by Lucy Gordon
‘This is how I’ll always see you,’ he murmured. ‘When we’re old and grey, I’ll show you these to remind you that in my heart this is what you really look like.’
‘You’ll have forgotten me by then,’ she teased.
To her surprise, he’d made a sound of anger. ‘Why do you say things like that? Don’t you know that we must always be together because I will never let you go?’
‘I don’t want you to let me go.’
But he hardly seemed to hear her.
‘Why can’t you understand how serious I am? There is only you. There will only ever be you. I’ll never let you go, Cassie. Even if there were miles between us I would still be there, holding onto you, refusing to let you forget me. You might try to escape but you won’t be able to.’
What mysterious insight had made him utter those words, so strangely prophetic of what was to come? Miles and years had stretched between them, yet always he’d been there as he’d promised—or was it threatened?—always on the edge of her consciousness until the day he’d appeared again to reclaim her.
There it was again, the tormenting question. Had he recognised her, or had she only imagined that he’d called her Cassie?
And his remark that the decision had already been taken, had she not simply read too much into it? Was she hearing what she wanted to hear?
But there was more. Just before she’d left him that morning there had been another clue, if only she could remember what it was. She’d barely noticed at the time, but now she realised that his words had been significant. If only—
Frantically she wracked her memory. It was connected with the cellphone number—something he’d said— something—something—
‘What?’ she cried out. ‘What was it?’
She dropped her head, resting it on one hand while she slammed the other hand on the table again and again with increasing desperation.
A few miles away someone else was conjuring up pictures online. The one word, ‘Cassie’ brought her before him in a website that analysed the careers of models who were no longer around.
For two years she rode high and could have ridden higher still, but suddenly she gave up modelling and disappeared from sight. After that she was occasionally seen in luxurious surroundings, places where only rich men gather. And always she seemed weighed down with diamonds.
Why hadn’t he seen it happening? Her choice of himself over wealthy admirers had made him love her a million times more, but it had always been too good to be true. It was a game she’d played, until she’d succumbed to the lure of serious money. While he’d thought he was her true love, he’d been no more than her plaything.
He should have known when she’d failed to visit him in the hospital. He’d lain there in pain and anguish, certain that she would be here at any moment. Every time the door opened he’d tensed with longing, which was always crushed.
He’d clung to the fragile hope that she didn’t know what had happened to him. If only he could reach her, all would be well. But her cellphone was switched off. When he’d called her apartment the phone rang and rang, but was never answered.
He’d known then, known with such certainty that he’d torn up the letter she’d sent him without even opening it. Who needed to read her miserable excuses?
He’d seen her just once more, the day he’d left for Paris. There she’d been at the airport with her new lover, as he went into the departure lounge.
‘You!’ he’d spat. ‘The last person I ever want to see.’
She’d held out her arms, crying frantically, ‘Marcel, you don’t understand—please—please—’
‘I loved you,’ he raged. ‘I trusted you—now I can’t bear the sight of you!’
‘Marcel—’
‘Get out of my sight! Whore!’
He’d turned and ran from her. He remembered that afterwards with self-disgust. It was he who had run, not her.
But there would be no running now.
The time had come.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN she rose next morning her mind was firm and decided. Today she would start working for Marcel, getting close to the man he’d become, watching to see where the path led. And, wherever it led, she was ready to explore.
Now she was glad that his younger ghost haunted her. Far from trying to banish that spectre, she would enlist him onside and make use of his insights to confront the present man.
She made coffee and toast and sat eating it by the window, looking down at the street, thinking of another time, another window where she’d watched for a grocery delivery. Cassie had been riding high, with two great modelling jobs behind her and more in the offing. The world was wonderful.
And then the most wonderful thing of all had happened.
The grocery van had drawn up and the delivery man stepped out. That was her first view of Marcel’s tall, vigorous body. Being only one floor up, she could appreciate every detail. When he’d glanced up she’d seen not only his good looks but the cheeky devil lurking in his eyes. That had been what really won her heart.
It was the same with him. She knew that by the way he came to a sudden halt, as though something had seized him, smiling at her with pleasure and an air of discovery. The words, That’s it! This is the one! had sung in the air between them.
A week later, lying in each other’s arms, he’d said, ‘I knew then that I was going to love you.’
‘I knew I’d love you too,’ she’d assured him joyfully.
‘Really? Me, the grocer’s delivery lad? With all the men you could have?’
‘If I can have them I can also reject them,’ she’d pointed out. ‘I choose the man I want. I choose.’ With mock sternness she’d added, ‘Don’t forget that.’
‘No, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.’
He’d given her a comical salute and they’d dissolved into laughter, snuggling down deeper into the bed, and then not laughing at all.
How handsome he’d been that first day, getting out of the van and approaching her. How young, untouched by life!
‘Good morning!’
She jumped, startled by the voice that came from below. A car had stopped and a man was calling up to her, pulling her back to the present, where she didn’t want to be.
‘I’m sorry…who…?’
