Waiting for Mr. Wonderful!

by Stephanie Howard

  That reminded him that he had to make a phone call. Once in his room, he sat down by the bedside phone and quickly punched in a Paris number. She’d be in bed, of course, but he knew he wouldn’t disturb her, for she always switched on the answering machine at night. And, sure enough, after just a couple of rings, he heard the familiar voice speaking the familiar message. He waited for the beep, then spoke quickly in French.

  ‘Just to let you know that I’ll be coming home tomorrow. Goodnight. I love you. See you soon.’ Then he blew a kiss down the line and laid the phone down.

  With a sigh, he stood up and slipped off his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Then he switched on the TV and began to undress, feeling that sense of restlessness sweep over him again.

  Georgia. Georgia. She seemed to fill his mind and every corner of his being with a sharp, physical need.

  For the moment, the only answer was a long, cold shower—a strictly temporary and deeply unsatisfactory solution. But it would have to do till he could manage to organise that other, far more congenial cure!

  He headed for the bathroom, peeling off his shirt. Still, perhaps, with a bit of luck, he wouldn’t have to wait too long. For they would meet again, and soon. That was one thing he knew for sure.

  It was the next day, during a brief mid-morning lull, that the shop phone rang and Georgia snatched it up.

  ‘Hello?’ As she spoke, she felt a nervous dart inside her. Some instinct was already telling her who was on the end of the line.

  Her instinct had been absolutely right. At the sound of the familiar menacing tones, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up:

  ‘Good morning, Monsieur Duval. And what can I do for you?’ The pounding of her heart against her ribs was so loud she could barely hear what she was saying.

  ‘I was wondering if you might have reconsidered my offer? Now that you’ve had a couple of weeks to think it over.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t reconsidered. My shop’s still not for sale.’

  There was a pause. ‘Are you quite sure? I think that may be unwise.’

  ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ Her voice was suddenly a little shrill. ‘That wouldn’t be some kind of threat, by any chance?’

  Another pause. ‘Certainly not.’ She sensed him smile his reptilian smile. ‘I shall be generous in spite of your refusal. This is Wednesday. I’ll give you till after the weekend to think it over. Who knows? Perhaps by then you might feel more inclined to change your mind. Goodbye for now, Miss Dee.’ And, with a click, the phone went dead.

  Georgia slammed down the receiver. ‘It was him!’ she announced to Kay, who’d appeared at her side, a frown of concern on her face. ‘Quick! Where’s my bag? I’ve got to phone Lasalle right away!’

  She spent the next ten minutes frantically trying the numbers he’d given her. One was engaged, one didn’t answer and at the third one she was told he wasn’t available. But she spoke to his secretary and left a message for him to call her, stressing that the matter was exceedingly urgent. Then she laid the phone down. Now all she could do was wait.

  When, by three in the afternoon, she still hadn’t heard from him, Georgia called his secretary again to check that her message had been passed on. The secretary assured her it had, so why hadn’t he phoned? She tried the other two numbers again, but that got her nowhere. One was now unobtainable and the other one still wasn’t answering.

  ‘What am I supposed to do now?’ she wailed frantically to Kay, who was clearing the racks and sorting out the shelves to make way for the consignment of new summer clothes that was due to arrive from France tomorrow. ‘Why isn’t he ringing? I don’t understand it!’ She felt like tearing her hair out and weeping with frustration.

  Just after three-thirty, the phone burst into life. Georgia fell on it instantly. Thank heavens! It was him at last! But it wasn’t him at all and when she laid the receiver down again a few minutes later she was trembling so badly she thought she might faint.

  ‘Oh, Kay, I can’t believe it... Something terrible’s happened.’ She slumped down on the chair behind the counter, feeling sick. ‘The consignment from France. All our new summer clothes. The whole lot’s vanished. Nobody knows where it is.’

  ‘Phone Lasalle at once.’ Kay came over and stood beside her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Go on!’ she urged, pushing the phone towards her. ‘He’s the only one who can help us now.’

