music, and the graceful, easy way she moved her scantily-clad body distracting him every other second? But since he could hardly tell his son that, he sniffed conspicuously, boosted the boy onto the pool deck, and said, “I’m thinking about food instead. Jeanne made fruit crêpes for breakfast. I’ll race you to the terrace.”
The women were chatting animatedly as he approached, and Solange had color in her cheeks, for a change. “You’re looking more rested this morning, ma petite,” he said, dropping a kiss on her head. “Having Mademoiselle Barclay here appears to agree with you.”
“Oui. I am very happy.”
“As happy as when you’re spending time with Philippe?”
His technique must leave something to be desired because, as usual, she didn’t recognize that he was teasing her. “Oh, never that, Ethan!” she said, horrified. “No one can take his place.”
“I’m glad to hear it, especially since he phoned this morning to say he’ll be home in time for dinner tonight.”
Her face lit up—she really was a pretty little thing which, no doubt, was what had first caught Philippe’s eye—but she had a fragility about her, and a desire to please at all costs which, combined with a lack of confidence in her own judgment, worried Ethan. This friend, this Anne-Marie Barclay with the long, tanned legs, minuscule bikini, and outspoken manner, didn’t strike him as the best influence. The sooner Philippe reappeared and kept Solange occupied, the better.
“So, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking a seat opposite his guest, “tell me something about yourself.”
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