Which would only have confirmed everyone’s belief that I could not handle being in France again, so probably not a good idea.
‘Are they setting up for the concert already?’ I asked, watching as the men in overalls began to unload equipment from the back of a large white van.
‘Only what’s required for rehearsals. The main seating won’t arrive until Friday. Enough for all ticket-holders.’
I was surprised by that; most of the gigs we played, the audience stood to listen. At least the audience nearest the stage.
‘This is a sit-down concert?’
He glanced at me sideways, and I realised in surprise that he had positioned himself on the balcony so that I could only stand on his left. So once again I could not see his scarred right temple. ‘It’s dinner and a concert with a very high ticket price. Friends and business acquaintances, mostly. And a few celebrities. They’ll expect not only seats but a table for their party.’
I felt foolish then, and wished Damian had told me more about this charity event in advance. Entirely my fault, of course. I was always telling him to keep the trivial stuff off my back; I only wanted to know what they wanted me to sing, and what time to be ready backstage. But this time it might have been useful to be better prepared. If only to avoid looking like an idiot in front of this suave and undeniably gorgeous male.
‘I didn’t realise it was dinner as well. Will there be other acts?’
He raised his brows. ‘Your manager has not talked you through the arrangements?’
I felt my cheeks heat up under his scrutiny. ‘Damian rarely tells me anything. But I prefer it that way.’
Ressier studied me for a moment longer, then shrugged. ‘Not how I like to do business, but if it works for you … I see you prefer to remain focused on your music.’
A little flustered, I shook my head. God, he made me sound like a prima donna. Which was something I had always tried to avoid. Lisette had been a prima donna, a born celebrity, lavish in her tastes and extravagant in her passions. Whereas I …
‘It’s not like that. Damian just likes to … ’
I stopped dead, suddenly lost and floundering. I had originally intended to say ‘control the information’ yet somehow that make things sound worse. Like Damian was a sinister puppet master, jerking my strings to make me dance and sing. And for some reason I wanted this man to think of me as a strong and independent woman. Which I was, of course. But with provisos. Like Damian not sharing the boring stuff and letting me get on with being a performer.
I remember what you said, that you never wanted to talk about it again.
I came back to that comment of Damian’s, and tripped over it psychically, like a massive stumbling block left in my path.
What the hell had he been talking about? And why did it scare me so much?
‘Keep you in the dark?’ When I didn’t reply, Ressier frowned. I saw what looked like disapproval in his face. Disapproval, and maybe contempt too. Which irked me. He must think me so spoilt and self-absorbed. And maybe I was. ‘Bien, shall we go back inside and eat? Assuming it will not spoil your mental preparation, I could talk through my plans for the concert over dinner.’
I nodded, trying to sound cool and professional. ‘Sure.’
Back in the dining room, Ressier drew out one of the chairs and stood waiting behind it until I was seated. His manners were impeccable. His Canadian mother had raised him to be a gift to women, I thought drily. A gift – or a curse in gift’s clothing. His gaze was hard to read as he moved round to his own place, lean and graceful.
‘Tell me,’ he asked with a deceptively casual air, ‘is it true you haven’t been back to Paris since your accident?’
I had the impression that it was a question he had been wanting to ask ever since I got off the plane. I waited a breathing space before answering, head down, rearranging my heavy silver cutlery for no good reason.
‘Yes.’
‘Why is that?’
Wow, that was a blunt question. Right out there on the edge of bloody rude and intrusive. Either that or he was pushing our conversation towards some unknown and possibly unnerving destination.
I raised my head, looking back at Ressier with a little frown of my own. ‘I would have thought that must be self-explanatory.’
Dupont appeared silently in the doorway, carrying a tray of silver-covered dishes, a white napkin draped over one arm. He glanced at Ressier, who nodded silently, then came into the room and began to serve us both without comment, appearing at my side first.
