The only thing she didn’t know was his exact age. Lorne had said he was about forty-nine, but she thought he was wrong. Jean-Claude looked to be in his fifties to her, although she had to admit to herself she’d never been very good at guessing people’s ages.
And so the evening went until it was time for them to leave the restaurant. Once more he came with them in the car, but insisted that she and Lorne were dropped off first at the hotel. When they arrived there, Jean-Claude got out, came to say goodnight to her on the steps. He took one of her hands, brought it to his lips and kissed it. Then he stepped back, gave her a long penetrating look as if committing her face to memory.
‘À bientôt,’
he murmured and stepped to one side, shook Lorne’s hand and said goodnight. A moment later he was gone, the car driving off down the street.
As she and Lorne walked through the lobby to the lift, her brother said, ‘That was an abrupt departure. I was about to ask him to come in for a nightcap. I know he likes a good Calvados.’
‘Obviously he wants to get home,’ she responded softly.
‘He’s very taken with you, Tess.’
‘Is he?’
Lorne gave her a swift, peculiar look and exclaimed, ‘Come on, you know he is!’ When she was silent, he asked, ‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘You know what I mean. Are you interested in him? Stupid question, isn’t it, when you were practically swooning at his feet.’
‘Is that what I was doing?’ She looked up at her brother, her silvery eyes questioning.
‘Yes, you were. I’ve never seen you like that ever before. But then I’ve never seen him behave like that either.’
‘So you’ve seen him with women have you, Lorne?’
‘Occasionally.’
‘And how did he seem then?’
‘Laid back. Cool.’
‘And how was he with me? At the actual book-signing, I mean?’
‘Bowled over. Very taken. Suddenly smitten. Actually, I think the word I’m looking for is
intent.
He was very intent and intense.’
Tessa sighed but said nothing as they got into the lift and went up to their suite. Once they were inside, she swung around and said to her brother: ‘I’m going to say goodnight, darling. I’m tired. I want to go to bed. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, of course not, Tess.’ He kissed her cheek, watched her as she walked down the sitting room to her bedroom. He thought: She’ll be all right.
Once she was in her bedroom, Tessa sat down in the chair near the bed and looked at the book in her hands, which she had clutched all evening. It had an arresting cover, showed a collapsed suit of medieval armour.
His
name blazed across the top and at the bottom was the title. One word.
WARRIORS.
She turned to the inside back flap, studied his photograph for a moment, started to read about him.
The phone began to ring, and she reached for it. ‘Hello?’ she said.
‘C’est moi.’
‘I know.’
‘When can I see you?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘That’s good. For lunch?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her heart beginning to clatter against her ribcage.
‘I hope Lorne will not feel–how shall I say? Left out.’
‘He has other plans tomorrow,’ she improvised.
‘Bien. Je vous envoi une voiture.
At noon.’
‘Thank you.’
‘À demain,’
he said and was gone.
Tessa stared at the phone for a moment, put the book down on the bed, and went out into the sitting room. Lorne was nursing a balloon of Calvados and watching a political show on CNN, but swung his head as she came in. ‘Do you want one of these?’ he asked, lifting his glass.
‘I don’t know…’ She paused when she came to the sofa and stared at her brother. ‘Jean-Claude just phoned.’
‘I guessed it was him.’
‘I’m having lunch with him tomorrow.’
Lorne nodded. ‘He told me he was going to phone you about lunch.’
Seating herself on the arm of the sofa she exclaimed, ‘He did! Was he asking your permission? I hope not. I’m thirty-two, for heaven’s sake, a mother, and about to become a divorcee.’
Lorne threw back his head and laughed. ‘Don’t sound so indignant. Of course he wasn’t asking my permission. He’s not like that. When we were leaving Taillevent he told me he intended to call you when he got home, that he wanted to take you to lunch. And I suppose he wanted me to know that, since I’m your brother and we are here in Paris together. Also, he and I are good friends.’
When she remained silent, biting her lip, and looking worried, Lorne added, ‘He’s a grown man, Tessa. He’d never ask my permission to take you out. He was simply being courteous. He’s very gentlemanly, well mannered, always has been, about everything.’
