Читать книгу Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 38

They were high on the mountain, nowhere near the top, but well above the Schloss nestling far below in the pines, a doll’s house now, its size and grandeur lessened by the immensity of the surrounding landscape.

Victor and Francesca had been walking for a good half hour, taking the upward-winding road at a steady pace. They had not talked very much since leaving the house, caught up as they were in their private thoughts. But there was a tension building between them, and this sprang from their awareness of each other. Knowing she had finally elicited a response from him filled her with excitement; for his part, he fully understood, at long last, that she was vulnerable to him.

What the hell, I’m also vulnerable to her, he said to himself. Well, for the moment anyway. He stole a sidelong glance at her, took in the proud tilt of the shapely head, the honey-coloured hair turned to a deep golden hue by the late afternoon light. His eyes dwelt on her. The Loden cape she was wearing was far too large, more than likely Christian’s, but its bulkiness only served to emphasize her fragility and delicacy, and she seemed defenceless and feminine, more so than ever.

When she had taken him up to see his suite after lunch, he had been filled with her, had had to stifle the urge to take her in his arms, to make love to her without preamble. The scent of her had lingered with him long after she had left, and her image had danced before his eyes for the entire twenty minutes he had talked to Jake in London. During the course of their business discussion, Jake mentioned that Nick had been trying to reach him from New York. Nothing important, it seemed. Nick had merely wanted to touch base; he had told Jake to pass on the message that he would call again next week.

Now, as he trudged along, Victor’s mind strayed to Nicky and he was momentarily saddened himself. Poor bastard. I don’t envy him. I bet he’s been through the wringer half a dozen times by now. Victor sighed and glanced again at his companion, this lovely, willowy girl, striding out next to him through the snow. She was so vibrant, so full of life. All at once his sadness lifted, and he experienced such a surge of joyousness, he was startled, and he began to reflect on the reason for his abrupt swing in mood. Don’t analyse, just accept it, he said under his breath.

They continued in silence for some time, following the steep path into the heart of the forest. Here the stately ancient firs were massive, interlocking overhead to shut out the sky, and all was green darkness, infinite stillness, and gentle peace in this soaring cathedral wrought from nature. But as the trees began to thin out, rays of light, faint, fading, intermittent, were penetrating the cool darkness here and there, creating a delicate pattern-play of shifting shadows on the pale ground. A shaft of brilliant sunshine broke through, glazing the windswept snowdrifts with a silvery sheen, turning the icicles bedecking the trees into shreds of shimmering crystal. Everything was bathed in this iridescent light, the scene ethereal and breathtaking in its silent beauty. Victor thought: Oh God, it’s so good to be alive. And it was then that he remembered his vow not to fritter away his time, made on the day he had learned of Marcia’s untimely death. Seize the moment, live for the day, taking everything it offers. Dangerous? Perhaps. But then what was life without an element of danger? Hardly worth living, surely …

‘How is Jake?’ Francesca asked, turning to him.

Victor cleared his throat, and said, ‘Hunky-dory. No problems at the moment, thank God. We’re still on the same schedule, and start principal photography the first week of April, as planned. Jake also told me Mark Pierce has found the perfect actor to play the young Heathcliff. He met with him this morning, and it looks as if we’re all set there.’

‘I hadn’t realized you’d definitely decided to go with that idea.’

‘Yep. We tossed it around a lot, finally came to the conclusion it would be wiser to cast someone else to portray Heathcliff in the early years. Nicky tried to call me today. He’s going to be staying in New York for some time. He wants to be with his folks.’

‘But he is all right, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ he said laconically. He was thoughtful. After a second, he remarked in the most guarded of voices, ‘You like Nicky a lot, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Francesca had caught something curious in his tone, and she had the merest flicker of a thought: Was he jealous because he believed she had a crush on Nick? She said evenly, ‘He is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and he’s been awfully kind to me, very encouraging about my writing, most helpful actually. I like to think he’ll be my very good friend always.’

‘He will, kid,’ Victor replied, his voice a shade lighter. ‘When Nicky takes to somebody, the way he’s taken to you, he’s devoted. Nothing fair weather about him either.’

Francesca said, ‘I sensed that. Don’t you think it odd that he and Katharine are so antagonistic towards each other?’

