Chapter nine
If only she’d known …thought Darcy, squatting in the middle of the kitchen floor, language barrier notwithstanding, she’d have taken Napoleon to the vet with her and asked them to administer the treatment. If she’d had the kitten with her, it would have saved the charades and surely, once she’d got past the molls in reception, the vet would have been more professionally polite.
As it was, she’d translated the instructions, which fortunately, or otherwise, had come with detailed illustrations, only to discover that the treatment was in a form that had to be pump-sprayed over the entire kitten, not as a liquid that would do the job with a couple of drops on his back as she’d expected.
Convenient. Na huh. Napoleon, after the first spray, which had barely caught his backside as he was darting away, wasn’t having a bit of it. He’d disappeared under the large free-standing cupboard in the kitchen and was now lurking right at the back in the furthest corner, just out of her reach. When she crouched down Darcy could see two wide frightened yellow kitten-eyes staring back at her.
The day was just getting better and better…not.
Darcy placed a small mound of cat food on the tiled floor in front of the cupboard.
“Here, kitty kitty,” she pitched he voice to sound inoffensive and encouraging. She glanced at her watch. The children should be back soon, she’d sent Connor across to the school to collect Rosie.
“Here, chatton chatton,” maybe Napoleon would prefer to be spoken to in French. Well, he was going to have to become bilingual if he was to continue living in this household. The kitten moved a few tentative paces forwards, the draw of the food overcoming his fear.
“Come on, just a couple more steps,” Darcy cooed. There, he was within reach. She shot out a hand and scooped him out from under. Holding him gently by the scruff of his neck in one hand she readied the spray in the other.
“I’m sorry toots, but we gotta do this,” saying this, she gave him a hefty dowsing of the spray. Napoleon let out a yowl of protest but Darcy was determined that she wasn’t stopping until he was thoroughly drenched. She held him against her chest until she had sprayed his tummy then turned his squirming little body over on her lap, holding him down with one hand between her thighs while respraying his head and all over his back to finish the job. By the end of it all they were both soaked with insecticide and neither was happy.
Napoleon sat on the tiles looking wet, bedraggled and pathetically sorry for himself. Darcy’s t-shirt and jeans were sodden and stuck uncomfortably to her chest and thighs.
She scrambled to her feet. “Oh gross, I’m going to need a shower after this,” she said to the kitten. Hoping to mollify the sad little creature, she picked him up to place him in front of his food bowl but was instantly sorry she’d touched him.
“Yuk, yuk, yuk,” dying fleas were dropping off the kitten onto the newly washed tiled floor. Well, at least the stuff worked fast, thought Darcy grimly. Just as well because she didn’t want to go through this again.
She could hear voices outside. The children must be back.
Darcy started towards the outer door intending to open it ... they had been keeping the bottom half of the door locked to prevent Napoleon from getting lost before he imprinted the cottage as his home … but she froze, as in addition to Rosie and Connor’s childish voices, she could hear another deeper masculine voice. It sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t quite place where she’d heard it before.
“Merde,” Darcy muttered the one French word she knew not generally taught at a school. She so did not want a visitor right now. But it was too late … they were already at the door. Three bodies were silhouetted against the bright late afternoon sunshine as the children’s heads and another taller torso and head leaned over the open lower half of the door, to stare first at Darcy and then Napoleon, who was sitting at her feet. Darcy looked down and nudged the kitten gently with one foot to stop him licking himself.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, wee chap,” she remonstrated, “You’ll make yourself sick.” All they needed to go with the fleas that were falling all over the floor in the kitten’s wake was a heap of kitten vomit.
“Don’t come in,” she called over the door, “there are dead and dying fleas everywhere on the tiles in here.”
“Cool,” Connor’s voice came from the doorway.
“Eee-yew. That’s disgusting,” Rosie’s girlie tones piped in. She was standing on tip-toe with only the top of her head and her eyes visible over the door. Darcy was inclined to agree with her daughter but before she could say so a third voice said, with a deep base laugh, “Ah yes; the new kitten ‘avec des puces’. In that case, perhaps we’d be best to wait out here while you dispose of the corpses.”
She had known that voice! It was the stranger from the vet clinic; that annoyingly good-looking man who had helped her, at the same time as he’d been undressing her with his eyes. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that look. It was one of the reasons she’d left the dispensary in such a hurry, that … and being mortifyingly embarrassed.
