The Marriage Deal

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘It has a beat all its own.’

  ‘Distinctive.’

  ‘Like the Lanier men.’

  ‘One of them in particular,’ Stephanie declared dryly.

  Sandrine shot her a teasing smile. ‘Persistent, is he?’ she queried, and caught the other woman’s wry grimace.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Naturally, you don’t like him.’

  ‘He makes me feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘Uncomfortable is good.’

  ‘No,’ Stephanie refuted. ‘It’s a pain in the neck.’

  A light bubble of laughter rose to the surface. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘For Raoul to catch me? Or for me to escape unscathed?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll take a gamble and go for the first option,’ Sandrine said wickedly.

  ‘Not in this lifetime.’

  There was a finality about those few words, and she wondered what, or rather who had damaged Stephanie’s trust in men.

  The music hit them in waves as they returned to the nightclub, and Stephanie joined a representative group from the marketing team as Sandrine crossed to rejoin Michel.

  As she approached, Cait wound an arm round his neck and placed her mouth to his. It was a deliberate and calculated action, she knew, but one that angered her unbearably.

  Michel showed restrained dignity as he broke the contact, and the actress turned towards Sandrine with a tantalising smile.

  ‘You said I could have him, darling.’

  ‘From where I stood, it didn’t look as if he wanted you,’ she managed in a remarkably even voice.

  ‘Bitch.’

  ‘I could say the same.’

  Michel caught Sandrine’s hand and linked his fingers through hers, applying a slight warning pressure. Which she ignored.

  ‘Perhaps we should leave,’ he suggested indolently, and suppressed a degree of amusement as Sandrine shot him a stunning smile.

  ‘Why? I’m having so much fun.’ She lifted his hand and brushed her lips across his knuckles. ‘Ask me to dance.’

  His eyes darkened and acquired a wicked gleam as he led her onto the dance floor. ‘Minx,’ he murmured close to her ear.

  ‘Confrontation,’ she mocked lightly. ‘Works so much better than retreat.’ A light gasp escaped her lips as he drew her in close. ‘That might be a bit of overkill.’ One hand cupped her bottom while the other slid to clasp her nape.

  ‘You think so?’ he drawled, enjoying the way her heart thudded into a quickened beat, the slight huskiness in her voice.

  The music slowed, and they drifted together for several long minutes, only to break apart as the DJ switched discs and tempo.

  By mutual consent they began circulating between the various business heads from marketing, the studio. Something that took a while, until they came at last to Raoul.

  ‘Sleep well,’ she bade as he brushed his lips to her cheek.

  Minutes later they entered their suite, and Sandrine slipped off her shoes, then unfastened the zip and stepped out of her gown.

  It had been a long day, and there was a sense of satisfaction that everything had come to a close.

  She crossed to the en suite, removed her make-up, slipped on a silk nightshirt, then re-entered the bedroom and slid into bed.

  Within seconds Michel joined her, snapped off the bedlamp, then caught her close.

  It was heaven to lean against him, to feel the reassuring beat of his heart beneath her cheek. His lips touched her temple, then slid to her mouth to bestow a brief, warm kiss.

  His chin rested against the top of her head, and she simply closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep within seconds.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SYDNEY looked achingly familiar, and the Double Bay apartment particularly welcoming. There were several things she wanted to do, a few loose ends she needed to tie up, and she wanted some time alone with her father.

  Michel’s cell phone rang as Sandrine began unpacking the few necessities required during the next day or two, and his voice faded into a muted sound as he took the call in the lounge.

  He returned to the bedroom minutes later and began unpacking. ‘Raoul has set up a meeting with the Enrique Corporation for tomorrow afternoon.’

  A new deal, initiated by Raoul who had flown into Sydney the previous day, which, if it proved successful, would see a Lanier Corporation link in Australia.

  ‘I’ll ring Lucas and see if he’s free to meet me for lunch.’

  Michel handed her his cell phone. ‘Do it now. We’re meeting Raoul for dinner, and it might be late when we get back.’