‘That’s pretty smart of you, picking up on the undercurrents between those two. I didn’t realize anyone else had noticed their carefully-veiled dislike, and it is a bit puzzling, yes. On the other hand, you never know about people. We all bring out different things in each other, present different sides of ourselves.’ A short pause, another swift glance at her, and then, ‘You and Katharine seem to be closer than ever. Unusual really, for two such pretty girls to be inseparable. Women are generally very competitive, in my experience anyway. You two are the exception to the rule, I guess.’

Francesca nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, that’s true I think. And she is quite marvellous, and so good for Kim. If she is going to become my sister-in-law, I know I couldn’t ask for a better one.’

Victor was dumbfounded. ‘Are you trying to tell me those two are serious?’

She regarded him in surprise. ‘I thought you’d realized how involved they are. Yes, I think they’re very serious, although, to be honest, they haven’t confided in me.’

‘I’ll be damned,’ he muttered half to himself, and wondered how Katharine Tempest, rising star, intended to manage her career in Hollywood, where she was destined to go, and marriage with a member of the English aristocracy. A farmer no less, based in the wilds of Yorkshire, and one who was entirely involved with his heritage. Christ, he thought, she’ll have to do a lot of expert juggling. A smile touched his eyes. No one was more adept at that little trick than Katharine, as he had recently come to understand. Sweet and thoughtful though she was, there was a manipulative side to her character, and it was so deeply ingrained it was second nature. ‘And how does your father feel about having a movie star in the family?’ he asked. ‘That must really thrill him.’

Francesca picked up the edge of his sarcasm and gave him an odd look. ‘I haven’t discussed it with him lately, but he does like Katharine very much. Why wouldn’t he? In fact, I’d say he’s enchanted by her.’ Not wishing to become further embroiled in this conversation, she added, ‘There’s the gazebo Diana was telling you about at lunch.’ She pointed towards a small stone structure, just visible on the crest of the hill ahead of them, a little beyond the edge of the forest. It was circular, with a domed roof and four side columns, built in the manner of a pavilion, and it was obviously very old. ‘From there we’ll be able to see for miles and miles around, right across the valley.’

‘I’ll race you,’ he cried, and charged forward before she could respond, leaving her well behind as he sped through the few remaining trees, across the snow and up the slope. Francesca began to run after him and when she finally reached the stone steps leading into the pavilion she was panting.

Victor was already standing inside and he leaned forward to give her his hand. ‘Watch the steps,’ he cautioned. ‘They’re a bit icy.’ He steadied her with his free hand and helped her up. Francesca, who was familiar with the spot, led him to the far side of the structure, which faced out towards a range of mountains punctuating the horizon above the floor of the deep wide valley below.

‘Diana was right!’ he exclaimed. ‘The views are magnificent.’ He put his arm around Francesca’s shoulder in a companionable way, and brought her close to his side. They stood for a long time like that, not speaking, regarding the awesome beauty of the glacial snowscape stretching endlessly before them, engulfed by the infinite white silence and the crystalline light pouring out of a sky of the clearest blue.

Francesca, conscious of Victor’s proximity, could hardly breathe. She was shaking inside and her heart was pounding, filled as she was with a mixture of joy and anticipation. And the longer he held her next to him, the sharper his desire became, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to release his hold on her.

Then, as though they had read each other’s thoughts, they turned slowly. Their eyes met and each one saw the longing and desire so clearly revealed on the other’s face they were momentarily staggered. Francesca’s lips parted slightly and she wanted to say his name, but it choked in her throat and she could only continue to stare up at him speechlessly. Her adoration of him blazed on her face, and to Victor it was heartstopping in its depth and sincerity, and he was spellbound by her. He felt a rush of intense emotion. His eyes bored into her, devoured her, and she returned his gaze unwaveringly, baring her innermost feelings, and in her expression he recognized irrevocable commitment to him. For the longest moment they were unable to look away. They were entranced, breathless, bound up in their infatuation with each other, and they both knew there was no going back.

Victor finally discarded the tight rein he had had on himself for weeks. He leaned forward and pulled her into his arms roughly, and his mouth was on hers, and he kissed her passionately and for a long time, as if slaking a consuming thirst. And she responded so ardently, meeting his passion head on, without restraint, and this sent thrill upon thrill shooting through him, and he wanted to take her without delay. But he knew he could not. Not now. Not here. And yet he was unable to quell his urgent need for her, and he tightened his embrace, lavishing her face and her neck and her hair with kisses, his heart racing, the blood pounding in his temples.

