rushing the hair away from her face with her hand, Tessa remained seated on the sofa, staring at the door. Jean-Claude had gone downstairs to get sandwiches. She was wondering why she felt suddenly out of sorts. Within the space of a few seconds it hit her…she missed Jean-Claude’s presence most acutely. His absence made her feel deprived. And he had only been gone for a few moments.

This knowledge amazed her, and then instantly she remembered last night, how she had not been able to sleep, how thoughts of him had crowded out everything else in her head. And because she had been restless she had finally turned on the light, picked up his book and begun to read it. Apart from making her feel closer to him, it told her a great deal about him, gave her an insight into his mind; the brilliance of his writing had amazed her. He was a remarkable thinker, philosopher and writer, and she had been bowled over by the first few chapters she had read.

Last night she had silently thanked her mother for insisting she learn to speak French and making her stick at it. Once again she felt a sense of gratitude to Paula, because if she couldn’t understand his language she wouldn’t be able to read his books, and that, it seemed to her, was imperative.

He’s larger than life, she thought, clever and accomplished, not to mention charismatic. It struck her that when he was in a room he dominated it with his physical presence and personality, and that was why she missed him now. His office was quiet, lifeless without him in it.

It was the same in a public place; she had noticed that last night. He took over the space when he walked in, and without doing anything spectacular. Of course, he was spectacular. He displaced the air around him, made gigantic waves.

He also made love in a way she was not accustomed to, had never experienced before. There had only been one other man before she had married Mark, and he had been a disaster in bed. As for Mark, he was a bit rough, always in a hurry: never considering her, never satisfying her. And then he had turned violent, had actually hurt her during sex, and had finally raped her in such an ugly and violent manner she had left him, lucky to have escaped with her life.

Don’t think about Mark, she instructed herself, and immediately blocked him out. Think about Jean-Claude Deléon instead. She lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes, relived their lovemaking…an hour of such bliss…and he was bliss…

She knew how serious he was about her, he had made that perfectly clear, had spoken to her in the most open and honest way, and with enormous clarity. Well, he was a communicator, wasn’t he? He wanted a long-term relationship. And so did she, she understood that already. Did that mean marriage? She wasn’t sure. How could they make it work? He lived in Paris; this was his domain where he was one of the philosopher kings. He rushed off to cover wars and uprisings, to interview politicians and presidents all over the world…he put himself in danger. Could she handle that? His being in constant danger?

And then there was her life…and her darling sweet Adele. Wherever she went, Adele came too, but that did not present a problem. Jean-Claude would immediately fall in love with Adele, everyone did. Her child was irresistible.

But there was her career to consider, her job at Harte’s, her responsibilities. How could she work in London and live in Paris? And she would have to live here if their love affair progressed the way he wanted–no, actually expected it to. Certainly he would never move to London, at least not on a permanent basis.

After Mark had abducted Adele a couple of weeks ago she had suffered so much pain she had truly understood that her daughter came before everything else in her life. And she still felt the same way. Her career had been moved to second place in her own mind. Might it now take third place because of Jean-Claude?

She sat up.

She had fallen in love with him.

Instantly, last night.

She had looked into that face, so handsome yet full of character and kindness and gravity, and she had fallen heavily. Just like India fell for Dusty Rhodes, she suddenly thought, and with a rush of clarity she understood about her cousin and the artist.

Jean-Claude said he had felt bludgeoned; she had been dumbstruck. And the emotions he had aroused in her were manifold. There was no question that she had never felt like this before, and she acknowledged that this was because of Jean-Claude and all the things he was as a man.

Once again needing to understand more about him, she got up and began to wander around his office, looking at a selection of photographs on another wall, finding a long line of books on a shelf, books bearing his name as the author. Twenty-five in all. Then she noticed that some of them had been translated into English, and other languages as well, and this pleased her. She laughed to herself. Why had she felt that sudden stab of pride? After all, she had only met him last night. It didn’t seem possible…only last night. Yet her life had been turned upside down, changed irrevocably. It would never be the same, nor would she.

