So... this isn't a sequel for "The Third Woman", but it's still something I've been carrying around with me for some time. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. Let me know what you think :-) Have a great weekend!

Cote d'Azur

Chapter 1 - Tender is the Night

Juan-les-Pins, 1926

The night air smelled of the sea, oranges, and tobacco. It was heavy with the music of the small orchestra playing inside and the sound of giddy conversation. Isobel watched the other hotel guests from her place on the terrace and wondered if she was the only one who felt like a misfit.

Behind her the waves crashed against the shore. A soft breeze caressed her hair and under different circumstances she would have enjoyed herself immensely.

Many years ago she and Reginald had spent their second honeymoon in France. They had travelled the Loire Valley and had spent a week in the Provence. It was one of her fondest and romantic memories of her marriage. She remembered wine, long, love filled nights that were undeniably joined with the feeling of belonging to someone completely. All this seemed far away now, as if another woman had lived that life and she had only read about it in a novel.

Everything about her past and present life felt strange these days. Only three weeks she had laughed if someone had told her she would travel to the French Riviera, to the Cote d'Azur as the French called it, to spend her time in a luxury hotel. She had only arrived this afternoon, her bags were not yet unpacked, and she still wasn't sure she would stay. Deep inside she was restless, even scared, not that she wanted for anyone to notice it.

The scenery, this evening felt surreal and she still wasn't sure it wasn't a dream. Perhaps she would wake up in her bed in Downton tomorrow morning and shake her head about the absurdity of it all...

It wasn't a dream. It may felt surreal, but it wasn't a dream. It was nothing that would vanish with the rising of the sun. The tightness in her chest and the knot in her stomach were also real. What she saw through the open French doors was reality.

From her place at the balustrade she had the perfect view inside the hotel bar. Some of the hotel guests were inside, drinking, dancing, simply enjoying themselves as if nothing in this world could spoil their moment. Women wore flapper dresses and headpieces and most of the men were in black tie. The smoke from cigarettes filled the room and champagne flowed freely. Among them were people she knew well. Some she loathed, one she loved.

Dickie Merton was dancing with a dark-haired beauty. She looked young and sophisticated without being a flapper. She reminded Isobel of Mary, but her face was rounder and her smile kinder. Dickie loved Mary like a daughter, because he never had one. Did he dance with that other woman because she reminded him of Mary? Or was it her beauty? Did he desire her? She had never taken him for a man who looked after younger women. It simply wasn't his style, was it?

Until three weeks ago she had thought to know him, to understand him and his motivations. She had thought of him as someone who was easy to read, but right now she didn't even recognize him.

It was time to tear her eyes away from him and his dancing partner, but it was difficult. She loved watching him, even now when he was dancing with someone else, a woman who could easily be her own daughter. He always moved so elegantly and self-assured on the dancefloor, while he struggled to do so when it came to giving orders or making decisions.

It was either the heat or the effect of the champagne, but her mind wandered off from dancing to the last time she had seen Dickie.

The night that had started it all.

The night that had made her life more complicated.

Unannounced he had come to her house in the middle of the night, desperate for her help, which had led to something she hadn't bargained for when she had opened the door for him. Today the last traces, the reason for his visit at Crawley House were gone. Not one visible bruise or cut gave away what he had gone through that evening. She remembered her own panic when she had seen his injuries. They had made her vulnerable in a way she hadn't expected and one tender touch had resulted in a kiss and the kiss had broken her every defence.

She regretted nothing, but it hadn't been wise to share her bed with him. If she hadn't been carried away by her feelings for him, she probably wouldn't be here now. She could have spared herself the heartache of watching him dancing and enjoying himself with another woman.

Isobel sighed, turned away, and looked down to the beach that was lined with torches. A young couple shared a late night walk by the shore. The wind carried the woman's laughter to her ear and Isobel watched with rising envy how the woman leaned against the man and kissed him. Weariness overwhelmed her and she decided to call it a night. Violet had already retreated to her room and she needed to do the same, before she drowned her sorrow with more champagne.

One last time she looked inside the bar. Dickie and the dark haired beauty were drinking a cocktail and she laughed about something he was saying. Since when was he drinking martinis? He preferred whiskey or so he had told her many years ago. Bitterness filled her heart like poison and she left.

She made a detour through the marbled foyer with its thick rugs and the heavy leather seats, hoping to avoid Dickie and his lovely companion. To her annoyance she saw Amelia and Larry Grey on their way to the elevator. They had put their heads together and spoke in hushed voices. Quickly and before they could spot her, she hid behind a pillar and waited until she heard the elevator doors closing behind them.

