Читать книгу Castles Of Sand - Anne Mather - Страница 8

ASHLEY arrived back at her flat in a state of extreme nervous exhaustion. She had a sense of unreality, too, as if what had happened was just some awful nightmare, from which she must soon awaken. But although she might wish otherwise, the feelings fermenting inside her were not imaginary, and nor was the raw vulnerability of her emotions. She felt exposed and defenceless, powerless in the face of such a potent adversary, and no amount of objective thinking or cold self-analysis could spare her the agony of losing her soil for the second time.

As she ground the beans and filled the coffee percolator, all without any conscious thought, she thought how incredible it was that she should have allowed the Gauthiers to take him without a fight. He was her son. She was his mother. She had the most elemental right in the world to look after him, and care for him, so why had she let him go so easily?

Clattering a cup into a saucer, she knew she did not have to think hard to find the answer. It was because of Alain she had let him go, because of Alain she had not put up a fight; and because of Alain she was now in this deplorable position.

Leaving the coffee to bubble, she went into the main room of the flat. This was a comfortably-sized living room, with an L-shaped alcove accommodating a round dining table and four chairs. It had taken her three years to graduate to this standard of living, from a room in a boarding house, via a bedsitter, to this two-bedroomed apartment, with kitchen and bath. With care, and careful saving, she had finally succeeded in furnishing it to her liking, and she looked round now at the green velvet chairs and yellow-patterned carpet, in a desperate search for reassurance. But all she could see was a boy’s smiling face, framed by straight dark hair, and a man’s grim, forbidding countenance.

In an effort to escape the futility of her thoughts, she hurried into her bedroom, unbuttoning the skirt and blouse she had worn to. go to school and donning instead a pair of yellow baggy pants and a brown and green striped smock. Then she loosened her hair from its confining knot so that it spilled like honey-coloured silk below her shoulders. As she brushed its silken length, she realised it was an unnecessary vanity. It would be far more sensible to have it cut, and keep it in one of the short modern styles, which were so flattering to the girls of her acquaintance. But somehow it was a link with the past, an unconscious one to be sure, and only now did she realise that Alain’s influence still reached out to her.

The percolator was bubbling merrily when she went back into the kitchen, and after pouring herself a cup of coffee she carried it into the living room. It was after two o’clock, she realised with a pang, but she wasn’t hungry, and she determinedly picked up the daily paper and tried to interest herself in the national news. But the events of the morning persisted in intruding, and eventually she gave it up to recapture those moments when Andrew had smiled at her. She allowed herself the pleasure of wondering what he would have done if she had taken him in her arms and told him who she was. How would he have reacted? Would he have been pleased or apprehensive, glad or sorry? Would he have believed her? Or would he have thought she was some crazy lady, claiming a relationship that was totally alien to him? He had been brought up by the Gauthiers. It was a predominantly Moslem household. How could he ever identify with her, particularly after all this time?

Her coffee cooled as the realities of the situation dispelled her momentary euphoria. They were from different cultures, different civilisations. From an early age he would have been taught to regard women as secondary beings, created for man’s enjoyment and little else, expected always to defer to their masters, and obedient to their wishes. He would know that his grandfather had two wives, and even if Alain’s beliefs had been in opposition to his father’s, who was to say what those beliefs were now, or whether he too had not adopted the sexual morals of the rest of his family …

Her temples began to throb as she remained there on the couch, her knees drawn up under her, her head resting wearily against the soft cushions. Who would have dreamed when she awakened that morning that by lunchtime she would have suffered such a dramatic upheaval? She had made her life here, such as it was. She had made friends, she had a good job. Yet in the space of a morning it had all been destroyed, and she was left without peace or tranquillity, or hope.

She thrust the still full coffee cup on to the low table beside her and stretched her legs. Somehow she had to forget what had happened, she told herself severely. She had lived seven years without seeing her son; she might have to live another fifty years without doing so. Of course, there was always the chance that when Andrew got older he might start asking questions his grandfather and his uncle would not be able to answer, and then he might come looking for her himself. But that was an unlikely expectation to say the least, when for all she knew, Alain might have told him she was dead.

She closed her eyes against such a final denigration, then opened them again when someone knocked at her door. It was a peremptory tattoo, unlike her neighbour’s usual tap, but she couldn’t think of anyone other than Mrs Forest who might call at this time of day.

‘Coming,’ she called, sliding off the couch, and padding barefoot to the door. ‘You startled me,’ she was adding, as she lifted the latch, and then fell back in dismay when she recognised her visitor. ‘You!’ she breathed, pressing a hand to her throat. ‘Wh-what do you want? Why have you come here?’

