‘If you like, we could go to this little jazz club I know,’ he said now. ‘That is, if you’re into jazz?’
‘Actually, I am—though I’m a fairly recent convert. Thelonius Monk and Oscar Peterson are my big passions at the moment.’ Just the day before she’d met him, she’d treated herself to a couple of tapes, though she hadn’t actually got round to listening to them yet!
‘Then that’s what we’ll do. There’s a pianist playing tonight who usually does a lot of Oscar Peterson stuff.’ He reached across and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. ‘See what good partners we make? We even have the same taste in music.’
Precisely what she’d been thinking, though she’d been trying hard not to. She’d also been trying not to feel quite so excited by the intimate pressure of his fingers against hers. On both counts, it was a losing battle. So, she just relaxed and gave in.
‘OK. Let’s go, then. We’ve still got things to do.’ Still holding her hand, he began to lead her between the tables and past the bar in the corner to the exit.
Georgia’s thoughts were in a spin. Things were gathering momentum. Dinner. Then a jazz club. Then what after that? One thing was for certain—it wasn’t going to end up like last night, with the two of them going off to bed without even a goodnight kiss!
But just how far would she allow it to go? Would she let him make love to her? Would she throw caution to the winds and simply allow things to take their natural course? Excitement tightened inside her. More than anything, that was what she longed to do.
Absorbed in these thoughts, Georgia took a moment to notice that she was suddenly being hustled rather hurriedly out the door. But something made her turn to look at him as she almost stumbled into the street and she was shocked to see the dark expression on his face.
‘What’s the ma—?’ she started to ask, then stopped in mid-sentence, for over his shoulder, in the second before the door closed, she saw for herself precisely what the matter was.
The woman was seated at a table just inside the entrance. She was fair-haired and rather striking, dressed in an elegant red check suit. But what caused Georgia’s heart to falter was the look in her eyes.
Her gaze was fixed on them, gorgon-like, as though she might turn them both to stone.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WHO was that woman?’
It was two minutes later and Georgia had just been bundled into the back of a taxi. She was still catching her breath as she turned to Lasalle, who was seated alongside her, and waited for an answer.
He met her question with a blank look. ‘What woman?’ he said.
Georgia felt a surge of shimmering anger. Wasn’t this just what she ought to have expected? Did he think she was blind? What in heaven’s name did he take her for?
She turned to face him more squarely, narrowing her eyes accusingly. ‘Don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I saw her sitting at a table just inside the restaurant door. A rather attractive fair-haired woman in a red check suit.’
‘I didn’t see any woman in a red check suit.’ He was looking at her as though it really was true that he hadn’t the faintest notion what she was talking about.
Nice try, Lasalle, but I’m afraid it won’t work, Georgia thought. ‘Then why were you running away from her if you didn’t see her? That seems to me a very odd thing to do.’
‘You’re right, it would be.’ To her annoyance, he smiled. ‘But I wasn’t running away from this woman, whoever she was. What I was doing was trying to make myself scarce before a certain gentleman at the bar turned round and spotted me.’
‘Ah. So it was a gentleman you were running away from?’ With every syllable, she made it plain that she didn’t believe a word.
He was still smiling. ‘I use the term “gentleman” very loosely. The individual in question is a colleague of Duval’s. I didn’t want him to see the two of us together and pass on to Duval the news that we’d teamed up. It’s possible, of course, that he mightn’t have realised who you were anyway, but in the circumstances I thought it best not to take any risks.’
Georgia was silent for a moment. Either she’d got it totally wrong, or he was a particularly clever and inventive liar. She felt totally thrown. Which of the two was the truth?
Softening her tone a little, she demanded, ‘So, who was the woman, then? She was sitting there looking daggers at us. I didn’t imagine that.’
Lasalle shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea who she was.’ He paused and fixed her with an amused, curious look. ‘Who do you think she was? I get the impression you have some theories.’
Well, she’d walked into that one! It was rather obvious what she thought. She’d assumed that the woman was some irate, jealous girlfriend—which was rather how she herself had just been behaving, the way she’d pounced on him like that!
I’m damned if I’ll admit it, though! she thought. She looked back at him, straight-faced. ‘For all I know, maybe she was somebody you owe money to.’
That clearly amused him. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ He was keeping a straight face too, but there was laughter in his eyes. He paused. ‘Or maybe she was some ex-girlfriend.’
‘That’s a likelihood too, I suppose.’ Georgia willed her expression not to alter, as though it were not of the remotest interest to her which explanation was the right one. ‘I imagine you have plenty of ex-girlfriends littered about who’d be more than disposed to give you looks like that.’
‘I’ve no doubt you’re right.’
‘Well, at least you don’t deny it.’
‘Of course not. I believe in owning up to my sins.’ He smiled. ‘They say it’s the only way to redemption.’
As though he cared about redemption! That was a laugh! Not the palest, most fleeting shadow of remorse had touched those impossibly handsome features. Quite the contrary. He was highly amused by her accusations. And she’d been totally mistaken when she’d decided this morning that maybe he wasn’t a Don Juan, after all. He was the original Don Juan. A shameless user of women.
