have to have some intensive language coaching before she and Alain did any proper entertaining, although she could not imagine herself ever acting as hostess in these frankly formidable surroundings.
In spite of her new hairstyle and new dress, she was still a fish out of water. It was an oddly desolate thought, and her throat constricted suddenly.
Oh, no, she told herself determinedly. You’re not going to cry. You’re just tired and rather fraught after one hell of a day, so you’ll go to bed—and, in the morning, you can start keeping your side of the bargain by getting to grips with this new life of yours.
She was on her way across the wide entrance hall when the telephone rang. For a moment she hesitated in case the Giscards reappeared from whatever fastness they had retired to and thought she was usurping their prerogative, but when its shrill summons went on and on unchecked, she reached out and gingerly lifted the receiver.
‘Alain?’ It was a woman’s voice, low, warm and husky. ‘C’est toi, mon coeur?’
For a second, Philippa felt as if she’d been turned to stone. But what the hell was she surprised about? Alain had made no secret of his proclivities, after all. It was because of them that she was here at all. She just hadn’t expected this kind of confrontation so soon.
She said curtly in French, ‘I’m afraid Monsieur de Courcy is not here, madame.’
‘And who are you?’ Some of the warmth had dissipated.
‘His wife,’ said Philippa, and put down the phone.
PHILIPPA WAS SHAKING with temper, and another less easily defined emotion, when she closed her bedroom door behind her. If the phone rang again, it could burst into flames before she’d answer it, she told herself. Turning a blind eye to Alain’s amours, as required, was one thing, taking messages from them quite another.
She stood still for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to restore her equilibrium. Madame Giscard must have unpacked for her, she realised, as she looked round her. Her toilet things were waiting for her, and one of the new nightgowns Monica had insisted on was lying, elegantly fanned out, across the turned-down bed.
Philippa looked at it with distaste. Its oyster satin and lace had cost more than she’d been used to paying for a whole term’s clothes at art school, she thought with irritation. What a terrible waste of money for a garment no one would see but herself!
The bed itself came in for its fair share of disapproval too. She glanced at the draped and ruched green silk bed-head, and wondered if she would ever be able to sleep amid such opulence.
She shook herself mentally, telling herself she was now being petty. Maybe a warm bath would relax her a little.
The bathroom, needless to say, was the last word in luxury. Philippa, accustomed to fighting for her turn with half a dozen others, was in the seventh heaven as she lay back in the deep, scented water, feeling the tensions slowly seeping out of her.
She dried herself slowly on one of the enormous fluffy bath sheets, then experimented with some of the deliciously perfumed lotions and colognes provided before putting on the nightgown. She looked at herself judiciously in one of the long mirrors, and grimaced. The tiny lace bodice hugged her small high breasts, and each side of the sleek shimmering skirt was slashed, almost to the thigh. With her hair hanging, straight as rainwater, almost to her shoulders, she looked like a child playing at being an adult, she thought disparagingly.
She flicked the soft brown strands away from her face and walked back into the bedroom, halting with a gasp as she found herself face to face with Alain.
He looked almost as taken aback as she did herself, she realised, her face flaming.
He was still wearing the formal dark suit in which he’d been married, but he had discarded the jacket and silk tie, and unbuttoned his waistcoat.
‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice was husky with embarrassment as she looked round vainly for a robe, or some other covering to shield her from the totally arrested expression in his green eyes. ‘What do you want? It’s late.’
He said slowly, ‘I came to wish you goodnight.’
‘Well, now you’ve said it, perhaps you’ll go.’ Her tone was curt, and his dark brows lifted in surprise and hauteur.
‘I also brought some champagne to drink to our future.’ He indicated the ice bucket and glasses waiting on a convenient table.
‘I don’t think that’s necessary.’
‘But it’s traditional—for a wedding night.’
‘But it isn’t—not really—I mean, we’re not …’ Philippa ground to a halt, her flush deepening. ‘Oh, you know what I mean.’
Alain poured wine into the glasses and held one out to her. ‘I am not sure that I do.’
She took the glass, holding it awkwardly. ‘You said that you’d—wait,’ she reminded him, her voice trembling a little. ‘That you’d give me time to—accustom myself.’
He drank some champagne, watching her meditatively over the rim of the glass. ‘But how much time, my reluctant bride? This year, next year, some time—or never, perhaps?’
Philippa flicked her tongue round her dry lips. The small nervous movement was not lost on him, she realised, her nerves grating. ‘I’ll keep my word—when it becomes necessary. But not yet.’
‘And if I told you that it is necessary now—tonight?’
‘Then I wouldn’t believe you.’ Still holding her untouched glass, she took a step backwards. ‘Please stop saying these things, and leave me in peace as you promised.’ She paused, gathering her courage. ‘Besides, you’re obviously expected elsewhere.’
His dark brows snapped together. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘It means I’d be grateful if you’d ask your mistresses not to telephone you here.’ Philippa lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps you should have warned the lady in question that you’re now, nominally, a married man. Get her to ring you at your offices from now on. I’m sure your secretary is used to dealing with such calls.’
There was a long and ominous silence. When he spoke, his voice was like ice. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’
‘And how dare you expect me to act as go-between with your women?’ Philippa spoke defiantly, but she felt frightened suddenly, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it quite so precipitately. But she couldn’t retract what she’d said now. ‘Anyway, she’s clearly waiting for you, so I wouldn’t waste any more time.’
‘When I want your advice on how to conduct my personal life, ma femme, I will ask for it.’ There was a tiny muscle jumping beside his grim mouth. ‘However, I have no intention of spending the night anywhere but here.’
There was another profound silence. Philippa swallowed. ‘When you say “here”,’ she began. ‘I hope you don’t mean …’
He
