The Marriage Deal(25)

'You don't mind if I join you?' She slid into the chair held out for  her, then waved her hand in an elegant gesture to the wine steward.  'Bring another bottle of champagne.' When the waiter presented her with a  menu, she scanned it quickly, then handed it back to him. 'Just a  starter. The Caesar salad.'                       
       
           



       

'You're alone?' Raoul drawled in query, and Sandrine watched Cait weigh up which Lanier brother she'd attempt to captivate.

Just try it with Michel, she warned silently, and I'll scratch your eyes out!

The famous pout was a touch overdone. 'Gregor deserted me, the rat.' Her  mouth formed a moue. 'I could have ordered room service, but I didn't  feel like being alone.'

Cashing in on national publicity and revelling in the limelight,  Sandrine perceived, then mentally chastised herself for being cynical.

'So, what are we celebrating?'

'Life,' Michel stated with studied indolence as he took hold of  Sandrine's hand and lifted it to his lips. 'And love.' He kissed each  fingertip in turn, then curled her hand within his.

Oh, my, that was about as blatant as you could get. Add to that the  passionate gleam apparent in his eyes, the sensual curve of his lips. It  was a combination that succeeded in melting her bones.

'Quite a change from when Michel first appeared on the scene a month  ago,' Cait imputed with thinly veiled sarcasm. 'At Tony's apartment I  could have sworn you were enemies instead of husband and wife.'

'If husbands and wives didn't experience a difference of opinion on  occasion, the marriage would become boring,' Sandrine offered.

'Really?'

'Anyone for coffee?' Raoul intervened. 'I have a few calls to make.'

'Likewise I need to go on-line.' Michel succeeded in attracting the  maître d's attention, then turned towards Cait. 'By all means stay on  and finish the champagne.'

They weren't able to escape quite so easily. The photographer appeared  out of nowhere and reeled off a few shots, which, unless Sandrine was  mistaken, would be sold to at least one of the national newspapers.

Michel muttered an imprecation beneath his breath, signed the proffered  credit slip, then rose to his feet and pocketed his wallet.

'Safe flight, darlings,' Cait bade, again looking like a cat who'd just finished a bowl of cream.

'Merci.'

Michel curved an arm round Sandrine's waist as Raoul accompanied them to  the main entrance, then waited as they slid into a taxi.

'Coincidence, do you think?' she posed as the taxi swiftly joined the traffic.

'Extremely doubtful,' Michel said dryly.

'Coffee?' Sandrine offered on entering the apartment five minutes later. 'We didn't have any, and if you need to work on-line … '

'The only thing I want to work closely with is you.'

A lazy grin widened her mouth, and her eyes sparkled as she turned  towards him. 'I'm not sure I like being referred to as a thing.'

He crooked a finger in a beckoning gesture. 'Come here.'

Laughter bubbled up inside her, emerging as a delightful throaty sound. 'You'd better have a good reason for issuing orders.'

'Oh, I don't think you'll have reason to complain.'

She moved into his arms and felt them enfold her close. 'Really?'

'Really,' he mocked lightly, then proceeded to kiss her with such passion she went up in flames.

They made it to the bedroom, discarding clothes as they went, and it was  a long time before she found the energy to do more than murmur her  appreciation as she slipped close to the edge of sleep.

The taxi eased to a halt outside the Ritz-Carlton, and Michel paid the driver as Sandrine emerged from the vehicle.

Together they entered the main lobby, shared a coffee with Raoul, then  Sandrine rose to her feet and brushed Michel's temple with a light kiss.

'Three o'clock?'

Michel's answering smile held warmth as he inclined his head. 'Have fun.'

Her mouth assumed a wicked curve. 'I intend to.' She wanted to select a  special gift for his grandmother and she was due to meet her father at  one.

Double Bay was a delightful place to browse and shop, and she found a beautiful Hermès silk scarf that was just perfect.

It was almost one when she entered the restaurant Lucas had recommended,  and she was barely seated when the maître d' showed him to their table.

'Sandrine,' Lucas greeted with affection, 'this is a pleasure.'

