It All Began in Monte Carlo (29 page)

The truth was Pru had never been intimately and emotionally or even
sexually
really involved with anyone. Oh, a few high school romances, but in her day sex was something you thought about more than you did. Sex was a mystery, despite her marriage, and because of the husband-who-shall-be-nameless's selfishness, and also, Pru guessed, because he had not cared and probably hadn't really ever fancied her. Even in her honeymoon pale blue silk-chiffon very expensive nightie and robe, the one with the satin ribbons that she'd thought was sure to turn any man on, he'd barely looked at her. It wasn't until later, when she became more aware, that she realized a scarlet-and-black Victoria's Secret garter belt and push-up bra might have worked better, and by then it was too late, and anyhow she didn't care anymore either. Or at least she told herself she didn't care, but really, she did. And the hurt went deep.

She saw the glow Sunny carried like an aura; the heightened awareness of her body, of her being; the look only a woman fulfilled had. And now, dammit, Pru wanted that look. Only trouble was she had no idea how to find it.

She laughed at herself thinking about being sexy as she pulled on the narrow blue jeans Allie had chosen that made her butt look tighter and smaller and somehow more “rounded.” And the soft brown flat suede boots with the fringe up the side, and the chocolate cashmere sweater that cost more than any sweater ever should but hell it made a difference, softer than silk and clinging in the most appealing way exactly where it should. The fact was too that after only a few days, there was less of Pru to cling to. She wasn't a skinny bitch yet, but she was on her way.

The little dog perched on the dressing table while she applied a touch of mascara, a hint of bronzer to her cheeks and the new nude
lipstick that went perfectly with the new blond hair and the somehow new mouth that had a better curve to it. That was because she was smiling, and smiling was something she had not done in a long while.

“Okay, so here we go, Tesoro,” she said clipping on the dog's scarlet jeweled harness. “The South of France woman out for a walk with her exquisite little international dog. Shall we stroll together along the Croisette in Cannes? Maybe even spot a movie star or two, though of course, as a Hollywood dog you're used to that. Then we'll have coffee somewhere, perhaps think about lunch. And there'll be no time at all for worrying about Ron, and wondering why Maha sent Sunny to Mumbai. And none at all for thinking about Eddie Johanssen who probably skipped town when he heard Sunny was no longer interested.”

Oddly, as Pru and Tesoro stepped out of the hotel into a glowing blue day and a silver rented Renault convertible, Kitty Ratte was the only person not on Pru's mind.

 

 

Pru was not used to being on her own anymore. After years of being left alone while the erring husband “traveled” or more likely lived a whole second life, you would have thought she would be accustomed to it, but after a mere few days in the company of Allie and Sunny, she felt lonely without them.

Girlfriends, she thought, as she mooched slowly along the Croisette in Cannes with Tesoro dragging reluctantly behind, and the winter sun so hot she needed a cold drink, preferably champagne of which she had all of a sudden become fond, and the hell with Diet Coke. Anyhow, “girlfriends” were the best life had to offer. Unless life also offered a lover of course, but then Pru had never had a serious “lover,” meaning a man who was so crazy for her he wanted to make love to her all the time and couldn't live without her. Truth to tell, she had never really had a man “friend,” either. The husband was never her “friend.”

They'd met at somebody else's wedding where Pru was a guest, not even a maid of honor or a bridesmaid though she and the bride lived in the same small town and had known each other since childhood. Pru wasn't the kind of girl who got asked to be bridesmaid, though she was not overweight then. She was just the nice ordinary girl with the good skin, whom everybody liked and no guy ever
came on to. But the fact that her father, the local small-town building baron, had left her money was well-known, and the husband-who-shall-be-nameless because Pru could no longer even bear to think his name, had known that. He'd sought her out, swept her off her feet and before she knew it it was
her
wedding and they were going on a honeymoon to Florida, driving a brand-new Cadillac Escalade she had paid for and that was big enough to seat eight. Later the husband graduated to foreign cars, with the British-racing-green Jag being his absolute favorite. Pru guessed that had the marriage lasted he would have progressed to a Porsche. Men like that always wanted a Porsche. Red, of course. And with vanity plates. And of course, he had also managed to get through a lot of her money, leaving her alone in a small apartment with a view of a parking lot.

