CHAPTER NINE
CANNES was very, very hot, and madly busy, it being the height of the tourist season.
It was Stephanie's afternoon off and she was lying on the Croisette beach improving her suntan and pretending to read the French novel she had brought with her. The relentless sun beat down on her back, relaxing her, and she closed her eyes. It was wonderful to relax and do nothing. The restaurant had been so busy over the past couple of days, she hadn't had a minute to breathe, and for some reason she had not been sleeping well at all.
She opened her eyes again, on a sigh, and adjusted her sunglasses, noticing that a tanned young man further up the beach was staring fixedly at her. She frowned slightly and ignored him. If he approached her, she would casually freeze him off—she'd had plenty of practice at that since arriving in Cannes!
It was now three weeks since she had left Luke's house by the sea. She had gone, as promised, the morning after he had tried to make love to her on the beach.
The evening before she left, Luke had not been at dinner. Carina's eyes had been wary and very suspicious over the meal, as though she knew what had happened. But Stephanie had been uncaring, racking her brains for somewhere to go.
Then she had remembered her old school friend, Franfoise Massin, who had left Moahu with her parents to go back to France soon after both girls left school. Stephanie still wrote to Frangoise and they were still fairly close. That was it—problem solved! She would go to France, stay in a hotel if Fran^ise could not put her up.
After dinner, Stephanie had escaped early and sat by the phone making plans.
Franfoise was delighted to hear from her. Of course she could come over and stay—they always needed help in the restaurant-bar they owned. She was very welcome. It had been a great relief, and Stephanie had been genuinely thrilled at the thought of seeing Franfoise again.
Next, she had booked her flight for mid-morning the following day, then had telephoned Connie to explain her plans. Connie had been very curious, having already heard the gossip that her engagement to Dean was broken Off, but Stephanie had been unable to talk about it, promising to write and explain everything as soon as she got to Cannes.
Then there had been packing, and arranging for a taxi to pick her up early the following morning.
Carina had not seemed sorry to find out that she was leaving. 'Cannes? Very nice, darling,' she had said casually. 'Take care of yourself—we'll probably meet again some time.'
Stephanie had smiled, 'I hope so.' She had meant it. She still regretted the fact that she and Carina had not been friends.
Wayne had seemed genuinely sad to hear of her departure. 'I'll miss you,' he had told her, kissing her cheek. 'You livened the place up a bit.'
'Let's keep in touch.' She had grown fond of him, she had realised as she suggested it. He was like a brother.
She had not seen Luke, she hadn't had the courage to seek him out, and he had made no move to see her.
When she left the next day, the depth of her sadness at leaving the house had shocked her. She felt desolate at the thought of never seeing Luke again, even though they had parted in anger.
Francoise and her brother, Philippe, met her at Nice airport. It was good to see Frang:oise again, and Philippe was as charming and as friendly as Stephanie remembered. She was tired after an almost sleepless night and in consequence did not fully appreciate the beautiful views on the ride to Cannes.
The restaurant-bar Philippe owned was in the centre of town, near the sea-front, and Francoise worked and lived there with him, their parents having moved to Paris two years before. Stephanie's room was pleasantly large with a plant-filled balcony overlooking the road. There was a brass bed and dark wooden furniture.
At dinner that first night, she told them both that she would be looking for a job, and Philippe immediately offered her one in the restaurant. He explained that they needed all the help they could get at the height of the season.
Philippe was tall and olive-skinned with tawny hair that fell over his forehead, and a thin face. He was attracted to her, she could see that every time he looked at her, but she was deliberately ignoring it. She had only just managed to get her thoughts sorted out about Dean and her father, and Luke filled all her senses, day and night. She could not get him out of her mind, only glad that she had got away before it was too late.
So, on her second day in Cannes, she began to work in the restaurant, despite Fran?oise's protests that she was on holiday and should spend at least a week sightseeing and sunbathing. It was hard, busy work and Stephanie was thankful, because it took her mind off Luke. She picked up the work easily, her fluency in French being a great help. And she had to admit that she was enjoying it.