At last he held himself away from her, and guided her into the shelter of the gazebo, out of the wind, his hand gripping her arm forcefully. He leaned her against one of the stone columns and stood in front of her, looking down into her face, brimming with expectancy and paler now. His gabardine parka was fur-lined and cumbersome, a barrier between them, and he unzipped it, throwing it open, and then he took her hands in his and pulled off her woollen mittens. With his own he tossed them onto the floor.

She was in his arms again, their mouths meeting as if for the first time, their tongues entwining, their bodies cleaving together, straining to be joined. Victor’s kisses were slow, prolonged. He ran his hands through her silky hair and grasped the nape of her neck, his fingers biting into her skin; and she reached up to touch his face, stroking it languorously, and she thought she was about to dissolve in his arms. His control was slipping, slipping away from him completely, and he felt his hardness growing as she returned the pressure of his body with her own. He was on a dangerous explosive edge, wild with longing, and suddenly he thrust himself up against her savagely, pinning her against the stone column; his mouth grew more demanding, was unrelenting on hers. He wanted to draw all of her into him, to know every part of her body intimately, to make her truly his.

The rage to possess her drove him on, and his hand went under her cape and he cupped her breast and fondled it lovingly. He felt her nipple harden through the wool, and he slid his hand around her back and up under the sweater. His fingers plucked impatiently, and expertly, on her bra strap, freeing her, and at last he was caressing her bare flesh, gently, tenderly, and then with growing urgency and fervour. He heard a faint moan of pleasure from her throat, and he brought his mouth down to her breast and kissed it with sensuality, savouring the warm silken flesh, drinking in the delicate perfume of her body, so yielding and so obviously craving his.

It seemed to Francesca that his mouth was ravaging her, an exquisite tingling sensation spreading up from her thighs through her whole being. She was intoxicated with him. Her legs weakened and she swayed against him, aching for total domination, wanting to give herself to him. And the erotic fantasies she had harboured about him in the past few weeks converged and exploded in her head. Her fingers embedded themselves in his thick black hair, and she called his name, saying it over and over again, and she quivered under his touch, every one of her senses clamouring for him.

Consumed with his passion for her though he was, Victor knew dimly, at the back of his mind, that to continue like this out here in the open was foolish and unfair to them both. He must bring their lovemaking to an end, and immediately, get a grip on himself, and on her, for there was no way she would even attempt to stop him. She wanted this as much as he did, was his willing ally. Excruciating as it was for Victor to curtail their loving, he finally did so. He lifted his face from her breast, pulled down her sweater and wrapped the huge cape around her body. Then he enfolded her in his arms, protecting her with his parka. He stroked the crown of her head slowly, pressing her face against his chest, endeavouring to calm her. She cried suddenly, ‘Oh, Victor! Victor!’ and he heard the yearning, the disappointment echoing.

He said hoarsely, ‘I know, baby. I know. Later. I promise you, baby. All of me later.’

They stood clinging to each other until they had both regained a measure of composure. Eventually they drew apart and stared wonderingly into each other’s eyes. Victor’s heart clenched, and he experienced that same shock of recognition he had felt when first meeting her, and the elusive memory stirred again but evaporated before he could pinpoint it accurately. Her upturned face, still faintly glazed over with a residue of desire for him, was exquisite. He brought his hand up to touch her cheek, and his gaze was steadfast, their silent communication more explicit than words could ever be. Victor nodded his head slowly, but with great deliberation, as though confirming his recent promise to her, confirming the mutuality of their feelings. He brought her out of the stone gazebo without speaking.

Together they went down the hill, hand in hand, each shaken by the intensity of their desire for each other and by the fierce sexuality which had been aroused and unleashed between them. And they were a little benumbed as they headed back to the narrow path which plunged precariously through the pines to Wittingenhof and the estate far below on the plateau. Glancing up at the sky, Victor realized how long they had been on the mountain. The sun had long since set, the light was swiftly fading and there was a biting chill in the air. As they entered the forest, darker now than ever, he squeezed her hand reassuringly, and hurried her on, anxious to get her back to the warmth of the house. At one moment, he said, with a sheepish laugh, ‘My timing leaves a lot to be desired! I certainly picked one hell of a place to make love to you, didn’t I?’

