The Marseille Caper Read Online Free

complexion glowing, her black hair glossy—and Sam congratulated himself on his decision to take the job.
    “Vacations suit you,” he said. “Why don’t we do this more often? You work too hard. How can the insurance business compare with a trip to the glamorous South of France with an adoring, irresistible companion?”
    Elena looked at him beneath raised eyebrows. “I’ll let you know,” she said. “First I have to find an irresistible companion.”
    “Ah,” said Reboul’s voice behind them, “ les amoureux . Has Mathilde been looking after you?” He had come from the rear of the plane, where he had a miniature office, and he was carrying a bulky file. “You must forgive me,” he said to Elena, “but I need to steal Sam away from you so that we can go over the presentation while we have the chance of some peaceand quiet. Once we get to Marseille …” He shook his head. “Busy, busy, busy.”
    Elena settled back in her armchair and opened Sam’s old, dog-eared copy of the Cadogan Guide to the South of France, a favorite of his because of its well-informed, comprehensive coverage, its literate prose, and its refreshing sense of humor. She turned to the section on Marseille, wondering if she would find anything to account for Reboul’s claim that Marseille and Paris had been at each other’s throats for hundreds of years. And there it was, in the historical introduction. After explaining that an independently minded Marseille, in search of permanent autonomy, had been infuriating Louis XIV for forty years, the introduction continues: “By 1660, the King had had enough, and opened up a great breach in Marseille’s walls, humiliating the city by turning its own cannons back on itself.” (The cannons had previously pointed out to sea to repel pirates and invaders, but Louis had obviously decided that the city’s residents were a greater threat.) And that wasn’t all. “The central authority installed by Louis was much more lax than the city had previously been about the issues crucial to the running of a good port—like quarantine. The result, in 1720, was a devastating plague that spread throughout Provence.”
    So there was Marseille, menaced by its own guns and riddled with disease, all thanks to Parisian interference. Souvenirs like that stay in the memory for a long time, often becoming increasingly bitter from generation to generation. Reboul’s comment, which Elena had at first dismissed as exaggeration, now made more sense.
    She let the book slip to her lap, and looked out of the window at the pale-blue infinity of the evening sky, cloudless and calm. The pilot, in the delightfully accented English that he must have learned at pilot’s charm school, had announced that with the help of the steady tail wind from west to east they would be arriving in Marseille in time for a breakfast of croissants and café au lait . Elena sank back into her suede cocoon, half listening to the buzz of conversation coming from Reboul and Sam.
    He had been quite right; she did work too hard, and quite soon now she would have to make up her mind between her business life and her personal life. Frank Knox, the founder of Knox Insurance, was anxious to retire, and he had told Elena that the job of CEO was hers if she wanted it. But did she really want to spend the next thirty years up to her neck in clients like Danny Roth? How would Sam fit into a life governed by meetings, sales conferences, too much travel, and interminable client lunches? What would she do if she didn’t take the job? With a shift of mental gears, she made herself think about the imminent pleasures of the next two to three weeks—Mediterranean beaches, entire days without schedules, and long, relaxed dinners under the stars. She dozed and dreamed.
    Sam woke her by stroking her forehead with the tips of his fingers. “You were smiling,” he said.
    “I was on vacation,” she said.
    “Sorry to interrupt. But Francis thinks we might like to