  Georgia didn’t get through to him. She scarcely expected to this time. But she did leave a third, slightly hysterical message with his secretary.

  ‘Please try to get hold of him. Tell him it’s really, really urgent. Ask him to phone me. It’ll be a disaster if he doesn’t!’

  But when closing time came she still hadn’t heard a thing.

  ‘I’m going home,’ she told Kay. ‘There’s no point in hanging around here.’

  She’d left her home number with his secretary, so he could get in touch with her there, though at this point it seemed unlikely that she’d hear anything from him today. It was already after seven o’clock in France.

  to call his secretary again first thing tomorrow morning.’

  As she drove back home, though, she was wondering if there’d be any point in that. Maybe he’d lied to her. Had never intended helping her at all. Maybe he’d just been playing some sick, sadistic game. Her stomach turned to lead. She was going to have to fight Duval on her own.

  She parked the Polo outside her front gate and pulled on the handbrake. Then she stepped out onto the pavement on limbs that had turned to cardboard. How could Lasalle have played such a rotten trick?

  Well, damn him! I’ll manage without him. I did it before and I’ll do it again! she vowed.

  Shaking off her sense of doom, she strode to the gate and pushed it open. Then she froze, her eyes staring, unable to believe what she was seeing. For seated on the wooden bench, beneath the flowering wisteria, was the last person in the world she’d expected to see.

  Lasalle!

  Her mouth fell open. ‘What are you doing here?’

  As she stepped through the gate he was coming towards her and the expression on his face was as grim as a winter’s morning. He took hold of her arm and proceeded to frogmarch her to the front door.

  ‘You’ve got fifteen minutes to go inside and pack a bag. You’re coming with me to Paris. Right now.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘PARIS? What are you talking about? Why would I go with you to Paris?’

  Totally confused, Georgia blinked into Lasalle’s face as they came to a halt just a few steps from her front door. When she’d first caught sight of him sitting beneath the wisteria—this time, for once, he hadn’t been reading a newspaper!—her heart had spun like a top in her chest. Everything’s OK! He’s come to help me, after all! she’d thought. The rush of sweet relief she’d felt had very nearly bowled her over.

  But there was something a little scary about that dark look on his face. Maybe he wasn’t here to help her at all. Maybe he’d come for an entirely different reason.

  She peered at him. ‘Why are you here? Did you get my message?’

  ‘I got all of your messages.’ Suddenly, he smiled. ‘At least, I got all of them up until about two and a half hours ago when I got on the plane to come here and get you. I tried calling you a couple of times to let you know I was on my way, but your number was engaged. I couldn’t get through.’

  That was probably because she’d been frantically trying to call him! ‘But why are you here?’ she asked him again.

  He was still holding onto her. ‘Because you’ve got to come to Paris if I’m going to do something about these missing clothes of yours. And I figured that the easiest way to persuade you was to fly over personally and drag you onto the plane.’

  Georgia was still a little confused, but she was smiling now as she looked at him. She’d been wrong to doubt him. He really was going to help her. Thank heavens. Now she wouldn’t have to fight Duval o
n her own.

  But that was far from being the only reason she was so relieved he’d kept his word. It was utterly pathetic, for it shouldn’t matter a damn to her, but she’d felt hurt and upset on a far more personal level to think that he’d simply taken her for a ride.

  She looked into his face. ‘But why do I have to go to Paris? I mean, it’s just not possible, not without some notice. I can’t just drop everything. I have a business to run.’

  Lasalle regarded her for a moment, his expression suddenly grim again. ‘You may not have a business to run for very much longer unless you are prepared just to drop everything and come.’

  As Georgia felt herself blanch at his words, he continued, his tone steely, ‘I’ve a pretty strong suspicion I can track down your missing clothes, but I have to be in Paris in order to do it and, what’s more, I’m going to need you with me.