Her laughter echoed his in the silent air. ‘Yes, you did. And that’s the perfect way for us both to catch our deaths.’

‘Ah, but watta way to go, kid.’

A mist had materialized and it was rolling down the mountainside to swirl around them as they pushed ahead. It was a light fog really, dank and cold and pervasive, and it was shrouding the forest with gossamer layers of pearl grey that obscured visibility. At Victor’s insistence, they increased their pace, were almost running as they took the last stretch of pathway through the wood. When they finally came out of the trees onto the flat ground, twilight was already descending, the sky drained of its icy blueness and darkening to sombre pewter. Still clasping hands, they continued to run across the long meadow to the Schloss, and its lights, twinkling brightly in the distance, were a welcome sight. ‘I think we just made it in time,’ Victor said, slowing to a trot. ‘I’d hate to get caught on that mountain when it’s really dark.’

‘It can be treacherous. And it’s very easy to get lost,’ Francesca told him as they went inside, crossed the hall and made their way down the stone stairs to the cloakroom on the lower floor. She hung up her Loden cape, and went on, ‘Diana’s always warned me about getting back before sunset. She’s probably quite worried by now. We’d better hurry, and go up for tea.’

‘Sure,’ Victor said, struggling out of his parka. He sat down, pulled off his heavy walking boots, and slipped into a pair of black suede loafers. He rose, looked at himself in the mirror, ran a comb through his hair and carefully straightened his black cashmere sweater. He swung around to face Francesca, and unaccountably he began to laugh.

She threw him a startled look. ‘What is it?’

Victor shook his head in a bemused way. ‘I was just thinking about all the time I’ve wasted with you. All the opportunities we’ve had these past weeks …’ He said no more, merely smiled lopsidedly. ‘I guess I’ve been kind of ambivalent about you.’

‘Why?’

‘The problems with Arlene, with my divorce. Worry about Confidential. Preoccupation with the picture. A decision not to get involved with anyone. But I suppose your age did have a lot to do with it.’

‘I’ll be twenty in May,’ she answered, her tone defensive.

‘And I’ll be forty in June,’ he said flatly, suddenly facing this reality. ‘I’m far too old for you, Francesca. Twenty years too old. Jesus, I was a married man when I was your age – before you were even born. The boys are older than you, for God’s sake. Listen, kid, I’ve lived a lifetime already. There’s nothing I haven’t seen, haven’t done, haven’t experienced. In fact, there’s nothing new to me on this earth. I’m pretty goddamn jaded, if you want the truth.’ He shook his head a trifle sadly, and his sigh was heavy. With a hint of regret, he finished, ‘I’m not being fair to you, Francesca. You ought to be with someone nearer your own age, not an old reprobate like me.’

‘What a stupid thing to say!’ she cried, and her concentrated stare was furious. Her expression changed, became grave, concerned, and a stricken look smudged out the light in her eyes. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re sorry then? I mean sorry about what happened between us on the mountain?’

‘And that’s a particularly stupid question,’ he responded swiftly, reaching out for her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, wanting to expunge the mingled hurt and panic on her face. A moment ago he had experienced a twinge of guilt about the disparity in their ages, and he had meant every word he said. But perhaps she was right, maybe age was irrelevant. Surely the way they felt was more important than anything else. He found himself whispering into her hair, ‘I’m not sorry about what we did, darling. But I am sorry we had to stop so abruptly.’

‘But you did say later,’ she whispered back, and blushed, surprised at herself.

He did not answer but increased the pressure of his arms around her, before sliding his strong hands over her shoulders and down her back onto her buttocks. He crushed her body into his, moving against her, welding her to him firmly, and finally he found her mouth with his own. His passion spiralled, made him reel. And then he groaned. His erection was enormous again. More inopportune timing, he thought, every part of him screaming for her. He murmured in the softest of voices, ‘I also said all of me. Do you want that, baby?’ He tipped her face up to his with one hand, and his expression was earnest and searching.

Francesca was mesmerized by those black eyes, his undisguised and compelling need. She was only too conscious of his sudden arousal and she shivered involuntarily. For a split second she was weak with her own longing, and her head swam.