Her dislike for the young couple knew no boundaries. Larry had ruined everything for her and Dickie. Everything he touched ended up poisoned and Amelia was the perfect addition to his malicious nature. The two were two sides of the same coin, fraudulent and arrogant.

Had it really been a good idea to join Cousin Violet on this trip? Wouldn't it have been better to stay at home to wait and see how things developed? Wasn't she about to get involved in something beyond her control?

She knew her thoughts were redundant, because she already was here and so were Dickie and his family. No, she couldn't run away again. Violet would call her quitter, if she took flight just like that and she was many things, a lonely widow, an unhappy lover, and at this point angry with the world, but she was not a quitter.

The Dowager Countess was standing on her balcony and breathed in the heavy air of the sticky late summer night. It wasn't a climate she was used to or fond of. She preferred the damp English weather or the cold of the Russian winter to the mediterranien heat. But she knew she would have to get used to it rather sooner than later, because the task ahead of her deserved her full attention.

A rather mysterious adventure lay ahead of her. Perhaps it was her last one and perhaps she would regret taking the well-placed bait, but letting pass by the opportunity to make some people she cared for happy was not an alternative.

It wasn't only Cousin Isobel who needed her help. Violet had never understood how a woman who was as practical, determined, and intelligent as Isobel could be so daft when it came to matters of the heart. She was in love with Lord Merton, but she was too scared of his family to fight for her rightful place and so she kept telling herself living without him was the only way to go on. And Lord Merton himself? The man needed all the help he could get, if he didn't want to end up in a small cottage near the village or even worse in the clutches of a mad American widow of the scale of Martha Levinson. The idea was even more atrocious and made her shutter despite the heat.

The reason for her journey was a letter from Prince Kuragin. After he had left Downton for Paris she hadn't expected to hear from him again, but she had been mistaken. About two weeks ago she had received a rather ominous message from him that had been too fascinating to ignore. What added to her excitement was the involvement of Lord Merton and his useless, greedy brood and a rather mysterious hotel guest. At dinner she had been sitting near the table of the Greys. The young woman that reminded her of someone, but Violet didn't exactly know where and how to place her. She had seen the face before and she wasn't the only one who was intrigued by her. Lord Merton and his son had paid the woman a lot more attention than any gentleman would under such circumstances. Other people would blame the hot climate and the wine, but Violet had seen enough of the world to know that more than simple lust was the trigger for the men's behaviour.

She chuckled when she remembered Isobel and her ruffled feathers when Dickie Merton asked the stranger for a dance. One glass of champagne and Isobel was as easy to read as a penny dreadful. Her mood had sunk like the titanic and she had fled the room as if the devil had chasen her away.

"Is everything all right, Mylady?" Denker asked from the inside.

"Yes, Denker, I'm fine. You can go now."

"Very well, Mylady. Good night!"

"Good night." Violet answered and waited until her maid was gone before she went inside.

Unenthusiastically Isobel combed her long, heavy hair and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She usually had no problem to acknowledge her age, she had never been a vain person, but tonight she suddenly felt like counting the grey strays that had dared to creep in over the years. She had always admired Mary's courage to cut her hair short. It was easier to handle, demanded less tiresome care, and caught everyone's attention.

Did Dickie even notice her? He hadn't looked at her once. Had he pretended not to see her and Violet? Even if he wanted to ignore Isobel, how could one ignore the Dowager? Violet owned every room she entered. The mere idea of not acknowledging her sounded like pure blasphemy.

But then he had been occupied with this young, beautiful creature and hadn't paid attention to anything or anyone else.

With a sigh she put her brush aside and decided to go to bed. She doubted she would be able to sleep though. Her body felt tired, but the heat and her overworking brain were keeping her restless. She was on her way to close the balcony door when she heard a soft knock at her door.

Sure it was Denker with a message from Violet, she opened the door and was in for a surprise.

"Oh…." She blushed when she saw who her visitor was, but quickly managed to make a brave face. "I didn't expect you." Painfully aware of her appearance, her hair open, her feet bare, and her dressing gown, she hesitated to let him inside.

"May I come in?" Dickie asked and looked nervously over his shoulder. She acknowledged his unease with an annoyed scoff and let him inside.

"Shouldn't you be knocking at someone else's door?" she asked snipply once she had closed the door again.