  She punched in the relevant numbers, greeted her father’s availability with enthusiasm and agreed on a time and place to meet.

  ‘All done,’ Sandrine said with satisfaction. She had twenty minutes in which to change and repair her make-up, and she managed it with a minute to spare.

  Deep red evening trousers and a matching cropped evening jacket worn over a black silk camisole highlighted the texture of her skin and emphasised the lustrous colour of her hair. She left it loose to fall onto her shoulders, simply because there wasn’t sufficient time to pin it up.

  Raoul was booked into the Ritz-Carlton in Double Bay, and they joined him in the lounge at seven for a drink before entering the restaurant.

  The maître d’ led them to a table and snapped his fingers for the wine steward.

  ‘Too premature for champagne?’ Sandrine queried with a quizzical smile.

  ‘Who needs a special occasion to drink champagne? Dom Pérignon,’ Raoul instructed, and she observed the smooth approach of the waiter. Such synchronisation in service deserved a reward.

  After they ordered a starter and main, deferring dessert, Sandrine spared a cursory glance at the room and its occupants as she sipped champagne from a crystal flute.

  Michel and Raoul discussed strategy for the next day’s meeting and finetuned arrangements over the starter.

  They were part way through the main dish when something caught Sandrine’s attention. The stark light of a flashbulb, followed by the glimpse of a familiar figure combined with a trill of laughter she’d hoped never to hear again.

  For a moment she thought, hoped, she was mistaken, but no, there, making a grand entrance, was none other than Cait Lynden.

  I don’t believe this. She had known Cait and Gregor were due to fly out to the States this week, but of all the hotels in Sydney, was it coincidence Cait had chosen this one…or had she done some careful sleuthing?

  Perhaps she wouldn’t notice they were here?

  Fat chance, Sandrine acknowledged in wry silence as she viewed Cait’s performance. For it was a piece of superb acting, which didn’t fool her in the slightest. Any more than it deceived Michel or Raoul as Cait approached their table.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ Cait greeted with delighted enthusiasm, ‘who would have thought we’d run into each other, here, of all places.’

  The maître d’ hovered, well used to the presence of celebrities in this exclusive hotel. He aimed to please and to serve, and Cait took flagrant advantage of his position.

  ‘You don’t mind if I join you?’ She slid into the chair held out for her, then waved her hand in an elegant gesture to the wine steward. ‘Bring another bottle of champagne.’ When the waiter presented her with a menu, she scanned it quickly, then handed it back to him. ‘Just a starter. The Caesar salad.’

  ‘You’re alone?’ Raoul drawled in query, and Sandrine watched Cait weigh up which Lanier brother she’d attempt to captivate.

  Just try it with Michel, she warned silently, and I’ll scratch your eyes out!

  The famous pout was a touch overdone. ‘Gregor deserted me, the rat.’ Her mouth formed a moue. ‘I could have ordered room service, but I didn’t feel like being alone.’

  Cashing in on national publicity and revelling in the limelight, Sandrine perceived, then mentally chastised herself for being cynical.

  ‘So, what are we celebrating?’

 
; ‘Life,’ Michel stated with studied indolence as he took hold of Sandrine’s hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘And love.’ He kissed each fingertip in turn, then curled her hand within his.

  Oh, my, that was about as blatant as you could get. Add to that the passionate gleam apparent in his eyes, the sensual curve of his lips. It was a combination that succeeded in melting her bones.

  ‘Quite a change from when Michel first appeared on the scene a month ago,’ Cait imputed with thinly veiled sarcasm. ‘At Tony’s apartment I could have sworn you were enemies instead of husband and wife.’

  ‘If husbands and wives didn’t experience a difference of opinion on occasion, the marriage would become boring,’ Sandrine offered.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Anyone for coffee?’ Raoul intervened. ‘I have a few calls to make.’

  ‘Likewise I need to go on-line.’ Michel succeeded in attracting the maître d’s attention, then turned towards Cait. ‘By all means stay on and finish the champagne.’

