by Susan Lewis
‘Mmm,’ Penny murmured, sure that she was still being watched, but not quite daring to look. ‘What time did you want to be in Nice, by the way?’ she asked, glancing at her watch.
‘Not for ages yet,’ Sammy answered, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. ‘But listen, you don’t have to drive me there. I can take a taxi or bum a lift from someone who’s going that way.’
Penny smiled. ‘I forgot to ask, what’s his name?’
Sammy grinned. ‘Stefan.’
‘And what does Stefan—?’ She stopped, frowning, as she spotted a familiar figure over by the bar.
‘What is it?’ Sammy said, following her eyes.
‘It’s the old lady from next door,’ Penny said incredulously. ‘Now what on earth would she be doing here when she specifically said that she hadn’t been invited?’
Sammy shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’ she said.
Penny shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered. Then, as Esther Delaney’s canary-yellow suit and matching pillbox hat disappeared into the crowd, she felt herself being watched again and unable to stop them her eyes moved back to the man who was standing with a group of other men near the centre of the room. But he wasn’t watching her at all, and to her surprise the disappointment she felt was almost as profound as the sudden embarrassment that overcame her as he turned, caught her eye and raised an ironic eyebrow.
‘Who is that man?’ Sammy asked, seeing Penny’s cheeks flood with colour. ‘He’s been watching you all night. Do you know him?’
‘Never seen him before in my life,’ Penny answered, trying to sound nonchalant, while failing to stop her eyes moving back to his. He was talking to another man, but though he was no longer looking at her Penny had the distinct impression that he knew she was watching him. Suddenly he laughed and Penny almost groaned aloud as her pulses quickened and other parts of her body started to respond. ‘I’ve got to tell you,’ she murmured to Sammy, ‘that if there’s such a thing as lust at first sight, then this is it, because what I wouldn’t do to that man given half the chance . . .’
‘Why don’t you get someone to introduce you?’ Sammy suggested.
‘Some of us aren’t quite as forward as others,’ Penny remarked drily. ‘Oh God, here comes the baron again. Don’t leave me alone with him whatever you do.’
Fortunately the baron was on a mission to introduce her to a few livelier and less lecherous people than himself, some of whom were friends of Sylvia’s, she discovered. Not surprisingly, for a while the conversation revolved around their mutual acquaintance – who, they were all wholeheartedly agreed, had done a marvellous job since taking over the reins of Starke after the death of her husband.
As they all seemed to know Sylvia quite well, Penny was trying to think of a way of steering the conversation round to Sylvia’s godson, when, to her astonishment, she noticed Esther Delaney talking to the man who’d been watching her. In fact, they were both looking in her direction now, and, unless Penny was greatly mistaken, they were talking about her too.
Seeing Penny looking, Esther gave her a jolly little wave, but Penny barely noticed, for the intensity of the man’s eyes and the half smile hovering around his lips were turning her hot inside and sending such shivers of excitement through her that she knew, come what may, she had to meet him.
‘Think you’ve just found your introduction,’ Sammy whispered in her ear.
‘I think I might have found more than that,’ Penny responded under her breath, not too clear herself whether she meant she had found an important link in the international art scam she had managed to convince herself the Delaneys were involved in, or whether, considering this irrational heightening of her senses, she had found something of a much more personal nature.
With the continual ebb and flow of people it was half an hour or more before Penny finally managed to corner Esther, by which time the man was over by the door and looking as though he was about to depart.
‘How are you, Esther?’ she said, kissing the old lady on both cheeks as Sammy joined them. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’
‘Oh my! I know. Isn’t it a surprise? Such an honour. Came right at the last minute. Wasn’t expecting it at all.’
‘Have you met my sister, Sammy?’ Penny said.
‘Briefly,’ Esther answered, taking Sammy warmly by the hand. ‘Just briefly. How are you, my dear? You’re looking quite splendid. You both are.’