Unexpectedly, Tessa experienced a rush of panic. What was she going to do? How was she going to handle all of this? For a moment she felt overwhelmed, and then she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. The only possible thing she could do was to let it happen and deal with everything one day at a time.

Now her eyes swept around his office, and she understood why he had said it was unique. A gallery encircled the entire room and fronted bookshelves rising to the ceiling on several walls, and there was a polished steel-and-brass circular staircase that twisted up to the gallery.

It was a spacious airy room, with a high ceiling and a tall window at the far end, and the colours were warm and masculine, a deep brick-red and fir green mixed in an arresting combination. A brick-red woollen fabric upholstered the walls, a matching velvet covered the sofa, and the rug was a combination of red and green. His desk was spectacular, a huge slab of heavy glass set on thick polished steel-and-brass legs, and the two lamps on the desk were made of stainless steel with dark-green shades.

She glanced at the desk with enormous interest, saw that the surface was empty except for a blotter, an inkstand and several metal trays for papers. Instantly she knew he was a tidy man with a tidy mind, and she liked that. She was a neat person herself, and couldn’t stand mess.

Along another wall, off to one side of the desk, there was a work table and on this stood his typewriter, computer and printer, and two steel lamps matching those on the desk. Serious work goes on here, she thought, nodding to herself. She had the feeling he was fast and efficient.

Tessa meandered back to the centre of the office and glanced at her watch as she did; to her amazement she saw that it was almost three o’clock.

At this moment the door opened and Jean-Claude was standing there. ‘I am sorry it took so long,’ he muttered, bending to pick up the tray on the floor. He came into the office, walked down to his desk and placed the tray in the middle.

Beckoning to her, he said, ‘Come, Tessa, come here, sit in this chair behind the desk. You will be more comfortable.’

Bossy, as well, she thought, but gave him a wide smile and hurried to join him at his desk. He put his arms around her, hugged her to him. ‘Chérie,’ he murmured, stroking her hair, and then releasing her, he went and brought a chair over, sat down facing her.

The tray had been beautifully set, she noted, obviously by Hakim. There was a sparkling white organdy cloth on it, matching napkins and pretty china. Tessa took a plate and a napkin, and sat back until Jean-Claude insisted she started to eat, which she did. He poured the tea, took a sandwich himself, and they were both silent until they had finished.

After drinking his tea, Jean-Claude looked across at Tessa and smiled. ‘So preoccupied was I with you I didn’t realize how ravenous I was.’

‘I know, I was starving myself,’ she replied. Then she cocked her head on one side thoughtfully, staring back at him intently.

‘What is it?’ he asked, alerted by her expression, putting his cup down.

‘I’ve just had the most curious thought. Do you think my brother set us up?’

Jean-Claude was startled and his eyes narrowed slightly, and then he began to laugh, obviously highly amused by her suggestion. After a moment, he said, with another chuckle, ‘Mon Dieu! What a thought that is, and I must say this to you, if he did then I shall be eternally grateful to him.’ He shook his head, still amused. ‘What made you think this?’

‘Well, I recently had a conversation with him, and I said I would probably never get married again after this débâcle with–’

‘Lorne’s response?’ he asked peremptorily, cutting her sentence off.

‘He said that was all right, but he wasn’t going to allow me to lead a celibate life, that he was going to make sure I had lots of lovers.’

‘Only one, ma chérie.’ He reached out, put his hand over hers.

‘Oui, absolument. Only one. You.’

His face was illuminated by a bright smile and his dark eyes were warm, loving as he said, ‘You had this thought about your brother, and I had one too when I was downstairs getting the sandwiches. It occurred to me that it would be nice if he came to the country with us tomorrow.’

‘We’re going to the country?’ she asked, sounding surprised.

‘You did agree to spend the weekend with me, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘I have a house outside Paris, small but comfortable.’ He made a gesture with his hand and continued, ‘It is pleasant there, you would enjoy it. You will come, won’t you, darling?’

