'Ah... Then some other time perhaps.' 'Perhaps,' she agreed, but in a particular tone of contradiction which was unmistakable. 'Oh, and-----' she had barely noticed his goodnight, and called after him as he stepped into the lift '-and thank you.' But the doors slammed shut and she was uncertain that he had heard.
The door to the tiny hall was barely closed, and she had hardly taken a step towards the single bedroom she used in Paris, when a sudden rat-a-tat, imperative and impatient, took her hurrying back, cheeks glowing, heart hammering in excited relief and a quite inexplicable anticipation.
'Pa-----' The greeting was stifled on her lips. Her sense of disappointment was like a blow when she saw who was standing there. She held open the door. 'Oh, Kyle.' Her voice was flat, weary. 'I didn't expect to see you. I thought you were due on an early flight for Strasbourg.'
'I just wanted to give you this.' He offered her a file which she took without enthusiasm. "Thought it would help with your meeting tomorrow.' 'Is Anna with you?'
'Mmm. Downstairs in the car. I met Patrick Cavour in the hallway.'
'He gave me a lift from the airport-we were on the same flight from Strasbourg. Just by chance,' she added, to her own vexation.
'Really?' He didn't sound even family interested, for which she was thankful and which made her self-conscious excuse doubly redundant. 'Well-----' he glanced at his watch '-I must dash or we'll miss our plane, but thanks, Leigh, for sparing Anna for the last few days. It really did make life much easier while I was here.'
'Good.' She looked up from the file she was holding. 'Well, it was a chance for her to come to Paris. She coped with everything?'
'Yes. Marvellously. And, as you say, it's been good experience for her. Well, see you in a few days.'
'What? Oh, yes. Goodbye, Kyle.'
When she was alone in the flat, Leigh walked to the window and stood looking out over rooftops gleaming softly in the light from street-lamps but without seeing them. Thoughts of Kyle, of Anna, of her own reasons for being in Paris at all were totally submerged in an overwhelmingly dismal sense of loss and deprivation which was difficult to explain.
And, annoyingly, those feelings seemed to be centred on the fact that she had been invited out to dinner by a man from her past, an attractive man, most people would agree, but the one man in the world to whom she was no longer susceptible.
So why, in heaven's name, had she refused so precipitately? The query floated into her mind in a despairing kind of way. Here she was, being offered the perfect opportunity to convince herself that her feelings for him were, if not entirely platonic, at least under control, and she had tossed it away, had even given him the impression that any subsequent invitations would e similarly rejected.
He was bound to have picked up the idea that | she didn't trust herself in his company; the very I notion was humiliating. She ought to have gone I with him, made polite, light-hearted conversation, asked all sorts of questions about his family-in short, acted exactly as she would have done with all the other old friends from those days. That would have cemented in his mind the futility of hankering after the past... and maybe even in her own mind.
She thrust aside the idea that she needed any convincing, but all the same.. .it would have been nice if she could have rid herself of the load of bitterness and pain which she had carried around with her all these years. She might even have been able to eliminate the baleful significance that Gillian Place's name had assumed in her thoughts. If she had been able to frame a light-hearted question she could have discovered how deeply he had been involved.
Back here, alone in her flat, it was easy to imagine herself with him in the restaurant, when they reached the coffee stage, when her wine glass had been drained and she was feeling mellow and relaxed. She would lean forward, elbows on the table, fingers linked together, supporting her chin, and she would ask, frowning a little, as if the thought had just come into her head, 'And how did that girl-what was her name, now?- she was a nurse, I think, a friend of Debbie... Oh, yes.' Her face would clear as the name burned on her mind all at once came to her. 'Gillian Place. How did she fit into the project in Ashala?'
She could imagine no situation in which Patrick Cavour would actually blush, but he would certainly be taken aback; most likely he I would look down into his coffee-cup, spend a great deal of time stirring slowly, then he would look up at her. 'So you know about Gillian, do you?'
'Mmm.' She would sip her coffee, press her lips together as she savoured the brew. 'Yes, Debbie told me that you had taken her out to Bangladesh with you. I expect you found her a great asset, a qualified nurse, and doubtless in other ways too.'
Oh... what was the use? Angry with herself, she turned abruptly from the window. There was no way she could remain cool and detached if she were to bring up that name. The mere mention of it to Patrick Cavour and her voice would become all wobbly, and more likely than lot she would burst into tears and have to make a blind dash for the ladies' room, returning with some transparent fiction about an allergy which posed her to cough and sneeze at the most inconvenient times.
No, she had made entirely the right decision. She refused to consider any regrets where he was concerned. Her life nowadays was good, and all the time getting better. At this moment all she wanted for complete contentment was a quick shower, a pleasant meal and then an early night with some escapist fiction.
The tears which streaked her cheeks were very soon obliterated in a douche of warm water.
CHAPTER THREE
As SHE finished dressing, Leigh stood in front of the mirror swiftly applying make-up, acknowledging that her depression was beginning to lift. All day she had been feeling down-something to do with a restless night in a strange bed, and added to that the stultifying boredom of the meeting she had had to attend. She must remember to dodge Kyle's suggestions in future. Even an afternoon window-gazing along some of the most exciting streets in the world hadn't managed to eliminate her melancholy.
But now, about to set off on a visit which promised only pleasure, devoid of the near-trauma of recent encounters, she felt she might be on the road to recovery. Besides, it was very difficult to remain depressed when the mirror was giving such very encouraging signals, when the blouse she had picked up in a tiny boutique looked so good with this favourite skirt.
Holly had implied that it was to be a casual evening so the tiered cotton skirt would be about right. The gauzy blouse with ruffled plunging neckline and full bracelet sleeves... well, a bit fancy perhaps, but then she never could resist those intense midnight shades, which had a magical effect on her looks as well as her spirits, and her hair was long enough to twist into the cottage-loaf style which suited her.
Almost satisfied now, she stood back, approving the elegant sway of the skirt, adjusting the wide belt which drew attention to the slender waist. A touch more lipstick to outline the mouth, a tiny spray of flowery scent, and she was ready to meet Paul Santorini III and IV. Just the parcels to pick up-a gorgeous teddy bear with a huge red tartan bow, pralines for chocoholic Holly and whisky for Paul, of whose preferences she was entirely ignorant. She walked downstairs just as her cab pulled up in front of the apartment block.
'Doesn't she look glamorous?' Having introduced her husband and her best friend, and expressed delight over the gifts, Holly swept them both in front of her and into the long, elegant salon.
'She does.' Offering a tray with glasses of chilled wine, Paul exchanged an amused glance with Leigh. Tm very impressed.'
'Did I describe her properly?' Then, without waiting for a reply, 'She hasn't changed a bit.'
'I wonder if you described me properly to Leigh?' her husband teased. 'And, come to that, does she think you've changed much?'
'Oh, me?' Holly shrugged ruefully. 'I bet all she notices is that I've put on about twenty pounds. That,' she sighed, 'is what being blissfully happy and having a baby does for you.'
'I can't entirely agree with you there.' Paul was perfectly serious. 'I've had a baby too, wouldn't dare to be less than blissfully happy, and haven't gained an ounce.'
'Idiot.' His wife threw a cushion at him and missed. 'People who won't put on weight make me sick. But, speaking of babies... I'm sure Leigh is dying to see our little wonder.'
'I thought you'd never mention it.' Leigh spoke with more tact than truth and a moment later she was being led across the hall and into the nursery.