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‘Don’t call me that! It’s not my name.’
He was suddenly angry again, and stepped towards her. ‘Stop this! You know damn well who you are. And you know damn well that you had promised to marry me.’ His voice harsh, he snarled, ‘Why did you do it? Why?’ Angélique lifted her hands to put them over her ears, to shut out his questions, but he caught her wrists and pulled them down. ‘Don’t you know what anguish you caused? To disappear without a word to anyone—and just a week before the wedding! We scoured the country looking for you. But all we found was your car, abandoned. I thought you were—’
‘Stop it!’ Angélique cried out. ‘Don’t shout at me. You’re making my head hurt. My head always hurts when people shout at me.’
He let her go and she put her hands up to her head again, covering her temples, her eyes tightly closed, and leaned back against the wall. Grudgingly, after a few moments, Caine said, ‘Are you all right? Do you want some water?’
‘No. No, thank you. It will go if I’m quiet.’
He was watching her, gazing frowningly at her bent head. ‘Do you often get headaches?’
‘Not so much now. Not during the day, but sometimes at night—’ She broke off, becoming aware that she was confiding in this stranger.
But, “‘Sometimes at night”?’ he prompted. ‘You get them then?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said stiffly. ‘Just bad dreams.’
He leaned forward, his face intent. ‘What do you dream about?’
She stared at him, then straightened up and gave a scornful laugh. ‘You ask me what I dream about? You are mad, Englishman.’
‘Am I? Perhaps.’ He suddenly switched to English. ‘I have your passport here; do you want to see it?’
Her eyes flicked to his, then away again. ‘I don’t understand you.’
‘Oh, but I think you do.’ Taking a red-backed passport from his pocket, he opened it and showed her the photograph inside. ‘This was taken only a few weeks before you disappeared. You needed it for the honeymoon we planned in America.’
He still spoke in English but she didn’t react to it until he thrust the passport at her. Slowly Angélique took it and looked down at the photo. The girl it portrayed had made no attempt to smile, but seemed to be looking at the camera with some reluctance.
‘You’ll notice that the description fits you exactly—even down to the scar on your shoulder.’
‘I can’t read English.’
‘Rubbish! Damn you, Paige, stop this idiotic pretence.’
He went to catch hold of her but she dropped the passport and backed away. ‘No! Please! I don’t know you. I don’t know you. I’m sorry, but I don’t.’ She held her hands up to ward him off. ‘Please. Please, leave me alone.’
He stopped, holding his anger under control at her obvious distress. His jaw tightening, Caine reverted to French as he said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. But you must stop lying to me, Paige.’
‘I am not lying to you.’
Anger flashed in his grey eyes again, but with an effort he said, ‘All right. So suppose you tell me just who you are.’
‘I already have. You know who I am.’
‘I know the name you’ve given me, yes. But I want you to tell me about your background. Where you were born. How old you are. About your family, your work. Everything.’
She frowned. ‘No, why should I?’
‘To convince me once and for all that I’m wrong.’
‘Why should I have to convince you?’ She flared up. ‘It’s you that is making all these stupid accusations.’ Her mouth set obstinately. ‘I won’t do it. Why should I?’
‘Because if you don’t I shall keep on hounding you, following you everywhere, giving you no peace, until you finally admit that you are Paige Chandos.’
Caine had spoken evenly but there was a distinct threat in his tone. Angélique glared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. ‘Oh, very well. I am twenty-three years old and I am from Normandy.’
‘Oh, really? What part?’
‘Lisieux.’
‘I know it well. Whereabouts do you live?’
‘I don’t live there any more; it’s where I was born.’
‘But you must know it. Where did you live? Near the cathedral?’
He asked the question casually enough but was watching her so intently that she was suspicious of it. But Angélique shook her head. ‘I don’t know. We must have left there when I was very young. I don’t remember it.’
‘You haven’t been back there?’
‘No.’
‘So who do you mean when you say “we”?’
She frowned. ‘My family, I suppose.’
‘You suppose? Don’t you know?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She spoke irritably. ‘My family. My parents.’
‘And where are your parents now?’
A hunted look came into her extraordinary eyes. ‘They are dead. Yes, they are dead.’
‘And do you have any other family? Brothers or sisters? Aunts? Uncles?’
Slowly she shook her head. ‘No, there is no one. I can’t remem—’ She broke off, her head rising. ‘There is Jean-Louis. I am going to marry him.’
‘As you say.’ Caine was watching her, his brows drawn into a frown. ‘Where did you go to school?’
A blank look came into her face. ‘Here and there. I live in Paris now.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘With Jean-Louis?’
‘No. I have a room of my own,’ she said with cool dignity.
His shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Did you go to school here in Paris?’
She seemed to grasp at the suggestion. ‘Yes. Yes, I went to school here.’
‘Which school? Which district?’
‘Different schools.’ She began to move agitatedly about the room.
‘Tell me their names.’