  They weren’t able to escape quite so easily. The photographer appeared out of nowhere and reeled off a few shots, which, unless Sandrine was mistaken, would be sold to at least one of the national newspapers.

  Michel muttered an imprecation beneath his breath, signed the proffered credit slip, then rose to his feet and pocketed his wallet.

  ‘Safe flight, darlings,’ Cait bade, again looking like a cat who’d just finished a bowl of cream.

  ‘Merci.’

  Michel curved an arm round Sandrine’s waist as Raoul accompanied them to the main entrance, then waited as they slid into a taxi.

  ‘Coincidence, do you think?’ she posed as the taxi swiftly joined the traffic.

  ‘Extremely doubtful,’ Michel said dryly.

  ‘Coffee?’ Sandrine offered on entering the apartment five minutes later. ‘We didn’t have any, and if you need to work on-line…’

  ‘The only thing I want to work closely with is you.’

  A lazy grin widened her mouth, and her eyes sparkled as she turned towards him. ‘I’m not sure I like being referred to as a thing.’

  He crooked a finger in a beckoning gesture. ‘Come here.’

  Laughter bubbled up inside her, emerging as a delightful throaty sound. ‘You’d better have a good reason for issuing orders.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you’ll have reason to complain.’

  She moved into his arms and felt them enfold her close. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ he mocked lightly, then proceeded to kiss her with such passion she went up in flames.

  They made it to the bedroom, discarding clothes as they went, and it was a long time before she found the energy to do more than murmur her appreciation as she slipped close to the edge of sleep.

  The taxi eased to a halt outside the Ritz-Carlton, and Michel paid the driver as Sandrine emerged from the vehicle.

  Together they entered the main lobby, shared a coffee with Raoul, then Sandrine rose to her feet and brushed Michel’s temple with a light kiss.

  ‘Three o’clock?’

  Michel’s answering smile held warmth as he inclined his head. ‘Have fun.’

  Her mouth assumed a wicked curve. ‘I intend to.’ She wanted to select a special gift for his grandmother and she was due to meet her father at one.

  Double Bay was a delightful place to browse and shop, and she found a beautiful Hermès silk scarf that was just perfect.

  It was almost one when she entered the restaurant Lucas had recommended, and she was barely seated when the maître d’ showed him to their table.

  ‘Sandrine,’ Lucas greeted with affection, ‘this is a pleasure.’

  She ordered wine, and they settled on a starter and main.

  ‘It’s regrettable this has to be brief, but I have a scheduled meeting at two-fifteen.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Sandrine voiced without hesitation.

  He surveyed her over the rim of his glass. ‘You have something on your mind you want to discuss with me?’

  ‘Chantal.’

  Lucas replaced his glass down on the table. ‘You know your mother and I no longer maintain contact.’

  She was aware of all the reasons why and had accepted them. ‘I’m concerned for her.’

  ‘And you expect me to share that concern?’

  ‘She’s my mother,’ she said simply.

  ‘Chantal is an emotional butterfly, always seeking something different and new. When life becomes boring, she moves on without too much thought for those left behind.’ He paused as the waiter removed their plates. ‘I rebuilt my life with a loving woman.’

  A loving woman who was civil and superficially affectionate to her husband’s daughter from his first marriage, but one who’d made it clear Sandrine had no place in her home or her heart.

  Lucas placed a hand over hers. ‘Your mother will never change. She’s Chantal,’ he declared with wry cynicism, as if that explained it all. ‘You have Michel. Treasure that love and treat it with care.’

  There was no point to pursuing the conversation, and she didn’t even try. Instead, they spoke of Ivan’s academic achievements and aspirations.

  It was after two when they emerged from the restaurant, and Sandrine gave her father an affectionate hug in farewell.

  She needed to make a few calls to friends, and she strolled towards the hotel, settled herself comfortably in the lounge, ordered a cappuccino and punched a series of numbers into her cell phone.

  She temporarily lost track of time, and it wasn’t until she glanced at her watch after concluding the last of her calls that she realised it was after three.