I would go anywhere with you, she thought, and said, ‘It would be nice. And perhaps we should speak to Lorne now. I’m not sure what his plans are.’

‘I thought he was learning his lines,’ Jean-Claude responded, picked up the phone on the desk and dialled the hotel number.

A moment later he was speaking to Lorne. ‘C’est moi, mon ami. Comment tu va?’

‘Hello, Jean-Claude,’ Lorne exclaimed. ‘I’m fine, and you? Is everything all right with you and Tessa?’

‘Bien sûr. Are you busy tomorrow?’

‘No, just studying my part. Why do you ask?’

‘I thought it would be a good idea to take Tessa out of Paris for the weekend, and it would be a great pleasure for me if you would come also. To my little house…you’ve been there.’

‘Little house!’ Lorne exclaimed, laughing. ‘Haven’t you told her it’s a château?’

‘Ah, my dear friend, you exaggerate always, it’s hardly a château. But you will accompany us, won’t you?’

‘Thanks for your invitation, Jean-Claude, and I think it is a very good idea to get her out of Paris while those two scoundrels are skulking around.’

‘That was my thought exactly,’ Jean-Claude replied. ‘And so you will join us?’

‘If she wants me along.’

‘Let me put her on,’ Jean-Claude murmured, and handed the phone to Tessa.

‘Hello, Lorne,’ she said. ‘You are going to come with us, aren’t you? If not, I won’t go either.’

‘Of course I’m coming, I love that house of his. Are you all right, sweetheart?’

‘More than that, I’m…great.’

‘He’s a fantastic man, a really wonderful person, Tessa. It makes me feel better knowing you are with him. You’ll always be safe with Jean-Claude.’

‘I realize that. I suppose Jean-Claude will call you later with the exact plans. No news?’

‘None. Have you heard from Linnet?’

‘No, but I didn’t expect her to phone. I spoke to her this morning, before I left for lunch, and all was well. I have my mobile and it’s on all the time.’

Jean-Claude took the tray back to the kitchen, and whilst he was gone Tessa put on her clothes. She was standing looking at a photograph of him on the wall when he walked back into his office, and she swung around to face him, puzzlement reflected in her eyes.

‘Who’s this child with you? It is you, isn’t it?’

He came to join her, stood with his arms around her. ‘Yes. And that’s my son,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘When he was ten.’

‘Oh,’ was all she could manage, so startled was she.

‘He’s grown up now, he’s almost your age. I told you I was too old for you. I’m old enough to be your father.’

‘No, you’re not! I didn’t know you had been married.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You were married to his mother?’

‘Very briefly. When I was young. It was a long time ago. I was twenty-one, and Philippe was born when I was twenty-two.’

‘I see. Does he live in Paris?’

‘No, the south of France, he’s an artist,’ Jean-Claude explained.

Tessa hesitated, and then she said, ‘Are you still married?’

He burst out laughing. ‘Of course not. Pm divorced and I have been for many years.’

‘And you never got married again?’

‘No…there have been plenty of women…’

‘So I gather.’

Turning her towards him, he held her by her shoulders. ‘I cannot erase the past,’ he said, looking down into her upturned face. ‘Neither can you, ma chérie. We both bring…a certain amount of baggage to this relationship. And we have to deal with that the best way we are able. I can say this to you in sincerity…I believe you are right for me. I think you can fill all the empty places in my heart, as I will fill those in yours. So don’t ever dwell on my past. Or yours. The past is gone, we have the future.’

She laid her head against his shoulder and thought of Lorne’s words a short while before…‘You will be safe with Jean-Claude,’ he had said. And she knew her brother had spoken the truth.

Jonathan Ainsley sat at the Louis XVI desk in the study of his sumptuous apartment on Avenue Foch, one of the most elegant streets in Paris. The phone was pressed to his ear and he listened attentively to the woman on the other end of the line.

