacked slowly across the almost windless horizon and an enormous white yacht sped purposefully in the direction of Monte Carlo, the sound of its powerful engines cutting across the quiet morning. The sight of it reminded her, as it always did, of Monsieur. Old as she was, there wasn’t a day went by that she didn’t think of Gilles de Courmont. There was no doubt that Peach’s son resembled him, but Leonie felt sure that young Wil Launceton would not be like his evil great-grandfather in anything except looks.

The news of Wil’s accident had come as a terrible blow
and she had wanted to go at once to London but Jim had insisted that the journey would be too much for her. He’d gone himself and stayed with Peach until Amelie had arrived from Florida, and between them they’d comforted Peach and helped her through the terrible time.

Thank God now Wil was getting better, but it was Peach she was disturbed about. No amount of dashing about the world promoting de Courmont automobiles could replace love in her life and Leonie worried that she might have done the wrong thing in advising Peach to stay married to Harry. By doing so she might have deprived her granddaughter of her chance to find happiness with someone else. Peach was staying at Launceton now to be near the boy and perhaps this near-tragedy had brought her and Harry closer together. Leonie hoped so for Wil’s sake.

Jim sat opposite Noel Maddox in the salon, a tray of untouched coffee between them. He had been pleased when Noel had called from Detroit last week saying he was going to be in Europe on other business but that he’d been following de Courmont’s progress with the “Fleur” and thought there might be one or two interesting points they could discuss. Jim had imagined that the big American automobile company was interested in taking over production of the “Fleur” for the United States. Which just went to show that he was getting old because of course the young man knew exactly what de Courmont’s position was. He had figures at his finger-tips that Jim couldn’t even remember! And now he’d come out with an astonishing offer. US Auto would take over de Courmont, incorporating it into the public company—at a price of 75 per cent shareholding to US Auto, the remaining 25 per cent to remain in the de Courmont family.

“These are just basic opening points for our discussion, of
course,” said Noel unsmiling. “There are many others open to negotiation. But I think we could guarantee you, Mr Jamieson, that 25 per cent of the new de Courmont company would be worth much more to the family in a few years’ time than a full holding in de Courmont as it stands now.”

“That may or may not be true,” replied Jim, “and I must congratulate you on your ‘homework’. You know a great deal about de Courmont. But there’s one detail you’ve overlooked. I have been chairman of the company for twenty years now, but in essence I’ve merely been acting as caretaker for my son-in-law, Gerard de Courmont. I’m only the power behind the throne, Mr Maddox.”

“Then Gerard de Courmont is the man I should be talking to?” asked Noel, irritated that in his hurry and preoccupation with the figures he had overlooked the structure of the family company. “Along with you and the rest of the de Courmont board obviously.”

“Not necessarily,” said Jim, enjoying himself just enough to take away the sting of Maddox’s offer. “You see, five years ago when his daughter began to take an active part in the company she was destined one day to inherit, Gerard assigned control of de Courmont to her. So you see my granddaughter, Peach de Courmont, is now the only person who could sell the company, and I doubt very much that she would want to—not even for all that promised future money. Peach is a very ‘family’ person, Mr Maddox. She’s working hard to make de Courmont the success it used to be—as you’ve probably noticed in the newspapers.”

Noel’s face was expressionless as he put away his papers and snapped shut his briefcase. All those years of self-control had given him the anonymous expression of a poker-player with a winning—or losing—hand held close to his chest. But behind it he was angry with himself for not getting all his facts straight before he came in to make his offer.
It was a grave mistake and he knew it.
Peach de Courmont, his golden girl, stood between him and what he wanted most in the world—control of de Courmont and its projected new operation in the States. And its presidency
.

“My wife and I would be happy if you would join us for lunch,” invited Jim affably. He had nothing against Maddox, he was a businessman doing his job and he’d flown down from Paris that morning. The least he could do was to offer him lunch.

Noel hesitated. He didn’t like feeling foolish but on the other hand Jim Jamieson was a decent man. He’d worked all these years to protect de Courmont; you couldn’t expect him to be thrilled about the idea of handing it over on a plate. Besides, he was curious about Peach’s family; he’d heard about the legendary Leonie from Della, whom he’d left in Paris, sight-seeing. “Thanks, Mr Jamieson,” he said, smiling for the first time. “I’d like that very much.”