‘An unnecessary question,’ remarked Alain flatly, stepping past her without invitation. ‘Why else would I come here, except to see you? Can you honestly say you did not expect me?’

‘Yes!’ Ashley strove for breath. ‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘I can honestly say that. Wh-why have you come here? Why should you want to see me?’

Alain turned in the centre of the floor, dark and forbidding in his charcoal grey attire. ‘Close the door, will you?’ he directed, flicking a careless hand, on the little finger of which a dragon’s eye ruby glinted balefully. ‘I do not propose to speak with you in sight and hearing of a crowd of inquisitive tenants.’

‘You flatter yourself,’ returned Ashley tensely, making no move to obey him. ‘And why should I allow you into my apartment? We—we have nothing to say to one another.’

‘I disagree,’ Alain argued smoothly, and with an arbitrary gesture he crossed the floor to her side, rescuing the handle of the door from her grasp and closing it firmly with a definite click.

‘You have no right to do this,’ Ashley protested, gazing up at him tremulously, but Alain did not acknowledge her indignation. As she struggled to compose herself, he returned to his position in the centre of the floor and suggested she take a seat.

‘This is my flat,’ Ashley declared, endeavouring to hide the tremor in her voice. ‘I’ll decide when or if I sit down, not you!’

‘As you wish.’ Alain’s mouth thinned. ‘You were always an argumentative creature. But what I have to say may make you change your mind, so be warned.’

Ashley took a deep breath. ‘You—you have a nerve, coming here, trying to tell me how to behave—–’

‘I do not propose to get involved in futile discussions of that sort,’ he interrupted her bleakly. ‘You and I have known one another too long to be in any doubt as to one another’s character, and—–’

‘We never knew one another!’ Ashley choked bitterly. ‘You didn’t know me, and it’s certain I never knew you!’

‘Please try not to be emotional,’ Alain advised her briefly, folding his arms across the waist-coated expanse of his chest. ‘I did not come here to argue the merits of our past relationships. Sufficient to say that you do not appear to have suffered by them. You are still as beautiful as ever—and no doubt duping some other poor fool, as you once did my brother!’

Ashley’s fingers stung across his cheek, almost before he had finished speaking, and she watched in horror as the marks she had made appeared on his dark skin. She waited in silent apprehension for him to retaliate in kind, as he had once done in the past, but apart from lifting a brown-fingered hand to finger his bruised cheek, he took no immediate retribution.

‘So,’ he said at last. ‘Now you have relieved yourself of such pent-up energy, perhaps we can now get to the point of my visit.’

‘What point?’ Ashley was sullen, as much from a sense of self-recrimination as from anything he had said. She had made a fool of herself, not him, by her childish display of temper, and it was up to her now to prove that she could be as controlled as he was.

‘Perhaps if you were to offer me a cup of coffee,’ he said, indicating her cup nearby. ‘Obviously I have interrupted you. If we were to behave more as—acquaintances than enemies—–’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Ashley’s nerve snapped again, and she turned away from him abruptly, feeling the hot tears stinging in her eyes. It was no use. She could not be unemotional about this, and she groped for a tissue to wipe away the evidence.

‘You are behaving foolishly,’ exclaimed Alain’s voice behind her, and in spite of her confusion at his sudden nearness, she thought she detected a trace of reluctant remorse in his tone. ‘I do not wish to resurrect old hatreds,’ he added roughly. ‘I only wish to speak with you, Ashley, to offer you my help.’

‘Your help?’ Ashley spun round to face him then, tilting back her head so that she could look into his eyes. He had always been taller than she was, even though she was not a small girl, but barefoot as she was his advantage was greater. She gazed into those enigmatic blue eyes, so startlingly unusual in such an alien countenance, and her lips parted in disbelief. ‘You want to help me?’ she whispered, moving her head from side to side, and his long silky lashes drooped to narrow the pupils.

‘Yes,’ he said curtly. ‘That was my only intention. But you do not make good intentions easy.’

‘You? With good intentions?’ Ashley’s lips quivered. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Alain’s jaw hardened. ‘Have a care, Ashley. You have tried my patience once this afternoon. Do not push your luck. I may not be so lenient the second time around.’

Ashley held up her head. ‘Then go! I didn’t ask you to come here. I—I want nothing from the Gauthiers. Nothing!’

‘Nothing?’

