were both so naive that Lucy could have wept, but she’d kept up the optimistic front and only sagged when she’d got to the station and bade farewell to her village for the weekend.
Details to finalise, she had told them, and then, to add credence to her story, she had hinted that she liked Gabriel more than she was letting on.
All in all she had given an award-winning performance. She hated herself for it, but her hands were tied.
Now she stared down at the overnight bag that was on the seat next to her. She was travelling first class at Gabriel’s insistence. Well, it was preferable to the car he had offered to send for her, or the helicopter that he’d assured her would be no great trouble. She had explained a lot to her parents, but there was no way she could have explained a helicopter landing in the village square to collect her.
As soon as her eyes alighted on the overnight bag her pulses began to race and she had to lean back and briefly close her eyes. Tonight she should have been going to the movies with two of her girlfriends, who had now also been on the receiving end of a few white lies. Her life, which had been so uncomplicated before, now seemed to be comprised of a string of half-truths. She was an innocent little insect that had inadvertently strayed into a spider’s web, and her every move ensured greater entrapment.
Gabriel had told her that a driver would be sent to collect her from the station. But she walked out into the blinding sunshine to see immediately that any prolonged period of reprieve was at an end—because Gabriel himself was there, casually dressed and looking ludicrously out of place amidst the banks of stressed-out, tired passengers leaving the station.
She couldn’t fail to notice how many women looked at him. He, with arrogant indifference, appeared not to notice the attention he was getting. He was lounging against the railings, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Across the street she could see his black limo, parked and waiting.
Gabriel spotted her as soon as she walked out of the station and noted with dissatisfaction that she seemed to have gone to great pains to dress in the least flattering outfit conceivable. Not jeans this time, but combat trousers the colour of sludge and yet another T-shirt. The flat shoes had been replaced with trainers. He didn’t think that he had ever gone out with or even personally known any woman who possessed a pair of trainers. As far as he was concerned that kind of footwear was suitable only for the gym.
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