Chapter One
Paula walked into her private office at the London store
with her usual briskness, and after removing several
folders from her briefcase, she sat down at the antique
partners' desk in the comer. It was precisely at this
moment that she noticed the buff-colored envelope propped
against the antique porcelain lamp.
Marked PERSONAL, it had apparently been hand-delivered,
and she recognized the writing at once. She felt a small
shiver of pleasure. Eagerly, she reached for the envelope,
slit it open with the gold-and-jade paper knife, and took
out the folded piece of paper.
The note was boldly penned.
Meet me in Paris. Tonight, it said. You're booked on
Flight 902. British Airways. 6 p.m. I'll be waiting
impatiently. Usual place. Don't disappoint me.
Paula frowned. The tone was peremptory, commanding, and
implicit in his words was the assumption she would go.
Mild irritation at his high-handedness flared and diluted
the flush of pleasure she had experienced a second before.
Of course she wouldn't go. She couldn't. She must spend
the weekend with her children as planned, wanted to spend
it with them, in fact.
Still clutching the note, she leaned back in the chair and
gazed into space, thinking about him. Bossy ...
conceited ... those were the adjectives which sprang into
her head.
They were certainly appropriate. A trace of a smile
surfaced, flickered on her mouth. She was suddenly amused
by the invitation and sorely tempted to accept. Admit it,
you'd love to spend the weekend in Paris with him. But
then you'd love to do a lot of things you constantly pass
up, a small voice at the back of her head reminded her.
And shesmiled again, -though this time with wryness, a
hint of regret even, knowing that she could never be
indulgent with herself. Perish the thought! Duty had to
come first. That little rule of Emma Harte's had been
inculcated in her since childhood, although sometimes she
wished her grandmother had not been so thorough. But
Grandy had schooled her well, had taught her that wealth
and privilege also meant responsibilities, and that they
had to be shouldered without flinching, no matter what the
cost to oneself. And since she was now thirty-six, almost
thirty-seven, her character was hardly likely to change at
this stage in her life.
Paula sat up, slipped the note back into its envelope,
sighing under her breath as she did. A romantic interlude
in her favorite city with that very special and
exceptional man was infinitely appealing but decidedly not
possible. No, she would not go to Paris for a weekend of
love and intimacy and pleasure. Instead, she would go to
her children and be a good mother. Her children needed
her. After all, she had not seen them for two weeks. On
the other hand, she had not seen him either ...
"Damn and blast," she muttered out loud, wishing he had
not sent the note. It had thrown her off balance, made her
feel unexpectedly restless, and at a moment in time when
she could not afford to have distractions of any kind. The
months ahead were going to be extremely complicated, and
they would be crucial months.
And so she would phone him later, tell him she was not
coming; she must also cancel the airline reservation he
had made for her. On second thought, perhaps she ought to
call British Airways immediately.
As she reached for the telephone it began to ring.
She picked up swiftly, said, "Hello?" and glanced at the
door as her assistant, Jill, hurried in with a cup of
coffee.
"Hello, Paula, it's me," her cousin Alexander was saying
at the other end of the phone. "I came into the Leeds
store looking for you, only to find that on the one day
I'm up here, you're in London."
"Oh Sandy darling, I am sorry to have missed you," she
exclaimed, then covered the mouthpiece, murmured her
thanks to Jill, who placed the coffee in front of her,
smiled, and disappeared.
Paula went on, "Were you in Yorkshire last night?"
"Yes. I got in around six-thirty."
"I was still at the store, Sandy. You should've called me.
We could've had dinner."
"No, we couldn't. You see, I had to get out to Nutton
Priory as early as possible. My estate manager's going off
on holiday today and we had a lot to go over." Alexander
paused, cleared his throat. "You were at Grandy's grave
this morning ... those are your flowers, aren't they,
Paula?"
"Yes," she said, her voice growing softer. "I went there
very early, before driving to London."
"I was close on your heels." He laughed faintly. "I
suppose we just weren't meant to meet up today. Well ...
my loss."
Paula loved her cousin dearly and thus was sensitive to
his moods. She had caught something odd in his voice, a
nuance that disturbed her. "Sandy, do you have some sort
of problem?" she asked quickly. "Do you want to talk to me
about anything?"
There was only the slightest hesitation before he
exclaimed with a certain firmness, "No, no, not at all! I
merely thought it would be nice for us to lunch together,
I haven't seen you for weeks. I realize you've been
busy ... however, I do miss our tete-a-tetes, old thing."
Paula had been listening attentively, straining to catch
that peculiar inflection she had noticed a moment ago, but
now it was absent. His voice sounded perfectly normalwell-
modulated and controlled, as it always was.
She said, "Yes, I miss them too, Sandy, and it has been a
bit hectic for me this summer, what with all the flying to
the south of France and back, and staying ahead of the
game with the business. And look here, whilst I have you
on the
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