Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“And you’re finding your way around satisfactorily?”
“Well, I made it to the dinner table again,” she murmurs without a glance this time.
The corner of my mouth hooks up. That’s more like it. More like our usual exchanges.
“Yes, but do you know, Papa, Primrose has a terrible sense of direction. She almost got lost on the way to see Andiamo again.”
Primrose mutters something I don’t quite hear and Sylvie frowns.
“Under what bus? There are no buses on the estate. I wish there were. I think I would like to ride a bus.”
“I trust you weren’t too alarmed?”
With a frown, the nanny’s attention slides my way. She looks irritated. “I wasn’t lost. Not properly.”
“Because I came back for you again,” Sylvie says, very much matter-of-factly.
“Yes, okay, but—”
“Primrose, have you ever ridden a bus?”
“Yes.” Her expression softens. “You’re not missing much there, sweets.”
“I would like to try for myself. When we travel in the car, Felix just ignores me. On a bus, the people might speak to me. Papa, do you know next time we go, Primrose says she will take crackers and leave a trail.”
“For the bus?”
“For the stables, silly! But the birds will just eat them, and she will still be lost.”
Primrose stifles a frustrated breath and the little devil sitting on my shoulder whispers, She’s such a little perfectionist. I bite back a smile. “Perhaps we can give Primrose some rope.”
“You’re not that lucky,” she murmurs under her breath.
Oh, darling, that wasn’t at all the direction of my thoughts. “To allow her to find her way back.” My tone is even but I slide her a loaded glance. Reaching for the wine, I motion to her empty glass.
“No, thank you.”
“You don’t like wine?” In my presence, she’s refused wine at every meal.
“I like it just fine. I just don’t think it’s a good idea when I’m working.”
Subtle. Subtle like a sledgehammer. You have me here under false pretenses!
“You aren’t performing surgery.”
“I’m not a surgeon.”
“Or undertaking diagnostics,” I add evenly. “A little wine will do you no harm.” And it might help the conversation. Help her relax. I know how I’d help her relax, given the chance. A chance I won’t have.
“Many people drink wine with meals,” Sylvie interjects. “Especially French people. And not just at dinner.”
“This is true. There was even once a time it was served in schools.”
Primrose’s brow furrows. “Really?”
I incline my head. “In my grandparents’ day, it was served in the school cafeteria.”
It’s hard to tell whether she’d amused or abhorred. “Wow. Drunk children must’ve been a delight to teach.”
“It was watered down,” I gently scoff.
“I’m not sure that makes a difference.”
“Don’t frown at me,” I chide. “I wasn’t the one filling their glasses.”
Primrose blinks rapidly as though surprised by my response.
“But, Primrose, you must try,” Sylvie entreats. “Alejandro grew the grapes, and I helped make the rosé.”
“This bottle?”
Sylvie nods. “With my feet!”
“You met Alejandro?”
Primrose opens her mouth, but my daughter beats her to it. “Oui, Papa. We were visiting Lola and Alejandro knows a lot of things about llamas.”
“Does he indeed?” But Primrose is too busy examining her empty plate. She refused dessert, which was surprising. She doesn’t usually. She isn’t the kind of woman who denies herself the things she desires. Food wise, at least.
“Lola spitted, I mean spat,” my daughter says as her gaze slides Primrose’s way.
“Gross,” Felix mutters.
“Alejandro said it was a love spit.”
“How wonderful to know he has time to study llamas.” And my nanny, I think, unhappily. But Primrose keeps her eyes on her plate.
“He said that Paco will try again and again until Lola stops spitting at him. He also asked Primrose to go for a drink, but she must not have been thirsty because she stayed with me.”
I watch as the nanny’s eyelids flutter closed and almost hear her soft sigh.
“Did he now?” In my head, that sounded much less rough.
“And we went to visit the horses, and Primrose got lost.”
With or without Alejandro? I manage to stop myself from asking.
“I wasn’t lost,” she quietly insists.
But was she flirting with the grape man when she’ll barely look at me?
Dieu, I am not jealous!
“And Alejandro asked you out?” My question sounds brittle as I reach for my glass.
“I’m new here. He was being welcoming.” Her fiery gaze flashes my way. More welcoming than me, it seems to say.
“So it would seem,” I mutter.
“Who is Alejandro?” Felix looks up from his plate with a frown.
“He has brown hair and blue eyes,” Sylvie answers. “He’s very tall, like Papa. But not so old.”
My glass halts on the way to my mouth. “Why, thank you, Sylvie.”
My daughter gives a tinkling laugh and even Primrose smiles.
“Not so old,” I repeat when what I want to ask is, whose side are you on, child? But there are no sides here. Just a vain old man lusting after the nanny, apparently.