  ‘So, decide.’ The blue eyes raked her face as she stared back at him. ‘Say goodbye to your clothes or come to Paris with me now.’

  Put like that, there wasn’t really a great deal of choice. ‘OK, I’ll come.’ She reached in her bag for her key. ‘Just give me a few minutes to put some things in a bag and give Kay a quick ring to tell her what’s going on.’

  She paused. ‘How long do you think I’m going to have to be away?’

  ‘Just as long as it takes. Maybe a day. Maybe longer.’ He was still holding onto her and now he began to propel her the last few steps towards the door.

  ‘Now stop asking questions and go inside and pack that bag. If we hurry, we can catch the ten o’clock flight.’

  They stepped out of Charles de Gaulle airport into a clear, starry night, the air clean and crisp, the moon like a silver penny in the sky.

  Not that Georgia was really aware of these celestial details, for most of her consciousness was very firmly focused on the earthly male being walking at her side and the excitement she was feeling simply at being with him.

  It had been that way for virtually the entire journey from Bath, from the moment when they’d climbed into the back of the waiting taxi—the same one that had brought Lasalle from Heathrow airport and which he’d instructed to stand by to take the two of them back again. And she wasn’t really bothering to fight the feeling any more.

  Why on earth should she? He’d just done something wonderful. Hearing that she was in trouble, he’d come flying over to save her, exactly like a white knight, after all!

  As they climbed into a white Paris taxi, Lasalle told her, ‘It’s late, so we’ll just go straight to my flat. I’d like to make an early start tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Right.’

  Georgia nodded. It was late, just after midnight— though actually an hour earlier by her internal clock—and, in spite of the fact that she felt pretty hyped up and quite capable of dancing the night away if he’d suggested it, she knew she really ought to head straight for bed. She’d just come through a pretty harrowing day, after all.

  But, as she nodded, a question was going through her head—not for the first time over the past couple of hours. What exactly were the sleeping arrangements he had in mind?

  It was as though he’d read her thoughts. ‘You can sleep in the spare room.’ He paused and turned to look at her with a provocative smile. ‘But only, of course, if that’s what you’d prefer...?’

  Georgia met his eyes and blushed. She simply couldn’t help it. In a flash, she’d remembered that kiss of the other night and felt again that helpless stirring inside her, that fierce, hot longing to experience him as a lover. And that was precisely what he was offering with that subtly worded question. For one breathless, aching moment, she was seriously tempted.

  But she fought the temptation off. Was she out of her mind? He was a philanderer and a womaniser and she barely knew him, for heaven’s sake!

  ‘The spare room sounds fine.’

  Her tone was innocent and light, as though she hadn’t understood the unspoken offer. Then she turned away abruptly to stare out the window. Just slow down and get a grip on yourself, she told herself. You’re getting way out of control!

  In no time at all, they reached the centre of Paris, and, just as she always did, Georgia felt a lift of excitement to be back once again in the heart of this splendid city. Catching a glimpse of the Sacré-Coeur, one of her favourite churches, she even managed to forget, if only for a moment, the deeply disturbing dark presence at her side!

  Skirting the illuminated Arc de Triomphe, the taxi began to head down the Champs Elysées. Then, to her surprise, it was drawing up outside an extremely elegant turn-of-the-century building.

  ‘We’re here,’ Jean-Claude murmured, surprising her even more.

  Georgia climbed out of the taxi, smiling wryly to herself. Well, how about this? A flat right on the Champs Elysées! Though really, if she thought about it, she shouldn’t be so surprised. The Porsche, the designer suits, the way he had obviously thought nothing of just hopping on a plane to come and pick her up... All of those things pointed to a seriously wealthy lifestyle.

  She definitely hadn’t been expecting a flat at the top of some tower block. But, all the same, the Champs Elysées...!

  As he led her into the entrance hall, with its woodpanelled porter’s desk, velvet-soft blue carpet and tasteful prints on the walls, she found herself flicking him a deeply curious glance. Exactly what kind of business was he in that he could afford all this?