And now, here she was with her clothes plastered to her body like some contestant in a varsity wet t-shirt competition. Oh happy day! Could it get any worse?
Napoleon chose that moment to begin coughing, his whole body convulsing alarmingly. Darcy stepped back just as the kitten puked, just missing a direct hit on her high-tops. She looked down, surveying the damage. Napoleon had thrown up his lunch and a long nasty-looking tapeworm that was now writhing on the tiles. The sight of the disgorged intestinal parasite was so disgusting that Darcy could feel her own stomach start to roll. Just when she’d thought this day couldn’t get any worse ... she bent down to pick up Napoleon, now crouching miserably beside her boots.
“Don’t touch him.” The stranger commanded, leaning over the top of the door to unsnib the lock. In one smooth movement he’d opened the door and scooped up the kitten in one large hand.
“Wha,…,” Darcy yelped, startled by the audacity of someone barging into her home as if he owned it.
He cut her off. “This kitten needs more than a flea treatment, he has worms. I’m on my way back to the vet to collect my dog, so I’ll take him with me and he can be dewormed while I’m there.”
“Hang on a minute,” Darcy protested hotly, “Who are you? And what makes you think you can just take our kitten?”
“Ah ...now you require introductions. You were in such a rush to depart the clinic there wasn’t time for us to exchange names,” the stranger replied smoothly, looking over Darcy’s dishevelled appearance and noting the way her spray-saturated tee clung to her body, outlining and emphasising her breasts.
With some effort he brought his gaze back to her face, “But perhaps now is not a good time to shake hands? Please allow me; at least to introduce myself …I am Gabriel Dubois, the new owner of the chateau and your new employer also.” He smiled -in what Darcy instantly decided was quite a barbed manner, before adding, “And you must be Darcy Thomas, my resident landscape designer. Who was supposed to move in next week but couldn’t resist jumping the gun and is here already.” He pointed a finger at the orange UT logo on her chest, “I recall from your résumé that you had attended the University of Tennessee; it made you stand out from the other applicants because I once spent a memorable semester at Vanderbilt before moving on to Harvard.”
And very attractively displayed the logo was too. That was a plus that had not been evident from the résumé.
Gabriel noticed that Darcy recoiled as if he’d bitten her and tried his hardest not to smile again at her discomfort. Oh how delightful, she was blushing again. Women with pale skin like hers coloured up so easily. He wondered if she realized how spectacularly it contrasted with her hair.
Yep, Darcy thought darkly, worser and worsest.
Napoleon was returned within the hour. He arrived home reclining in his very own cat carrier, sans fleas, worms and Gabriel added, given the first of his vaccinations. Gabriel had also b
ought a litter tray, a bag of kitty litter and assorted cat toys. The children carted the kitten and his new toys triumphantly off to Connor’s room to play.
“He’ll need to be given rabies shots at twelve weeks. I made an appointment,” Gabriel handed Darcy an appointment card with a date and time filled in, then continued, “The vet says he’s a trifle small for six weeks old, probably because of the parasites, but he should grow like a mushroom now that he’s gotten rid of all his extra unwanted guests,” he stopped for a moment as if considering, before adding, “And I shouldn’t imagine that you’ll have so much trouble making yourself understood on your next visit to the practice.” There was a steely look in his eye that indicated he’d had a word, or several, with the reception staff.
They had been standing talking in front of the cottage’s living room window. Wanting to sit but observing that the table was lacking chairs, Gabriel rested his backside on the window sill. Over his shoulder, Darcy could now spy the big black dog sitting patiently on his haunches on the front passenger seat of the black SUV she’d seen taking up so much of the parking space at the vets. Not expecting any other traffic along the drive, Gabriel had parked in the lane outside the window.
Darcy wished she didn’t feel so awkward but it was difficult, given the rocky start she felt she had gotten off to with her employer. At least she’d had time to shower while he had been away and had put on clean, dry clothes that didn’t cling to her flesh like a second skin.