Pru had had enough of men like her husband. She only wished she had not begun her descent into eating because of him. Rats like him should not cause the downfall of women and ruin their bodies, just when they needed that body most!

She felt a tug on the lead. Tesoro had stopped dead in her tracks and sat gazing beseechingly up at her.

“What?” Pru asked, exasperated.

“She wants to be carried.”

It was a man's voice. Pru swung round. “Ooh,” was all she managed to say.

“That's a very small dog, they tire quickly,” Eddie Johanssen said. “Such short legs, you know.”

“Yes. Of course.” Pru swept Tesoro up, clutching her to her bosom. “Thank you. Why didn't I think of that?”

“You were obviously lost in your thoughts.”

He wasn't moving on, he was just standing there, talking to her, handsome as all get out and looking a lot more in control than he had the other night.

“I think I know you, from the hotel,” he said. “I seem to remember meeting you in the elevator.”

“You weren't feeling well,” Pru said, helpfully jogging his memory. Then, embarrassed, she knew she should not have said that. What man wanted to be reminded that he had been drunk?

“I don't recall,” he said. “I just remember your red shoes.”

Pru's “Oooh . . .” was doubtful. She had not been wearing the shoes that night, she'd been barefoot in a bathrobe. Obviously he must be thinking of their
first
encounter. “The shoes were brand-new,” she said, pulling herself together. “And cost twice what I thought they should have.”

“A good investment.” Eddie's eyes twinkled, he was intrigued by her openness.

“I'm hoping so.” A grin lit Pru's face too. A handsome man had noticed her shoes, he'd remembered they were red. Allie was right; she must have good legs.

They stood, looking at each other. Eddie liked her, he liked her open, unthreatening attitude.
Simple
was not the word to describe her but for the life of him right now he could not think of the proper one.

“I'm Eddie Johanssen,” he said.

“Pru. Prudence Hilson.”

He said, “I'm alone too. Could I buy you a cup of coffee?” Pru's instant beam delighted him.

“You are the first person in France to offer to buy me a cup of coffee,” she said. He lifted an eyebrow in surprise and she quickly added, “Mostly people just want to offer me a glass of champagne. I thought it was all anybody drank in France.”

She was rattling on nonstop, so nervous and so thrilled she couldn't bear herself.

Eddie took her arm and guided her across the road to a red-awninged café. Tables spilled out onto the sidewalk and there was the buzz of conversation.

There was a big smile on Pru's face. Here she was with the handsomest man in the café, with an aristocratic little Chihuahua on her
lap just like any smart Frenchwoman, and her feet tucked into the gorgeous new brown suede boots. Her suede jacket toned perfectly and her new cap of short blond hair stirred in the breeze as though it had a life of its own. She felt so chic she laughed.

“What are you laughing at?” Eddie asked.

“Just at my being here, in France, sitting in a sidewalk café.”

“And where would you usually be?”

“In a small town in Texas you've never heard of, probably watching
Entertainment Tonight
on TV and wishing I could be part of that glamorous unattainable world.”

“And so now you are.” He looked her over seriously. “Your hair is different.”

She put up a hand, patted it. Tesoro rustled, watching her uneasily. “Blond.” She was still nervous about it. “And
short.
Is it okay?”

He reached out and touched a strand. “It's wonderful. See how it catches the light. It brightens your whole face.”

“Really?” Pru knew she was blushing.

“Such a charming face,” Eddie said, delightedly watching her blush some more.

He ordered cappuccino for her and a double black coffee for himself, and asked the waiter to bring water for the dog.

Then, “Why do you have Sunny's dog?” he asked.

Pru's heart sank. Was this the real reason he had stopped to talk to her?

