snug-fitting jeans. In contrast with their provocation she chose a loose blouse of white silk, that came modestly halfway down her thighs. It was good to be elegant and expensive, but nobody could accuse her of flaunting herself.
She headed out and began wandering around the hotel, studying, listening, taking photographs with her discreet camera, whose tiny size belied its power. Gradually she saw members of the Falcon family, but as yet no sign of the one she wanted.
Then, as she came to the top of a grand staircase, she paused and drew back, wondering if she could really see what she thought she could. At the foot of the stairs was a man whose height, dark hair and handsome features suggested that her search was over. Travis Falcon. This must be him. She was too far away to make out details, but what she could see was surely Travis.
There was no sign of the woman he was supposed to be bringing with him. That could be helpful, if only she could get him alone for a while.
But how to make him notice her, chat for a moment? It wouldn’t be easy.
‘But I think I see a way,’ she murmured.
She had perfected a technique for this kind of occasion. Moving carefully, she could appear to slip on the stairs, creating just enough commotion to attract attention. Quietly she crept down the stairs, not to alert him. Only when she was three steps up did she seem to collapse, rolling down to the bottom.
At once she knew that she’d done something wrong. Instead of the easy landing she’d planned, she felt a sharp pain go through her ankle as her foot twisted beneath her. Wildly she grabbed at the banister and came to a sudden halt at his feet, so that he nearly tripped over her.
He made an explosive sound and dropped to his knees, reaching out both hands to support her, making an explosive sound, then demanding in French, ‘Que le diable? Êtes-vous blessé?’
‘I don’t understand—’ she gasped.
‘Are you hurt?’ he repeated in English. ‘I … I’m not sure,’ she gasped, wincing from the pain. ‘My ankle—’
‘Have you twisted it?’
‘I think so—aaah!’
Still holding one of her hands, he put his other arm about her and drew her to her feet.
‘Try to put your weight on it,’ he said. ‘Just very gently.’
She tried but gave up at once. She would have fallen but for the strength of his arm about her waist, keeping her safe. She raised her eyes to his face.
It was the wrong face.
This man looked enough like Travis Falcon to be mistaken for him at a distance, but up close there was no chance.
‘Oh!’ she gasped before she could stop herself.
‘I think you need a doctor,’ he said in an accented voice that confirmed her fears. Travis was American. This man came from Eastern Europe.
‘No, I can manage,’ she said hastily.
‘I don’t think you can. Let’s collect your things before you lose them.’
She supported herself by clinging to the banister while he scooped up her purse and several papers that had fallen onto the floor from her bag.
‘One of them’s your passport,’ he said. ‘You should take better care of it. What room are you in?’ She gave him the number. ‘Right, put your arms around my neck.’
She did so and he reached down to lift her very slowly and carefully.
‘Is that all right?’ he asked. ‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Then let’s go.’
Turning, he climbed the stairs to the top, then headed down the corridor to her room. She reached into her bag for the key and he carried her inside, laying her down gently on the bed.
‘All right?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Yes, I’m not really hurt.’
‘We’ll see what the doctor says about that.’ Without seeking her consent, he took up the phone and called the management.
‘I need a doctor here at once to look after a woman who tripped on the stairs.’ He gave the room number and hung up. ‘They’re sending someone at once.’
‘You’re very kind.’
‘Not at all. I’m really trying to ease my own mind. When I heard you behind me I turned sharply, and I hate to think I caused you to trip.’
She knew a moment’s self-reproach that he should blame himself for the fall she had contrived. But there was something pleasant and comforting about his determination to care for her. She’d always prided herself on being self-sufficient, independent. In her job these were necessary virtues. But it was nice to be looked after, just for a few minutes.
‘While we wait for the doctor I will order you a hot drink,’ he said. ‘Tea? Coffee?’
‘Tea, thank you.’
When he’d telephoned the order he turned back to Perdita and studied her closely, frowning, almost scowling. Now she saw that he was mopping the front of his suit where something had been spilled.
‘Did I do that?’ she asked.
‘Unfortunately I happened to be carrying a small glass of wine. Don’t worry. Accidents happen. It’s not as if you fell on purpose.’
‘No,’ she said with a twinge of guilt. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
‘It seems to be me who troubled you. Why did the sight of me give you such a nasty shock?’ He gave her a flinty stare. ‘Let me guess. You thought I was Travis, didn’t you?’
‘I … no, I … it wasn’t … I don’t understand. Travis?’
‘Travis Falcon.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said vaguely. ‘He’s on television, isn’t he?’
‘That’s putting it mildly. Apparently we look very much alike. People often think they’re meeting him and are disappointed when it’s only me.’
‘How rude of them! Are you related?’
‘He’s my half-brother. My name is Leonid Tsarev.’
He extended his hand and she shook it, trying to control her whirling thoughts. She was shocked at herself. She, who prided herself on being in command of every situation, was suddenly reduced to stammering confusion.
‘How … how do you do?’ she murmured.
CHAPTER TWO
‘I COULD ASK you the same,’ he said wryly, ‘but it’s a silly question. Neither of