‘Yes,’ she said firmly, without hesitation. ‘Yes, I do.’

Victor smiled his slow lazy smile, and he bent down and kissed her forehead with the utmost tenderness, and ran his finger along her cheek and onto her neck. It lingered there for a moment, and at last he said, ‘Then let’s go and find Diana, and get tea over with as quickly as possible. I can’t wait to get you alone. To myself. For myself. Capisce?’

‘Capish,’ she repeated softly. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means understand. You do, don’t you, Francesca?’

She nodded, unable to speak.

‘Sorry we’re late, Diana,’ Francesca apologized as she and Victor went into the sitting room a few minutes later.

Diana was sitting in her favourite spot on the hearth, nursing a small white dog, patiently waiting for them. ‘No problem, darling,’ she said with a cheerful smile. ‘When you didn’t get back on time, I delayed tea for half an hour. Clara only just brought it up a few minutes ago, so it’s still hot. But I have to admit, I was getting a bit anxious about you both out there in the dark. Anyway, do come to the fire and warm yourselves. You looked awfully chilled.’

‘A wind was blowing up when we came out of the forest, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad,’ Francesca told her, and then stopped in her tracks, exclaiming, ‘Oh Diana, how pretty Tutzi looks after her bath. Or is it Lutzi? I always get them mixed up, they’re so alike.’

‘It’s Lutzi,’ Diana said. Hearing his name, the dog glanced up at her, then leapt off her lap and raced towards Francesca, for all the world like a small woolly lamb as he gambolled across the floor. When the dog reached Francesca, he reared up on his hind legs and danced around her, pawing her affectionately and squeaking in excitement. Francesca bent down to fondle him, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘Yes, yes, I know,’ she laughed gaily. ‘I’m happy to see you too, Lutzi.’

Victor stood watching her in fond amusement. ‘What a gorgeous little animal.’

‘But we mustn’t forget his sister,’ Francesca interjected. ‘She’s just as beautiful as Lutzi. Where is she, Diana?’ Her eyes swept around the room. ‘They’re never far apart, those two.’

Diana nodded in the direction of the sofa. ‘She’s over there, squashed behind the cushions, observing us with great curiosity, as usual.’

Victor spied the dog, strode across the floor and sat down on the sofa. He picked her up in his large hands, holding her in front of his face. ‘Hello, Tutzi,’ he said. ‘I see you’re another fluffy little number. A real powder puff,’ he chuckled. The dog began to lick his hand, and Victor grinned at Diana and said, ‘I’ve never seen dogs like these. What’s the breed?’

‘Bichon Frise.’

Victor frowned, puzzlement on his face. ‘Afraid I’ve never heard of it.’ He glanced down at the dog, noting the silky fur, the unusual tail resembling an ostrich feather, the long floppy ears, the black button of a nose, and the huge round eyes, sparkling like black diamonds. ‘She is a beauty,’ he enthused, and placed the dog on his lap. He began to scratch her head, still smiling broadly.

Diana was pleased by Victor’s loving reaction to her pets, and she told him, ‘They’re marvellous little dogs, Victor. Bright, intelligent and gay, with endearing habits. And although they’re rather pretty to look at, they’re also quite feisty. Like you, I’d never heard of Bichon Frises until Francesca told me about them. They’re her favourite dogs. A friend of hers in Yorkshire breeds them, and Lutzi and Tutzi are from the same litter. I got them a couple of years ago when I was staying at Langley Castle. They were just ten weeks old, and so adorable I couldn’t resist them.’

‘Oh, so they’re an English breed,’ Victor said, continuing to fondle Tutzi, who had settled down with him contentedly, enjoying the attention.

‘No, as a matter of fact, they’re not. The Bichon comes from the Mediterranean region, the Spanish mainland to be exact. At least, that’s where they apparently originated. And they’re an ancient breed, dating back to the time of Cleopatra.’

‘No kidding,’ Victor exclaimed. ‘Tell me more about them. I’m crazy about dogs.’

Diana laughed dismissively. ‘I’ve been known to wax eloquent about them for a full hour, so perhaps you’d better not get me going on the subject now.’

‘Listen, I meant it. I’ve never seen such gorgeous dogs in my life. I’m very curious about them, so come on, fill me in,’ Victor insisted.

