Читать книгу Midnight Wedding - Sophie Weston - Страница 8

HOLLY stepped carefully out of the elevator, balancing her tower of caterer’s boxes with concentration. She was working hard to repress a superstitious shiver. She hated these huge, impersonal buildings, no matter how luxurious. They reminded her of visiting her mother at work in that vast office in London.

Most of the time she managed to forget all of that: mother, London and that other life. It was nearly eight years ago, after all. Then a train crash had taken her mother’s life and, along with it, every familiar thing in Holly’s schoolgirl existence. It sometimes seemed to her that ever since, wherever she was, she had been a stranger passing through.

The mirrored doors of the elevator reflected back just how much of a stranger. These days she hardly recognised herself. She had shot up on long colt’s legs. Her mid-brown hair had lightened. Now in some lights it almost looked gold. It was still uncontrollably curly. So she kept it long and plaited it for work. Now in her dungarees and baseball cap she looked like a gawky schoolboy.

Here in Paris she had been reborn as a delivery boy, she thought wryly. For the time being.

Her mother, she now realised, had tried to prepare her for life’s unpredictability.

‘Everything’s temporary, Hol,’ she would say, over and over.

All these years later, Holly could recall her huge eyes. Even when she was laughing with her daughter they had always seemed sad.

‘You’ve got to look after yourself,’ she would mutter, hugging Holly to her suffocatingly. ‘Nobody else will.’ And then, when she was exhausted, beyond laughter or sadness, ‘Forgive me.’

Of course Holly had not known there was anything to forgive then. Or nothing more than half her class had to forgive, chiefly the frequent absence of an overworked career mother. She had never known her father. She could not guess that her mother had left a message for him in her will.

But she had. A shocked and grieving Holly had found herself tidied up and transferred to his millionaire’s home in the American mid-West before she knew what was happening to her. So that was when she had discovered for herself the other great truth her mother had bequeathed her: ‘You can’t trust a man, except to break your heart.’

Holly gave herself a mental shake. That was all behind her now. Well behind her. The father she had never really known was dead. The stepsister who had been affronted by her very existence was far away; five years and a whole continent away.

And if that meant that Holly was alone—well, fine. If her heart was lost in ice floes at least no one could get at it. She was footloose and solitary and safe.

Congratulating herself on her successful life planning, she hefted the boxes into a more comfortable position and started to plod off along the miles of deep-piled silence to the offices of the International Disaster Committee.

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said the Chair. ‘You have given us a lot to think about.’ It was dismissal.

Jack bit back a protest. He had not yet covered half the topics he had prepared. There should have been plenty of time. He had established that Armour Disaster Recovery was scheduled to present their case through lunch. But that had been before Ramon’s outburst. The Chair did not like emotion. Jack sympathised—and knew when to cut his losses.

He rose to his feet. ‘Thank you, Madam Chair.’

Ramon Lopez stared up at him in disbelief. ‘We can’t just leave. The committee—’

‘Has our paper,’ Jack supplied smoothly. He took hold of Ramon’s chair behind his back and gave it a sharp tug. ‘And of course we will be available to answer any questions that they have. You have my number?’

The Chair consulted the business cards she had set out in front of her place at the conference table. She was very professional.

‘Yes, thank you, Dr Armour. I am sure we will have plenty of questions. It will be very helpful if you can keep yourself available.’

‘You’ve got it,’ said Jack. His charm was easy and quite false, though hopefully only Ramon detected it. He patted his pocket and looked round with a friendly smile. ‘Thank God for mobile phones.’

The committee laughed uneasily, one eye on Ramon. It looked as if the passionate Spaniard was not going to move. They braced themselves for a nasty scene.

But Jack was not a personality it was easy to withstand and he was the boss. In the end, Ramon went. Muttering under his breath, but he went. He took the briefcase Jack thrust at him and followed him out of the room.

Once outside in the corridor, he let out an explosive breath.

‘Hell! Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?’

Jack was checking that his mobile phone was switched on. He did not look up.

‘You’ll know better next time.’

‘It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I should have used sweet reason, like you.’

Jack did look up then. His eyes gleamed with humour. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You sure impressed them when you thumped the table.’

Ramon was on the point of collapse. ‘I have cost us everything. Everything.’

‘Forget it,’ said Jack at last, exasperated. ‘We’ll just have to manage the negotiations differently, that’s all.’

Ramon shook his head wonderingly. ‘Does anything ever faze you?’

Jack laughed. ‘Every setback is an opportunity if you look at it the right way,’ he said, maliciously quoting Ramon’s favourite management guru.

Reluctantly Ramon smiled. ‘Like the New York photographer who wants to take your portrait?’ he retorted, malicious in his turn.

The Armour Recovery e-mail system had been buzzing with the tales of columnist Rita Caruso as the boss’s latest conquest.

‘Oh, you’ve got onto that one, have you?’ said Jack, resigned.

Ramon’s sense of humour was in recovery. ‘Can’t wait to see it.’