That was when I realised that I had not eaten for hours, my mouth salivating at the sight of the most gorgeous little pasta parcels, steaming gently and dressed with what looked like foie gras sauce and succulent baby spinach leaves. A small crystal pot of caviar accompanied each serving, with a tiny spoon protruding from the silver lid. The food looked utterly delicious, and I was starving, but it was hard to concentrate on the food when my whole attention was fixed on the man opposite.
‘This looks amazing,’ I said. ‘What’s inside this pasta?’
‘This is one of Serge’s signature dishes,’ Ressier told me. ‘Ravioli de langoustines. Please, taste some.’
I popped one of the tiny parcels in my mouth, and let the contents melt delightfully on my tongue. ‘Oh my God.’
‘He’s good, isn’t he?’
‘That’s an understatement.’
‘Champagne?’ he asked, watching me with a slight smile on his face.
I nodded, badly needing something alcoholic to take the edge off my nerves, and watched as he stood up and fetched a bottle of Cristal chilling in a high-hat ice bucket. With one twist of his wrist, he popped the cork and poured two flutes of champagne, then handed the bottle back to Dupont.
I took the glass he held out. ‘Thank you.’
‘Santé,’ Ressier murmured in return, lifting his glass in a toast as he sat again.
What was this game he was playing with me? Because it felt uncomfortably like cat and mouse. I was so sure we had met before. But where? And the way he had asked why I had not come back to Paris before now …
It was as though he knew something I did not about my sister’s accident. And that suspicion was driving me slowly crazy.
He nodded to Dupont, who withdrew.
‘Some people deal with serious trauma by facing it head-on,’ Ressier remarked quietly. ‘They go down the full therapy route, join groups of other sufferers, speak openly about their tragedy at every opportunity. Others close off from what happened in order to protect themselves from further pain, or through survivors’ guilt.’ He looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I’m going to guess you fall into the second category.’
‘I haven’t got the faintest idea what you’re talking about,’ I said, then bent my head and focused on my meal.
Damn him. What did he know?
The entrée turned out to be even more delicious than the hors d’oeuvres, thin slivers of wild sea bass served on a bed of shaved baby fennel with a red pepper coulis. It smelt incredible, and I thought I had never tasted anything so divine. The dessert that followed was a traditional French tarte tatin, caramelized apple tart with puff pastry, served with a sweetly fragrant dulche de leche ice cream on the side. I doubted that I could have eaten a better meal even in one of Paris’s elite restaurants. His chef had to be world-class.
Ressier had insisted on refilling my glass frequently, and I even noticed at one point that Dupont returned with a second bottle of Cristal and placed it in the ice bucket without comment, then lit the candles on the table. That was when I realised the sun had gone down, and the world outside the balcony window was dark.
My head felt a little muzzy. The combination of champagne, soft classical music drifting from hidden speakers in the walls, and excellent food had left my defences down. Which, I guessed, had been precisely his intention when he brought me here alone.
Why had Damian allowed it?
‘How did you persuade Damian not to come with me tonight?’ I aske
d suddenly.
‘What makes you think it’s down to me that he didn’t accompany you?’
‘Because Damian hates me going anywhere by myself. He seems to think I’m still a kid, that I need to be looked after.’
A hint of laughter came into his eyes. ‘He may not be far wrong about that.’
‘I’m not a child.’
The laughter died as he looked me over. That bloody hot pink peplum top!
‘Indeed you are not,’ he agreed.
‘So how did it work? What, did you bribe Damian?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t play games with me, Monsieur Ressier.’ I held his gaze steadily. ‘I know you must have told my manager not to come along to this dinner. Two’s company, three’s a crowd? I can’t believe Damian would have stayed behind tonight otherwise. He’s too protective of me.’
I forced a smile to my lips, though his intent stare was way beyond disturbing and doing something tingly to my nerves. ‘So tell me, how did you persuade him?’
