Marc Delaroche had made no attempt to contact her again. Maybe he’d decided to cut his losses and retire from the fray after all. But the thought of him still made her uneasy, and her attempts to blot him from her memory did not appear to be working too well.
It would have made things so much easier if she’d been able to talk to Nigel, she acknowledged unhappily. But there’d been no reply from his flat after the weekend, so she’d gritted her teeth and made the unpopular move of phoning him at work—only to be told that he was working in Luxembourg all week. And when she’d asked for the name of his hotel, she’d been told briskly that the bank did not give out that sort of information.
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