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Her green eyes grew cold. ‘What are you saying?’
He spread his hands. ‘You may be right, he may have made a mistake, but—’
‘He has,’ she interrupted fiercely.
Jean-Louis frowned, then turned to Caine. ‘Please, I wish to speak to my fiancée in private.’
For a moment the Englishman hesitated, but then nodded. ‘Very well.’
When they were alone, Jean-Louis took her hand. ‘I have agreed to paint the American woman’s portrait immediately. Tomorrow I am to go to the château near Montpellier where she is to visit friends and do the painting there. It will take me at least three weeks, probably longer, and I cannot take you with me.’
‘So?’
‘Angélique, it could be that you are not this woman the Englishman is looking for, so then, OK, you have lost nothing. But you have always refused to talk about your childhood, your past before you came to Paris. I’ve often asked you but you’ve never told me anything, except that you were in an accident. So maybe you are this English girl.’ He paused, then said, ‘Caine seems very sure that you are, but even if you are not, what harm would it do to take this fortune he’s offering you?’
‘I don’t want money. I don’t want to be rich. I just want to be your wife, your model.’
‘You will still be that, of course. But it’s better to be rich than poor. And think what we could do with the money; we could pay off the loan from the gallery. I would be free to exhibit my paintings wherever I liked. I could paint what pictures I wanted all the time instead of having to take commissions. And I could—’
Her green eyes glacial, Angélique said acidly, ‘And you could wear Armani suits all the time, and go to parties, and drink champagne all day long. You could have a house in Tahiti and an apartment in New York. You could travel and mix with all these beautiful, rich people you so admire.’
‘And what is wrong with that?’ Jean-Louis demanded, incensed. ‘A great talent should be nurtured. You should be pleased that you could make me free to do the work I want.’
‘Pleased?’ she said derisively. ‘Pleased that you could toss off a painting every now and again just so that the women keep fawning over you?’
He laughed and pulled her to him. ‘Ah, I see what it is, chérie; you are jealous. You think that if we were rich I would flirt with other women. But you know that there has never been anyone but you since the first moment I met you. It was love at first sight, was it not? I am your slave; I am the ground under your pretty feet.’ He was kissing her neck, the corners of her mouth, her eyes. ‘You know I adore you, that I would give my life for you. How could I even look at another woman when I am blinded by your beauty? Every moment away from you will be a lifetime. I hate this American woman for taking me away from you, but I have to do it. I can’t afford not to. You know that.’ He sighed against her lips. ‘But if we had money of our own then I would never have to leave you.’
Angélique had her eyes closed, was listening to his insinuating compliments and comparing them with the Englishman’s quiet ‘I care about you very deeply’. Two such different men—one cold and aloof, holding his emotions under iron control, the other colourful, not afraid to speak or show his feelings. Or to use his charm to make her do what he wanted. Pushing herself away from him, she looked at Jean-Louis’s earnest face and said, ‘To be a great painter you need to work hard.’
‘Have I not been working hard for the last ten years?’ he exclaimed heatedly.
‘Yes, and you’ve found fame at last. On your own. You don’t need someone else’s fortune. You can get everything you want on your own merit. Surely it’s far more satisfying to do it that way?’
He grew angry. ‘It would take me at least five years, maybe more, to get the artistic freedom I want. If you can get this woman’s money I could have it now, at once. Are you so selfish that you would deny me that, deny the world my talent?’
‘I was happy as we were,’ she said bitterly.
‘Having money will only make us happier.’
‘No, it won’t; money only brings trouble. I don’t want to do this, Jean-Louis.’
But he had seen a rosy vision of the future, and having seen, wanted it, the freedom it promised shutting out everything else. ‘If you love me,’ he said forcefully, ‘you will go with Caine and try to get this money for us.’
‘Let me understand you. You want me to take this money if it’s offered to me, even though I know I’m not the person he thinks I am?’
Jean-Louis gave an airy gesture. ‘Why not? If he is so eager to give away a fortune, why not take it?’
