of course.’ She spoke irritably. ‘My family. My parents.’
‘And where are your parents now?’
A hunted look came into her extraordinary eyes. ‘They are dead. Yes, they are dead.’
‘And do you have any other family? Brothers or sisters? Aunts? Uncles?’
Slowly she shook her head. ‘No, there is no one. I can’t remem—’ She broke off, her head rising. ‘There is Jean-Louis. I am going to marry him.’
‘As you say.’ Caine was watching her, his brows drawn into a frown. ‘Where did you go to school?’
A blank look came into her face. ‘Here and there. I live in Paris now.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘With Jean-Louis?’
‘No. I have a room of my own,’ she said with cool dignity.
His shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Did you go to school here in Paris?’
She seemed to grasp at the suggestion. ‘Yes. Yes, I went to school here.’
‘Which school? Which district?’
‘Different schools.’ She began to move agitatedly about the room.
‘Tell me their names.’
‘I can’t remember the names.’ She turned on him angrily. ‘Get out of the way; I’m going back to the party.’
But he didn’t move from the door. ‘You must remember the names of the schools you went to.’
‘No, I don’t!’ Her voice rose, and Angélique put a hand up to her head again.
‘All right. Tell me about your work, then. What do you do?’
Now there was no hesitation. ‘I work at Le Martin Pêcheur.’
‘What is that?’
‘It’s a big restaurant where you can eat and dance, on the Quai Victor Hugo.’
His face set. ‘You are a dance hostess?’ Angélique looked surprised. ‘No, I’m a waitress. That’s where I met Jean-Louis. He came there to paint.’
‘I see. How long have you worked there?’
She gave a small shrug. ‘Ten—eleven months.’
‘What did you do before that?’
Speaking with less confidence, she said, ‘I was looking for work.’
‘How long for?’
‘I—I’m not sure. Several weeks. After...’ Her voice faded.
‘Yes? After? After what?’
‘After I was ill,’ Angélique said slowly, her hand to her head again.
His voice soft, not much above a whisper, Milo Caine said, ‘You were ill?’
‘Yes. There was—they said there was an accident.’
‘Who said so?’
‘The people at the hospital.’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘No. No, I don’t remember.’ She suddenly straightened up, said irritably, There, I’ve told you all you wanted to know. Now leave me alone. You have ruined the party for me.’
‘There’s just one thing more.’ He took the newspaper clipping from his pocket. ‘I’d like you to read this.’
Reluctantly Angélique took it from him, glanced at it, then immediately handed it back. ‘It’s in English.’
He made no comment, but took it back and said, ‘Then I’ll translate it for you.’ But he didn’t even glance at the cutting as he went on, ‘Basically it is a report of our engagement. It states that our marriage will set the seal on a business partnership between our two families that has existed for over two centuries. The company of Caine and Chandos has recently been run by Milo Caine, the direct descendant of one of the original founders.’ He glanced at her to make sure she knew he was referring to himself. Her expression was one of wooden boredom, but he seemed satisfied and went on, ‘Half of the business, though, is still owned by the Chandos family, but their shares have passed through the female line since the death of George Chandos in 1983. His daughter married a Frenchman but the marriage was eventually dissolved and the entire shares for the family’s half of the company are now owned by his granddaughter, Miss Paige Chandos.’
Folding the clipping, he looked at her expectantly, but Angélique merely made a moue of disinterest. ‘Why do you tell me this? It seems a strange way to announce an engagement. Your English society pages must be very boring.’
‘It wasn’t in the society pages, it was in the business supplement.’
She laughed and gave him a pitying look. ‘So that was what your engagement was—a business arrangement But that I can understand. They still have those kind of marriages among the wealthy classes here in France.’ Her eyes disparaged him and her voice was taunting. ‘No wonder you are eager to find your fiancée; how annoyed you must be not to have all those shares under your control, the entire power under your command.’
‘Is that what you think?’ he asked, watching her closely.
She gave an eloquent shrug. ‘Why should you care what I think? I am nothing to you.’
‘On the contrary. You mean a great deal to me.’ His voice was warm, forceful.
With a small laugh, Angélique said, ‘How can I when you have never seen me before?’
But Caine ignored her and went on, ‘Is that why you ran away? Did you think that I didn’t care about you, was only interested in the company? You couldn’t be more wrong, Paige. I care about you very deeply.’
Slowly she raised her eyes to look into his, then gave a mocking smile. ‘I always understood that Englishmen were cold fish—now I know why.’
His mouth thinned. ‘I hardly think that the punishment you inflicted fits the crime, especially when the crime existed only in your imagination, Paige.’
Her eyes shadowed. ‘Don’t call me that. You’re wasting your time. I am not the woman you’re looking for. You’ve made a mistake. How many times do I have to tell you?’
Jean-Louis walked into the room. ‘Are you still arguing?’ he demanded exasperatedly.
‘Do you read English, Monsieur Lenée?’ Caine asked, and when he got a nod in reply handed him the cutting.
His eyes widening as he read it, Jean-Louis said, ‘Are you saying that this woman is Angélique?’
‘I’m sure of it.’
‘If
