Not old … she laughed aloud at the thought of anyone daring to think such a vigorous and aristocratic man as Gilles old. Even when he did eventually reach old age he would still be devastatingly attractive. She frowned. Where were her thoughts leading her? Surely she was not still foolish enough to feel attracted to Gilles?
She got out of the bath and dried herself slowly. Of course she was not; she had learned her lesson. She glanced towards the telephone by her bed. She would ring Drew. Michael had assured her that she might, and that he would ensure that the call was paid for.
It didn’t take long to get through. Drew’s Boston accent reached her quite clearly across the miles that separated them. He sounded rather brusque, and Lee’s heart sank.
‘You decided to go, then?’
His question referred to the fact that he had not been pleased to learn that she was due to travel abroad with Michael. In fact he had tried very hard to dissuade her, and they had come perilously close to their first quarrel. Now, squashing her misgivings, Lee replied firmly, ‘It’s my job, Drew—you know that. You wouldn’t expect me to make a fuss because you have to work in Canada, would you?’
There was a pause, and then Drew’s voice saying coldly, ‘That’s different. There’s no need for you to work at all, Lee. As my wife you’ll be expected to fulfil certain duties. You should be spending these months before our marriage in Boston. Mom did invite you.’
So that she could be vetted as to her suitability to marry into such a prominent family, Lee thought resentfully.
‘So that she could make sure I don’t eat my peas off my knife?’ she remarked sarcastically, instantly wishing the words unsaid as she caught Drew’s swiftly indrawn breath.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ He sounded stiff now, and angry. ‘All Mom wanted to do was to introduce you around the family. When we’re married we’ll be living in Boston, and it will help if you already know the ropes. Mom will propose you to the charity committees the family work for, and …’
‘Charity committees?’ Once again Lee’s hot tongue ran away with her. ‘Is that how you expect me to spend the rest of my life Drew? I already have a career …’
‘Which takes you gallivanting all over the place with other men. I want my wife at home, Lee.’
All at once she understood. He was jealous of Michael! An understanding smile curved her mouth. How silly of him! Michael was in his late forties and well and truly married. All at once she wished the width of the Atlantic did not lie between them, but she had already been on the phone for several minutes. She glanced at her watch and said hurriedly, ‘Drew, I can’t talk any more now. But I’ll write soon …’
She hoped he would say that he loved her, but he hung up without doing so, and she told herself it had probably been because someone might have overheard. It was too late now to regret those impetuously hasty words. She could only hope that her letter would mollify him. There wasn’t time to start it before dinner, and she tried to put the whole thing out of her mind until later. The black dress set off her creamy skin, still holding the faint sheen of her Australian tan. The neckline, high at the throat, plunged to a deep vee at the back, exposing the vulnerable line of her spine, drawing attention to the matt perfection of her flesh. Long sleeves hugged her arms to the wrists, the skirt skimming her narrow hips, a demure slit revealing several inches of thigh, now encased in sheer black stockings. Her mother had been with her when she bought the dress, and it was she who had suggested the stockings. ‘Something about that dress demands them,’ she had insisted firmly. ‘It’s a wicked, womanly dress that should only be worn when you’re feeling particularly female, and with it you must wear the sheerest stockings you can find.’
‘So that every man who sees me in it will know just what I’m wearing underneath it?’ Lee had exclaimed, scandalised. She had already realised that there was just no way she could wear a bra with the dress, and now her mother, of all people, was suggesting that she go a step farther!
‘So that every man who sees you in it will wonder what you’re wearing,’ her mother had corrected. ‘And hope he’s right! Besides,’ she concluded firmly, ‘there’s something about wearing stockings which will make you feel the way you ought to feel when you’re wearing that dress.’
It had been impossible to argue with her mother’s logic, but now Lee wasn’t so sure. The fine Dior stockings enhanced her long, slim legs, the velvet sumptuous enough on its own, without any jewellery. On impulse, Lee swept her hair into a smooth chignon, leaving only a few softening wisps to frame her face. All at once her eyes seemed larger, greener, the classical hairstyle revealing her perfect bone structure. When she looked in the mirror she saw not a pretty girl, but a beautiful woman, and for a moment it was almost like looking at a stranger. She even seemed to be moving more regally. She applied the merest hint of green eyeshadow, a blusher frosted with specks of gold, which had been a hideously expensive Christmas present from her brother and which gilded her delicately high cheekbones to perfection, then added a lip gloss, darker than her daytime lipstick. Perfume—her favourite Chanel completed her preparations and then, slipping on the delicately heeled black sandals, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror, rather like a soldier preparing for a hard battle, she admitted wryly.
Michael whistled when he saw her.
‘What happened?’ he begged. ‘I know Cinderella is supposed to be a French fairytale, but this is ridiculous!’
‘Are you trying to tell me that I arrived here in rags?’ Lee teased him.
‘No. But I certainly didn’t expect the brisk, businesslike young woman I left slightly less than an hour ago would turn into a beautiful seductress who looks as though she never does anything more arduous than peel the old grape!’
Lee laughed; as much at Michael’s bemused expression as his words. The sound ran round the enclosed silence. A door opened and Gilles walked towards them. Despite his claim that they would dine informally he was wearing a dinner suit, its impeccable fit emphasising the lean tautness of his body. Lee was immediately aware of him in a way that her far more naïve sixteen-year-old self had never been. Then he had dressed in jeans and tee-shirts, or sometimes when it was hot, just jeans, and yet she had never been aware of his body as she was now; the muscular thighs moulded by the soft black wool, the broad shoulders and powerful chest; the lean flat stomach.
‘Do you two have some means of communication I don’t know about?’ Michael complained. ‘I thought we were dining informally?’ He was wearing a lounge suit, and Gilles gave him a perfunctory smile.
‘Please forgive me. I nearly always change when I am home for dinner. The staff expect it.’
Lee stared at him. From her estimation of him she wouldn’t have thought he gave a damn what the staff expected.
‘It is necessary when one employs other people to make sure that one has their respect,’ he said to her, as though he had guessed her thoughts. ‘And there is no one quite so snobbish as a French peasant—unless it is an English butler.’
Michael laughed, but Lee did not. God, Gilles was arrogant—almost inhuman? Did he never laugh, cry, get angry or make love?
The last question was answered sooner than she had expected. They were in what Gilles described as the ‘main salon’, a huge room of timeless elegance of a much older period than her bedroom. Louis Quatorze, she thought, making an educated guess as she studied a small sofa table with the most beautiful inlaid marquetry top. Gilles had offered them a drink, but Lee had refused. She suspected that only house