‘Thank you,’ Sammy smiled. ‘So are you.’ Then, deciding not to beat about the bush, she went straight to work on Penny’s behalf: ‘I’ve noticed you talking to quite a lot of people here tonight, but, tell me, who’s the man over there by the door? I feel I should know him, but I can’t quite place him.’
Esther’s diminutive frame expanded with pride. ‘That,’ she said in a whisper, ‘is Christian Mureau.’
Penny and Sammy exchanged glances, neither any the wiser for knowing his name, though sensing, from the way Esther had pronounced it, that they should be.
‘What does he do?’ Penny asked.
‘You mean you don’t know Christian Mureau?’ Esther gasped.
‘I don’t think so,’ Penny answered, experiencing an irrational flutter of nerves. ‘Should I?’
‘Oh, silly me!’ Esther giggled. ‘Of course, he’s much better known in America than he is here. Well, that’s why he’s here, of course. But, shh, we mustn’t talk about that.’
‘About what?’ Sammy said.
‘No, no. We mustn’t talk about it,’ Esther said, giving her a little slap on the wrist.
‘How do you know him?’ Penny asked, watching him as he listened intently to the man who was talking to him.
‘Shh!’ Esther said, putting a finger to her lips. ‘He’s my employer.’
Penny’s eyes narrowed. ‘What does he do?’ she repeated.
Again Esther giggled. ‘You really mustn’t ask me things like that,’ she said. ‘I’m not allowed to tell. You see, he’s a wanted man.’
Both Sammy and Penny blinked. ‘You mean wanted as in criminal?’ Penny said, feeling her heart start to race.
‘Oh my! I shouldn’t have told you that,’ Esther cried, clapping her hands to her cheeks, apparently appalled by her indiscretion.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word,’ Penny reassured her. ‘But tell me, what did he do?’
‘And how come—?’ Sammy stopped as Penny put a hand on her arm. One question at a time was enough for Esther.
‘What did he do?’ Penny prompted.
‘I really can’t tell you that,’ Esther said forlornly.
‘Was he the one who introduced you to all those famous people in the photographs?’ Penny asked carefully.
‘Yes,’ Esther answered, brightening. ‘And he said I could come tonight. He knew I wanted to and he really does spoil me, you know. But usually he doesn’t like me to mix with the same people he does, not here in France. You see, not many of them know that he is wanted by the Dr—’ She stopped; then, wagging a finger at Penny, she said, ‘Naughty, naughty, you almost got it out of me then.’
‘I’d like very much to meet him,’ Penny said. ‘Do you think you could introduce me?’
Esther looked doubtful. ‘I’d like to,’ she said, ‘but . . .’
‘But what?’ Sammy asked.
‘You see, he asked me who you were just now, Penny dear, and when I told him . . .’
‘When you told him?’ Penny prompted.
‘He knows you’re a journalist and . . . Well, you see, in his position . . . Can’t take any risks, what?’
Penny shot a glance at Sammy in the hope that her sister would be quicker to see a way round this impasse, since her own mind was somewhat clouded by the intensity of the attraction she was feeling towards the man.
‘I think Penny’s more interested in meeting him as a woman than as a journalist,’ Sammy said bluntly.
Wanting to kick her even though it was true, Penny was about to speak when Esther got
in first.
‘Oh, I think he’d like to meet you too, dear,’ she assured Penny. ‘He said he did. But, you see, things are just a teensy bit complicated and I’m—Oh! Heavens! He’s looking over here.’
Penny turned to see his dark eyes looking in their direction and, though it was hard to tell from this distance, she felt sure they were laughing. Somewhat brazenly for her, she held his gaze until, with a lazy lift of his eyebrows that gave her the clear impression that he knew what Esther Delaney had told her, he left.
Penny turned back to Esther, feeling a horrible dampening of her spirits now he had gone and not a little frustration. ‘Does he live around—?’ She stopped, realizing that Esther was no longer there, was in fact beetling through the crowd in an effort to save herself from more indiscretions.
‘Well,’ she sighed, turning to Sammy, ‘what do you make of all that?’
