Claire Delacroix Read Free Page B

it does is rain!”
    “They’ll come.” Baird’s voice was low with conviction. “They always come to Beauforte properties.”
    “‘Every guest is royalty to us’ and all that,” Julian echoed the firm’s motto. “But all the same, this is a miserable place.”
    Baird caught a glimpse of Julian’s Italian leather loafers, their patina looking somewhat the worse for wear. Typically, the lawyer was dressed to the nines. Julian would never abandon his suit and tie, even in the most inclement weather.
    But Julian was too much of a California child to ever completely succumb to the conservativeness of business dress. Though he wore a suit and tie, the boldly cut Armani suit was of a grayed eggplant shade, the tie a brilliant yellow.
    Julian had only recently allowed his signature blond ponytail to be lopped off - after a young, attractive woman had joked that he was compensating for the increasing baldness on the top of his head by growing what hair he had overly long.
    The ponytail had not survived the hour.
    Forty could strike a man hard, even one so trim, well-groomed and successful as Julian.
    Baird, on the other hand, had taken to jeans and Gore-Tex within hours of arrival here. It was true it had rained in some way or another every single day, but he loved all the myriad shades of blue and green mirrored in the shifting sea, not to mention the clouds drifting above it.
    Baird’s newfound attraction to the sea was odd, really, given that he had been raised in the southwest, far from a sea of any kind.
    “I think it’s beautiful,” Baird said mildly, earning a scathing glance from Beauforte’s legal counsel.
    Julian snorted. “Beautiful. Far from it.”
    “Just look at the sea. It’s quite a soothing place.”
    “Ha! I don’t have to look any further than my own stomach. This is no place for a vegetarian. No country that willfully murders innocent vegetables could be beautiful!”
    Baird had to grin despite himself. An ardent vegetarian, Julian should have become accustomed by now to having culinary adventures whenever he ventured far from a city’s bright lights. “It’s not that bad.”
    “Oh, yeah? Last night in that horrible dark pub in town - you know the one - the only vegetables they could give me was this heap of something called clapshot.” Julian flung out his hands in exasperation. “Clapshot! Even the name is horrible! What the hell is clapshot?”
    “You should know.” Baird returned to his clipping with a philosophical shrug, more than used to Julian’s monologues on the subject of food. “You’re the one who ate it.”
    “I did not!” Julian grimaced. “It was orange and lumpy, like it had been put through a blender or something. Baby food.”
    Baird grunted as he conquered a particularly thick vine and cast it aside, only to find another right behind it. A more whimsical man might have thought the briars were deliberately blocking his way. “Could be neeps and tatties together in one.”
    “Neeps and what? I can guess that tatties must be potatoes in some overcooked form, but what the hell’s a neep?”
    “Turnip. Or rutabaga. Those orange things, whatever they are. Mashed.”
    Julian shuddered with mock horror. “Just like mother used to make. Ugh! I’m glad I didn’t eat it.”
    Baird’s mouth quirked. “Maybe we should bill this as a weight loss resort for vegetarians.”
    “Very funny.” Julian folded his arms across his chest and tapped his toe. “I’m not asking for much, you know. Why not a few roasted red peppers? A little rosemary? Maybe they could let some daylight in the place, instead of all that brooding dark wood. Ferns. Brass. Here’s a thought - attractive waitresses.”
    Baird spared his friend a glance that spoke volumes before turning back to his clipping. He cleared another step. “Just like some chichi bistro in North Hollywood?”
    “Well, yeah. I mean, why not?”
    Baird shook his head. “Because it’s not California. Wouldn’t the