‘I said good morning,’ Marcel repeated.
‘Oh—it’s you!’
‘Who were you expecting?’
‘Nobody. I thought you’d call me.’
‘May I come up?’
‘Of course.’ She tossed down the keys.
She hadn’t dressed and was suddenly conscious of the thin nightie. By the time he arrived she’d pulled on a house coat. It was unflattering, but it zipped up to the neck and at least he wouldn’t think she was trying to be seductive. Anything but that.
When she emerged from the bedroom he was already there.
‘I’m sorry to arrive so early, but I’m eager to get a close inspection of my new property.’
‘Meaning me?’ she asked, her head on one side and a satirical smile on her lips.
‘A shrewd businesswoman like you should appreciate the description. So I came to collect you, which was perhaps a little thoughtless of me. Finish your breakfast.’
She fetched a cup and poured him a coffee. ‘Let’s talk. I can eat and work at the same time.’
‘I see I’ve hired the right person. The hotel needs development, the sooner the better.’
‘You spoke of making it like La Couronne, and there are several avenues that it would be profitable to explore. The success of your Paris hotel may be because of all the—’ She launched into a list gleaned from her investigation of the hotel’s website, adding, ‘You could probably do some of these things more easily without the problems that arose in—’ Here she made use of knowledge found on a business site that spilled the beans about some interesting battles.
‘That man who caused you all the trouble didn’t really give up, did he?’ she ask
ed. ‘I gather he’s still complaining about—’
Marcel listened to her with raised eyebrows. She could tell that he was impressed. Good. That was how she wanted him. She was taking charge.
‘People who come to the London hotel should sense the connection with Paris,’ she added. ‘It’ll be useful when you’re ready to expand further.’
‘That’s looking rather far ahead.’
‘But it’s what you need to do. Eventually your hotels will be all over Europe, with your trademark. This one could be The Crown Hotel, and the one you’ll open in Italy can be La Corona. Spain as well. Then it’ll be Die Krone in Germany, De Kroon in Holland. Czech and Slovak will probably have to wait a while—’
‘You don’t say!’ he exclaimed with a grin of wry appreciation.
‘But when their time comes it’ll be Koruna.’
‘You’ve got this all worked out. And I thought I was organised.’
‘I like to be prepared. Aren’t I supposed to be?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He added wryly, ‘But how often are people what they’re supposed to be?’
‘People, rarely. But places can be exactly as planned, if you tackle the problem properly’
‘Quite right.’ He raised his coffee cup in her direction. ‘And with your help that’s what will happen.’
She clinked her cup against his. ‘Now I must dash and get ready.’
When she’d gone Marcel looked around the apartment, surprised to find it so small and plain. Her fortunes might have dived over the years but a woman in her present position surely didn’t need to live among second-hand furniture and walls that looked as though they needed repapering.
From the bathroom he could hear the sound of the shower, which made it awkward that the phone should ring at that moment. Since there was no way he could interrupt her now, he lifted the receiver.
‘Is Jane there?’ came a man’s voice.
‘She’s occupied right now. Can I say who called?’
‘Tell her it’s Dave, and I need to talk to her quickly.’
The line went dead.
He replaced the receiver, frowning.
She emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed and with her hair swept back.
‘Dave wants you to call him,’ Marcel told her. ‘It sounded urgent.’
She had seized the receiver before he even finished speaking, leaving him wondering even more curiously about Dave and the hold he evidently had over her.
He tried not to eavesdrop, or so he told himself, but certain phrases couldn’t be shut out.
‘Dave, it’s all right, I’ll take care of it. I can’t talk now. I’ll call you back later.’ She hung up.
Marcel didn’t speak. He wondered if he was being fanciful in imagining that she had ended the conversation quickly because he was there.
His mind went back years, to their time together. When had she ever spoken to himself in that placating tone? Never.
So what did this man have to make her subservient? Vast wealth?
No, she didn’t live like a women with a rich admirer.
Good looks? Other attractions? Could his personal ‘skills’ make her cry out for more?
‘Perhaps it’s time we were going,’ he said heavily.
She turned to him and her expression was as efficiently cheerful as a mask.
‘Tell me something first,’ she said briskly. ‘Are they expecting you at the Alton?’
‘No, I think I’ll see more if I take them by surprise.’
‘You’ll see more if you take a room incognito. But I expect they’d recognise you, so it probably wouldn’t work.’
‘I doubt if anyone would know me. Are you serious?’
‘You said you wanted to take them by surprise. There’s no better way than this.’
‘I suppose not,’ he said slowly. ‘I wonder—’
‘Leave it to me.’ She went to the phone and dialled the Alton’s number.
‘Hello, do you have a room free today? You do? Excellent. What kind of price? All prices? Really. Run them past me, single rooms and suites.’
As they were given to her, she recited them aloud, watching Marcel’s expression of wry understanding. The Alton wasn’t doing fantastic business.
‘I’ll take the best available suite,’ he said quietly.
‘What name?’
