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‘Then start by calling me Dante,’ I said.
‘Thank you, Dante,’ she said.
I turned and left but as I climbed into my car and drove off the estate the jolt refused to go away, forcing me to consider the possibility that my attraction to Edie Trouvé went beyond the physical... Which would not be good at all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AS THE HELICOPTER touched down on the clifftop heliport, I was sure my eyes were literally popping out of their sockets at the sight before me.
Belle Rivière was beautiful, but it had none of the sheer grandeur and elegance of Dante Allegri’s estate on the Côte D’Azur. Over ten acres of manicured gardens, arranged in terraces leading down to the sea on three sides, the grounds were peppered with statues and follies, waterfalls and lavish ponds as well as a huge marble swimming pool at the back of the villa with steps leading down to a dock and one of the estate’s three private beaches.
Guest houses were nestled among the gardens, but the house itself stood proud as the centrepiece. I estimated the chateau had to have at least twenty or thirty bedrooms as the helicopter circled the building. A summer house originally built for a Portuguese prince, the mansion, with its rococo flourishes, elegant walkways, Belle Époque frontage and lavish plasterwork, had been described by Joseph Donnelly as a villa, but that description seemed far too modest for the palace below me.
I had known Dante Allegri was a rich man, but I’d never really considered how rich.
Two members of staff appeared at the heliport to greet me as I stepped down from the aircraft. Joseph had seen me off in Monaco less than twenty minutes ago.
I had spent the last three days with him and the casino staff being briefed on the guests who would begin arriving in a few days
for Dante Allegri’s house party. I’d taken copious notes on the names and faces, the businesses they owned and what their preferences were, and how I should address them—I’d also researched their finances and how they’d made their money, so I could observe their play and assess their attitudes to risk with more context.
I hadn’t seen Allegri while I was staying in the apartment assigned to me at the casino, and I had been grateful for that. I needed as much time as possible to calm my nerves and get a grip on my instinctive reaction to him before I saw him again.
I wanted to make a good impression. I needed to earn the probationary position he’d mentioned, if I was going to have any chance of salvaging not just my pride, but my family’s finances and Belle Rivière. Allegri’s actions had freed us from Carsoni’s threats and the crippling debts, but we still had a sizeable mortgage on the estate and the house itself was rundown and unfurnished. Jude had suggested we turn it into a bed and breakfast inn, so we could make it self-sufficient, but for that we would need to invest in it. And a new job with good prospects could provide the capital we so desperately needed if Dante Allegri offered it to me.
Allegri... No, Dante, I corrected myself, as my skin heated. Dante had given me an opportunity—an opportunity I wanted to make the most of.
Thank goodness he didn’t know my experience of these sorts of high society events was precisely zero. My mother had been shunned by polite society in both the UK and France—and my only experience of it was the years I’d spent observing the behaviour of the daughters of the wealthy in boarding school and, more recently, the jobs I’d had cleaning the houses of the rich and privileged.
But, while I might not have a profile in society, I did understand numbers. And probabilities. Joseph Donnelly had told me Dante was a man who preferred cold hard facts. If I could give him a numerical breakdown of exactly how well each person played—what risks they took and didn’t take, the bets they made and the bets they won, how often they bluffed, et cetera—I would be able to amass a wealth of data which he could use to his advantage. I’d already worked out several formulas to assist me in compiling the data.
More than anything, I wanted to impress upon him that he hadn’t made a mistake in giving me this chance. Which meant not getting ideas above my station, as I had that excruciating morning at Belle Rivière, about what he did and didn’t want from me.
‘Miss Trouvé, welcome to La Villa Paradis. My name is Collette; I am Mr Allegri’s villa manager,’ an older woman greeted me in perfect English, before directing a young bellboy to take my carry-on bag. ‘Pascal will take your belongings to the guest house Mr Allegri has assigned to you. I hope your flight wasn’t too tiring?’
‘Not at all,’ I said. The flight had been just one more eye-popping experience. I’d never travelled in a helicopter before. ‘It was perfect,’ I said.
Collette sent me a warm smile. ‘Good, then let me show you to your guest villa. I have arranged for a light lunch to be served to you there, but if there is anything else you require just let me know.’
‘Thank you.’ I nodded, disconcerted by the offer and her manner. I was Dante’s employee too, not a guest.
‘I thought you might like to rest for an hour before meeting with the stylist,’ she added. ‘So I have pushed the appointment back until three o’clock, if that is okay?’
‘Yes, but... What stylist?’ I asked, even more disconcerted.
‘Mr Allegri has hired Nina Saint Jus of La Roche to assemble your look,’ she said, naming a Parisian designer and fashion house so famous even I’d heard of them.
‘My look?’ I repeated dully, feeling the blush warm my cheekbones.
Apart from the second-hand ball gown I’d worn to the casino the night I’d first met Dante, my wardrobe wasn’t exactly illustrious, being a collection of jeans and T-shirts in various states of disrepair. But Joseph had already arranged an advance on my salary for the event, and I’d managed to find some bargains online that I had hoped would ensure I didn’t look like a waif and stray Dante had dragged in off the street.
I knew I needed to look the part, that dress was important. But a stylist? And one of Nina Saint Jus’s pedigree? How could I possibly afford to pay for this wardrobe? It would probably cost more than my entire salary.
‘Mr Allegri has not mentioned this to you?’ Collette asked with a benevolent smile on her face, as if she wasn’t the least bit surprised.
‘No, he hasn’t.’
She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘Men!’ she said and sent me a conspiratorial grin that downgraded my panic a notch. She patted my hand as she led me down a path shaded by palm trees, the flower beds choked with an array of lilies and roses that added a heavy perfume to the fresh sea air. ‘Mr Allegri is arriving after lunch,’ she said helpfully. ‘He has requested that you meet him for dinner after your fitting; you will be able to talk to him then.’
