by Sara Craven
And how many tons of the stuff would it take to knock her out at nights when he’d gone for ever? she asked herself wretchedly as she swallowed the proffered pills.
When Andre came in, he looked as if he was wired to snapping point. Maybe his doctor friend should prescribe a sedative for him, thought Ginny, her heart turning over as he brought the chair close to the bed and sat.
He said, stammering a little, ‘Philippe said—that you have asked for me. That you have something to tell me.’
His hand went out as if seeking hers, and she withdrew it quickly, knowing that his lightest touch, especially if offered only in compassion, could cause her more pain than any bruise.
She said breathlessly, staring down at the white coverlet, ‘It’s Monique Chaloux. I found her in the office shredding bank statements. She’s been stealing money from you—probably quite a lot. I—I was coming to tell you about it when I—fell.’
There was an odd silence, and when she ventured to look at him, she saw that he was white beneath his tan, his eyes bleak with shock, and a kind of desperate disappointment.
Small wonder, she thought. After all, it was the last thing you wanted to hear about someone you’d known and trusted for so long.
At last, he said quietly, ‘I think you mean when you were pushed. Monique has admitted to that too.’
‘Admitted?’ she echoed.
‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘At this moment, she is, as you would say, helping the police with their enquiries.’
‘But you mustn’t let her!’ Ginny tried to sit up and wished she hadn’t. ‘She’s going to say foul things in court about Cilla.’ She looked away, swallowing. ‘About her getting married. It will be dreadful—for everyone.’
He shrugged. ‘Monique est terriblement snob, as all the world will tell you. And if Papa welcomes the marriage, as he does, what else can matter?’
She said in a low voice, ‘Of course, you’re quite right.’ And paused, taking determined control of her emotions. ‘How did you find out about Monique?’
‘Jean Labordier from Credit Regional notified us that a new account had been opened in the name of the Domaine, and he wished to check the letter of authorisation. This, of course, was false,’ he added with a grimace. ‘But we arranged for the account to be left open to see what would happen. We discovered that Monique was quitting her appartement, so Papa tried several times to talk to her—almost to warn her, but it was of no use.’
‘But how could she do this to your father, when she claimed to love him?’
‘Because her love was not returned,’ he said with sudden harshness. ‘And she never learned to understand how that can happen—or to forgive.’
She said haltingly, ‘That’s—not an easy lesson.’
‘I do not need to be told that.’ Andre paused. ‘Yesterday, Jean telephoned to say that one hundred thousand euros had been transferred to the new account. This morning she was arrested, with attempted murder added to the charges against her.’
Ginny gasped. ‘Isn’t that going much too far?’
‘You think so?’ he demanded roughly. ‘When you could have fractured your skull—broken your neck? Do you know the agonies I suffered when you did not immediately regain consciousness? When I realised that Philippe was trying to warn me that because of the blow to your head, you could be brain damaged or suffer a fatal haemorrhage?’
He added, his voice shaking, ‘And you could have lost our child.’
Yes, she thought. It could have happened. My one precious link to you taken from me. Leaving me with less than nothing.
She braced herself. Kept her tone spuriously bright. ‘Yet here I am, safe and soon to be well again. Well enough to leave, anyway, and let you get on with your life.’
‘A thousand thanks,’ he said with intense bitterness. ‘And now, unlike Monique, I suppose I must learn to forgive you. Even to hope you will find the happiness that I have been denied. All that I dreamed, if I was patient, I would discover with you, the love of my heart.’
In spite of her bruises, Ginny sat upright. ‘You dare to say that to me?’ Her voice was incredulous. ‘To speak as if I am to blame for ending our mockery of an engagement? When you’re planning to marry my sister?’
The dark brows snapped together. ‘I—marry Lucille? What madness is this?’
‘Oh, don’t pretend,’ she said hotly. ‘You slept with her in England, and when she turned up here, you resumed the affair. Do you deny you encouraged her to stay for as long as she wanted?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘That at least is true. But for Jules’ sake, not mine. I could see that he too had suffered the coup de foudre—that moment when you look into a woman’s eyes, and know that your life has changed for ever. He begged me to persuade her, and against my better judgement, I did so.’
‘Jules,’ Ginny repeated. ‘You mean—Jules Rameau?’
‘How many others do you know?’ Andre demanded impatiently.
She said slowly and carefully, ‘You’re telling me that Cilla and Jules are together and planning to be married?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘C’est incroyable, n’est-ce pas, what love can do?’
‘Well, yes,’ Ginny said doubtfully.
‘You do not see them as a couple? Yet Jules is the strong man that I knew she truly needed. With him, she has grown into a woman, not the spoilt, selfish child who came to my hotel room because she was bored with her fiancé, and wanted a little adventure.’
Ginny gasped. ‘Did she tell you so?’
‘Of course,’ Andre said drily. ‘And she was most shocked when I made it equally clear that she was wasting her time and sent her away.’