‘Well, all right, a potted history, but that’s all. It seems that Spanish sailors took the dogs abroad, around the fifteenth century, mainly to the Canary Islands, Tenerife in particular. That’s why they were known as the Bichon Tenerife for centuries. Later, the sailors used them for sale or barter at the Italian ports, and they became popular pets with the Italian nobility. In the sixteenth century, after the French invaded Italy, the returning soldiers brought the little Bichon back to France. The dogs were court favourites during the reigns of Francis the First and Henry the Third. Fragonard often depicted them in his portraits of the French aristocracy, and actually, so did Goya, in his paintings of the Infantas of Spain, who also favoured the Bichons. During the reign of Napoleon the Third, in the middle of the eighteen hundreds, they also enjoyed great popularity, but they fell out of fashion in the early part of this century.’ Diana paused, lit a cigarette, and continued, ‘For a while the Bichon became a sort of little nomad, cavorting through the streets, accompanying the organ grinder and delighting everyone with his merry disposition and friendly personality. As a matter of fact, Bichons became extraordinarily talented trick dogs and performed complicated routines at fairs. They even went into the circus.’ Diana laughed. ‘Believe it or not, Victor, they are very acrobatic, given half a chance.’

‘And how!’ Francesca reiterated. ‘You should see the way Tutzi and Lutzi take flying leaps on and off my bed. And usually late at night, when I’m trying to sleep. Not only that, I can never get rid of them. They’d be happy to frisk around with me until dawn.’

‘I can’t say I blame them.’ Victor winked at her, and his smile was so wickedly suggestive, Francesca flushed. She turned her head, cursing herself for having given him such a marvellous opportunity to tease her.

Diana, who had not missed this small exchange, hid her amusement at them both, and went to join Francesca on the sofa. She said, in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘How do you like your tea, Victor? With milk or lemon?’

‘Lemon, please. So they became circus dogs. Mmmm. Very interesting.’ He ruffled Tutzi’s crown of, hair. ‘No wonder I had such an instantaneous affinity with them. Fellow entertainers, eh?’ Diana and Francesca smiled with him, but before either were able to comment, he went on, ‘And then what happened?’

Diana poured the tea, and proceeded to explain, ‘Just after the First World War they became very popular again as pets, but it wasn’t until the early thirties that serious breeding programmes were started and the French Kennel Club admitted the Bichon to its Stud Book –’ Diana broke off and gaped at him. ‘Oh God, Victor, we got started on the dogs and I forgot all about the ’phone call. For you – from a Mr Watson. Actually, you only just missed him by about fifteen minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ Victor said, taking the cup from her, asking: ‘Does Jake want me to call him back?’

‘No. He gave me a message. He asked me to tell you that your suitcase will be here no later than tomorrow afternoon. He’s sending it by the film service Monarch use for delivering cans of film.’ She handed Francesca her cup, and added, ‘It’s being brought here directly, by a special courier.’

‘You didn’t send for your dinner jacket!’ Francesca gasped, looking at Victor disbelievingly, yet knowing at once this was exactly what he had done. She was flabbergasted, and it showed in her face. ‘Or go to all that dreadful expense just for Diana’s birthday party tomorrow. It wasn’t necessary, really it wasn’t’

Victor was taken aback by her quiet vehemence. He wondered why she sounded so put out. ‘I also needed a few other things I’d forgotten, as well as my dinner jacket, kid,’ he answered, his manner mild. He addressed Diana. ‘I hope the guy finds this house okay. Did you give Jake directions?’

‘I started to do so, then I realized it would be very difficult for anyone to find this house easily, even a cab driver from Salzburg, who might well know something about the area. So I suggested to Mr Watson that he instruct the courier to take a taxi from the airport to the boutique I own in Königssee. From the shop he can telephone here, and Manfred will go down and pick up your suitcase.’

‘Hey, you’re terrific Diana. Smart thinking. Thanks a lot.’

‘It was rather gallant of you, sending for your dinner jacket for my little celebration. But Cheska’s right, it wasn’t necessary. I’d intended to ring all of my friends tonight, to tell them not to dress after all.’