Sammy pulled a thoughtful face. ‘What I reckon,’ she said, ‘is that if you want to meet the man, which you obviously do, then you’re going to have to do some more work on the old girl. She’s your only link at the moment and from a professional standpoint, if he is a wanted man, you’d be crazy not to follow it up.’ A grin spread across her face. ‘And from a personal standpoint you’d be certifiably insane.’
Later that evening, having left Sammy with a couple of Sylvia’s friends who had offered to drive her into Nice, Penny was winding her way through the pitch-darkness of the back roads between Vence and Valbonne, trying to recall what was on her agenda the following day. It was a task that was proving impossible, for she was unable to get Christian Mureau out of her mind. To tell herself that all she wanted from him was a scoop for Nuance – which, of course, he was going to hand her on plate, wasn’t he? – was like saying that all she ever wanted from a jeweller’s was a look in the window.
Christ, she wished the man behind would get off her tail! Why did the French always have to drive like that? Speeding up a bit, she took a bend far too fast, then decided to hell with it, he’d just have to go at her pace until he found somewhere to pass. Where was she? Oh yes, she hadn’t spoken a single word to Christian Mureau, didn’t, now she came to think about it, even know what nationality he was, yet already, in her mind, she had them engrossed in a full-blooded affair. Her heart jumped at the thought of it and she knew that somehow, no matter what it took, she was going to meet that man. God-damnit! Why didn’t the jerk behind just overtake? There was plenty of room now . . .
Slowing to a mere forty kilometres an hour she waited for the car to overtake. But, to her surprise, it slowed down too and continued hugging her bumper and dazzling her with its headlights. Feeling a spark of unease pass through her, she reach behind her and pressed down the button to lock the car door. The night was so black out here and the forests so dense that she was beginning to wish she’d taken the longer route home via the motorway.
By the time she drove into the brightly lit main street of Roquefort-les-Pins her hands were gripping the wheel tightly and her heart was thudding. Psychopaths were a rarity in France, but certainly not unheard of. For no accountable reason she thought of David and wished desperately that he was with her.
As she approached the red lights in the middle of the village she pulled her car over to the side of the road, in the hope that this time whoever it was would pass. To her alarm he pulled in behind her.
Penny sat where she was, fear pulsing through her as she tried to think what to do. The headlights behind were on full beam so she couldn’t see into the car; nor did she think it a good idea to get out. There was no one around and by the time she reached one of the houses anything could happen.
Then, to her horror, she saw two men step out of either side of the car and start walking towards her. Instantly she jammed her foot on the accelerator, but her legs were so weak with fear she let go of the clutch too soon and the engine stalled.
She watched, wide-eyed with terror, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, as one of them came to stand beside her door and the other perched on the bonnet. Both had greased-back hair; the one at her door had a hand inside his leather jacket. A knife, she was thinking. He’s got a knife! And as the panic welled up inside her she slammed her hand on the horn.
But the engine was off. The horn didn’t work. The man on the bonnet grinned. Her head spun back to the other one as he tapped on the window, then motioned for her to roll the window down.
Hardly knowing what she was doing, she opened it a crack and stared up at him.
‘Tell Villers,’ he said, his black eyes boring into hers, ‘that he won’t get away with it. He’s got to pay, just like everyone else.’
Then, before the words had even begun to register with her, the men were gone. She looked in the mirror and watched as they did a three-point turn and sped off in the direction from which they had come.
Still shaking, Penny switched on her engine and drove slowly through the traffic lights, down towards the roundabout where she would turn off for Valbonne. From there it was a reasonably short drive to Mougins and home. Thank God she had stopped where she had, for the very idea she might have led them to her villa was enough to set her off panicking again. Of course there was no doubt that they were the dubious characters David had warned her about, but what did they mean, he had to pay like everyone else? Just what was he up to that led that kind of low life to threaten him in this way? She felt strangely protective for a moment, wishing that she had told them to drop dead or go find another bank. Then, quite suddenly, she was angry. How dare he get her involved in his sordid business, whatever it was? And why the hell should she put up with it when she’d come here to do a job, not to be terrified out of her wits by hoodlums on his account?