So, now that she’d got that straight, there’d be no more foolish fantasising about possible romantic developments tonight. Nothing was going to develop. Nothing whatsoever. She was going back to her old policy of keeping him at a distance. The only relationship they’d ever have was a strictly business one.
And business was what she ought to be thinking about now. She flicked him a level look and abruptly changed the subject.
‘So, this colleague of Duval’s...the one in the restaurant... Do you reckon he spotted us or not?’
‘I really can’t be sure. But it may not matter anyway. As I said, it’s quite possible he wouldn’t realise who you were. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that nothing comes of it.’
Georgia nodded. She still felt a little confused, not a hundred per cent certain that she actually believed his story. Though, if he was telling the truth, then one thing was pretty clear—he was taking this Duval thing extremely seriously. If only for that reason, she very much hoped he was on the level.
She turned away to gaze out of the taxi window as they made their way through the busy lunchtime traffic. There were other reasons, of course, why she hoped he was on the level, but she was trying very hard not to dwell on them. She’d hate it if he was the kind of man who ran away from ex-girlfriends. Though why should she hate it? What difference would it make? She was forgetting that her only interest in him was a business one!
All the same. She thought again of the woman in the restaurant. Was she really an ex-girlfriend, as Lasalle had suggested? That rather turned her original assumption on its head.
For she’d assumed she was a girlfriend. Present tense, not past. That ‘ex’ at the beginning made it an entirely different story.
Not, of course, that the distinction concerned her in the slightest. He was still a shameless womaniser and she’d have nothing to do with him.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
R
emember that, Georgia.
‘How are you managing? No problems, I hope?’
‘Don’t worry. Everything’s fine here. Going like clockwork.’ Kay sounded her usual bright, positive self. ‘So, what’s happening at your end? Any sign of the missing clothes yet?’
It was half past six in Paris and Georgia had just got back to Lasalle’s flat. He’d dropped her off in a taxi saying he had to go on somewhere else, but that he’d be back around eight, in time for their dinner date.
This had suited Georgia fine, since she’d wanted to call Kay before the shop shut, and she didn’t really care if he got back in time anyway. His plans for the evening didn’t seem so attractive any more. In fact, when he got back, she might very well tell him that she didn’t feel like going anywhere, after all.
But she would decide about that later. She answered Kay’s question. ‘Apparently, we have proof that Duval contacted the shippers.’ They’d discovered this on their visit to Lasalle’s friend after lunch. ‘It seems that money may have changed hands to make the consignment disappear, but that’s about as far as we’ve got for the moment.’
‘He’s going to find it, though, isn’t he? I can feel it in my bones. You know, I’ve always had a feeling that this guy was OK.’
‘Well, I think you’re probably right. I’m pretty sure he’ll find the clothes.’ Georgia had complete and total faith in him in that respect. If anyone was going to rescue her missing consignment, it was Lasalle. ‘But, all the same, I’m not so sure I agree with you that he’s OK.’
‘Why? What’s he done to you? Go on. You can tell me.’
Georgia laughed. ‘He hasn’t done anything and he isn’t going to, either. The guy’s a philanderer. I plan to stay well clear.’
There was a groan down the phone. ‘What a terrible waste! He should have carried me off to Paris instead of you. I tell you, I wouldn’t be playing so hard to get.’
‘Shame on you!’ Georgia was laughing. ‘I’ll tell Eddie you said that.’ She knew, of course, that her friend was only joking. If ever there was a one-man woman it was Kay.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I’ll keep in touch. And I’ll let you know when I’m going to be back. Soon, I hope. I hate to leave you on your own like this.’
‘Don’t be crazy. I’m managing perfectly and Dora’s coming in tomorrow.’ Dora was the Saturday girl, and was worth her weight in gold. ‘So, for heaven’s sake, relax,’ Kay ordered her, ‘and just enjoy yourself. You’re in Paris with the sexiest Frenchman alive.’
Georgia was smiling when she laid down the phone. Naturally, she’d never doubted that Kay would be coping, for she’d often looked after the shop on her own when Georgia was away on her regular buying trips. But it was still a relief to have been so thoroughly reassured.
And maybe she was taking the whole Lasalle thing much too seriously? ‘Relax and just enjoy yourself suddenly sounded like good advice. Kay was right. She was in Paris with the sexiest Frenchman alive. Why on earth was she being so uptight? Relaxing and enjoying herself didn’t mean she had to do anything crazy—like jumping into bed with the wretched man, for example! Surely she could just enjoy his company for a while?
He got back a little earlier than Georgia had expected. Just after half past seven, there was a tap on her bedroom door.
‘Everything OK?’ he called through to her. ‘Can you be ready in half an hour?’
Georgia had just emerged from the shower, her head wrapped in a towel. ‘Everything’s great,’ she called back. ‘And half an hour’s fine.’
As she threw open the wardrobe door, she was grinning from ear to ear. For suddenly, she was looking forward to the evening ahead with more excitement than she’d experienced for a very long time.
Lasalle took her to a little restaurant near the Bastille, the sort of small, intimate place where lovers went, and Georgia didn’t mind at all that she was quite clearly being wooed. Why should I mind? she thought. Much better just to enjoy it.