‘But she let me think you’d been lovers.’
‘She is no longer that person, Virginie. Ask her again and she will tell you the truth.’ He paused. ‘But when she arrived here, it was that capacity for making mischief that concerned me when she and Jules began spending time together.
‘I was not really sure of her true feelings until our day in Beaune. I needed to find out if she was truly committed to spending her life here in Burgundy, or whether she would decide in the end that England had more to offer.
‘Because Jules, I know, will never leave here.’ He added sombrely, ‘And I could not bear for her to break his heart, Virginie, as you were breaking mine.’
‘But you only brought me here because you realised I might be pregnant and you felt guilty.’
‘Yes, there was some guilt,’ Andre admitted. ‘Because I had rushed you into a relationship you were not ready for. But I always intended to bring you back here with me, ma mie, because I was very aware I could not live without you.’
He paused. ‘When I came to the house for the reading of the will, I was late, I was tired and I was angry because I knew the problems it would cause. Then the door opened, and you were there, with my father’s dog at your side, as if you were waiting for me. I saw how pale you were, how unhappy, and I wanted to pick you up in my arms and keep you safe for ever.
‘And in that moment, I knew that the greatest happiness this life could bestow would be to come home each day and find you waiting for me.’
She said unevenly, ‘But you were still angry.’
‘That is true.’ He was rueful. ‘Because it was something I did not expect and I do not appreciate shocks. Also, if I am honest, it was something I did not want. A wife—one day, peut-être, but not immediately. But you changed my mind, ma belle.’
She looked away, her face warming. ‘But I’m not beautiful. Cilla’s always been the pretty one.’
He said gently, ‘Virginie, chérie, my sweet idiot, to me you have always been enchantment. And on the night of our engagement, in that black dress with the rubies at your throat, you were the essence of beauty.’
He shook his head. ‘Mon Die
u, I wanted you so badly, I was going crazy.’
‘You asked me to sleep with you,’ she mumbled. ‘But then you never came near me. And you started sleeping down at La Petite Maison.’
He said wryly, ‘Because I knew I could not trust myself. Clothilde had warned me that making love in the first months is not always good for the baby, and as our child seemed the only reason you were with me, I felt I could not take the risk. That I must stay away.’
He paused. ‘And once you realised that Jonathan Welburn was a free man, you hardly allowed me to touch you. In fact, you shrank from me, making me believe you still cared for him.’ He spread his hands almost despairingly. ‘And, if you no longer wanted me, how could I keep you tied here in a marriage without love or even a little human warmth?’
He sighed. ‘Papa had told me how he struggled with the knowledge that my mother had not married him for love, although she grew to care deeply for him. But that might not have happened, and he did not want me to suffer in the same way.’
‘I thought you belonged to my sister,’ Ginny whispered. ‘That she was taking over—replacing me. I thought if I distanced myself from you, it might not hurt so much. Instead, it was a thousand times worse.’
He groaned. ‘Forgive me, ma belle. I wished only for you to rest more, at least until you stopped being sick, and for Lucille to be of some use and help you. Clothilde told me you are not as strong as she could wish.’
Ginny lips curved slowly into a smile. ‘Well, the baby and I have survived a tumble down the stairs, so perhaps we’re not as fragile as you think.’
She stretched out her hand, and he took it in his, holding it for a long moment as if it was something infinitely delicate, infinitely precious before raising it gently to his mouth. Then turning it, he let his lips and tongue softly and sensuously caress her palm, and kiss the length of each slender finger, suckling their pointed tips.
He must have felt her voluptuous shiver of delight, because he raised his head and smiled back at her, his eyes alive with passionate tenderness.
‘So, when your bruises are healed, shall we put the matter to the test—on our honeymoon, peut-être?’
‘Now I have a condition,’ she said and saw his brows lift. ‘I want you to drop any charge of harming me against Monique Chaloux,’ she went on quickly. ‘I’m not prepared to add to her troubles.’
Not, she thought, when I’ve known for myself all the terrible pain of jealousy and unrequited love.
‘You ask for that?’ Andre shook his head. ‘Mon Dieu, Virginie, when I saw you lying there, I thought I had lost you.’
‘Instead, you’ve found me,’ she said softly. ‘We’ve found each other, perhaps thanks to her.’
There was a pause then he sighed. ‘Soit. Let it be as you wish.’
Suddenly Ginny realised she was smothering a yawn. ‘Oh, no.’ She gave a little wail of dismay. ‘I let them give me a sleeping pill.’
‘Sleep then.’ Andre was still holding her hand, clasping it in both his own, his gaze warming her. ‘Dream of me, mon ange, and when you wake, I will still be here beside you.’
‘You promise?’ She was beginning to drift.
‘Pour le restant de nos jours,’ he whispered as her eyes closed. ‘For as long as we both live.’