Once she had finished speaking, he said, ‘But are you sure Tessa Fairley is in Paris?’

‘Yes. With her brother, Lorne Fairley. And they are bound to be staying at the Paris O’Neill Hotel, where else but at their father’s hotel?’

‘Only too true, my dear,’ Jonathan replied, playing with the piece of jade in his hand. ‘When did they arrive?’

‘Thursday evening, and she’s not expected back in London until Wednesday of next week. Her brother is staying on, he’s filming in Paris. She’s coming back sooner, no doubt because her mother is returning from New York on September the sixth.’

‘Well done, well done, there’ll be a really nice surprise for you when I see you in London, a little gift, and of course a rendezvous, a reunion. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetie?’

‘You know I would, Jonathan.’

‘Very well, I’ll let you know when I am coming over. In the meantime, thanks for the information, it’s very useful.’

They said goodbye and hung up, and Jonathan immediately dialled the Ritz Hotel where Mark Longden was staying. But he was obviously not in his room. The phone rang and rang and nobody picked up. Slamming the receiver down, he next dialled the Paris O’Neill Hotel and asked for Mrs Tessa Longden.

A split-second later the operator was back on the line, and told him in slightly-accented English, ‘Mrs Longden is not registered.’

‘Perhaps her brother Mr Lorne Fairley is staying at the hotel and she is with him. Can you please try his suite?’

‘Mr Fairley is not here, sir. None of the family is in residence at the hotel at this time.’

Irritated to the point of anger, Jonathan muttered his thanks and hung up, an ugly grimace clouding his face. Settling back in the chair, he brought his hand up to his chin and pondered for a moment or two. Obviously they were not at their father’s hotel after all, but it was hardly likely they would be staying somewhere else. Since Fairley was filming in Paris, he could have rented an apartment for a few weeks, perhaps even a few months.

Jonathan wondered how to find out if that were the case. Mark Longden would have to do the dirty work, find out what was happening with the Fairley twins. He loathed to miss an opportunity to do Tessa harm; how easy it would be to arrange an accident of some sort if he knew where she was staying in Paris.

Since Longden had vanished for the moment, Jonathan decided to call his cousin Sarah Pascal. She probably wouldn’t know anything at all, since she was on equally bad terms with the Hartes as he was. But occasionally he did get a little sadistic pleasure making digs at Sarah about their cousins.

His taunts always seemed to rile her, much to his amusement.

Once again he was out of luck. He telephoned Sarah at her office, only to be told she was not in Paris, that she had left for the weekend. Of course, it was Friday afternoon at four o’clock and she had no doubt gone to join her husband at their country home.

Too bad, he thought, and dialled his mistress, Yvette Duval. To his utter astonishment, when her housekeeper heard his voice she told him that Madame had gone to Rome. ‘Rome!’ he spluttered and banged the receiver into the cradle in fury and frustration.

What the hell was she playing at? He suddenly wondered if she was going to be as faithless a bitch as his wife had been. Suddenly he saw her in his mind’s eye–Arabella Sutton. A woman he had loved to distraction, who had betrayed him, cuckolded him in the most foul way, by sleeping with his Chinese partner Tony Chui. How he loathed her. He had often thought of putting her on his hit list, along with the Harte women and Evan Hughes. Yet somehow he had balked at that. Maybe because he had once loved her. But what the hell, why not? She deserved to suffer after what she had done to him.

As for Yvette Duval, he was finished with her. Tonight he would resort to one of the high-priced whores from Madame Simone’s for his pleasures of the flesh. And next week he would start courting Yvette’s daughter Chantal. What better form of revenge? He would dump the mother and start up with the delectable, beddable daughter–only nineteen, but a hot number he believed.

The mere thought of all this intrigue brought a smile of delight to his face. Picking up the phone once more, he dialled the Ritz Hotel, asked for Mark Longden.