Gabriel had noticed this on his arrival but didn’t think her dry jeans and another freshly-donned t-shirt were an improvement on her previous outfit. He noted also that she’d added a second layer as well; a loose-fitting checked shirt that hid any curves from view. He couldn’t work out why someone who looked like she did would want to shroud their body in such an ugly garment. What he did know was that he very much wanted to get to know this woman better, tetchy and unsmiling female that she was.
Searching around for an excuse to see her again, he didn’t have to look far. Glancing around the room, he noted the solitary sofa; one that had been ordered by his assistant, the table and little else. “The cottage is a bit sparsely furnished, isn’t it? He observed. “Unless you’re into that minimalist rubbish?”
Well, that left her in no doubt as to what he thought of minimalism, Darcy thought irritably. “I’ve only finished the cleaning and we haven’t had time to buy furniture,” she replied defensively, “I assumed the cottage would be fully furnished, but since it’s not, perhaps you could recommend somewhere inexpensive to shop? I’ll want furnishings that are child-and-kitten-friendly.”
“The cottage would have been fully furnished if you’d waited until after next week to move in, my assistant would have organized the rest of the furniture,” he shot back, “but since you’re here, you can help decide what you want. We’ll go shopping tomorrow ...there’s an Ikea at Tourville, about half an hour’s drive from here. It should have the kind of stuff you want and it opens at ten. I’ll pick you and Connor up at nine-thirty.” It sounded more like an order than a request and he didn’t wait for her to reply. He was already heading for the door.
Darcy followed him, almost bumping into his broad back when he stopped abruptly. She reacted without thinking, putting out a hand to steady herself. Her fingers touched his broad back and she pulled back from the contact as if burned. She could feel the heat instantly transfer itself to her face. Perhaps if she stared at the floor he wouldn’t notice her flushed cheeks?
He turned, brandishing a business card and pulling a pen from his jacket pocket to write a telephone number on the back. “Here’s my private cell phone number should you need to get hold of me,” he said. He’d felt the warmth of her hand through his light business shirt and also noted the lightning speed with which it was removed. He smiled tightly, handing Darcy the card.
Saying nothing, she tucked it into her back jeans pocket without looking up.
“My business trip was cancelled at the last minute and when my PA advised me that you were planning on moving in earlier than we arranged I thought I’d come and see what you were up to. I’m staying with an old friend who lives nearby so call the cell instead of my business number or it’ll go through my assistant and take twice as long.”
“Thanks, but I shouldn’t need to call,” she murmured, thinking, it would be a cold day in Hell before she would call the snotty PA-BA again. Especially now she knew who’d dobbed her in to the boss.
He shrugged. “You do know that you didn’t have to do any of this,” he swept his hand to indicate the clean walls and floor. “Why didn’t you wait for the cleaners to do their job?” he quizzed, looking down at her. Did the woman ever stop blushing? And why was she so nervous? He wasn’t accustomed to being treated like a leper when someone inadvertently touched him.
“I can’t think of a single good reason why, right now,” Darcy replied shortly, still staring fixedly at the floor, feeling the increasing heat on her neck and face. Then, aware that she sounded rude, added belatedly and in more reasonable tone, “I guess I was going insane doing nothing and I wanted to get the children settled as soon as I could. I didn’t mean to be a nuisance and mess up your planning. Sorry.” Now she felt she sounded like a contrite five year old apologising for some misdemeanour.
“There’s no need to apologise,” he said mildly, “I was merely curious why someone would want to make extra work for themselves,” he pulled a small cardboard container from an inner pocket, “Here, I picked these up for you and the children at the pharmacy. It might be wise if you take them.” ‘Them’ was a packet of worm tablets which he pressed into her hand.
Darcy accepted the tablets with mumbled thanks. When she looked up Gabriel was already out the door and gone.
Thank goodness. Darcy leaned against the cool wall until her blush faded and her heart rate returned to normal. “Get a grip, girl,” she chided herself, “You’ve got to work with this man …you can’t afford to start acting like a teen with a massive crush and just because you haven’t touched a man in…,” she thought briefly about how long it had been since she and Patrick had touched in any loving way, “…too long, is no reason to go gaga over the first good looking guy you meet.” She looked at her fingers where they had connected with his back, surprised they weren’t singed at the tips …”Talk about voltage. Must be overactive hormones,” she muttered, aware she was talking to thin air once more. It was high time she started making friends with the locals so she could chat to someone other than herself or the furniture, she decided.