Before Ressier could answer, an eerie, disembodied wailing started up, loud enough to make me stiffen, ready to flee, my body on alert against danger. It took another few seconds for my ears to understand that this was not a person shrieking at the top of their voice in some distant room, but an alarm. And it was sounding throughout the house, not just the dining room.
My eyes widened in shock, and I stared across at him. Against my will, I recalled the high-pitched wail of police and ambulance sirens on the night of the accident, how they had accompanied my dreams for weeks afterwards, never letting me forget.
‘What on earth is that?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ressier jumped to his feet, throwing down his napkin. ‘Wait here,’ he ordered me curtly, and strode from the room.
I stared after him, holding my breath as I listened to the eerie wail of the alarm siren. No explanation. No words of reassurance. Just, wait here.
My mind ran swiftly through the possibilities. Was the house on fire? Was it a burglar alarm? I might not be safe on my own here. Where was the nearest exit?
Thinking back to my arrival, I remembered the high and intimidating perimeter wall surrounding the property, then my glimpse of the patrolling guard with the large German Shepherd, down in the grounds. Perhaps there had been some threat made against the concert. I could not imagine why though. It was only a private charity event, nothing that could possibly attract controversy. Unless Ressier had enemies and the threat was against him specifically. Death threats were not only the territory of celebrities, after all.
You never know who’s out there.
Well, I refused to sit about like a victim, waiting for Ressier to return or some ninja killer to creep in and murder me.
Unsteady on my feet, I made my way to the doorway that led into the dimly lit corridor. Holy crap, Cristal was wicked! I felt worse than I had in my teens, out on the town in Birmingham with Lisette and our mates. Girls’ night out. Now those had been the days … Nobody watching us, nobody judging us for not being perfect.
My head was spinning. It was horrible. I just needed a minute … I had to lean on the wall at one point, my heels slipping on the beautiful but treacherous marble floor.
‘Hello?’ I called down the corridor. ‘Anybody … there?’
No reply.
Why the hell had I drunk so much champagne?
I could hear running feet elsewhere in the house, raised voices, doors being slammed. Not a false alarm, I thought, listening hard. Something was definitely happening, and by the sound of their urgent shouts, it was serious.
But what?
Too restless to sit down again at the table, I followed the corridor back to the mezzanine level instead, calling out, ‘Hello?’ at intervals.
There was never any reply. Though I could still hear voices ahead.
Holding onto the cold chrome handrail, I navigated the stairs with some difficulty. I was trying to stay upright and my heels were fighting me every inch of the way. The alarm was far louder downstairs, almost deafening. And there were so many doors! I had no idea which one to choose, and was almost tempted to go back. The last thing I wanted was to be found by Ressier or his staff wandering drunkenly about without a clue where I was or how to get back.
Then I heard shouts, and what sounded like a girl sobbing. Or choking.
I hesitated, then followed the intrusive sound to its source, the way I had seen Mimi disappear earlier with Ressier’s daughter.
There was a half-open door at the end of one broad corridor. Inside I could see people gathered around a hospital-style bed, the kind that can be tilted up and down. Though I could not see the occupant of the bed, I heard that strange choking noise again, then saw Ressier bend his dark head as though talking to the girl, and guessed that his daughter had experienced some kind of attack.
Poor little kid, I thought, trying to back discreetly away without swaying. What had gone wrong?
At that moment the alarm was turned off. The silence in its wake was almost shocking. All I could hear were voices from the girl’s room, tensely discussing her situation in French too rapid for me to follow.
‘Shit.’
I tiptoed hurriedly away, not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a medical emergency.
But I was worried for the girl. Zena had looked so frail earlier, despite her cheery smile, and was clearly very seriously ill. No wonder her father was intent on supporting research into her condition with lavish charity events like this one. He knew first-hand how devastating it could be.
I found some more stairs and climbed them in hope of finding an easier way back to the dining room. Shit, I thought, frowning around woozily at the top. I did not recognise where I was at all.
