Cautiously sipping the ice-cold champagne, eyes only vaguely fixed in a certain direction, she drifted casually across, exchanging a word here and there until she was almost within earshot. The taller of the two women, the one with the stunning auburn hair rippling to her shoulders, was another American; she couldn't catch the accent of the other, who was less flamboyant but, she guessed, more Patrick's type.
A joyful burst of laughter from the trio forced her to raise her head disapprovingly, and at that very moment Patrick glanced her way. She felt herself begin to colour as his smile faded; his words confirmed that he was aware of her curiosity.
'Don't stand on the fringe, Leigh.' How dared he imply...? 'Let me introduce you to Paul's cousin and a friend from LA.' And he completed the introductions while she simmered quietly, barely giving her time to take in their names. And then almost at once his presence was required elsewhere and she was left, mind totally blank, unable to think of a sensible thing to say.
'You know Patrick well, Leigh?' The redhead was following him with her eyes, and Leigh found that she was doing the same.
'Well?' She considered. 'I can't say I know him well, exactly.' How easily lies came tripping from the tongue. 'I met him-oh, some time ago.'
'Some time ago?' the woman queried in a gently mocking tone. 'You must be spoiled with attractive men if you don't remember precisely. / can remember precisely-date, time, place-where I first met him.'
'Oh?' It seemed safer to make no further enquiries about that, and in any case a few more guests had joined them and the conversation moved on, but she couldn't rid herself of awareness of him, even when she deliberately turned her back.
A little later she saw that the redhead had cornered him again-or had it been the other way round? Whatever, she was sparkling wildly and he was lapping it up. A sudden unwelcome vision came into her mind. She saw that beautiful Titian hair spread out on pillows-how seductive... You could hardly blame a man for... Oh, damn it. Firmly she turned and walked from the room. She was mad, persevering with this self-torture; let them do what they wanted-it was nothing to her what he did. With Ines da Silva or itinerant Americans, she simply didn't care, and the pain that was tearing at her was bound to ease soon. But it was impossible to escape for long. Soon Holly winkled her out. 'You must come, love; the speeches are about to begin and I think Paul is going to say nice things about you.' So she was ushered willy-nilly to that end of the room, forced to smile at the flattering references, which naturally included both godparents, and with Patrick standing close enough to touch it took all her powers of self-control.
After all the more obvious toasts there was one to the godparents, and she and Patrick had no choice but to turn to each other, glasses raised, hypocritical smiles in place, while a few camera bulbs flashed. She imagined it was as unwelcome to him as it was to her. Only by fixing her eyes firmly on a pattern on the wallpaper, just to the left of his shoulder, was she able to preserve an appearance of detachment and enjoyment. But the moment the formality was over she turned abruptly and sought the solace of the nursery.
Soon there were sounds of guests leaving. Her sense of relief and release was enormous, and she emerged from the nursery just as Holly crossed the hall and began to make her excuses. 'He refuses to wake up for his godmother.' She smiled and shrugged philosophically. 'So I'm having to hope that tomorrow things will be better.'
'Oh, love, do you have to go away so soon?'
'I think I should-and you still have your relatives with you. If it's still all right I'll come round in the morning. You do remember I said I wasn't going back till late afternoon? We can have a real heart to heart then. Provided-----' she raised an eyebrow in the direction of her host, who had just come forward to join them '-provided Paul III assures me he'll have returned to his money-bags by then.'
'You're making me regret the important meeting I have at nine-thirty. I would much rather listen to you two letting your hah- down.'
'But that would spoil all the fun, wouldn't it?' Holly kissed her friend on both cheeks. 'And thank you, Leigh, for being such a perfect godmother. In fact-----' she turned to her husband for confirmation'-if we had searched the length and breadth of the country we couldn't have found better-looking godparents.'
'I'll settle for the glamorous godmother,' Paul draped an arm round his wife's shoulders. 'And that hat-it's been the talk of the afternoon.'