The fact that Leonie was an old woman didn’t detract from her beauty and Noel’s eyes returned to her fine-boned face time and again across the lunch table in the cool green-shuttered dining room. Her skin was soft and smooth with a network of fine lines around her large tawny-coloured eyes and when she smiled that wide entrancing smile you knew why she had been considered one of the great beauties of her time. And although Peach didn’t really resemble her grandmother, she had the same cat-like face and Leonie’s smile. He wondered what Leonie would think if he told her that he’d been an inmate of the Maddox Charity Orphanage when she had visited it in 1945? But Noel never admitted that secret to anyone. Peach was the only one who knew his past.

Leonie had met dozens of tight, bright young executives during Jim’s tenure at de Courmont but none quite like Noel Maddox. Tension rippled behind his smile like an undertow
beneath the surface of a smooth-flowing river. He paid her compliments and told them easy amusing anecdotes of life in the United States today while Jim compared them with his memories of his home country, but Leonie had the feeling that Mr Maddox’s mind was on other things. He seemed to her to have the ability to be two people at the same time, just as Monsieur had. Noel Maddox was a man of strange depths and for once she was at a loss to know what they were.

They had finished lunch and were having coffee in the salon when the telephone rang and Noel looked away politely as Leonie answered it.

It was Peach calling on a terrible crackling line. “Peach? Where are you, darling?” asked Leonie. “I can barely hear you. Where? Barcelona! But I thought you were still at Launceton with Wil?”

Noel sipped his coffee and gazed out through the arched windows across the terrace to the sea.

Leonie covered the receiver with her hand speaking to Jim. “It’s Peach and she sounds distraught. I can hardly hear her, Jim.” She spoke into the phone again. “Look darling, tell me what’s happening quietly and calmly if you can.” Leonie listened for a while and then said, “Why not come to us? At least we can talk about it and try to work things out. Harry can’t just take Wil from you. He’ll have to get a court order. He
has
a court order? Oh my God! I see. He’s divorcing you and then he’ll marry Augusta … But, Peach, I don’t understand why you didn’t come here … I see. Yes. All right. But please give me the telephone number of your hotel. The Hotel Recuerdo. I’ve never heard of it. Oh, you’re not surprised. Very well, darling, but I’ll call you later tonight and, Peach, when you’ve had enough of being alone and sorting out your thoughts, please come to us. This house has seen the family through all its disasters and it is a
comfort to be where you know you are loved … Yes. Yes, darling. I love you too.”

Forgetting Noel’s presence, Leonie gazed tiredly at Jim. “I suppose you’ve guessed what happened,” she said. “Harry has served divorce papers on Peach and forbidden her to come to Launceton. He has the boy there and has taken out a court order claiming that she is an irresponsible mother. He blames her for the accident. And, of course, Peach blames herself. She’s run off to Barcelona because it was the first flight out of Heathrow that she could get a seat on. She wants to be alone to sort out her thoughts.”

Jim couldn’t bear to think of Peach in a strange city with no one to help her. “I’ll go to her,” he suggested anxiously.

“Peach knew you would say that and she asked me to tell you not to. She’s calmer now. Of course she was expecting to divorce Harry some day and she’s sad about the failure of the marriage but not upset. It’s Wil she’s frantic about, but then she keeps on saying that it’s true. I don’t know what to make of her.”

Leonie suddenly felt her age. She was tired and very upset. Peach’s life was in shreds and for the first time she had no answer.

Noel coughed, putting down his coffee cup. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I’ll be on my way.”

“I’m so sorry,” apologised Leonie, suddenly remembering him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your discussions with family problems.”

“Not at all, Madame. I understand. And our discussions were completed anyway—for the time being,” he added, smiling at Jim.

A big white US Auto limousine with a chauffeur at the wheel waited outside to take Noel to Nice and he easily caught the four o’clock flight to Paris.

*  *  *

Their suite at the Crillon was empty and Noel remembered that Della had gone to visit Versailles while he was away. Picking up the phone he called the valet and a maid to come and pack his clothes and then he called the florist to order some flowers. He had the concierge telephone the airlines and book a flight and within half an hour he was on his way out again. He paused at the door to look back. The suite was filled with roses of every colour and the envelope addressed to Della waited on the desk with her return ticket next to it. He’d taken care of everything.

He just made the eight o’clock flight to Barcelona.