‘My real name. I won’t have anyone saying I deceived them.’
‘Mr Marcel Falcon,’ she said into the phone. ‘He’ll be there today.’ She hung up.
He gave her a glance of grim appreciation. ‘You’re a wicked woman, Mrs Henshaw—I’m glad to say.’
‘It has its uses,’ she observed lightly.
‘So I’ll return to the Gloriana to check out. You’d better come with me, then we’ll go on to the Alton. I’ll wait for you downstairs.’
Once down in the street he glanced up at her window but there was no sign of her. He knew exactly what she was doing—calling Dave now that they could talk privately.
Whoever Dave was!
In this he was wrong. Cassie didn’t return Dave’s call immediately because there was no need. She knew what he wanted. Instead she went online, gave some instructions, shut the computer down and sent him a text saying, All taken care of.
Then she pushed Dave aside. Only Marcel occupied her thoughts now.
Against all reason, she was certain that he recognised her, but only against his will. And he refused to admit it to her.
But he could never deny it to himself. Instinct told her that. Try as he might, Marcel was fighting with Marcel, and it would be a losing battle on both sides.
That told her all she needed to know.
‘Right,’ she said to Mrs Henshaw in the mirror. ‘Let’s see if we can give him a run for his money.’ She smiled. ‘And maybe—just maybe—he’ll give me a run for mine. That could be—interesting.’
She could almost have sworn Mrs Henshaw nodded.
The Alton Hotel had a disconsolate air.
‘It used to be the London home of a duke,’ she observed as they drew up in the car park, ‘which is why it was built on such grand lines, but he had to sell it off, and the developers who bought it couldn’t afford to complete their plans.’
Checking in went without a hitch. Nobody recognised Marcel and they were able to proceed upstairs to a luxurious suite of four rooms, one of which was dominated by a huge double bed.
Cassie ignored it and went to look out of the window, saying eagerly, ‘Just the view I was hoping for. Look at that building next door. It’s the one you need to buy to expand this place.’
‘Let me see.’ He came to stand beside her. ‘Yes, it’s ideal. I can connect the two and this side will be—’
He talked for a few more minutes but she barely heard him. Her whole body seemed to be hypnotised by the sensation of standing close to him so that the air between them seemed to sing. His extra height loomed over her in a way she’d once loved, and when he casually laid a hand on her shoulder she had to fight not to jump.
‘Why don’t we go and take a look?’ she said.
‘I can see all I want from here. I’m going to tear it down, and that’s it.’
‘I can put you in touch with three excellent building contractors—’
‘Can’t we just hire the best?’
‘With three you can play them off against each other,’ she pointed out.
‘Splendid. I see you believe in reading your employer’s mind and following his instructions exactly.’
‘What else am I here for?’
‘Then here’s another instruction for you. I’ll have no grim and forbidding ladies working for me.’
‘Are you firing me?’ she asked lightly.
‘No, I’m telling you to make yourself less severe.’
‘Flaunt myself, you mean?’ she demanded in a voice that managed to sound shocked. ‘Mr Falcon, I hope I’ve misunderstood you.’
‘Only because you’re determined to,’ he replied with
a smile that nearly destroyed her composure. ‘I’m going to need you with me a lot of the time—’
‘And you think I’m so ugly I’ll frighten the horses?’ she managed to say lightly.
‘You’re not ugly. But for some reason you’re determined to pretend you are. Now that is frightening.’
‘Why would any woman want to pretend that?’ she murmured.
‘A good question. We might talk about it later. Ah, I hear someone at the door. It must be the waiter with my order.’
He moved away and she clutched the windowsill to stop herself swaying. She was trembling from the feel of his hand on her shoulder, and also from the sensation that he too had been trembling.
It took several hours to walk slowly through the building, making notes, trying to be inconspicuous. They ended up back in his suite, thankfully drinking coffee.
‘I’ll just check my mail,’ he said, opening his laptop, which he’d already connected to the hotel’s Internet.
He didn’t take long, sending a few messages and making a gesture of dismissal.
‘Time to think of having some dinner,’ he said. ‘There’s a place upstairs—’
Her phone rang. Marcel watched her face as she answered, saw her expression drop and heard her sigh.
‘Dave, I’ve done my best—’
Dave, he thought. A man with some kind of hold over her, perhaps a man who’d once inspired her love and for whom she still felt some sympathy. Or was he blackmailing her?
‘All right, all right,’ she was saying. ‘I’ll send some more. Bye for now.’ She turned to Marcel. ‘Can I use your computer?’
‘Be my guest.’
She was online in a moment, accessing her bank account. Marcel had the impression that she’d forgotten his existence. Totally absorbed, she was trying to transfer a large amount out of her account, into another one. But only trying. The bank refused, saying it would take her over her limit.
‘Oh, no!’ she said frantically.
‘Look, I don’t want to pry, but if this man is extorting money from you, then you need help,’ Marcel told her.
She looked up as if wondering why he was there.
‘Extorting—?’