Staring at him, her eyes glacial, Angélique said, ‘You are just like all the others, Jean-Louis. I thought you were different, but you’re not. I thought you had integrity, to your art, at least, but you don’t even have that.’
He gave an impatient gesture. ‘You’re being stupid, Angélique. It’s because I want to devote my life to my work that I need this money. Can’t you see that?’
She didn’t answer, just held his eyes with her own. He looked away first, swinging round to go to the door. Opening it, he called, ‘Caine?’ and the Englishman came back into the room.
‘Yes?’
‘We have come to a decision. Angélique has told me that she can remember nothing before her accident, so maybe she is this woman you’re looking for.’
Caine looked at them both for a moment, then said, ‘I would need her to come back to England with me.’
‘Very well, she will go.’
Looking directly at her, Caine said, ‘Are you willing to go?’
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her face set. ‘Yes.’
‘Having seen your old life, it may be that you will wish to return to it,’ he said carefully.
Her eyes flashed fire. ‘Be engaged to you, do you mean?’
Jean-Louis laughed. ‘Just as soon as the matter is decided Angélique will come back to France to be with me.’ And he put a possessive arm round her shoulders, then bent to nuzzle her neck in a gesture that was all confident defiance. Angélique stiffened a little but she didn’t move away.
Caine’s expression didn’t change. He said, ‘Very well—just so long as you are aware of the possibility. And, naturally, if she did decide to stay you would raise no objection; you would give Paige her freedom.’
With a cool smile Jean-Louis said, ‘Paige can do what she likes, but I assure you that Angélique will hurry back to me.’
It was a definite challenge, a glove being thrown down. Without any effort Caine accepted the challenge with a smooth, ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’ He turned to Angélique. ‘Where do you live?’
She told him and he didn’t bother to write it down. ‘I’ll collect you at ten tomorrow morning. Please be ready to leave for England.’ Then, with a brief nod, he left the room.
Pulling her against him, Jean-Louis gave her an exuberant hug. ‘We’re going to be rich, chérie. And we still have tonight, just as we planned.’
Putting all her strength behind it, Angélique punched him in his midriff. He doubled up with a groan as she said, ‘If you think I’m going to bed with you tonight after this, then you’re crazy!’ And she, too, marched out of the office.
A long, sleek car with British plates drew up outside her door at exactly ten the following morning, having to double-park in the narrow road. When Milo Caine rang the bell Angélique kept him waiting as long as possible, hoping the blue-capped dragon of a traffic warden who patrolled the area would catch him, but when he rang the bell for the third time she had to open the door.
He gave her a wry look but made no comment on her tardiness, merely saying, ‘Are you ready?’
She nodded ungraciously.
‘You have only the one case?’
‘Yes. I don’t intend to be away for long,’ she told him coldly.
He was driving the car himself; she had half expected a chauffeur. Opening the front passenger door for her, he said, ‘Would you like to take off your coat?’
‘All right.’ She shrugged out of the ankle-length coat and handed it to him. Under it she was wearing a sleeveless knitted top that hugged her breasts and a very short skirt. Her legs, long and tanned, were bare. His eyes ran over her and although his expression didn’t change she could sense his disapproval. Giving him a provocative look, she deliberately crossed her legs, lifting the skirt even higher. Caine’s mouth tightened for a moment but he still didn’t speak, instead closing her door and going round to his own side of the car.
Angélique laughed. ‘How stern you look, Englishman. Don’t you like my legs?’
‘You never used to wear clothes like that,’ he commented evenly.
‘It’s not too late,’ she pointed out mockingly. ‘If you disapprove of me so much you can forget all these crazy ideas you have. Forget me. Go and look somewhere else for the woman who ditched you.’
A slight stiffening of Caine’s jaw was the only sign that her jibe had gone home, and his voice was quite unemotional as he said, ‘On the contrary, I’m quite sure you’re the woman I want. And, now that I’ve found you, I don’t intend to let you go.’
Huffily, she turned away and yawned.
‘You’re tired?’
She gave him a sideways glance. ‘Very. I had to say goodbye to Jean-Louis last night. Remember? So, naturally, I am extremely exhausted.’