‘Except perhaps—my son,’ she conceded almost inaudibly, and then winced when his hands closed on her shoulders, biting into the soft flesh, bruising the bone.

‘Do not say that again,’ he commanded harshly. ‘I told you this morning. Hussein is not your son. He has never been your son. He has been brought up to believe he is an orphan, that his mother died along with his father—–’

‘No,’ Ashley caught her breath, but Alain was merciless.

‘Yes,’ he declared grimly. ‘So far as Hussein is concerned, you do not exist. And you must not exist, is that understood?’

Ashley tried to pull away from him, but he would not let her go, and her fury erupted into passion. ‘Why are you doing this, Alain?’ she cried, balling her fists and attempting to strike him. ‘Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t I suffered enough, is that it? Don’t you have any pity, any compassion? How do you think I felt, seeing my own son, knowing he didn’t recognise me? What more do you want of me, you bastard!’

‘You have a viper’s tongue, Ashley,’ he drawled, but she could tell her insults had annoyed him. ‘However, I am prepared to believe that seeing the boy has temporarily unhinged your brain, and therefore I will not retaliate in kind.’

‘How good of you!’ Ashley threw back her head as the heavy weight of her hair fell across her forehead. ‘Well, let me tell you, I was never more sane in my life, and I don’t need your tolerance or your offer of help!’

Alain’s expression was grim. ‘Nevertheless, you will listen to me.’

‘Will I? Will I?’ Ashley deliberately taunted him, knowing she was nearing the end of her nervous reserves, desperate for him to go before she broke down completely. ‘And how will you make me? By—by fair means—or foul?’

Alain shook her, violently, so that her head rocked alarmingly back and forth, the swinging curtain of her hair seeming to make it almost too heavy for her slender neck to support. ‘I came to the school to withdraw Hussein’s name from the register,’ he grated savagely. ‘I do not know why I brought him with me, except perhaps that he wanted to come. I did not expect to see you. The school is not due to open for two days. How was I to know that one of its teachers—–’

Ashley’s head lolled back. ‘You mean—you knew!’

‘That you were employed there, yes. Since I brought Hussein to London, I found out.’

Ashley blinked. ‘And—and that was why you wanted to withdraw his name?’

‘Of course.’ Alain looked down at his fingers digging into the fine cotton of her smock, and allowed them to slacken slightly. ‘You do not suppose I would permit otherwise?’

Ashley tried to think, but coherent thought was difficult. ‘A-and?’

‘Your Mr Henley explained that you had resigned,’ he replied flatly. ‘For the same reason, one would suppose.’

‘One would suppose correctly,’ said Ashley tautly. ‘So?’

‘So—Hussein’s name remains on the register. At least, until this matter is settled.’

‘What matter?’

‘The matter of your employment,’ said Alain, releasing her abruptly to thrust his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers. And as she gazed at him nonplussed: ‘I have a proposition to put to you.’

Ashley’s tongue came to circle her lips. ‘A proposition?’ she echoed, even as her brain refused to take it in. She was still stunned by the knowledge that he had known of her involvement with Brede School before their encounter that morning, and she knew him too well to trust any proposal he might make.

‘Won’t you sit down now?’ he suggested briefly, indicating the couch behind him, but Ashley shook her head.

‘Thank you, I prefer to stand,’ she retorted coldly, and had the satisfaction of seeing that she had annoyed him once again.

‘Very well,’ he said at last, moving away from her, and she had a momentary premonition that he was not as controlled as he appeared. Just for a second, when he looked at her, she had glimpsed a curious expression in his eyes, but then the mask fell into place and he was once more his father’s eldest son.

‘There is a post,’ he said, standing before the screened fireplace with his back to her. ‘In Cairo. A friend of mine requires a governess for his two daughters. It will be a well-paid position, with every amenity available to someone of your—–’

‘No!’ The word burst from Ashley in incensed denial. ‘No, I don’t want your rotten post! My work is here, in England. If I choose to take a private position, it will be of my choosing, not yours!’

‘Do you not wish to work in Egypt, is that it? You would prefer some other place?’ Alain still did not turn. ‘Perhaps I could make other arrangements—–’

‘No!’ Ashley’s response was the same, and now he did turn, slowly, to face her.

‘You will not change your mind?’ he enquired, his face grim, and she shook her head. ‘Very well, then. I will withdraw Hussein from the school.’

‘Why? Ashley took an involuntary step towards him, her bewilderment plain. ‘Why? I’ve resigned—Malcolm told you that. What more do you want?’