  Where was Michel? Sandrine checked her watch for the third time in fifteen minutes. It wasn’t like him to be late.

  ‘Can I get you anything else, ma’am?’

  She cast the waitress a brief smile and shook her head. ‘Thank you.’

  A slight frown creased her forehead. She hadn’t got the meeting place wrong because Michel had dropped her off outside this hotel more than three hours ago.

  Perhaps he’d been held up. Yes, that was it. His meeting had run overtime.

  The frown deepened. If that were true, why didn’t he ring? She slipped the cell phone from her bag and checked it for any messages. There were none.

  Okay, she’d ring him on his cell phone. A few words of reassurance were all she needed. Without further hesitation she punched in the numbers and waited, only to have the call switch to voice mail. She left a message, then slipped the phone into her bag.

  Raoul. Maybe she could call Raoul, she thought, only to remember she hadn’t keyed his number into her memory bank.

  Business lunches were notorious for running late. Any minute now Michel would call, apologise and explain. Except he didn’t, and a fist closed over her heart. Several different scenarios played through her mind and she examined and discarded each of them.

  The peal of the phone interrupted her increasing apprehension, and she plucked the unit from her bag and activated it.

  ‘Raoul, Sandrine.’

  ‘Michel—’

  ‘Is okay,’ Raoul assured her. ‘There was a slight car accident, and the officers who attended the scene insisted everyone involved receive a medical examination.’

  Dear heaven. ‘Where?’

  He named a private city hospital. ‘Take a cab. I’ll be waiting for you.’

  A chill invaded her bones. ‘I’m on my way.’

  The ensuing fifteen minutes were the longest minutes of her life as she imagined a plethora of possibilities regarding Raoul’s description of events.

  ‘Okay, he’s okay,’ she repeated several times beneath her breath as the cab negotiated heavy city traffic.

  What if Raoul wasn’t telling her the truth? Dear Lord in heaven, what if the accident had been severe?

  Sandrine froze. Images of horrific televised accident scenes flashed before her eyes. She pictured bodies being cut from crushed vehicles and transported by ambulance to hospital.

/>   How much longer? She checked the location and estimated another five minutes should do it, providing there were no unexpected traffic snarls.

  The cab made it in seven, and she hurriedly thrust a note into the driver’s hand, opened the door and waved away his move to give her change.

  She ran down the concrete path and paused impatiently as she waited for the automatic glass doors of the main entrance to open.

  Sandrine was oblivious to the nurses’ station, the collection of waiting patients. All she saw was Raoul crossing the room towards her, and she rushed to his side.

  ‘He’s with the doctor,’ Raoul soothed, taking hold of her elbow as he led her down a corridor. ‘He’s fine. The wound needs a few stitches.’

  Her stomach clenched at the thought of torn flesh being stitched together. ‘How bad is it?’

  Raoul gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘A few scratches, some bruising.’ He indicated a doorway to the right. ‘He’s in here.’

  Sandrine’s heart missed a beat, then thudded loudly in her chest as she stepped into the room. The attending doctor partly obscured Michel from her view, and she moved quickly to his side, her eyes sweeping over his features, his lengthy frame, in a bid to determine the extent of his injuries.

  ‘Michel,’ she breathed raggedly as she took in those flawless, broad-boned facial features, then roved over his bare chest.

  No scratches, no visible bruising, she noted with relief. The doctor was working on Michel’s left arm, stitching what looked to be a deep gash, and she paled at the sight of the needle suturing the wound.

  ‘My wife,’ Michel drawled as the doctor paused in his task to give her a quick glance.

  ‘Your husband is fine. A few bruised ribs from the restraining seat belt, plus a gashed arm. I’ll be done in a few minutes, then you can take him home.’

  Sandrine felt the blood drain from her face as her vivid imagination envisaged the car screeching as Michel applied the brakes, the sickening crunch as two cars collided, the reflexive action at the moment of impact.

  For one brief, infinitesimal second she experienced a mental flash of how it might have been, and the thought of what could have happened almost destroyed her. A life without Michel in it would be no life at all.