Secret of the Blue Lily by Angela M. Sanders

Author:Angela M. Sanders
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Angela M. Sanders

21

“Over here, madame,” Monsieur Valmy said, pointing to a black sedan purring at the curb. Its interior smelled of chilled leather.

Joanna slid onto the bench seat.

“Where to?” the baron asked.

Monsieur Valmy took the seat next to her. “Would you mind terribly if we ate at the executive dining room at CosmeCorp? It’s the August holiday, and many of the better restaurants are closed.”

“That’s fine,” Joanna said. What bizarre twists her trip to Paris was taking. She’d have stories to tell when she returned home.

“I promise you, it’s not cafeteria food. Our chef trained with Ducasse.”

This should be good. Joanna’s budget didn’t allow her a meal at one of Ducasse’s restaurants, but she’d dreamed of Michelin-starred cuisine.

The limo edged through side streets and slipped onto the busy Boulevard de Grenelle. Both the baron and Monsieur Valmy busied themselves with their phones, Monsieur Valmy begging Joanna’s pardon and the baron simply following suit without apology.

Less than ten minutes later, the limo had left old world Paris and pulled into a parking garage under a glass and steel skyscraper somewhere west of the Arc de Triomphe. Monsieur Valmy led the way to a small lobby with an elevator flanked by potted palms. He pressed his hand to a scanner, and the elevator opened. They rode it up nine floors.

The elevator opened into a vast room sparkling with sunlight from a solarium, yet still cool. A Grace Kelly look-alike greeted Monsieur Valmy, and, after a brief conversation in French, led them to a side room paneled in elaborately carved oak, but with a wall that was floor-to-ceiling plate glass.

Joanna was drawn instantly to the window. “That’s the Champs Elysées down there, isn’t it?” She caught her breath. “And the Louvre. Amazing.”

Monsieur Valmy barely smiled. “I’d hoped you’d enjoy the view. The menu with today’s lunch is on the table. If you don’t like what the chef has planned, I’m sure he’d be happy to prepare a substitute.”

The baron had the menu in his hand and was studying it with relish. “Seafood salad. Wonderful. I don’t suppose you’d have a nice Puligny Montrachet to go with it?”

“Please, have a seat,” Monsieur Valmy said to Joanna. “As for wine, I thought we’d do well with sparkling water, Baron Barking. I’m sure you don’t mind.”

The baron tossed the menu on the table and took a chair. It was clear he did mind. “Of course not.”

A waiter brought two icy bowls brimming with greens and marinated seafood. A second waiter followed with a white platter of nearly raw meat, which he positioned in front of Monsieur Valmy. He set a bone-handled steak knife next to the executive’s plate.

“Now, Madame Hayworth,” Monsieur Valmy said.

“Joanna, please.”

“Joanna. You must call me Antoine.” He stabbed a slice of meat with his fork. “You don’t mind if we talk business, do you? I don’t normally like to mix business with food, but my schedule is tight.”

“No. Please.” There could only be one reason he’d asked her to lunch. Joanna could have given him his answer at Parfum d’Antan.

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