* * * * *
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CHAPTER ONE
EMILY RICHARDSON DUCKED under the scaffolding over the entrance of the smart building in the heart of the city of London, strolled through the spacious atrium and headed to the wide staircase. When she reached the second floor she took an abrupt left, walked to the end of the corridor and pressed the button for the lift. Only once she had stepped inside and the door had slid shut did she allow herself to expel a breath.
Catching sight of her reflection in the mirrored wall, she raised an eyebrow. Power suits were really not her thing, especially ones dating back to the eighties. She felt suffocated —and her feet, in their patent black stilettos, were already killing her.
She had to fit in, she had to look as if she belonged in the building, so no one would give her a second glance. Her usual attire made her too noticeable—she would have been recognised before she’d got her foot over the threshold of the building. Even with the suit, she’d have to be careful. She’d timed her entrance to perfection—not too early to be conspicuous but not so late that the people she needed to avoid would be in yet. So far, so good.
For this particular lift to work, a code had to be punched in. She duly obliged and was carried all the way to the top floor and the private offices held by the senior management team of Bamber Cosmetics International—or, as it had now been renamed, Virshilas LG.
The largest of the offices was held by Mr Virshilas himself. But not today; today Pascha Virshilas was in Milan.
Unlike in the rest of the building, renovation work had yet to begin on the top floor. She imagined it wouldn’t be long before it was remodelled into Pascha Virshilas’s idea of an executive suite of offices.
She walked up the narrow corridor to an unassuming door that required a swipe card to open. As luck would have it, Emily had such a card, slipped from her father’s wallet...
The door opened into a large, open-plan office. It appeared empty and for that she expelled another breath of relief.
Holding her chin aloft and forcing her back straight, she walked through the central hub of the floor, gently swaying her empty black briefcase.
The place really was deserted. Excellent; she’d beaten the executive secretaries in.
It surprised her to find Mr Virshilas’s office unlocked. Given how security-conscious the man was, she’d assumed it would be rigged with explosives in case an intruder made it through the security measures.
Maybe he wasn’t as paranoid as she’d been told.
All the same, she paused after she’d opened it an inch, put her ear to the door and tapped on it. If the fates were conspiring against her and one of the cleaners was in there emptying his rubbish bin, she would apologise and say she was lost. She hadn’t come this far to wimp out on a ‘maybe’.
Her knock elicited no response.
She pushed the door open another inch, then another. Heart racing, she entered the office, softly closing the door behind her.
She was in.
Time being of the essence, she scanned her surroundings quickly whilst reaching into the back pocket of her skirt and pulling out a state-of-the-art memory stick.
According to her source, Pascha Virshilas kept a laptop in all his worldwide offices. If her source continued to be correct, the laptop sitting on his desk was a centralised hub containing every file created by every department of every holding owned by Virshilas LG. This laptop contained the means of clearing her father’s name.
Looking around, Emily could see that Pascha kept the neatest office in history. Not a single item looked to be out of place, not a single speck of dust or tiny crumb to be found. Even the intricate pencil drawings on the wall seemed to have been placed with military precision. All that lay on the highly polished ebony desk beneath the large window was the laptop and
what looked to be a document file.
Flipping the laptop open, she pressed the button to switch it on. To her surprise, it fired up immediately.
Her eyebrows drew together. Had he forgotten to turn it off after his last use? From everything she knew about the man, this seemed out of character.
All the same, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. For once it seemed the stars were aligning in her favour. The laptop being turned on had saved her an estimated two minutes’ worth of hacking time.
Sticking the memory stick in the side portal, she pressed a few keys and the process began. Now all she had to do was wait.
If her hacking-whizz of a friend’s estimates were correct, all the data contained within the laptop should be copied within six minutes.
The blue document file beside the laptop was a good inch thick. Emily opened the cover. The top sheet of paper had Private & Confidential stamped on it in angry red.
Pulling the thick sheathes of paper out of the file, she turned the top sheet over and began to read...
‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my office?’
Emily froze. Literally. Her mind went blank, her brain filling with a cold mist. The sheets of paper held between her fingers fell back into place while her immobile hands hovered inches above the file.
Her gaze still resting on the papers before her, she forced her chin up to meet the stony glare of Pascha Virshilas.
Cold grey eyes narrowed. ‘You,’ he hissed, his chiselled features contorting.
She didn’t know what was the greatest shock—that he’d caught her in the act, or that he recognised her. The one time she’d met him she’d looked completely different, so different she would have been hard pressed to recognise herself in the mirror.
With great effort, she forced her features to remain neutral. Now was not the moment to reveal her utter loathing of the man; she had to stay calm.
She’d met him six weeks ago at an event, optimistically billed as a party, thrown to celebrate the acquisition of Bamber Cosmetics by Virshilas LG and to allow the employees to meet their new boss. Emily had only attended as a favour to her father who, since her mother’s recent death, became crippled with nerves at social events. Being a senior executive, his presence had been a requirement.