‘So Francesca explained earlier. But I didn’t want to be the one to spoil your elegant evening. After all, you’ve been planning it for weeks apparently, and part of the fun on these special occasions is getting all gussied up, isn’t it?’ He smiled wryly. ‘If the men don’t wear their tuxedos, then you girls won’t be able to show off your pretty gowns, now will you?’

‘No, we won’t, that’s true. How sweet of you to be so considerate.’ Diana beamed at him, picked up a silver knife and cut a large chocolate layer cake topped with a mountain of thick whipped cream and decorated with cherries. ‘Do try this, it’s absolutely scrumptious.’

‘I’ll bet it is,’ he said with a grin, and then grimaced. ‘And it’s undoubtedly very fattening. I’ve got to stay trim for the picture. But okay, why not. Make it a small piece though, please.’ After a short pause, he remarked, ‘Can you give me the dope on the Jenner? What kind of a downhill run is it? And what are our skiing plans for tomorrow?’

Diana filled him in about the Jenner in detail, and the two of them were soon embarked on a long discussion about the skiing they would do the following morning. Francesca sat back, sipping her tea, not paying much attention to their conversation. She was regarding Victor from under her lashes, her mind turning things over. How ridiculous and extravagant, she thought. Only a Hollywood film star would do such a crazy thing … Imagine, having his dinner jacket flown in just for a party, just for one evening. Such a flagrant waste of money, so alien to her nature and her upbringing, appalled her, and unexpectedly she experienced a tiny flash of irritation. But it dissipated almost at once, and she felt mean for having spoken so sharply to him a moment ago. If any other man had made such a grand gesture, she would have pronounced him a show-off and pretentious, but in all honesty she could not pin these labels on Victor. Instinctively she knew he had not given the merest thought to what it would cost, or the impression he would make. He never did, it seemed. He had simply wanted to please … please Diana, and perhaps even her. And it was gallant, she admitted, thinking of Diana’s words.

Francesca moved her position on the sofa, but continued to sneak furtive glances at him. He fascinated her more than ever. There were so many different sides to him. She wondered if she would ever truly know him, this complex and baffling man who resembled a small boy at times. She thought then of the gentleness that he had displayed with the dogs, and this made her smile inside, filled her with additional warmth towards him. She remembered something her father had once said, about gaining insight into a person’s character by watching their behaviour with dogs. Her father had gone on, ‘Better still, study the dog and the way it reacts towards a human, and you’ll get an even better picture of the person. Dogs know character.’ Yes, they do, she mused. It’s instinct, and it never fails.

Now her eyes were glued to Victor, and if he was aware of her intense appraisal, he was not permitting it to show. He was still talking about skiing, with great authority, and Francesca could not help noticing that Diana, a crack skier of championship standards, was hanging onto his every word. Francesca blinked, suddenly seeing Victor Mason through objective eyes, as Diana herself was undoubtedly seeing him at this very moment. He was extraordinarily handsome with his tanned, virile face, black wavy hair and expressive eyes. He exuded vitality and energy and sex appeal, his shoulders massive, his body powerfully built and showing to advantage in the black cashmere sweater. He was dressed entirely in black, and this dramatized his dark good looks. True glamour, she thought, that’s what he possesses in such abundance. He was lolling on the sofa, draped across it in his usual fashion, one arm flung along its back, the other wrapped around Tutzi, his long legs crossed, his whole frame relaxed, and he was laughing as he spoke animatedly to Diana. More than ever conscious of him, Francesca shivered, remembering his kisses, his intimate caresses in the gazebo, his promise and its implications. She dropped her eyes, and poured herself another cup of tea, aware that her deepest feelings were bound to be showing in her face. She wasn’t very clever about masking what she felt, and most especially with him.

‘I do hope there’s some tea left.’

Christian’s vibrant voice penetrated Francesca’s reverie, and she swung her head, smiling at her cousin, who was poised in the doorway. ‘Hello, darling,’ she cried, relieved to see him. ‘And yes, there’s masses.’

As Christian wheeled himself up to the fireplace to join them, Victor added, ‘Plus a very lethal chocolate cake.’ His smile was jovial, but his eyes clouded over. He recognized that he and Francesca were really trapped now. They would not be able to retreat upstairs quite as quickly as he had planned, because of Christian’s arrival. Victor lit a cigarette and racked his brains for a way to escape with grace – and speed.