the scene she had just endured. Something had happened that hurt more than anything else so far.
A great brain!
That was what Marcel had called her to Brigitte, but using the words so differently from the way he had once spoken them to herself that now the tears welled up and she rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. Suddenly there was only despair, with nothing to hope for, and she yielded to the darkness, weeping until she was too drained to weep any more.
As she recovered she realised that Marcel hadn’t given her details about when, where and how to present herself tonight. Quickly she called his cellphone, but it had been switched off. She tried his hotel phone but it stayed unanswered.
Whatever he was doing left him with no attention for anything else.
She stared up at the ceiling, aware that she had reached a crossroads. Since Marcel had reappeared in her life she’d been cautious to the point of dithering.
‘Not any more,’ she vowed. ‘Time for a final decision, and I’m making it.’
When Brigitte had finally departed Marcel paced the floor restlessly.
Today he’d shocked himself by doing things he’d never intended, and not doing things he’d vowed were essential.
He’d brought Cassie here to redress the past, although the meaning of that was still vague in his mind. To let her see the riches she’d thrown away, show her the life she could have had instead of the bleak impoverished existence she had now—yes, definitely.
Revenge? Possibly.
But during the flight there had been an unexpected change. At the first sign that she might be vulnerable he’d known a passionate desire to protect her. It was what he’d felt long ago and she’d thrown it back in his face, yet it had leapt out of the darkness at him, like an animal waiting to pounce. And, weakling that he was, he’d yielded to it.
No more weakness. Bringing her here had been a risk, but he wouldn’t back down now. One day soon he would confront her with all the memories she seemed determined to avoid. Then she would answer for what she had done to him. But that must wait until he was ready.
In one sense at least Cassie and Mrs Henshaw were the same person. When a decision was taken there were no second thoughts, no weakening, only a determined follow-through to the end.
This particular decision took her downstairs on winged feet, heading for the fashion shop at the back of the hotel. After studying several glamorous gowns she rejected them all in favour of a pair of tight black satin trousers. Only a woman with her very slender figure could have worn such a garment, but that suited her just fine. To go with them she bought a black silk top with a plunging neckline and bare arms.
It was outrageous, and for a brief moment she hesitated. But then she recalled Brigitte’s face that afternoon, not in the least troubled by the sight of her.
‘So you’re not afraid of Mrs Henshaw,’ she addressed the vision. ‘Let’s see if Cassie can scare you.’ She gave a brief laugh. ‘Perhaps she ought to. She’s beginning to scare me.’
At the beauty salon she described how she wanted to look, aware of the stares of the assistants, incredulous that this plain Jane could indulge such fantasies. But they smiled and got to work, and when they’d finished her curled hair was tumbling over her shoulders, partly—but only partly—hiding her daring décolletage.
Back in her room she inspected the satin trousers, wondering if she was being wise. She had a dress that would do. It was adequate rather than outstanding, but that might just be better than outrageous.
She tried on the dress, then removed it and donned the trousers, fighting temptation as she studied her magnificent appearance in the mirror.
‘Oh, heck!’ she sighed at last. ‘I can’t do it, can I? But one day I will do it. I must. I can’t settle for being “adequate” for ever, but just for tonight maybe I should.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘I’m coming,’ she called without opening it. ‘Just give me a moment.’
‘No, now,’ came Marcel’s voice. ‘I need to talk to you at once.’
She opened the door, pulling it back against her and retreating so that she was mostly concealed behind it. Even so, he could see the cascade of her glorious hair and it stopped him short.
She could have screamed with frustration. The stunned look on his face was the one she’d longed to see, but what maddening fate had made it happen just at this moment?
‘Mrs … I don’t … I wasn’t expecting …’ He was stammering, which would have filled her with delight at any other time.
‘You said I should look less severe,’ she told him loftily. ‘Is this sufficiently “un-severe” for you?’
‘I … that wasn’t … yes … I suppose …’
The last time she’d seen him lost for words was nine years ago when her landlady had walked in when they were lying naked on the floor.
‘I’m glad you approve,’ she said now, still taking care to conceal as much of herself as possible. ‘Is the Lenoir family here yet?’
‘Part of it. Madame Lenoir won’t be coming, but there’s—’ ‘Marcel, ou êtes vous?’ Brigitte’s voice came floating down the corridor.
‘I’m here, chérie.’
She was speaking French in a low voice, clearly meaning not to be overheard. Even so, Cassie managed to make out enough to learn that the mysterious Henri was reluctant to attend the dinner, not wanting to be saddled with ‘the English woman nobody else wanted’. He’d agreed only on condition that he could leave early. Marcel gave a sharp intake of breath, but could say no more because of sounds from further along the corridor. Two men were approaching, hailing them, receiving Marcel’s greeting in return. Then they were in the room, full of polite bonhomie.
‘We can’t wait to meet the brilliant lady you’ve brought with you,’ Monsieur Lenoir declared. ‘Isn’t that so, Henri?’
‘I’ve been looking forward to this moment all day,’ came a courteous if unconvincing voice. ‘Where is she?’
‘Here,’ Cassie said, stepping out from behind the door.
With the first glance Cassie understood everything she’d heard about Henri. Good looking in a ‘pretty boy’ style, he had a self-indulgent manner and dark hair worn slightly too long for his age, which she guessed at about forty. Definitely a ‘naughty man’, fighting the years.
His behaviour confirmed it. He was wide-eyed at the vision that confronted him.
‘Madame,’ he murmured, ‘I am more glad to meet you than I can say.’ He advanced with his hands out. ‘What an evening we are going to have!’
He would have thrown his arms around Cassie, but she stopped him by placing her hands in his. Nothing daunted, he kissed the back of each hand. Then he jerked her forward and in this way managed to embrace her. Turning her head against his shoulder,