‘Malcolm?’ Alain’s dark brows arched interrogatively. ‘Who is—Malcolm?’

‘Malcolm Henley,’ exclaimed Ashley impatiently. ‘Mr Henley, the headmaster.’

Alain’s mouth tightened. ‘It would appear you know him better than I thought,’ he said accusingly. ‘He is your—friend, perhaps. Your—lover?’

Ashley’s face flamed. ‘No! That is—Malcolm is a friend, yes.’ And then, realising she was stammering like a schoolgirl, she added fiercely: ‘It’s no business of yours what our relationship is.’

Alain stiffened. ‘Then he is your lover. And this is why you do not wish to leave London.’

‘No!’ Ashley didn’t know why she felt the need to defend herself, but she did. ‘I simply don’t want to leave my home, this apartment; and—and all my friends.’

Alain breathed deeply. ‘Then I have no choice.’

‘Why not?’ Ashley linked her fingers together as an idea occurred to her. ‘Are you afraid I’ll try to see—to see him? To identify myself to him?’

Alain bent his head. ‘The situation is hypothetical. I will not leave him here.’

‘Don’t you trust me, Alain?’ she exclaimed, and he lifted his head to look at her.

‘Is there any reason why I should?’ he retorted bleakly, and a small gasp of pain escaped her.

‘Yes,’ she retorted fiercely. ‘Yes. I—I’ve never lied to you—–’

‘We will not go into that,’ he interrupted her harshly. ‘Lies, deceptions, call it what you will, I have no time to concern myself with such things. They are over, in the past, and the past is dead.’

‘No. No, it’s not.’ Ashley was indignant. ‘You can’t say these things to me and expect no retaliation. And why shouldn’t I see my son? Even divorced women have such rights.’

‘Not in my country,’ retorted Alain shortly, raising one hand to massage the back of his neck, as if he was tense too. ‘Ashley, why can you not be reasonable? You need another post. I am offering you one. According to your—friend Henley, you will not find it easy to take up another appointment at this time.’

Ashley faltered. ‘What did you say to him? What did you tell him?’

Alain shrugged. ‘Only that I was withdrawing Hussein from the school.’

‘Nothing else?’

His expression grew remote. ‘You think I would discuss my private affairs with a stranger?’

Ashley shook her head. ‘Then how did you find out I was leaving?’

Alain frowned. ‘It was Henley. He made the point that perhaps I was unhappy that Hussein’s form tutor was to be a woman, and went on to explain that you had handed in your resignation. Naturally, I agreed to give the matter further consideration.’

‘I see.’ Ashley nodded, but now Alain looked wary.

‘Why?’ he pressed her. Then, with a darkening anger: ‘Does Henley know of this matter? You cannot have told him that Hussein is your son!’

He was incensed, and she felt a bitter sense of satisfaction. ‘Why not?’ she taunted. ‘I told you, Malcolm is a friend, as well as my superior.’

‘Diable!’ Alain crossed the floor towards her in two savage strides. ‘You are telling me this man is familiar with our private affairs? That you have confided our most personal relationships to him?’

Ashley quivered. ‘He only knows that—that Andrew is my son—–’

‘Only!’ Alain swore angrily. ‘Nom de Dieu! The situation gets worse. You had no right to betray such information.’

‘Betray?’ Ashley gazed up at him, noticing almost inconsequently the erratic flutter of the pulse that marked his jawline. ‘Alain, you can’t deny me the right to acknowledge my son. Besides,’ she moistened her lips, ‘how else could I have resigned at the beginning of term? What excuse could I give? Malcolm would have suspected—–’

‘Malcolm! Malcolm! I begin to grow tired of this man’s name,’ declared Alain violently, his blue eyes searching her face with angry intensity. ‘So—it is over. It is finished. I will take Hussein back to Khadesh!’

‘No—–’

Ashley’s involuntary plea was accompanied by her hand on his arm, gripping the taut muscle she could feel through the expensive cloth of his sleeve. It was more than seven years since she had touched Alain, more than seven years since he had arrived at the hospital in Paddington and taken away the only tangible proof of her brief, but brutal, association with the Gauthier family. But she was appealing to him now, raising herself on her toes to bring her face nearer to his, unconsciously by her actions drawing his attention to the agitated swell of her breasts, outlined against the thin material of her smock.

‘Ashley!’ he grated, and when he spoke, his voice was deepened by some savage emotion he was trying hard to contain. ‘In the name of all the saints, Ashley, get away from me, before I am compelled to deliver the punishment I should have administered years ago!’

