“Families,” she said grandly, helping herself to some caviar. “I have a great fondness for them. I must tell you both how I admire your son. The young Cocharan carries on the tradition, is it not so?”

For an instant, only an instant, Lillian’s eyes narrowed. She wanted to know just what tradition the French actress referred to.

“We’re both very proud of Blake,” B.C. said with some relief. “He’s not only maintained the Cocharan standard, but expanded it. The Hamilton chain was an excellent move.” He toasted his son. “Excellent. How’s the turnover in the kitchen going?”

“Very smoothly.” And it was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “We start serving from the new menu tomorrow.”

“Then we timed our visit well,” Lillian put in. “We’ll have a chance to test it firsthand.”

“Do you know the coincidence?” Monique asked Lillian as she offered the tray of quiches.

“Coincidence?”

“But it is amusing. It is my daughter who now manages your son’s kitchen.”

“Your daughter.” Lillian glanced at her husband. “No, it wasn’t mentioned to me.”

“She is a superb chef. You would agree, Blake? She often cooks for him,” she added with a deliberate smile before he could make any comment.

Lillian held the rosebud under her nose. Interesting. “Really?”

“A charming girl,” B.C. put in. “She has your looks, Monique, though I could hardly credit that you had a grown daughter.”

“And I was just as surprised when I first met your son.” She smiled at him. “Isn’t it strange where the years go?” B.C. cleared his throat and poured more wine.

Weeks before, Blake had wondered what messages had passed between Summer and his father. Now he had no trouble recognizing what wasn’t being said between B.C. and Monique. He looked at his mother first and saw her calmly drinking champagne.

His father and Summer’s mother? When? he wondered as he tried to digest it. For as long as he could remember, his parents had been devoted, almost inseparable. No—abruptly he remembered a short, turbulent time during his early teens. The house had been full of tension, arguments in undertones. Then B.C. had been gone for two weeks—three? A business trip, his mother had told him, but even then he’d known better. But it had been over so quickly, he’d rarely thought of it since. Now…now he had a definite idea where his father had spent at least some of that time away from home. And with whom.

He caught his father’s eye—the uncomfortable, half-defiant look. The man, Blake mused, was certainly paying for a slip in fidelity that was two decades old. He saw Monique smile, slowly. Just what the hell was she trying to stir up?

Almost before the anger could fully form, she laid a hand on his arm. It was a gesture that asked him to wait, to be patient. Then came another knock. “Ah, excuse me. You would pour another glass?” Monique asked B.C. “We have one more guest tonight.”