When there was still no answer, he left a message. Eventually he would hear from him. Weak, depraved, gasping for money, Mark would do his bidding. After all, the architect was his creature, at his beck and call. For as long as he needed him. When Longden was of no further use he would simply discard him, throw him to the wolves.

Jonathan was not at all surprised when Mark Longden telephoned him later and invited him to dinner. With nothing better to do, he decided to accept the invitation, and the two men met for cocktails at the Ritz Hotel in the Place Vendôme.

As they sat together in the bar drinking dry martinis, Jonathan couldn’t resist telling Mark about the bit of gossip he had heard earlier in the day.

‘That beautiful wife of yours, the delectable Tessa, is in Paris, Mark. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?’

Mark was obviously startled, and he stared hard at Jonathan. ‘How do you know?’

‘A little dickey bird told me. She’s here with her other half, her twin that is, the handsome actor, Lorne Fairley. He’s going to be making a film here.’

Mark merely nodded, took a slow sip of the drink.

Irritated at the lack of response, wanting to goad Mark, Jonathan said, ‘Pity you’re not in England. You could have a visit with your adorable child.’

To Mark’s ears this sounded sarcastic, and he stiffened and said, ‘Adele is adorable, the most beautiful child in the world.’

Softening slightly, remembering one didn’t catch flies with vinegar, Jonathan continued, ‘She is beautiful, Mark, I’ll grant you that. You must miss her.’

‘I do,’ Mark confided. ‘She’s such a little chatterbox, loves to tell me about the things she does. She’s going to be a bridesmaid at Linnet O’Neill’s wedding. She’s very excited to be included along with the older girls.’

Jonathan pricked up his ears, leaned forward, his eyes alert and shining with glee. ‘And when is the famous wedding? I’ve forgotten.’ He lied, never having known the date; Eleanor was no longer forthcoming with information. She would have to go, no two ways about that, he decided.

‘The first Saturday in December. It’s the first, I think.’

‘Really. And all the clans will be there, I’ve no doubt. All of the Hartes, the O’Neills and the Kallinskis. Imagine that, Mark. All of them in Yorkshire at the same time. And where is the wedding taking place?’

‘The little church in Pennistone Royal village, and the reception is at Pennistone Royal, at least that’s what I’ve gathered.’

‘I’d love to be there…as a fly on the wall, I mean. Wouldn’t you?’

Mark made a face. ‘Not on your life. Not with that snobby bunch.’

‘Just imagine, all of the clans…what a pity we can’t drop a bomb on the church. Blow it up. Or set fire to it. Oh my God, just imagine that!’ He began to laugh hilariously.

‘You’re joking aren’t you?’ Mark said, eyeing Jonathan warily.

‘Of course I am, dear boy. Do you think I’d put myself in that position…having to swing for a bunch of Hartes. Not on your life. But you know something, Mark, I wish I could upset the applecart a bit. You know, just for fun.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Mark said swiftly. He laughed and added, ‘You merely love to shock.’

‘Yeah I do, that’s true,’ Jonathan agreed. ‘I read a story recently in the Daily Mail, about a bunch of yobbos, you know skinheads, hooligans, who went in a van to one of those picturesque villages in Somerset, and camped on the village green. They claimed it was public land and they had squatters’ rights. Just imagine, the police couldn’t get them off that village green for months. It disturbed the life of the village no end. Just imagine that.’

Motioning to the waiter, Mark ordered two more dry martinis, and then said to Jonathan quietly, ‘You shouldn’t joke about such things, Jonathan. At least not to anyone else. Someone might take you seriously.’

Jonathan simply smiled again, sipped the second drink which had suddenly materialized at his fingertips. But I am serious, he thought, smiling inside. Deadly serious. A nice little fire in that church will fry all of the Hartes, O’Neills and Kallinskis. I could kill three clans with one stone, or rather, one fire. Now all I need to do is hire a bunch of yobbos, get them a van and send them up to Pennistone Royal village to create chaos and mayhem on December the first. Well, what a good idea that is. A very good idea indeed.