‘I can’t remember the names.’ She turned on him angrily. ‘Get out of the way; I’m going back to the party.’
But he didn’t move from the door. ‘You must remember the names of the schools you went to.’
‘No, I don’t!’ Her voice rose, and Angélique put a hand up to her head again.
‘All right. Tell me about your work, then. What do you do?’
Now there was no hesitation. ‘I work at Le Martin Pêcheur.’
‘What is that?’
‘It’s a big restaurant where you can eat and dance, on the Quai Victor Hugo.’
His face set. ‘You are a dance hostess?’ Angélique looked surprised. ‘No, I’m a waitress. That’s where I met Jean-Louis. He came there to paint.’
‘I see. How long have you worked there?’
She gave a small shrug. ‘Ten—eleven months.’
‘What did you do before that?’
Speaking with less confidence, she said, ‘I was looking for work.’
‘How long for?’
‘I—I’m not sure. Several weeks. After...’ Her voice faded.
‘Yes? After? After what?’
‘After I was ill,’ Angélique said slowly, her hand to her head again.
His voice soft, not much above a whisper, Milo Caine said, ‘You were ill?’
‘Yes. There was—they said there was an accident.’
‘Who said so?’
‘The people at the hospital.’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘No. No, I don’t remember.’ She suddenly straightened up, said irritably, There, I’ve told you all you wanted to know. Now leave me alone. You have ruined the party for me.’
‘There’s just one thing more.’ He took the newspaper clipping from his pocket. ‘I’d like you to read this.’
Reluctantly Angélique took it from him, glanced at it, then immediately handed it back. ‘It’s in English.’
He made no comment, but took it back and said, ‘Then I’ll translate it for you.’ But he didn’t even glance at the cutting as he went on, ‘Basically it is a report of our engagement. It states that our marriage will set the seal on a business partnership between our two families that has existed for over two centuries. The company of Caine and Chandos has recently been run by Milo Caine, the direct descendant of one of the original founders.’ He glanced at her to make sure she knew he was referring to himself. Her expression was one of wooden boredom, but he seemed satisfied and went on, ‘Half of the business, though, is still owned by the Chandos family, but their shares have passed through the female line since the death of George Chandos in 1983. His daughter married a Frenchman but the marriage was eventually dissolved and the entire shares for the family’s half of the company are now owned by his granddaughter, Miss Paige Chandos.’
Folding the clipping, he looked at her expectantly, but Angélique merely made a moue of disinterest. ‘Why do you tell me this? It seems a strange way to announce an engagement. Your English society pages must be very boring.’
‘It wasn’t in the society pages, it was in the business supplement.’
She laughed and gave him a pitying look. ‘So that was what your engagement was—a business arrangement But that I can understand. They still have those kind of marriages among the wealthy classes here in France.’ Her eyes disparaged him and her voice was taunting. ‘No wonder you are eager to find your fiancée; how annoyed you must be not to have all those shares under your control, the entire power under your command.’
‘Is that what you think?’ he asked, watching her closely.
She gave an eloquent shrug. ‘Why should you care what I think? I am nothing to you.’
‘On the contrary. You mean a great deal to me.’ His voice was warm, forceful.
With a small laugh, Angélique said, ‘How can I when you have never seen me before?’
But Caine ignored her and went on, ‘Is that why you ran away? Did you think that I didn’t care about you, was only interested in the company? You couldn’t be more wrong, Paige. I care about you very deeply.’
Slowly she raised her eyes to look into his, then gave a mocking smile. ‘I always understood that Englishmen were cold fish—now I know why.’
His mouth thinned. ‘I hardly think that the punishment you inflicted fits the crime, especially when the crime existed only in your imagination, Paige.’
Her eyes shadowed. ‘Don’t call me that. You’re wasting your time. I am not the woman you’re looking for. You’ve made a mistake. How many times do I have to tell you?’
Jean-Louis walked into the room. ‘Are you still arguing?’ he demanded exasperatedly.
‘Do you read English, Monsieur Lenée?’ Caine asked, and when he got a nod in reply handed him the cutting.
His eyes widening as he read it, Jean-Louis said, ‘Are you saying that this woman is Angélique?’
‘I’m sure of it.’
‘If what he is saying is true then you could be rich, chérie. Is she rich, this—’ he glanced at the clipping ‘—Paige Chandos?’
‘Very.’
They both watched him as he stood silently, thinking it through, then Jean-Louis said, ‘Is it really possible that you could be this woman, Angélique?’
‘No,’ she said positively.
‘I’ve asked her about her background,’ Caine interrupted, ignoring her denial, ‘but she seems very confused. She said that she was in an accident and she doesn’t seem to remember much that happened before that.’
‘That’s true,’ Jean-Louis agreed at once. ‘She has never told me anything about her past, her family. And I have never met anyone who knew her before I met her.’ Going to Angélique, he said in a persuasive tone, ‘If you are this woman, then it is only right that you should claim your inheritance, chérie.’