How big was this bloody place?
Staggering left with a slight squeal of Louboutin heels, I rounded a promising-looking corner only to find myself in an unlit corridor. Several doors led off it.
‘God, I need a wee,’ I whispered to myself, then began tentatively trying doors in the darkness.
Some rooms were locked. One door concealed a library, two others storage closets. None seemed to be bathrooms. Another room turned out to be a vast, luxury bedroom with a dark silk-covered bed large enough for three people.
I switched on the light to stare around the room, fascinated by how the man lived. This had to be his bedroom. Ressier’s private lair. I studied the bed, half-tempted to laugh at how vast it was. He probably had an ensuite bathroom, I thought ruefully, groping for the light switch again, but there was no way on earth I was sneaking into the enigmatic Frenchman’s bedroom for a wee.
‘Ah, te voilà,’ Jean-Luc Ressier said behind me, then smiled drily when I turned to stare at him. ‘Found you.’
Where the hell had he sprung from?
I had not heard any footsteps, I was sure of it. The man must walk as silently as a panther, I thought, glaring at him accusingly.
Right. Talk your way out of this one, Sasha, I told myself with silent derision. God, I was an idiot.
‘Hello,’ I said brightly. ‘I was just looking for the loo.’
Classy, real classy.
Ressier was leaning on the wall outside the open door, one hand in his pocket. I studied his face for a moment, the serious look in his eyes, his scar barely visible in the shadows. He seemed very cool considering that I was standing in the doorway of what was clearly his bedroom.
He straightened and strolled past me into the room. ‘Please, come in. I have an ensuite bathroom.’
What, go to the loo with him standing outside, listening?
‘Oh no,’ I stammered, rooted in the doorway. ‘Really, I can wait. It’s not urgent.’
‘Not urgent?’ Ressier raised his eyebrows as though mocking me. ‘It must have been fairly urgent for you to be wandering about my house unaccompanied.’
‘I needed to pee, okay?’ I said bluntly, annoyed by his smooth manner. ‘And you weren’t there.’
I bit my lip, instantly contrite. ‘No, I’m sorry. God, your daughter … There was some kind of medical emergency, wasn’t there?’ I remembered the urgent voices I had heard, and his tense face glimpsed through the door. ‘How is Zena?’
Ressier did not reply for a moment, still examining my face as though trying to decide something. Then he came closer. Close enough to touch.
I flinched as he reached past me, but he was just closing the door.
‘Afraid of me?’ he asked softly.
Was I afraid of him?
‘Or of this, perhaps?’ He touched the scar at his temple, then smiled when I drew my breath in sharply. ‘Yes, I saw your expression at the airport. Not pretty, is it?’
The door had closed, shutting them inside together. I was a little afraid, I realised. But not because of the scars on his face.
‘Your scar doesn’t bother me. First though, is your daughter okay? That alarm … It sounded like a serious situation.’
‘Her condition affects the respiratory system,’ Ressier explained, ‘and makes breathing problematic at times. Either Zena herself or her nurse will sound the alarm to alert us when that happens. We have various strategies in place for dealing with such attacks, depending on their severity. Luckily, her nurse was able to reach her quickly and administer the appropriate treatment.’
I looked a question at him, not wanting to push the matter.
‘Mimi’s sitting with her now, just in case it flares up again. But she should be fine.’ His smile showed some strain, but his voice was calm enough. ‘Zena’s a very brave and resourceful little girl. She knew to hit the alarm as soon as her breathing difficulties started. We got there in good time.’
‘But if she hadn’t hit the alarm?’
He closed his eyes and bent his head slightly, as though hiding his expression. ‘Don’t.’
I was very aware of how close he was standing to me, and the silence in this part of the house that told me we were probably alone on this floor. What would Dupont be thinking of our absence? He must know by now that I had left the dining room unaccompanied.
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