Francoise was a good friend, despite the fact that they hadn't seen each other for years, and they got on well, laughing whenever they were together. And Stephanie liked Cannes and was faintly amused by the opulent wealth on display here, loving the sun and the easy holiday atmosphere.
She rolled on to her back and glanced at her watch. It was five o'clock, time she was getting back to help with the evening work. She collected her bag and slipped on the brightly-coloured sarong she had brought with her, then left the beach, feeling the eyes of the young man who had been staring at her so blatantly following her every inch of the way. Then she crossed the Boulevard de la Croisette, walking under the shady palm trees, stopping to glance in one or two shop windows on her way back to the restaurant.
Francoise was behind the bar when she arrived. 'Nice afternoon?' the French girl asked with a smile, flicking back her waist-length black hair.
'I just lay on the beach,' Stephanie admitted ruefully, 'doing absolutely nothing.'
'Good for you!' Francoise carried on with her task of counting glasses.
The room was dim, the light filtering through shuttered blinds. Empty like this, it held a charm that could only be French.
'I'll take a quick shower, then I'll give you a hand,' Stephanie promised, the bead curtains rustling musically as she pushed through them.
Her room was dark and cool and she kicked off her sandals, cooling her feet on the tile floor as she walked into the shower. She dried and plaited her hair, then dressed in green cotton trousers and a matching short- sleeved blouse, before making her way back downstairs to help Franfoise set the tables.
'What's the matter?' she asked her friend, noticing her frown of concentration as they worked. Francoise lifted her shoulders in a characteristic shrug.
'Oh, it's Claude. He phoned before to say that he'll be delayed for a further two days, and I'm missing him like mad!'
Francoise was having a passionate affair with the owner of an antique shop. He had been away for weeks on a buying trip. They would probably marry eventually, Franfoise confided to Stephanie, but for the moment they were enjoying their affair. Francoise was supremely happy, Stephanie could see her face lighting up whenever she thought of Claude, her dark eyes radiant.
'Two days will pass quickly, you'll see,' she promised sympathetically.
'It might as well be two weeks,' Fran^oise replied mournfully, 'I thought he would be back tonight.'
Philippe wandered in as they were chatting. 'Everything in order?' His dark eyes rested on Stephanie.
'What else?' Franqoise replied laughingly. 'Isn't everything always in order?'
And when she disappeared into the kitchens to check the menus with the chef, Philippe said to Stephanie, 'Have dinner with me this week?'
Stephanie smiled, embarrassed. 'I'll be working here,' she protested lightly, hoping that he wouldn't push it.
'Nicolas and Jeanne will take over for one evening,' he told her calmly. 'We could dance—I know a wonderful place on the old harbour—the fish there is fantastic. I know you would like it.'
He was serious, and her heart sank as she saw that, because she liked him. 'What would Fran?oise say?' she parried, still smiling.
'It is not Francoise's business.'
'I'll think ab
out it,' she promised, because she didn't have the heart to turn him down flat, not when he had been so kind to her.
'I'll keep on asking you until you say yes,' he assured her, meaning it, his smile warm with charm.
Stephanie smiled in silence and turned back to her work, wondering what on earth she would do if he did.
The restaurant was packed again that evening, and working behind the bar, Stephanie was rushed off her feet. She prepared and served drinks automatically, fending off passes of all types from male customers, as usual, watching Francoise, in her fashionable white shorts, doing the same. It was so predictable it was funny, and the two girls shared jokes about it all evening.
Philippe hurried over to the bar, halfway through the evening, obviously flustered, to order extra special treatment for a party that had just come in—a Hollywood film star and his entourage.
It was quite usual in Cannes, Stephanie had already been warned, and she spent the next couple of hours mixing cocktails and serving wine and champagne to the party, who became louder and drunker as the evening passed.