  His flat was on the top floor and was positively sumptuous, though not particularly large in terms of the number of rooms. Smiling modestly, he pointed this out to her as Georgia stepped into the enormous hallway and gasped, ‘Good heavens! It’s absolutely huge!’

  ‘There are only three bedrooms, one of which I use as a study.’

  Maybe so, but from what she could see the rooms were vast, with high corniced ceilings and an air of opulent, ancient grandness. Compared to this, her flat in Bath was a broom cupboard with a couple of chairs!

  As he showed her into the sitting room, Georgia glanced round in admiration. ‘This is beautiful,’ she told him, taking in the elegant plum draperies, the mouth-watering antiques, the deep, soft sofas strewn with cushions. ‘I love it.’ There wasn’t a single thing she’d have changed.

  ‘I’m glad you like it.’

  As he slipped off his jacket and tossed it casually onto one of the armchairs, Georgia found herself watching him with interest from beneath her lashes. Seeing inside someone’s home was something she always found fascinating. People’s homes revealed all sorts of things about them. And this one was providing her with unexpected insights about Lasalle.

  The first thing that struck her was the sheer, astonishing luxury, but after she’d got used to that, there was another quality that impressed her more. A warmth. An informality. A total absence of pomposity. In spite of. the room’s scale, she somehow instantly felt at home in it. All too easily, she could envisage curling up on one of the sofas to read a book.

  And the aura of the room suited him. It felt absolutely right. Somewhere formal and pretentious wouldn’t have suited him at all. Though there was something else about the flat, some curious quality it had, that she couldn’t quite manage to put her finger on right now.

  ‘Would you like a nightcap, or something to eat? Or shall I just show you to your room?’

  ‘I think the latter.’ Georgia smiled at him. ‘I seem to remember you mentioning that you’d like to make an early start tomorrow morning.’

  She felt totally relaxed. Her earlier excitement had mellowed. And as she looked at him she was aware of a new feeling of warmth towards him. Not only is he the most attractive man I’ve ever known, I think I could also end up rather liking him, she thought.

  She followed him back out to the hall, where he picked up her holdall, then along the short corridor that led to the spare bedroom, intensely aware of the intimate duet of their footsteps on the marble tiles. The two of them were all alone in this big, beautiful place. There was something immensely pleasing and
rather exciting about that thought.

  Her eyes drifted involuntarily to the back of his neck where the dark hair curled glossily against his shirt collar. Something tightened inside her. How soft that hair must feel. She longed to reach out and let it trickle through her fingers.

  ‘This is it. I think you’ll find everything you need.’

  As they reached the spare-room door, he turned suddenly to face her, making her jump back almost guiltily. He pushed the door open, revealing an exceptionally pretty room with a bateau lit bed and pale green silk draperies, and dropped her holdall just inside the doorway.

  ‘If you decide, after all, that you’d like something to eat, just help yourself to whatever you fancy in the kitchen.’

  As he paused and smiled and held her eyes for a moment, Georgia smiled back at him. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘And if there’s anything else you need I’m just at the end of the corridor.’

  Georgia was afraid to meet his gaze. He would see what she was thinking. It must be written in her eyes in flashing neon lights.

  She took a step into the room. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need anything.’ It was time she put a stop to this and shut the door between them. With what was going on in his head and what was going on in hers, the situation was definitely starting to get dangerous. ‘I’m actually pretty tired. I’d just like to get my head down.’

  ‘I’ll bid you goodnight, then.’ He smiled and stepped back. ‘Dormez bien. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  And she barely had time to mutter, ‘Goodnight,’ before he’d turned on his heel and disappeared off down the corridor.

  Georgia closed the door smartly and breathed slowly for a moment. She was glad it had ended like this, without even a goodnight kiss—for she realised now, belatedly, that she’d actually been half expecting one.