Jack snorted and put his telephone back in his pocket. ‘You’ll wait a long time.’

Ramon was all innocence. ‘But you were the one who said we needed publicity.’

‘Not that sort.’

“‘Public awareness of the long-term effects of natural disasters is zero”,’ Ramon chanted.

It was the paragraph on donor fatigue from the report they had left with the committee. He had redrafted the paragraph a zillion times until Jack was satisfied with it. So he knew it by heart, as he now demonstrated.

“‘After the immediate emergency, journalists move on. But more people die in the aftermath of most disasters than in the period of first impact. We must do everything we can to reverse this.”’ He smiled. ‘Doesn’t include some pretty pictures for a lady who fancies you?’

Jack cast his eyes to heaven. Or at least to the over-illuminated ceiling of the plushest corridor in Paris.

‘Come on, man. I’ll sell myself to a bunch of bureaucrats if that’s what it takes to get the job done. I draw the line at stud pics,’ he said brutally.

Ramon was startled. ‘Stud pics?’

‘Caruso’s a photo-journalist with Elegance magazine.’

‘So?’

‘They’re only interested in fashion, sex and gossip. Frankly, I was surprised they bothered to send anyone along to Ignaz.’

Ramon stared. ‘How do you know what Elegance magazine is interested in? When did you have time to read anything except work?’

Jack looked faintly uncomfortable. ‘You only have to look at the news-stands at airports.’

‘Since when did you cruise the women’s magazines stands?’ said Ramon in disbelief.

There was the tiniest pause. Then Jack said levelly, ‘Susana liked it.’

For once Ramon had nothing to say.

To Holly, balancing her boxes like a circus pro, the atmosphere between the two men blasted down the corridor like a fireball. They were at the far end, outside the board room. Two men in city suits: one small and anxious, one tall and dark and icily contained, as if holding his breath to withstand a blow.

Holly was not quite sure how she knew he was bracing himself. His high-cheekboned face was impassive. But somehow she did. It was the way he stood. She had a vivid impression of a man using every ounce of strength to keep the lid on some inflammable substance and not being sure the lid would hold. It was alarming.

I’m glad it wasn’t me who made him look like that, she thought, oddly shaken.

His companion said in English, ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t think. I’m an idiot.’

For a moment, the tall man did not answer. Then he said, ‘Conference room fever.’

And she knew the moment of danger had passed.

His companion did not seem so sure. He looked up at the tall man doubtfully.

‘In fact, look on the bright side. At least you’ve got us out of another forty-eight hours in there.’

Holly put one hand up to steady her precarious tower of boxes and marched towards them.

‘Forty-eight hours?’ The other man echoed, horrified. ‘Oh, Jack, surely it won’t take that long.’

Holly realised something else about the tall, intimidating stranger. He was gorgeous. Tough, yes; dangerously controlled, undoubtedly. But, beyond argument, gorgeous.

She frowned. Holly did not like gorgeous men. For very good reasons.

‘I knew I’d made them mad. But forty-eight hours?’

Gorgeous Jack was cynical. ‘Once you let bureaucrats start talking, it will last until they go home.’

The smaller man groaned. ‘If only we didn’t have to do this.’

Jack gave a sudden snort of laughter. ‘What we need is a friendly millionaire who believes in forward planning. Failing that, the International Disaster Committee is the best we’ve got.’

Holly had reached them.

‘Excuse me,’ she said from behind her boxes.

She was standing at Jack’s shoulder. The boxes tilted, catching against the canvas bag she wore looped across her body. She compensated, tilting in the other direction. Which might have made her voice muffled. Or maybe they were just too engrossed in their own affairs to notice.

Either way, they did not hear her.

‘If only I hadn’t put their backs up,’ said the second man wretchedly.

‘Not difficult with bureaucrats. They—’

‘Excuse me.’

‘—play status games all the—’ Jack swung round impatiently. ‘What is it?’

His eyes glittered like black diamonds. Holly was transfixed. Even with her boxes rocking off balance, she could not wrest her eyes away.

Gorgeous was not the word. And her instincts were sound: he looked hard, all right. The bone structure was that of a Greek god and, by the look of it, so was the temper. She could imagine people quailing under the intensity of that hooded gaze.

Well, she did not quail easily. She shifted her burden to one side and glared right back at him.

‘May I get past?’

Fierce dark eyes swept over her like a forest fire.

Most people would have blenched. Holly congratulated herself on the difference between herself and most people. She also congratulated herself on not folding up against the wall of the corridor and trying to squeeze meekly past them.

She tapped her foot, to the imminent danger of her boxes.

‘Now. Please.’ It was still just polite. Technically, anyway.

For a moment, Gorgeous Jack surveyed Holly with unnerving concentration.

Holly had always been quick to flare up, even before she’d honed her defensive skills in the battlefield that was her father’s house. Now her temper went onto a slow burn. She stopped pretending to be polite.

‘Now!’

To her fury, he was more alert than she was. He was already moving when Holly felt the boxes finally shift out of balance. Before they could topple, he had swept round and lifted them out of her arms.