After a much-needed break and something to eat in the kitchens at about nine-thirty, she returned to the bar refreshed. It was still crowded, so busy now that she hardly had time to look at the customers she was serving. She moved towards the figure of a man seated on one of the high, plushly-upholstered wooden bar stools.
'Monsieur?' she murmured, clearing away empty glasses, not looking at him.
'Scotch, neat.' The deep cool voice jerked her head up in amazement, her heart thudding. It was Luke, his eyes flaming with anger.
'Scotch,' Stephanie repeated inanely, still incredibly shocked to see him. He nodded briskly, and her hands trembled as she served him.
It was like a dream. He had been constantly in her thoughts since she left England. How had he known where to find her? What was he doing here, anyway?
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. He looked powerful and menacing, his anger—anger that she could not understand—almost tangible. He was wearing jeans and a green checked shirt, and even dressed so casually, he was still the most devastatingly attractive man in the place.
Luckily, because they were so busy, she could move away as soon as she had served him. He had said nothing remotely personal to her. To a third person looking on, there was no evidence that they were anything other than strangers, Stephanie reflected miserably. But she felt his blank eyes following every move she made, as she served the other customers.
He did not take his eyes off her for a second, and in consequence, she became flushed and clumsy, actually dropping two glasses and smashing them, she was so aware of him. She had to serve him a number of times, and each time he was silent, and she could find no courage to speak to him.
'What's the matter?' Francoise asked perceptively, as she waited at the bar for a bottle of wine for one of the customers at a table. 'Is it too much for you?'
'Of course not.' Stephanie tried to smile, but failed miserably. 'Probably too much sun on the beach this afternoon.' It was a poor lie, but Francoise, sensing that she did not want to talk, shrugged and dropped the subject.
'Have you seen that gorgeous man sitting at the bar? The one in the green shirt?'
She meant Luke, and Stephanie's colour rose. 'Yes, I've seen him,' she said shortly, dismissively.
'Mm.' Fran?oise was staring at him openly, ignoring Stephanie's lack of interest, her eyes dreaming. 'That's quite a man and, he's alone.' She sounded as though she was talking about some kind of god, and Stephanie snorted.
'You're spoken for,' she reminded her friend with a smile.
'Even so ' Francoise said wistfully. 'Green
eyes—they send shivers down my spine. He's fantastic!'
Stephanie raised her eyes towards the ceiling. 'You're mad,' she said firmly, because Franfoise was echoing her own thoughts. 'Here's your wine.'
And so the time passed, Luke watching her in brooding silence as she dashed around working. She watched him too—covertly. She watched him smoking, watched him drinking Scotch, her face very flushed and a restless shivering in her body. She wanted to know what on earth he was doing in Cannes, but she didn't dare to ask, or even say a word to him.
Late in the evening, as customers began to leave, another man who had been sitting at the bar all night began to speak to her. He was drunk, she realised, when he asked her out. She smilingly refused, praying that he wouldn't be difficult, used to handling men like him. But he was difficult. He grabbed her arm as she passed him on her way to serve someone else.
'Come out with me tonight,' he said again, the words slurring, eyeing her with an undisguised lust that frightened her, even though she knew it was the alcohol talking.
'Please let go of my arm,' she said politely, wondering whether she should call for Philippe. But before she had time to decide, Luke was there.
'I think it's time you were leaving,' he told the man pleasantly in perfect French. But there was something in his hard eyes, something beneath the calm tone of his voice, that had the drunk on his feet in seconds, as though he was a puppet and Luke the puppeteer.
'I didn't know she was with you,'- the man muttered as he walked unsteadily away.
'Thank you,' Stephanie said quietly in Luke's direction. She didn't look at him, she watched the drunk leave.
'What the hell are you doing working here anyway?' The anger vibrating in his voice jerked her eyes to the blank depths of his.
'It's a job,' she replied defiantly. 'I like it.'
'Oh yes, I can see that.' There was a hard mockery in his face.