‘What punishment?’ Ashley’s lips parted, but she did not move away from him. It was a curious anomaly, but suddenly she sensed that for all his anger and his threats of violence, he was not as indifferent to her as he would like her to believe. Was it possible? she asked herself incredulously. After all these years, was it conceivable that he had some regrets for the pain and misunderstandings of the past? But no! That was not like Alain. He had always been so controlled, so positive, so remote from the weaknesses of the flesh. Except when he had been in her arms, a small voice reminded her wickedly, and an insane desire to find out if she was right gripped her. With a fast-beating heart she allowed her other hand to rest against his chest, in the hollow of the vee where the fastening of his waistcoat began, and deliberately spread her fingers against the fine silk of his shirt.

‘Ashley!’ His free hand caught her tormenting fingers, crushing them within the strength of his as he impaled her with an impassioned glare. ‘Do not try your feminine wiles on me! That was over long ago, and you would do well to remember that you are my brother’s widow!’

‘I haven’t forgotten it,’ she protested huskily, aware of the convulsive shudder that had passed through him before he captured her fingers in his. ‘Perhaps—perhaps it is yourself you have to convince!’

‘No!’ His jaws were clamped together, and he spoke through his teeth, but Ashley had aroused him, and she was not prepared to lose her advantage.

‘He’s my son, Alain,’ she breathed, moving closer to him, so that the pointed tips of her breasts actually brushed against the hand imprisoning hers. ‘Don’t take him away again—please! I promise I won’t tell him who I am. I only want to see him again, to look at him, maybe speak with him—–’

‘It is not possible!’

The words were torn from him, and looking up into his dark face, Ashley knew a moment’s fear for what she was provoking. She had loved this man, she remembered painfully, she had cared for him with every fibre of her being. Even after all that had happened, could she be sure she could control her feelings, and use them to defeat him?

Her breath fanned his chin, warm and sweet, mingling with the scent of her body. Her agitation had brought a film of perspiration over her skin, and its odour was musky and sensual. The smock was loose and revealing, something casual, to be worn around the flat, and the baggy pants hinted at the swell of her hips and the long slender length of her legs. She knew Alain was looking at her, absorbing her body’s freedom, and after the enveloping garments worn by the women in his own country she must seem the epitome of liberated womanhood.

‘This has got to stop!’ he ordered vehemently, but his intention to push her away from him was foiled by Ashley slipping her arms around his neck. It brought her close against him, her forehead on a level with his lips, and she looked up at him through her lashes, her green eyes soft and appealing.

‘Alain,’ she breathed, and his control snapped. His hands at her waist were hard and ungentle, jerking her against him with urgent compulsion. His mouth too was hot and aggressive, searing her lips with a brutal tempestuous possession that had nothing of love in it.

‘Is this what you want, Ashley?’ he demanded, against her mouth, almost suffocating her with the burning heat of his breath. ‘Do you want to be treated the way my father’s ancestors treated their women? Without honour or respect?’ Yet, in spite of his anger, she sensed the desperation in his voice and the hungry passion beneath his cruel strength.

‘Is that what you want, Alain?’ she asked, turning his words back on him, as his teeth fastened on the tender lobe of her ear, and he bit it viciously. She winced, but she did not draw away, as she added unevenly: ‘Do you enjoy inflicting pain?’

‘Yes,’ he told her, in a raw anguished tone, and then again: ‘No! Damn you, no!’ as her hands turned his face to hers, and she put her mouth next to his. His lips parted almost involuntarily, and her mouth opened to accommodate his. She welcomed his intimate invasion, the sensuous brush of passion, that was so much more devastating than brute force. With a little moan of pleasure, that was by no means contrived, she moulded herself against him, and his hands probed beneath the smock to find the smooth skin of her back.

It was strange how time rolled back under the hungry pressure of his lips. Without her being aware of it, her response changed from the controlled reaction to a planned set of circumstances, to an eager and willing consummation of his possession. She pressed herself against him, uncaring when her fingernails raked the hair at the nape of his neck.

‘Ashley!’ Alain’s strangled voice came to her as if from a distance, and at first she didn’t want to pay any attention to it. But when he dragged his mouth from hers and lifted his head, she was forced to acknowledge that the situation was rapidly slipping from her grasp. With a little shiver she lowered her toes to the floor, and forced herself to look up at him questioningly as he strove for his own sanity. ‘Ashley—for God’s sake—–’

‘You wanted to touch me,’ she said simply, and his hands dropped abruptly to his sides.

