Alain and Reynard had played this game before. Alain turned, not to Reynard, but to Emily. “For a woman of such obvious beauty and culture, it is always a pleasure to add another setting to the table.” He turned to Reynard and sniffed. Reynard raised one eyebrow in response. He turned to Emily. “Do you have any questions about the job?”
Emily looked at Reynard for the first time with nothing else to distract her. She saw a man six feet tall, husky without fat, and handsome in the way of Frenchmen; perfect features arranged with a casual hand and lively. Somewhere deep inside her, something stirred. She said, “If I understand the job listing, you want a curator to handle a moderate collection of paintings. The collection will be constantly revised with new additions and deletions and must be kept current and accurate.”
“Exactly right. I live by buying and selling art. I am always finding something I believe is undervalued and selling it for a profit. The paperwork and provenance must be accurate and up-to-date.”
A new voice came from behind Emily. A woman said, “Finally, you hire someone to do the housekeeping for the paintings. I am sick of doing it. My own work suffers. Who is this new addition?” The owner of the voice walked over to the table. She was pretty, thin with a sharp nose and angry blue eyes. She looked like she’d smelled spoiled milk a week earlier, and it stayed with her. She looked at Emily without extending her hand for a greeting. “You look like you can do the job. Stand up. Let me look at you.”
Reynard said, in reproach, “Mignon. This is unseemly.”
Mignon didn’t look at Reynard, instead she waited for Alain to say something. He tended to his sauce.
Emily stood up. She remembered not to smooth her clothes or fidget. Mignon looked her up and down then cast a glance at Alain again. He continued with the sauce. Mignon said, “You have a body made for men to hold. I approve. However, you should know that Mr. Latrec is completely off limits. He is your employer.”
Reynard stood up. “Mignon. That crosses the line of good behavior. Stop it.”
Mignon looked tragic and lonely. She snarled, “I will not have women come into this home and office making the plays for your attention. It is distracting and wrong.” She folded her arms. “There. I have said my pieces and I have done. Do what you will.”
Alain didn’t look up from the sauce. He said, “’Piece’, mon petit chou chou (my little cabbage, a term of endearment). You say ‘I have said my piece’ not ‘pieces’.”
Mignon raised her nose in the air. “The cook corrects my English yet again. Very well. I am capable of change.” She huffed. “In any events, I have made my say. I will get back to work.” She turned to Emily. “Welcome to the family.” She caught sight of Alain’s upraised finger. “What is it, mon petit cuire (my little cook)? Have I said the wrong again?”
Alain moved the pot off the burner. He turned to look at Mignon.
Emily gasped. She hadn’t looked at him before with clear eyes. He must have been six foot six inches tall, thick and well muscled. His voice was low and cultured. He said, “Why must you behave so, Mignon? With all of the drama?”
Mignon had been simmering before, just below the boil so that she bubbled enough to shake the lid on her pot. Now, she exploded into face-reddening fury. She sputtered, “You... You cook. You correct me so often and never tell me when I say it right. You treat me as if I were a piece of furniture. It is maddening to have a man such as you around. I will stand it no longer. I will work from my room for the rest of the day. I have spoken.” She stomped over to the door and opened it.
Alain said, “Lunch is ready. We have Bouchée à la Reine. The sauce is perfect.”
Mignon didn’t turn around. “Did you increase the onion and make less on the nutmeg?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I will eat then I go to my room to wall myself off from the rest of you.” She sat at the table.
Reynard brought Emily back to the conversation. “Miss Mignon Budreau is our technician. She repairs the damage time has done to our works of art. Now, tell me about your qualifications.”
Emily listed them in order of importance. She’d done it before, and it worked.
Reynard nodded. “Excellent. The job pays...” He listed a figure a third again higher than any job Emily had heard of in her field. He continued, “It comes with full benefits and vacation. Will you take it?”
Emily had sense enough not to stand on the table and shout, “By damn, you bet your sweet ass I’ll take it.” She nodded. “I’d love to.”