'What are you doing here?' Stephanie whispered, hurt by his cold fury. Luke didn't answer for a moment, his wide shoulders very tense.
'Drinking too much whisky, I guess,' he replied at last, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Stephanie saw that smile, her eyes drawn to it, and relaxed with him. She was glad to see him, so very, very glad.
'Another coincidence?' she persisted, staring at him.
'Does it matter?'
'I never know where I stand with you,' she complained with a sweet frown.
'I don't think you'd really like to know,' he told her with dry certainty.
'No .. . no, you're probably right,' she conceded, trying to read the unspoken meaning in his eyes. 'How long are you staying?'
He smiled, his eyes suddenly cynical. 'As long as I need to.'
'What does that mean?'
'You know damn well what it means,' he said softly, and swallowing back his Scotch, he turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving her staring after him open-mouthed.
'Made a date?' Francoise's curious voice cut into her thoughtful reverie.
'What?'
'The gorgeous man in the green shirt, you clever girl!'
'I already know him,' Stephanie explained quickly. 'He's a friend of my half-sister's.' She had to remember that.
'You didn't say!' Francoise reproached laughingly.
'Didn't I?' The restaurant was closing up and Stephanie busied herself with the empty glasses, not wanting to talk about Luke, not even to Francoise.
Later, as she lay in the darkness of her room, half listening to the noise from the street below, she smiled to herself and whispered his name. He was here in Cannes, and that made her happy. Too happy for it to last, she had no doubt, but happy enough for now to drift into a deep calm sleep.
Luke came to the restaurant every night after that. He did not push her in any way. He seemed to be holding back deliberately. Sometimes he would eat and other times he would sit at the bar drinking whisky.
They didn't talk much, and when they did, he was gentle and charming, never asking anything of her.
They were like strangers, polite acquaintances, except that whenever she looked into his eyes, she saw an unspoken question that she could not understand burning there.
She began to desperately look forward to his arrival every evening, her heart pounding when he stepped through the door, s
o big and powerful and graceful. She had no idea what he was doing, but she knew that she needed to see him.
Four days after his arrival in Cannes, he was sitting at the bar reading a newspaper, when Stephanie noticed a slender blonde woman approaching him. She had seen the woman before in the restaurant. Francoise knew her vaguely. She was a rich American, and her husband had a yacht anchored in the harbour.
Stephanie's hand froze on the glass she was wiping as she watched the woman smiling. She was breathtakingly beautiful and Stephanie felt an irrational stab of hatred for her.
Luke was smiling back at her, his green eyes lazy, amused. The woman sat down next to him, her slim body swaying towards him provocatively, her red- tipped fingers lightly touching his arm. Stephanie felt her teeth snapping together. They were waiting to be served and she knew that she had to do it.
Pursing her lips, she walked over to them. The beautiful American ordered a Martini, Luke a whisky, his eyes amused on Stephanie's tight mouth. She poured the drinks with a blind red fury beating in her brain and had to stop herself from slamming them down on the counter.
Luke smiled, murmuring his thanks, reading her fury so easily, and she glared her anger at him uncaringly before turning away, her fists clenched at her sides.
But she couldn't keep her eyes off them for long. She had to know what was happening. Finally she looked, discreetly. They were talking, the beautiful American laughing at something Luke said, her golden head bent too near his shoulder. She was bored and predatory, and Stephanie hated her.
She watched them all night, talking and laughing together. She watched Luke's hard-boned face, the faintly cynical charm in his eyes, the amusement twisting his firm mouth, and angry pain tore at her. He knew the woman was married, he knew what she was offering, and irrationally, Stephanie prayed he wouldn't take it.
Then suddenly the truth hit her so hard that for a moment she couldn't breathe. She was jealous, green with spiteful jealousy. The very thought of Luke taking that woman back to where he was staying—and Stephanie didn't even know where that was—and making love to her, brought a pain that was almost physical. The images rolled with cinematic starkness through her mind, refusing to be banished, until she felt like screaming.
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