‘You are a madness—and a temptation,’ he retorted, in a shaken tone. ‘Are you wearing anything under—under that outfit?’

‘Not much,’ she conceded huskily, realising she had little time left to make any headway. ‘Do you want to see?’

‘No!’ Alain turned aside from her, combing somewhat unsteady fingers through his thick dark hair. ‘I have to go. There—are things I have to do.’

‘Will I see you again?’ she enquired softly, and he gave her a brooding stare.

‘It is unlikely. I intend to return to Khadesh at the end of the week.’ He paused. ‘I shall be taking Hussein with me.’

It was a bitter blow, but not unexpected. Nevertheless, she still had one more card to play, a card which had only just occurred to her.

‘And—his education?’ she asked. ‘What about that?’

‘I will make other arrangements,’ declared Alain curtly, rapidly recovering his composure. ‘That need not concern you—–’

‘Oh, but it does,’ she contradicted him softly. ‘You see, I think he might benefit from private tuition.’

‘Private tuition?’ Alain frowned. ‘Well—perhaps.’

‘And I can supply it,’ inserted Ashley quietly.

‘What!’ Alain was incredulous at first, and then he gave a harsh laugh. ‘You are not serious!’

‘Oh, but I am.’ Ashley held up her head. ‘And unless you want me to create a great deal of unpleasantness, you should agree with me.’

Alain stared at her. ‘Are you threatening me, Ashley?’

Ashley’s skin prickled at the sudden malevolence of his gaze. Only rarely did Alain assume the arrogant hawklike countenance of his father’s forebears, those wild and lawless Arab tribesmen who for centuries had lived like lords in their desert kingdom. But right now he possessed all their savage ruthlessness and hauteur, and she faltered for a moment on the brink of submission.

But then the realisation of what she was fighting for strengthened her will, and facing him bravely she said: ‘And if I am?’

Alain speared her with his scorching glare. ‘And how do you propose to create this unpleasantness?’

Ashley’s lips parted. ‘I—I—–’ she faltered again, and then, as his lips curled contemptuously, she burst out: ‘The—the authorities. I could go to the authorities. I could tell them how you intimidated me, how you made me hand my baby over to you—–’

‘You would not do such a thing!’ Alain menaced her, but she held her ground.

‘I would. Yes, I would.’ She fought free of his mesmerising stare. ‘And they’d listen to me, too—you know they would. You could face court proceedings, particularly if I said you threatened me—–’

‘Be silent!’ Alain was furious. ‘You must be crazy if you imagine I’ll let you blackmail me!’

Ashley backed away from him. ‘Not crazy, just desperate,’ she spat at him resentfully. ‘And don’t think that’s all. There are other ways.’

‘I am sure there are.’ Alain’s eyes were dark and brooding now, their blueness overlaid by a film of frustration. ‘Nevertheless, you are insane if you think I will permit you to teach the boy. If that were so, what point would there be in my taking him away from the school?’

‘Private tutoring is different,’ Ashley declared, touching her bruised lips with a nervous finger. ‘And—and you would be there to—to watch your—investment.’

Alain shook his head. ‘And for this—privilege, you will promise—what?’

‘Not to tell him who I am.’

‘And why should I believe you?’

‘Because I don’t tell lies,’ retorted Ashley forcefully. ‘I don’t. I never have—–’

‘Enough of that!’ Alain paced the floor in evident impatience. ‘And how can I be sure that once you have achieved this objective, you will not demand others?’

‘What others?’

‘Do not be naïve,’ he snapped. ‘You think to insinuate your way into his life by one means or another.’

Ashley licked her lips. ‘And are you going to let me?’

‘My father would never permit you to enter the palace.’

‘Your father need not know who I am. He’s never seen me.’ She paused. ‘Only you—and—and Hassan ever—–’

‘Enough!’ rasped Alain again, stopping his pacing to stare at her once more. ‘And if I still refuse?’

Ashley shrugged. ‘I—I’ll get to Andrew, somehow. And I’ll tell him everything. Everything!’

‘Knowing he would never forgive you for it?’ mocked Alain coldly.

‘What have I to lose?’ she retorted. Then: ‘Well? Will you do it?’

Alain’s mouth was a thin line. ‘I will have to think about it.’

‘For how long?’

‘I don’t know.’ He turned away abruptly. ‘Give me—time. I need time. Twenty-four hours at least.’

‘Very well.’ Ashley pulled open the door behind her. ‘You know where to find me.’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said bleakly, ‘I do indeed.’

And without another word he walked out the door.