She was still fuming silently to herself when she let herself into the villa some twenty minutes later. But when she played back the messages on her answerphone and heard a strange, accented voice telling her that he was Christian Mureau, everything else fled from her mind.
Pressing urgently on the rewind button she listened intently as the message replayed.
‘Hello,’ he said, ‘it’s Christian Mureau. I think we should meet.’
That was it! Not when, or where or even how she could get in touch with him, just that they should meet.
It was just after four on Wednesday afternoon. The production office was like a three-ringed circus as phones and faxes rang, printers pumped out reams of edited copy and Marielle and Mario, the ad director, haggled over space and position on the flat plans. The air-conditioning engineers were getting under everyone’s feet and a bureaucratic bloodhound from the Cannes Chamber of Commerce had decided to pay them a visit today. Pierre was handling him. Penny was at her desk with the door closed as she read through the endless material that was coming her way all the time now as every man jack and his dog tried his hand at something or other. Actually, some of the stuff wasn’t too bad, but most of it was heading straight for the bin. Sammy had really come up trumps with a seaman, though, whose tales of shenanigans on board the luxury liners of the rich and famous were going to form the basis for Nautical Nuances. Whoever the guy was, he didn’t have much of a gift with words, but the subs would sort that – it was the material that was so fascinating.
She had a meeting at five with the team from the ad agency that was handling the launch; she just hoped Jeffrey, the designer, was going to make it back from Toulon in time. She was also in the middle of an editorial that she wanted finished by the end of the day and she still had to speak to the English/French experts on the dryness of their ‘life in France’ column. Crazy as it all felt, for the moment things were more or less on schedule; but, even so, nothing short of seeing the magazine on the stands was going to convince Penny that they’d hit the deadline.
The precious lunch hour had passed her by again, but a few minutes ago Brigitte had brought in half a baguette stuffed with a rich, creamy pâté and fat, crunchy gherkins. As she ate, Penny was looking down at the newspaper photographs of her parasailing
adventure the previous weekend and thanking God that she didn’t look even half as ridiculous – or fat – as she’d thought she would. In truth it had been a fantastic, exhilarating experience soaring high above the waves and feeling, just for that short while, the total freedom of a bird. In fact the entire day had been terrific and David’s glowing praise of her success when she’d finally sunk, almost gracefully, into the sea and he’d circled the boat round to get her had for once managed to warm him to her rather than irritate her. And watching him sing ‘Thank heavens for little girls’ on a platform specially erected for the solo performers of the day had made her laugh so much as tomatoes and peaches and all kinds of soft fruit were flung at him while he continued to caterwaul at the top of his voice, that it was only when he and Smithy grabbed her arms and ran her, fully clothed, towards the sea that she promised to stop. That was one of the pictures in the paper: Penny pleading with the two of them to put her down while the rest of the team spurred them on to dunk her. And the other picture was just of David and her, soaked to the skin as they waded back to the shore.
It had been a perfect day right up to the moment Marielle showed up. At that point, David had promptly ceased to notice Penny’s existence and switched his attentions exclusively to Marielle. Sammy had accused her of being jealous and in a way Sammy was right, but not in the way Sammy thought she was right, for Penny wasn’t in the habit of lying to herself about her feelings. She’d never denied that David was an attractive man and history had proved that she wasn’t immune to his charm, but if there were any poor, deluded little hormones within her that were in an unhappy state of falling for him she would most definitely know about them. So no, it wasn’t some unrequited passion for David that had made her feel so wretched when Marielle had arrived; it was quite simply that Marielle had looked so sumptuously sexy and exotic in a simple little white dress that had leeched itself so immodestly to her perfect figure that, damp, sand-stained and in serious need of a hairbrush, Penny had felt like Bertha the bag lady.
