'On Darling Harbour?'
His eyes gleamed with latent humour. 'The bed.' She slipped from his grasp. 'You did say I get to choose.'
It was a lovely day, with just enough of a breeze to take the edge off the summer's heat. Together they strolled along the boardwalk stretching the length of the Darling Harbour complex, enjoyed an excellent lunch at a waterfront restaurant, then browsed through the shops and crossed the pedestrian bridge. On impulse they took in a two-hour harbour cruise, then caught the monorail into the city.
It was almost six when they re-entered the apartment, and after a quick shower they each changed into elegant evening wear and took a taxi into the city.
There wasn't time for a leisurely meal, so they skipped the starter, settled for the main and forewent coffee in order to take their seats in time for the first act of Les Misérables.
It was a magnificent production, and Sandrine was lavish with her praise as they emerged into the foyer after the final act.
They chose a trendy café in which to have coffee, then hailed a taxi to the apartment.
Michel curved an arm round her waist as they stepped into the lift, and Sandrine rested her head against his shoulder. It had been a pleasant day, followed by a lovely evening, and she told him so.
'Thank you,' she added simply as they entered the lounge.
'For what, chérie? Spending a day with my wife?'
'For taking the time.'
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, gently at first, then with increasing passion as she lifted her arms and wrapped them round his neck.
It was a while before he released her, and she stood there, his arms linked loosely around her hips. 'You're not going to check the laptop for messages?'
'There's nothing that can't wait until morning.'
She crossed to the wide hallway and made her way to the main bedroom, where she removed her shoes, the slim-fitting black gown and the beautifully crafted sequined jacket, then she reached to take the pins from her hair and encountered Michel's hand in the process of undoing the elegant French pleat.
When he was done, she helped him remove his jacket, the dress shirt, then the trousers. His eyes held hers as he slipped out of his shoes and peeled off his socks.
All that remained between him and total nudity was a pair of black hipster briefs, and she let her hand slide over his chest, teasing one male nipple, then the other, before skimming her fingers down to his waist.
She didn't tie him to the bed, but she did tease and tantalise him in a wicked exploration that tested the limit of his control. With her lips, the soft feather-light stroke of her fingers, the brush of her skin against his.
Sandrine lost track of time as she played the role of seductress, and just as he reached for her, she sank onto him and took his length in one exultant movement that shattered both of them.
What followed became a sweet, savage lovemaking that broke through the barriers of ecstasy and took them to a place where sensation ruled the mind, body and soul.
They went to sleep in each other's arms, and the last thing Sandrine remembered was the touch of Michel's lips against her temple, the deep, heavy tempo of his heart as it beat strongly in his chest.
Dinner with her mother, stepfather and Angelina carried undertones she was loath to pin down. Chantal was so incredibly vivacious it hurt, Roberto overdid the charm, and Angelina barely touched her food. Consequently the evening became something of a strain.
A call to her mother the next day brought an assurance Sandrine didn't buy for a second. It would do no good to question her father, and she didn't even bring up Chantal's name during dinner the following evening.
A shopping expedition on Saturday with Angelina brought forth a confidence that settled the question.
'Mum and Dad are getting a divorce,' Angelina blurted out as they shared lunch.
Sandrine experienced a gamut of emotions but managed to school most of them as she took in her stepsister's pinched features and lacklustre expression. 'How do you feel about it?' she queried gently.
'I hate it.'
I'm not that rapt, either, she echoed silently. Roberto may not be the ideal husband, but he was a caring father.
'She's seeing someone else,' Angelina informed her morosely.
'She's the cat's mother,' Sandrine corrected absently.
'Mother,' her stepsister declared with mocking emphasis, 'has a toy boy. I doubt he's thirty.'
Hell, that put a slightly different complexion on things. 'Maybe she's just-'
'Using him for sex?'
'Taking time out,' she continued, and wondered why she was trying to play down Chantal's behaviour to a sixteen-year-old who was more au fait with the situation.
'He drives a Ferrari, has oodles of money and looks like he stepped out of GQ wearing a Versace suit.'
Some contrast, when Roberto was on the wrong side of fifty, three stone overweight and losing his hair.
'And you hate him,' she deduced, and saw the younger girl work herself into a hissy fit.
'I hate her. What does she think she's doing? Dad practically lives at work, and I may as well not have sat my exams, the marks were so bad.'
Sandrine finished her latte. 'How long has this been going on?'
'Six months.'
'Okay.' She rose to her feet. 'Let's go.'
'Let's go? That's it?'
'Shopping.' She cast Angelina a purposeful smile. 'When the going gets tough, women go shopping.' She made a beckoning gesture. 'On your feet, girl. I'm about to indulge your wildest fantasy.'
Her stepsister's face was a study in conflicting emotions. 'You are?'
'Indeed.'
Sandrine was as good as her word, and when she had the taxi drop Angelina home early that evening, her stepsister was weighed down with a wide assortment of emblazoned carry bags.
'Thanks, Sandrine.' Angelina planted a kiss on her cheek before sliding out from the taxi. 'You're the best.'
No, Sandrine silently denied as the taxi swung back into the flow of traffic. I merely trod the same path when Chantal and my father broke up, and I'd have given anything to have someone understand my pain.
She'd rung Michel from her cell phone to say she'd be late, and it was almost seven when she entered the apartment.
Michel met her at the door, saw her apparent tenseness and immediately cancelled plans he'd made for the evening. Instead, he brushed his lips across her forehead, then pushed her lightly in the direction of their bedroom.
'Go change, and I'll order in.'
Sandrine shot him a grateful glance. 'Pizza?'
'Okay.'
She kept walking, and in the bedroom she went into the en suite, took a leisurely shower, then she slipped on a short silk robe and pinned up her hair.
Michel sat sprawled on one of several sofas in the lounge, and he patted the seat beside him as she crossed the room. 'Come here.'
It would be heaven to receive some comfort, and she slid down onto the seat and curled her feet beneath her as he pulled her into the curve of his body.
'Want to tell me what's bothering you?'
Was she that transparent? Or was it because this man was so attuned to her that very little escaped him?
She told him briefly, wondering how anyone who hadn't shared a similar experience could possibly understand the breakdown of the family unit.
'You're concerned for Angelina.'
'The emotional upheaval has a far-reaching effect,' Sandrine said slowly. 'It made me very aware of my own survival. I became very independent and self-contained. I guess I built up a protective shell.'
Yes, Michel agreed silently. She had at that, removing it for him, only to raise the barrier again at the first sign of discord. Self-survival … He was no stranger to it himself.
The intercom buzzed, and Michel answered it, releasing security for the pizza-delivery guy, and afterwards they bit into succulent segments covered with anchovies, olives, capsicum, mushrooms and cheese, washing them down with an excellent red wine while watching a romantic comedy on video.
The days that followed held a similar pattern. Michel divided the first half of each day to business via his laptop and cell phone, while Sandrine caught up with friends over coffee. Most evenings they dined out, took in a show or visited the cinema.
Sandrine's stepbrother, Ivan, chose the premiere screening of the latest Star Wars episode, and they indulged his preference for burgers and Coke.
Pinning down Chantal for a mother-and-daughter chat proved the most difficult to organise, with two lunch postponements. Third time lucky, Sandrine hoped as she ordered another mineral water from the waitress and half expected a call on her cell phone announcing Chantal's delay.
Fifteen minutes later Chantal slid into the chair opposite with a murmured apology about the difficulty of city parking and an express order for champagne.
'Celebrating, Chantal?' She hadn't called Chantal Mother since her early teens.