“Sunny had to go away. She couldn't take the dog with her.” She was certainly not going to tell Eddie Sunny had gone to Mumbai, not only because she was sworn to secrecy, but because it was none of his business. Sunny had told Eddie goodbye; though admittedly it was on the telephone. She had said it was lovely to know him; thanked him for helping her, and that she would always consider him a friend. Still, the lingering sadness in Eddie's eyes touched Pru. She decided, though, it was time for him to bite the bullet.

“Sunny and Mac are back together,” she said, as gently as she could. “You know they'll always love each other.”

Eddie's smile was rueful. “Sometimes we like to think about what might have been, and not what is.” He shrugged. “Sunny came into my life at a moment when she needed me, or perhaps just someone like me.”

Pru reached out and patted his hand, a narrow, tanned hand, long-fingered, dusted with a few golden hairs. A slight shiver ran through her, enough to raise the hairs on her own newly blond neck. God, he was attractive. She had never felt this kind of attraction for a man before and was beginning to understand how Sunny was with Mac. But she couldn't let Eddie know this, after all, he was simply being friendly. “I understand,” she said, with the sweet smile on the newly curved nude-lipsticked mouth that, had she only known it, was tempting enough to kiss.

And Eddie Johanssen did just that. He leaned over and kissed her, gently, on the lips, practically knocking her socks off with the shock. “Thank you,” he said. And then he smiled too, and asked if she would have lunch with him.

So she did.

And that's when he told her the mysterious story of his “forgotten” night, and she told him that she had seen him in the elevator and thought he must be drunk. She said that she had wanted to help him, but was puzzled because she didn't think a man like him was the kind to get drunk.

It was two o'clock by now and they were sitting in a tiny bistro in the plaza of the hilly village of Mougins, elbows on the table, leaning into each other, still talking quietly. Tesoro was asleep on the chair next to Pru, having polished off enough chicken for two Chihuahuas. They had lunched on grilled
loup de mer,
a fish of surprising delicacy, fresh from the sea, along with a salad dressed with local olive oil and a gentle balsamic vinegar. Plus they were already on their second bottle of rosé, well, only a half bottle this time, most of which she had
drunk, since Eddie was driving. She guessed it was the wine that made her so uninhibited, bold even. She'd told him the story of her disastrous marriage and unfaithful husband, and how she was in the process of moving on; and he'd told her about Jutta and the bad divorce and how much he loved his children.

There was a silence and she looked at him.

“Eddie,” she said, leaning closer until their faces were almost touching. “Do you really like my hair?”

His eyes considered her for a long moment. Earlier, he had not been able to think of the proper word to describe her, but now he knew.
Innocent.
A true “innocent” was what Prudence Hilson was. And he liked that. He said, “I think you are a different woman with blond hair. But you know, Prudence, it's what a man
sees
in a woman, not always what she looks like. In you, I see a kind, caring person, a woman who thinks of herself last, a woman who gives friendship easily but will no longer be fooled by a false image of friendship, or even love. I think you are a cleverer woman than you believe you are, Prudence Hilson, and I'm glad I met you. I'm happy to be having lunch here with you, in this charming French village, in this good little bistro where they cook fish so sublime I want to eat it all over again. You—your company—has made me a happy man today. I want you to know that.”

Pru knew the fiery blush must show under her bronzer but hell she didn't care. This beautiful man had just told her he was glad to be in her company and that she made him happy. She suddenly thought about him and Kitty Ratte. She wondered if he had been with her that “lost” night; and exactly what had happened. She recalled that Maha had told Sunny Kitty was corrupt, that she was evil. Pru could believe it. Now, she wondered what Kitty had really been up to.

Pru might be an innocent but she wasn't dumb; she knew about the effects of drugs and alcohol, and she knew what she had seen that night was wrong. Eddie Johanssen was simply not that kind of
man. What had Kitty Ratte done to him that lost night? What drug had she given him to make him lose all memory of it?

Guessing right, she said, “You'd been with Kitty Ratte the night I saw you inebriated in the elevator.”

Eddie frowned. “I seem to remember meeting her in the bar. Not on purpose, she just happened to be there.”

“Isn't she always. And no doubt looking for trouble.
Her
kind of trouble.”