It wasn’t hard to enjoy. He was an expert in such things. And though she knew he must have played out this routine at least a thousand times it never actually felt that way, not even for a moment. Quite the contrary. He managed to make her feel as though she were the first girl in the world he’d ever acted this way with.
Over the hors d’ oeuvres, he told her he’d never dined with a more beautiful woman. ‘That dress you’re wearing is quite spectacular with your dark hair,’ he murmured.
Oh, yeah? Georgia was wearing her cherry-red dress and, though she knew it rather suited her, the effect was hardly that special. Or, at least, she’d never thought it was. Not until now. But as she looked into his eyes suddenly she did feel quite spectacular.
Over their main course, as he poured her wine, he gazed at her across the table and swore she had the most glorious hazel eyes he’d ever seen. ‘The first time I saw you, I was totally smitten by those eyes of yours.’
She was sure to believe that! Georgia shook her head at him with an amused smile, for what did it really matter whether she believed him or not? It was just harmless flirtation. Nothing to take exception to. And that look in his eyes was making her heart dance.
When the pudding came, he leaned across the table and took her hand, and it didn’t even occur to her to try and snatch it away. She just sat there, enjoying the sensuous caress of his fingers, not even bothering to wonder if he meant it as he told her, ‘I’m glad I’ve had this chance to get to know you. If nothing else, I have to be grateful to Duval for that.’
It was crazy, but she was feeling rather grateful to Duval, too.
What they talked about over coffee Georgia couldn’t quite recall afterwards. When they finally left the restaurant, just after ten, she was feeling quite tipsy, rather as if she was floating, though this had very little to do with the wine she’d consumed. It was Lasalle who’d intoxicated her, flowing through her bloodstream like a drug.
‘Right. I think it’s time for a little jazz.’
They were back in the Porsche, heading towards the city centre, and, as he spoke, he reached across and took her hand in his. She felt his fingers lace with hers, cool and strong and supple, then he lifted her fingers to his lips and lightly kissed them.
‘I hope you like to dance? There’s dancing here as well.’
Georgia nodded. ‘I like to dance.’
She’d had to clear her throat before she said it. His lips against her fingers were making her flesh sizzle and it was shocking what the thought of dancing with him was doing to her blood pressure.
Already, she could feel his arms holding her against him, the electric brush of their bodies, his warm breath in her hair. She turned away, not daring to look at him as raw excitement poured through her.
The club, no more than a stone’s throw from the Eiffel Tower, was moody and dark and throbbing with atmosphere, the packed, candlelit tables arranged round a small circular dance floor. As they walked in, hand in hand, and were shown to a table near the front, Georgia’s excitement instantly leapt up another couple of notches.
Tonight, she sensed, was a night without limits. Absolutely anything could happen.
The feeling continued as they danced and with every excursion onto the crowded dance floor, it was becoming more and more certain exactly what was going to happen.
The signs were startlingly clear. The way their eyes kept meeting and holding. The way their bodies seemed to melt into one another as they danced. There could be no other outcome to what was happening between them. Tonight, she and Lasalle were going to make love.
The notion whirled round in her brain, as bright and alluring as a diamond and as dogged as a mosquito that refused to be chased away. Not that she was trying very hard to chase it away anyway. It was too thrilling just to allow herself to be carried along on the tide.
Still, there was one thing that troubled her. In a way, she felt she knew him. They enjoyed a special rapport, an instinctive understanding—but, at the same time, she was aware th
at she knew virtually nothing about him. As usual, though they’d never stopped talking all evening, he hadn’t revealed a single personal detail. And she needed to know. When the time finally came, she wanted to make love with a man called Jean-Claude, not sleep with some semistranger she still thought of as Lasalle.
As the clock ticked past midnight and they took to the floor again, his arms loosely around her as the band played some moody blues, she looked inquisitively up into his face.
‘Tell me something about yourself. You’re always so secretive. I want to know what you’re hiding,’ she teased.
‘Hiding? Me?’ He bent down and kissed her nose. ‘I wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Just tell me what you want to know.’
Georgia smiled back at him. ‘Everything,’ she said.
“‘Everything” might take just a little too long to tell.’ He kissed her again. ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’
‘OK. Where were you born?’
‘Right here in Paris. I grew up in an area not far from where we had dinner tonight.’
‘Really?’ She was aware that she rather liked the idea of having spent part of the evening close to his boyhood roots. ‘So, tell me about your parents. I know you at least have a mother. She’s the one, I seem to remember, who said you were a quarrelsome child’
‘Not quarrelsome. Argumentative.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘Of course there is. Quarrelsome people are grumpy and ill-natured. Argumentativeness is the sign of an agile and enquiring mind.’
Georgia laughed. ‘And from whom did you inherit this agile and enquiring mind of yours?’
‘From both parents, I suspect, though neither of them are quite as argumentative as me. My father’s an engineer and my mother’s an artist. An extremely talented one. She does portraits, mostly. My brothers and sister and I must have spent half our childhoods sitting for her.’
Waiting for Mr. Wonderful! Page 8