that Helen was particularly hungry. Her appetite, such as it was, seemed to have suddenly dissipated. Nor was she giving her full attention to the vagaries of the financial markets and the irresponsible attitude of certain nameless clients, as outlined by Nigel. Her mind was on another track altogether.
Something had happened, she thought numbly. Some fundamental shift had taken place and she hadn’t noticed.
Well, she was totally focussed now, because this involved her life too. She’d assumed that Nigel would live with her at Monteagle once they were married, and commute to London. After all, she couldn’t move away, use Monteagle as a weekend home. Surely he realised that.
But there was no way they could talk about it now. Not with Nigel glancing at his watch every couple of minutes as he rapidly forked up his steak.
Eventually she broke into his monologue. ‘Nigel—this weekend, we have to talk. Can you come over—spend the day with me on Sunday?’
‘Not this weekend, I’m afraid. It’s the chairman’s birthday, and he’s celebrating with a weekend party at his place in Sussex, so duty calls.’ His smile was swift and light. ‘And now I have to dash. I have a two-thirty meeting. The bill goes straight to my office, so order yourself a pudding if you want, darling, and coffee. See you later.’ He blew her a kiss, and was gone.
Once again she was sitting alone, she thought as she pushed her plate away. A fact that would doubtless not be lost on her adversary across the room. She risked a lightning glance from under her lashes, and realised with a surge of relief that his table was empty and being cleared. At least he hadn’t witnessed her cavalier treatment at Nigel’s hands. Nor would she have to grit her teeth and thank him for that bloody drink. With luck, she would never have to set eyes on him again. End of story.
She’d wanted this to be a great day in her life, she thought with a silent sigh, but since she’d first set eyes on Marc Delaroche it seemed to have been downhill all the way.
And now she had better go and catch her train. She was just reaching for her bag when Gaspard arrived, bearing a tray which he placed in front of her with a flourish.
‘There must be some mistake,’ Helen protested, watching him unload a cafetière, cups, saucers, two glasses and a bottle of armagnac. ‘I didn’t order any of this.’
‘But I did,’ Marc Delaroche said softly. ‘Because you look as if you need it. So do not refuse me, ma belle, je vous en prie.’
And before she could utter any kind of protest, he took the seat opposite her, so recently vacated by Nigel, and smiled into her startled eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
‘I THOUGHT you’d gone.’ The words were out before she could stop herself, implying that she took even a remote interest in his actions.
‘I was merely bidding au revoir to my friends.’ He filled her cup from the cafetière. ‘Before returning to offer you a digestif.’ He poured a judicious amount of armagnac into each crystal bowl, and pushed one towards her. ‘Something your companion should consider, perhaps,’ he added meditatively. ‘If he continues to rush through his meals at such a rate he will have an ulcer before he is forty.’
‘Thank you.’ Helen lifted her chin. ‘I’ll be sure to pass your warning on to him.’
‘I intended it for you,’ he said. ‘I presume he is the man you plan to marry at Monteagle with such panache?’ He slanted a smile at her. ‘After all, it is a wife’s duty to look after the physical well-being of her husband—in every way. Don’t you think so?’
‘You don’t want to know what I think.’ Helen bit her lip. ‘You really are some kind of dinosaur.’
His smile widened. ‘And a man with a ruined digestion is an even more savage beast, believe me,’ he told her softly. ‘Just as a beautiful girl left alone in a restaurant is an offence against nature.’ He raised his glass. Salut.’
‘Oh, spare me.’ Helen gritted her teeth. ‘I don’t need your compliments—or your company.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he said. ‘But you require my vote on the committee, so maybe you should force yourself to be civil for this short time, and drink with me.’
Smouldering, Helen drank some of her coffee. ‘What made you choose this restaurant particularly?’ she asked, after a loaded pause.
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘You suspect some sinister motive? That I am following you, perhaps?’ He shook his head. ‘You are wrong. I was invited here by my companions—who have a financial interest in the place and wished my opinion. Also I arrived first, remember, so I could accuse you of stalking me.’
Helen stiffened. ‘That, of course, is just so likely.’ Her tone bit.
‘No,’ he returned coolly. ‘To my infinite regret, it is not likely at all.’
Helen felt her throat muscles tighten warily. ‘Why are you doing this? Buying me drinks—forcing your company on me?’
He shrugged. ‘Because I wished to encounter you when you were more relaxed. When you had—let your hair down, as they say.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘It looks much better loose, so why scrape it back in that unbecoming way?’
‘I wanted to look businesslike for the interview,’ she returned coldly. ‘Not as if I was trading on my gender.’
‘Put like that,’ he said, ‘I find it unappealing too.’
‘So why are you ignoring my obvious wish to keep my distance?’
He lifted his glass, studying the colour of the armagnac. He said, ‘Your fiancé arrived late and left early. Perhaps I am merely trying to compensate for his lack of attention.’
She bit her lip. ‘How dare you criticise him? You know nothing at all about him. He happens to be working very hard for our future together—and I don’t feel neglected in any way,’ she added defiantly.
‘I am relieved to hear it, ma mie,’ he drawled. ‘I feared for your sake that his performance in bed might be conducted at the same speed as your lunch dates.’
She stared at him, shocked into a sudden blush that reached the roots of her hair.
Her voice shook. ‘You have no right to talk to me like that—to speculate about my private relationships in that—disgusting way. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
He looked back at her without a glimmer of repentance. ‘It was prompted solely by my concern for your happiness, I assure you.’
She pushed back her chair and got to her feet, fumbling for her jacket. She said jerkily, ‘When I get the money to restore Monteagle I shall fill the world with my joy, monsieur. And that is the only affair of mine in which you have the right to probe. Goodbye.’
She walked past him and out of the restaurant, her face still burning but her head held proudly.
It was only when she was outside, heading for the tube station, that she realised just how afraid she’d been that he would follow her—stop her from leaving in some unspecified way.
But