She merely nodded, murmured, ‘I understand,’ and walked over to the bar, where she poured herself a small glass of Calvados.
As she returned to the sofa, Lorne lowered the volume of the television set, raised his glass and with a smile said, ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ Tessa sat down opposite him and asked, ‘What did he write in your book?’
‘He said he admired my talent as an actor, called me his
bien ami,
and wished me luck with the film. What did he put in yours?’
‘Something rather odd.’
‘What?’
‘He wrote my name, and then
Je suis là.’
‘I am here. That’s what he wrote? It does sound a bit odd. I am here
what?’
Tessa shook her head. ‘I am here…
waiting.
I am here…
for you.
That’s how I interpreted it.’
‘I think you’re correct. And I was right, he is full of
intent.’
‘I find him very compelling.’
‘Yes, he’s extremely charismatic’
‘And you don’t mind that I’m having lunch with him? You’re not warning me about him?’
‘No. I wouldn’t warn you about a man like Jean-Claude Deléon. He’s…a giant of a man, very serious, very responsible. He’s what Uncle Ronnie would call a
mensch.’
‘But
you
said he was a ladies’ man,’ she reminded him.
‘I did, but I didn’t mean he was a
womanizer,
because I don’t believe he is. Oh, there’ve been lots of women in his life, I know that. But he’s not a philanderer. What I meant when I said he was a ladies’ man is that he likes women,
admires
women. He’s not a misogynist like some men I know who are red-blooded but don’t
like
women.’
‘I see.’ She leaned back in the chair, and sipped her drink. After a moment she said, ‘He’s sending a car for me tomorrow at noon.’
‘I told you he was a gentleman. Anyway, my Tess, you should be flattered. Before he meets you for lunch he’s going to be at the Élysées Palace with the President of France.’
Not far away from the Paris O’Neill Hotel, Jonathan Ainsley sat in a small bar on a narrow street just off the Champs-Élysées.
He was waiting for Mark Longden, wondering where he was and sipping a glass of Napoleon brandy. He kept glancing at his watch, cursing the other man under his breath. He was a stickler about time, loathed unpunctuality in others.
Lately, he had come to wonder if Mark had become something of a liability, a hindrance. He had expected more from him, had expected the man to have done much more to destroy Paula through her children.
Whilst it was true that Mark had managed to bring Tessa to her knees, there was still Linnet to take care of, and then Emsie. Jonathan wanted these three Harte women ruined, along with Paula. He hated all Harte women, except for his cousin Sarah; she was the exception to his rule.
Paula and her three daughters reminded him far too much of his grandmother, Emma Harte, whom he had detested throughout her life. He continued to harbour hatred for her, even in death. He believed that she had cheated him out of his inheritance, favouring Paula.
Mark suddenly pushed through the door, came hurrying into the bar, making for the table.
Watching him cross the floor, Jonathan was instantly struck by Mark’s ghastly pallor, his strained look, the tired eyes. After they greeted each other, Mark sat down and motioned to a waiter standing near the bar. When he came over to the table, Mark ordered a Napoleon, a cup of black coffee and a packet of Gauloise cigarettes.
‘Started smoking again, have you, Mark?’ Jonathan asked, a brow lifting sardonically. ‘I thought you were one of the true believers, that you condemned out of hand second-hand smoke.’
‘I still do, but I
need
a smoke tonight. I suppose you could say I need to indulge myself a little bit after a hard week.’
‘My dear Mark, I’ve plenty of things available which you can indulge yourself in, you just have to say the word. And certainly things that are much more pleasurable than a mere cigarette.’
Mark looked at him sideways and shook his head. ‘No women tonight, my friend. Or anything else. I’m too damned tired. It was a rough trip down from Thirsk to London, and I just made the plane to Paris.’
‘I told you to fly from Manchester. You could even have taken a flight from Yeadon. Well, never mind. How’s my house coming along?’ He asked this in a warm voice even though it was of no real interest to him. The last thing he wanted was a house in the north.
‘Even though I say it myself, it’s looking wonderful. I know you’re going to like it, Jonathan,’ Mark said. ‘More than that, you’re going to love it. You won’t want to leave.
Ever.’