'Oh, yes, the hat.' Leigh wrinkled her nose. "That reminds me-I left it in the nursery. I'd better go and pick it up.'
There she and Holly found that Pauli was being fed, and somehow Leigh was holding him again, while the girl who was helping consulted his mother about some little adjustments to his cot. She even found she was enjoying it. His cheek against hers was so incredibly soft, the tiny fingers were reaching out to catch her hair, and she propped him against her shoulder, walked up and down once or twice, rubbing his back in what she thought was the approved way.
She had no idea she was being watched till she passed a mirrored cupboard, and she stopped abruptly as she stared into the unwavering eyes of Patrick Cavour. For just a moment she was transfixed, paralysed by the rush, the deluge of emotions which tore at her senses... Something in his eyes added to her pain-a slight frown, an expression which made her long to rush forward, say something-anything that might begin to soothe...
'Here, Leigh, let me.' Holly smiled as she appropriated her son. 'Leaving you all this time...' Then they walked into the hall to find-of course; she might have guessed-Paul with Patrick by the door. 'It's all arranged. Patrick volunteered to see you back, Leigh. He doesn't mind a bit.' Holly grinned at Patrick and lowered her voice confidentially. 'Leigh imagines you have to be coerced into offering to take her anywhere. As if any normal male wouldn't jump at the chance.'
Too incensed to say anything, Leigh remained silent until they were in the elevator and then, hoping her voice wouldn't show exactly how furious she felt, said, 'I'd be grateful, Patrick-' thank heavens she sounded cool and detached '-if we could stop at the concierge's office. I can call a cab from there. There's no reason for you to get your car out again.'
'If that's what you want.'
For an instant she was shocked-in spite of apparently getting her own way, she had not expected him to give in so easily. If not an argument at least he might have gone through the motions, however insincere.
'Best thing-----' Patrick interrupted her thoughts '-would be to call from my apartment. 'The concierge is often having a break about now.'
So she found herself following him along the corridor, hesitating outside his door, then stepping reluctantly into the hallway, watching as he crossed to the telephone alcove.
'You know...' He had begun to dial a number, and for a moment she was too involved with her roused emotions to realise that it was to her he was speaking. She swung round from the water-colour she had been examining so intently. 'You have a mark down the back of that beautiful jacket you're wearing.' She watched the receiver being replaced, aware as he came towards her that her heart was beating madly in her chest, that if he should touch her she couldn't guarantee what her reaction would be... 'If you would like to take it off I could try...'
'Oh, yes?' Thank goodness she had found the strength to smile with cynical disbelief.
'It looks-----' his voice was clipped, matter-of-fact and crushing '-very much like milk.'
'Oh.' For an instant she was taken aback, then it began to register how she had taken the baby, soothing him against her shoulder, and wasn't regurgitation one of their favourite pastimes in those circumstances? 'Oh,' she said again, this time shaking her head in faint resignation.
'If you would like to give me your jacket, I'll do my best to clean it.'
'Thank you.' She undid the buttons, slipping the jacket from her shoulders and handing it to him, conscious that her brief camisole top was more than a little provocative. Only, she wasn't going to allow him to imagine that she was nervous, that she was afraid of her own reactions, and besides... she had herself to convince as well... She followed him to the kitchen-all gleaming navy units, shining steel and smoky glass-watching as he dealt quickly and efficiently with the dribble, finishing off with a slightly damp cloth, rubbing it with a clean tea-towel and then offering it to her.
'There you are. I don't think there's any permanent damage and it's not damp enough to cause rheumatics.' He watched impassively as she shrugged herself back into the garment, fastening it with shaking fingers, and she was very relieved, so she told herself, that no decision was required of her. She had been so certain-afraid, rather, she corrected herself quickly-afraid that events might have been conspiring to lead her in that direction, although it was something of an anticlimax to discover that there was no need to fight him off, that he was apparently as unwilling as she was to resume...