"I think I deserve that," he stated friendly and without dignifying her sarcasm. "But my curiosity got the better of my good manners. May I ask why you are here?"

"I'm here with Lady Grantham. She asked me to come along. We arrived this afternoon."

"And that has nothing to do with time or what I told you the last time we… saw each other?

"Not necessarily, no."

The blunt lie make him smile. "In other words you won't be bothered, if I knock at someone else's door tonight?"

She crooked her eyebrow. "You are a free man. You can do as you please...," she paused and added, "Although…"

"Although what?"

"One might question the kind of… door."

His face become stony and he said, "You shouldn't be here."

"Well, I am here and I will stay here."

"And I ask you to leave. Please."

"I won't bother you," she said with a shrug. "If you insist on frisking around some other woman's skirts you can do so."

Her choice of words obviously amused him. He chuckled. "What an image to go by."

"I mean it. It's none of my business."

Her harsh tone sobered him up again and gave her a long look before he spoke again. "I think you could be in danger if you stayed here. I wasn't joking when I told you about the kind of difficulties Larry has brought me in. I speak out of my concern for your safety."

"I could tell you weren't joking," she snapped back. "I was the one who stitched you up!"

"And I will always be grateful for it."

Again her answer was a raised eyebrow. Being grateful didn't exactly describe what had transpired between them that night. He cleared his throat, but before he could add anything she asked. "Who is she and why are you courting her like some debutant on his first night out?"

He folded his hands behind his back and moved across the room.

"Her name is Natasha DeWinter. Mrs DeWinter is the widow of Arnaud DeWinter, a fabricant who died about a year ago. According to people who know it, she's in want of a new husband."

"I see…. So, she's the huntress and not the other way round."

"Not quite," he admitted. "It is true that she is in search of a husband. She has the wish to marry, preferably to someone who can provide her a title, which…" he broke off, suddenly embarrassed.

"Please, go on."

Fearing what he was about to say could confirm her worst fears and therefore weaken her knees, she sank onto the edge of her bed.

"Which seems the perfect solution for my monetary problems."

"So, you are on a business trip," she concluded bitterly. "How much money are we talking about?"

"Enough."

She shook her head, angry with him and Larry and the whole situation. "Could you be more precise?"

He drew a deep breath. "I might have to sell the estate or at least a big part of it."

Glad, she was already sitting, she gasped. "What on earth…" He sank down next to her and took her hand. "I'm sorry, but I told you, he got involved with the wrong people and a lot of money is involved."

"Can't he pay his debts for himself?" she asked exasperated. "He was old enough to lose it after all!"

Dickie shrugged. "They would kill him, if he doesn't pay, which he can't…. As you can remember they've already left a lasting impression on me when they went after me."

She just nodded. "And so you go looking for a wife, preferable someone who's rich enough to pay for Larry's stupidity."

He shrugged, but said nothing.

"If a woman does it, people call her a gold digger," she said.

"I can't deny the irony of the situation." He bent his head and stared to his feet. Overwhelmed by tenderness and the wish to comfort him, she ran her fingers through his short hair.

"It's silly, you know," he said. "All my life I never had to worry about money and now that I'm finally old enough to get rid off the responsibility for it all, I have to ensure my family won't lose it."

"Would it be so bad? To be rid off it?" she asked in a low voice.

"Ten generations…," was all he said. "Ten generations the estate was ours. I don't want to be the one who loses it all." He looked at her, somewhat tired. "Can you understand that?"

She wasn't sure she could. She had lived long enough among the Granthams to see the point of families like them, but she never had never been responsible for a community like theirs. She couldn't imagine what he was going through or what the prospect of losing Cavenham meant for him.

"I understand you," she said and gave him an encouraging smile. "But I don't like it."

"Me neither." He smiled back at her and rose. "I should go. It's late."

With her heart beating heavily in her chest she watched him crossing the room. She didn't want him to leave, not now that he had opened up to her. It was insane to ask him to spend the night with her, but the question was out before she had gained control of her tongue.

"Why don't you stay?"

Surprised by her offer he turned around. He watched her with bated breath as she approached him. She rolled up to her tiptoes to kiss him. At first tenderly and soft and then when he gave in with growing passion.

"I really should go," he mumbled against her forehead. "We shouldn't do this. You deserve better."

"I can handle myself. Please stay. Please." she whispered against his lips, before she snaked her arms around his neck to kiss him once more.

****tbc****