Now Jonathan merely smiled, inclined his head, knowing very well he would want to leave it and leave it a lot. There was his luxurious apartment here in Paris, and his palatial house on a hill overlooking the harbour in Hong Kong, not to mention his farm in Provence, the latest acquisition. Of course he would continue to travel to these homes, which were much more splendid than the country house in Yorkshire. The building at Thirsk was really only a ruse, wasn’t it? A ruse to delude Mark into thinking he needed an architect, when he had only needed a man to do his dirty work…which was ruining those ghastly women. With his inferiority complex, his desire for fame and money, Mark had been an easy target, particularly since he had innumerable weak spots. He was lustful and loved tarty women, and he couldn’t get enough of Ecstasy, even smack at times, although he was a bit more cautious when it came to heroin. And he liked to booze it up.
He is my creature, Jonathan thought, looking across the table at the younger man. He will do my bidding because I have him totally in my control. He needs all the things I can offer. Jonathan sat back, a satisfied smile playing around his mouth.
Mark drank the coffee, took a gulp of the cognac and then lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, and once he had smoked for a few seconds, he said, ‘I heard on the grapevine up in Yorkshire that your father’s other son is in London…Owen Hughes. Staying at that Welshman’s hotel in Belgravia. Brought his wife with him from New York. Is seeing his daughter Evan, your father’s only grandchild, and has even had lunch with Gideon and Evan. It seems like there’s a family gathering going on. How about that?’
Jonathan was furious when he thought of Evan Hughes. The grandchild his father had always craved.
She would have to be dealt with as well as the Harte women.
He laughed silently. But
she
was a Harte, too, an offspring of the dreaded Emma. He would deal with
her
himself.
Before he could stop himself, Jonathan said, in a boastful voice, ‘I have a son, you know.’
Mark was flabbergasted and he gaped at Jonathan. ‘You have a son! Jesus Christ, man, why isn’t he with you, visiting your father with you in Yorkshire? That would certainly put Evan Hughes’s nose out of joint.’
‘My son lives in another country,’ Jonathan answered, which was the truth, and then realizing that more of an explanation was required, he added, ‘He has not been well for some time. He has to be protected, has to live in a warm climate, a special environment.’ This was not true. The truth was the son his wife had presented him with some years earlier had actually not been his, but that of his Chinese partner Tony Chui. It was his eyes that had given
her
game away, telegraphed to Jonathan the baby was not his. Damn and blast
her,
too.
‘Who told you all this about Owen Hughes, Mark?’
‘I picked it up here and there. I have my sources. I nosed around. Anyway, how long are you staying in Paris?’
‘I’m not exactly sure. That’s why I needed you to come to see me, rather than meeting you in London. I have to pop down to the south of France. I’ve bought a Provençal property, a rather nice old farm…I’m going to need you for that you know, Mark, as well, need your input for which, of course, you will be very well paid. But we’ll get to that later. Right now I’d like to know how your divorce is coming along? You know how much your separation from that dreadful girl has meant to me. We can’t have you, such a talented architect, hampered in your rise by a mere Harte, now can we? And she is something of a bitch, isn’t she?’
‘Bitch is not a strong enough word to describe Tessa Fairley. She’s impossible. I wish I could get Adele away from her,’ Mark cried passionately.
‘Well, my dear boy, why don’t we try? Money’s no object as far as you’re concerned. I’ll give you anything you need in this fight to…the death, shall we say.’
Mark glanced at him swiftly, and exclaimed in a low voice, ‘I don’t mind bashing her around a bit, but I’d never kill her, Jonathan. I’m not a murderer and I’m not going to swing for any woman.’
‘Listen here, my friend, I have a few ideas.’ As Jonathan spoke Mark leaned closer to him, listening carefully, and slowly a smile spread itself across his face.
The two of them sat talking and drinking for another hour or so, and then finally Jonathan paid the bill and he and Mark left the bar together.
In their merriment, and still embroiled in their plotting, they did not notice a nondescript couple sitting in a corner of the bar, who had been watching them for the entire time they had been there. The couple, a man and a woman, quickly followed them out into the street and kept them under surveillance until Jonathan located his car and chauffeur. Once he and Mark were being driven off the couple followed in their own vehicle, both bracing themselves for a long night.