“Thanks for seeing me on short notice, Grand-mère,” he said, adopting the French moniker his cousins used. “I have a problem and I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me out.”

“Is something wrong at La Petite Maison?” she asked, her nose twitching at the possibility that her now-valuable asset might be in trouble.

“No, the B and B is great. I’m making progress on the suite.” He was converting one of the outbuildings to a separate suite for guests who wanted more privacy.

“Then what is it?” she asked impatiently.

As succinctly as he could, he outlined Loretta’s desperate need for an experienced chef to organize the VIP dinner. Celeste listened, her mouth pursed as if she’d bitten into a bad peach.

“I fail to see how this concerns me. Why aren’t you talking to Melanie?”

“I had hoped you might intercede on my behalf.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not your errand girl. If you want Melanie to help this Loretta person, ask her yourself.”

He’d been afraid this might be Celeste’s reaction. And really, there was no reason for her to care whether the music festival was a success or a flop. She didn’t know Loretta. She probably didn’t know most of the people involved in the festival-they were too young.

“Melanie has no reason to do me any favors.”

“Oh, take off that hair shirt. I can’t claim you’re the most popular family member at the moment, but it’s been over a year now. Everyone has mellowed. Mon Dieu, just ask her. Make it sound like overseeing this whatever-it-is dinner will be a feather in her cap. She’ll love the chance to do something unusual.”

Luc figured his doubt must have shown on his face, because his grandmother scowled at him.

“Your father certainly wasn’t afraid to take risks,” she chided. “That’s one of the few good things I have to say about him. Surely he didn’t raise a coward.”

Now she was making him angry, as she no doubt intended. “Let’s not bring my father into this. Anyway, he didn’t raise me. He left when I was a kid and only came back a few years ago.”