many women coveted Miguel, none had gone to such extraordinary lengths as Camille. Because the woman was obsessive? A practised man-stealer who derived her satisfaction from setting the scene and playing a devious game?
It made Hannah feel fiercely territorial. And possessive. About Miguel, her marriage, her home…everything she held sacred.
There were a few what if’s tumbling around in her mind, and she felt sickened at the thought that Camille’s plan had almost worked.
Don’t go there, she silently cautioned. A partnership, a marriage, had to be built on trust. If there wasn’t trust, there was nothing.
She reached for her goblet and took a generous sip of wine. It curled round her stomach and seeped into her veins, gradually lessening the tension.
A few weeks ago she hadn’t known of Camille Dalfour’s existence. Yet in the past week the Frenchwoman had managed to create chaos.
Miguel could take whatever action he chose. But she intended to instigate a strategy of her own.
In an impulsive move she drained the remaining wine in a long swallow, then replaced the empty goblet down onto the desk.
‘I feel like a swim before dinner.’
Miguel let her go, and when the door closed behind her he slid the prints back into the envelope and locked them in the wall safe. Then he picked up the phone and dialled his lawyer’s number.
Hannah slipped out of her clothes and stepped into a stunning deep aqua one-piece, then she pinned up her hair, snagged a towel and ran lightly down the stairs.
The pool looked inviting, the water clear and sparkling in the early evening sunlight. The heat of the day had diminished slightly, but it was still hot, and she dived cleanly in at the deep end and when she surfaced she struck out with leisurely strokes, one lap after another, until she’d counted to fifty, then she turned onto her back and lay there, held buoyant by the crystal water.
She could feel the sun on her face, her limbs, and she closed her eyes, becoming lost in reflective thought.
Soon she would need to emerge, go upstairs, shower and change ready for dinner. But, for now, she was bent on enjoying the quietness and the solitude.
Five minutes later she rolled onto her stomach in one fluid movement and made her way to the tiled ledge.
The strategy took shape as she showered, then she dried her hair and slipped into a casual pencil-slim skirt and top. Minimum make-up, a touch of lipstick and she was ready.
Dinner was timed for six-thirty, and a quick glance at her watch revealed she had just five minutes to set the plan in motion.
Rather than use the house line, she extracted her cell-phone and punched in a series of numbers.
‘Graziella?’ She exchanged pleasantries, then voiced her request. ‘Could I speak to Camille, if she’s there?’
If Camille was surprised at the identity of her caller, she didn’t show it.
‘Hannah, how charming, chérie.’ Her tone was pure feline.
‘Let’s do lunch tomorrow.’ Hannah named an up-market restaurant a block from the boutique. ‘One o’clock. Be there.’ She cut the connection before Camille had a chance to utter a further word.
Dinner was a simple meal of chicken served with piquant rice and a delectable salad with fresh fruit to follow. Hannah declined wine in favour of a lemon spritzer, and admired Miguel’s appetite while she merely picked at the food on her plate.
‘Not hungry?’
She met Miguel’s steady gaze and effected a light shrug. ‘A client brought in a platter of fresh grapes, crackers and cheese. Elaine and I nibbled all afternoon.’
‘You haven’t forgotten we have tickets for the opening of David Williamson’s new play tomorrow night?’
She’d been so preoccupied with Camille, she hadn’t checked her social diary for days. ‘No, of course not.’
‘I have some work to do on the laptop for an hour or so,’ Miguel declared as Hannah pushed her plate to one side.
‘Likewise.’ End-of-month invoices, stock receipts, and she also needed to check catalogues from several different fashion houses. ‘I should make a start on it.’
‘You load the dishwasher,’ he instructed, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll make coffee.’
There was a part of her that wanted the comfort of his touch, the warmth of his arms and the feel of his mouth on hers. In reassurance? It didn’t help to feel this needy. Yet they shared a marriage, had created a bond, and what more natural than to go to him, wind her arms round his neck and pull his head down to hers?
She couldn’t do it. Not here, not now. Camille stood like a spectre between them, a living, breathing entity that seemed to sap her natural warmth and spontaneity.
When the coffee was made, she poured it into two cups and carried hers through to the comfortable room next to Miguel’s study. It wasn’t as large as his, but it held an antique desk, bookshelves, filing cabinet, and a laptop.
For the next two hours she worked diligently, and when the paperwork was up to date she fired off a few e-mails to friends, which mostly took care of personal correspondence.
‘Not finished yet?’
Hannah looked up and saw Miguel’s tall frame leaning against the door-jamb. He’d removed cufflinks and rolled back his shirt-sleeves. The top few buttons on his shirt were loosened, and he looked as if he’d raked fingers through his hair more than once.
‘Five minutes.’
‘Want to watch a video?’
Why not? ‘Okay.’
‘Comedy? Action? Drama?’
She wrinkled her nose and gave him an impish grin. ‘Surprise me.’
When she entered the entertainment room he sat sprawled on the leather couch, a half-magnum of chilled champagne rested in an ice-bucket, there was a packet of crisps waiting to be opened, the lights were dimmed, and the television screen was running previews prior to the main movie.
Miguel patted the space beside him and extended a hand. His eyes were dark and his mouth curved into a sensual smile. ‘Come here.’
‘That sounds like an invitation,’ she murmured as she crossed the room, and his smile broadened.
‘Do you need one?’
Hannah indicated the ice-bucket. ‘Are we celebrating?’
He caught hold of her hand and pulled her down to him. He leaned forward, eased the cork from the bottle, then poured the contents into two flutes and handed her one. ‘Salut.’
Miguel took a sip of excellent vintage champagne and watched as she mirrored his action, then he took the flute from her hand and gave her his.
It