She ordered wine, and they settled on a starter and main.

'It's regrettable this has to be brief, but I have a scheduled meeting at two-fifteen.'

'That's okay,' Sandrine voiced without hesitation.

He surveyed her over the rim of his glass. 'You have something on your mind you want to discuss with me?'

'Chantal.'

Lucas replaced his glass down on the table. 'You know your mother and I no longer maintain contact.'                       
       
           



       

She was aware of all the reasons why and had accepted them. 'I'm concerned for her.'

'And you expect me to share that concern?'

'She's my mother,' she said simply.

'Chantal is an emotional butterfly, always seeking something different  and new. When life becomes boring, she moves on without too much thought  for those left behind.' He paused as the waiter removed their plates.  'I rebuilt my life with a loving woman.'

A loving woman who was civil and superficially affectionate to her  husband's daughter from his first marriage, but one who'd made it clear  Sandrine had no place in her home or her heart.

Lucas placed a hand over hers. 'Your mother will never change. She's  Chantal,' he declared with wry cynicism, as if that explained it all.  'You have Michel. Treasure that love and treat it with care.'

There was no point to pursuing the conversation, and she didn't even  try. Instead, they spoke of Ivan's academic achievements and  aspirations.

It was after two when they emerged from the restaurant, and Sandrine gave her father an affectionate hug in farewell.

She needed to make a few calls to friends, and she strolled towards the  hotel, settled herself comfortably in the lounge, ordered a cappuccino  and punched a series of numbers into her cell phone.

She temporarily lost track of time, and it wasn't until she glanced at  her watch after concluding the last of her calls that she realised it  was after three.

Where was Michel? Sandrine checked her watch for the third time in fifteen minutes. It wasn't like him to be late.

'Can I get you anything else, ma'am?'

She cast the waitress a brief smile and shook her head. 'Thank you.'

A slight frown creased her forehead. She hadn't got the meeting place  wrong because Michel had dropped her off outside this hotel more than  three hours ago.

Perhaps he'd been held up. Yes, that was it. His meeting had run overtime.

The frown deepened. If that were true, why didn't he ring? She slipped  the cell phone from her bag and checked it for any messages. There were  none.

Okay, she'd ring him on his cell phone. A few words of reassurance were  all she needed. Without further hesitation she punched in the numbers  and waited, only to have the call switch to voice mail. She left a  message, then slipped the phone into her bag.

Raoul. Maybe she could call Raoul, she thought, only to remember she hadn't keyed his number into her memory bank.

Business lunches were notorious for running late. Any minute now Michel  would call, apologise and explain. Except he didn't, and a fist closed  over her heart. Several different scenarios played through her mind and  she examined and discarded each of them.

The peal of the phone interrupted her increasing apprehension, and she plucked the unit from her bag and activated it.

'Raoul, Sandrine.'

'Michel-'

'Is okay,' Raoul assured her. 'There was a slight car accident, and the  officers who attended the scene insisted everyone involved receive a  medical examination.'

Dear heaven. 'Where?'

He named a private city hospital. 'Take a cab. I'll be waiting for you.'

A chill invaded her bones. 'I'm on my way.'

The ensuing fifteen minutes were the longest minutes of her life as she  imagined a plethora of possibilities regarding Raoul's description of  events.

'Okay, he's okay,' she repeated several times beneath her breath as the cab negotiated heavy city traffic.

What if Raoul wasn't telling her the truth? Dear Lord in heaven, what if the accident had been severe?

Sandrine froze. Images of horrific televised accident scenes flashed  before her eyes. She pictured bodies being cut from crushed vehicles and  transported by ambulance to hospital.

How much longer? She checked the location and estimated another five  minutes should do it, providing there were no unexpected traffic snarls.

The cab made it in seven, and she hurriedly thrust a note into the  driver's hand, opened the door and waved away his move to give her  change.

She ran down the concrete path and paused impatiently as she waited for the automatic glass doors of the main entrance to open.

Sandrine was oblivious to the nurses' station, the collection of waiting  patients. All she saw was Raoul crossing the room towards her, and she  rushed to his side.