He probably didn’t know it, but the tightening of his features gave away his inner anger, and she laughed again in ironical amusement.
The Paris traffic was heavy and required his entire concentration so they didn’t speak again until the car was safely stowed on Le Shuttle and the train was carrying them at immense speed across France towards the Channel Tunnel and England. They sat in the passenger compartment in seats across from one another, the only other travellers were at the far end of the carriage, out of earshot.
‘You said that you were involved in an accident,’ he reminded Angélique. ‘What kind of accident?’
Her eyes shadowed. ‘I don’t remember it. I only know what I was told.’
‘And what was that?’
She hesitated, then said slowly, ‘They told me I was on a bus. It was travelling along the Périphérique in a storm when a container truck jackknifed in front of it and they collided. Most of the passengers were rescued but then the bus caught fire and was destroyed. Two people were killed.’ Her voice faltered a little on the last sentence, and then Angélique said, ‘That’s what they told me when I woke up at the hospital.’
‘Were you badly hurt?’
‘No. Just a bruised shoulder and a bad bump on the head.’
‘How did they know your name?’
“There was a piece of paper in my pocket. It gave my name. It said “Angélique Castet. Born Lisieux.” And it gave the date of my birth.’
‘Nothing else?’
She shrugged. ‘A few scribbled numbers and words that didn’t mean anything to me.’
‘Do you still have the paper?’
‘Perhaps. Somewhere.’
‘You didn’t bring it with you?’
‘No. Why should I?’
Leaning forward and looking at her intently, Caine said, ‘Can you remember anything from before you had the accident?’
Her eyes grew troubled. ‘Sometimes at night—when I dream, I see places that I feel I know, but in the morning...’ She threw open her hands and made a blowing shape with her lips ‘...poof! They’re gone.’
‘Never people?’
Her mouth creased in amusement. ‘No, Englishman,’ she said in open mockery. ‘I have never dreamt of you.’
He wasn’t put out, instead smiling rather wryly. ‘I left myself wide open to that one, didn’t I?’ She didn’t return the smile, and after a moment he said, ‘Look, we’re going to see a lot of each other in the near future. I know you’re angry with me and you don’t want to do this, but couldn’t we try to be civil to one another?’
‘You are being civil to me.’
Again his lips twitched. ‘All right, do you think that you could please be civil to me, then?’
‘How?’
‘You could start by calling me by my name instead of “Englishman”,’ he suggested.
‘Very well, Monsieur Caine.’
‘My name is Milo,’ he reminded her.
Tilting her head, she considered the idea. ‘I don’t think I like it.’
‘Nor do I, but I’m afraid I’m stuck with it, and it would upset my mother if I tried to change it.’
‘You have a mother?’
‘Most people do.’
Her face tightened. ‘Do they?’
Reaching across, he took her hand. ‘Sorry. Would you like me to tell you about your family? You do have one, you know, Paige.’
So he was convinced that she was his girlfriend, and seemed convinced, too, that she had lost her memory. With a sigh, she said, ‘Are you always going to call me that?’
‘It’s your name.’
‘And you want me to be civil to you and use yours?’
‘Yes.’
She was suddenly angry. ‘Why should I be civil to someone who has turned my life upside down, who ruined my engagement party, who has taken me away from my fiancé’s side? You’re a fool if you think—’
But he interrupted by saying, ‘No, I’m giving you back the life you had. Filling in your past. You have the right to that. Even if you choose to reject it, you should at least have the right to choose.’
His words took her aback and she stared at him for a long moment before she realised that in his vehemence he had spoken in English.
Milo realised at the same moment and his eyes widened. ‘You understood, didn’t you? Didn’t you?’
Paige didn’t answer directly, but said, in perfect English, ‘How did you know where to look for me?’
‘It was the portrait. It was reproduced in an art magazine that I take. And it even gave the details of your engagement party.’ Sitting back, his eyes on her face, he said, ‘I would have known your eyes anywhere.’
CHAPTER THREE