He looked down at her, waiting.

‘Thank you,’ she said. She sounded as if she were being strangled.

His mouth twitched. ‘You’re welcome.’ But he did not let the incident interrupt his real interest. Over the top of the boxes, he said to his companion, ‘Don’t beat up on yourself, Ramon.’

Ramon hardly seemed to notice Holly. He was frowning and clearly full of guilt.

‘I should have let you handle it. I flew off the handle.’

Jack shrugged elegantly suited shoulders. The movement, Holly saw with fury, did not even stir the pile of boxes he was holding.

‘You lost focus. Can happen to anyone.’ He sent Holly a brief, indifferent glance. ‘Where are these supposed to go?’

Holly tried to feel grateful. It was not easy.

‘The front desk said it was the office at the end,’ she muttered.

The tall man turned without a word.

‘They’re for some guy called Armour.’ But she was talking to his back.

Great, she thought. Stand back, you poor creature, and let a big strong man take control. She had a long and justified prejudice against masterful men, too. She could have kicked him.

The man called Ramon pattered along beside him, taking two steps to every long stride.

‘But surely they still can’t keep us hanging about here for forty-eight hours?’ He sounded as if he was about to burst into tears.

‘They can try.’

Jack came to the impressive double doors at the end of the corridor and shouldered his way in without even a token knock. Nor, noted Holly, did he bother to acknowledge anyone in the secretariat that he had just invaded.

He dropped the boxes on the nearest desk and said generally, ‘Is that where you want them?’

Holly was tempted, childishly, to say no it wasn’t. Fortunately, the room’s elegant chief occupant took charge before Holly could go to war.

She rose and rushed forward, flustered out of her professional calm.

‘Oh, Mr Armour. I didn’t realise…Yes, there would be fine.’

Holly realised she knew her. Señora Martinez had ordered in from Chez Pierre before. She was multilingual, super-efficient and famously unflappable.

She did not look unflappable now. One casual look from those fierce dark eyes and she was stammering like a schoolgirl.

‘There are messages…The Director was asking…But I thought you’d still be with the committee…’

Holly watched in astonishment. Gorgeous Jack must be quite something, she thought. Señora Martinez was normally a Madonna of calm.

Now he said cheerfully, ‘The committee threw us out, Elena.’

No sign now of that fury Holly had surprised in the corridor. In fact, he was smiling at Señora Martinez with such conscious charm it set Holly’s teeth on edge.

It worked though. Señora Martinez laughed, blushed and shook her head at him.

‘I’m sure they did no such thing, Mr Armour. I know they were all very impressed by your company’s proposal.’

Holly did not like being ignored. The man had not spared her a glance since that flicker of amusement in the corridor. Now she seized upon the name.

‘Armour, huh?’ She placed herself in front of him and said loudly, ‘Lunch for ten.’

He was blank. ‘What?’

Silently she held the delivery docket out to him.

At least he looked at her then. He was impatient. He did not take the docket. But he looked.

‘Yes?’ If it was possible to sound more indifferent, Holly could not imagine it.

She could have danced with fury.

The trouble was, she knew what he was seeing and it was not impressive. The white buttoned chef’s jacket was grubby after a morning’s rapid deliveries through this busy part of Paris. And the baseball cap that covered her unruly golden-brown hair was frankly tatty.

She stuck her chin in the air and stood her ground. ‘I want a signature for the delivery,’ she said truculently, adding with a respect that was as unconvincing as it was belated, ‘sir.’

The man’s eyes narrowed, arrested. Señora Martinez looked shocked.

‘My good child—’ his voice was a drawling insult ‘—what in hell would I do with lunch for ten?’

Holly’s temper went through the top of her head.

She said sweetly, ‘I don’t care if you take every single piece of quiche Lorraine and feed it to the pigeons. I want my signature.’

He had a long curly mouth. It made him look mocking without even trying.

‘On the contrary. You want my signature. And believe me, no one gets that without working for it.’

Holly ground her teeth.

Señora Martinez intervened fast. ‘Here is a misunderstanding.’ Her perfect English was slipping under stress. ‘The food is for the Committee’s meeting with Mr Armour. It is I who ordered it.’ She grabbed the docket and leaned it against her knee to scribble a signature.

Holly hardly looked at her.

‘Mr Armour’s meeting?’ she said, letting her eyes drift up and down his tall figure with barely disguised scorn. ‘Well, God bless America.’

Señora Martinez and Ramon exchanged alarmed glances. Gorgeous Jack, by contrast, began to look as if he was enjoying himself.

‘Oh? Why?’

‘The only nation in the world,’ said Holly quoting her employer, gourmet chef Pierre, ‘to make eating at the conference table a moral imperative.’

There was a startled silence. Holly pulled the peak of her baseball cap down defiantly.

The Greek god certainly looked like the sort of man who would refuse to permit lunch-breaks until the world fell into line. Yet somehow, with those unreadable eyes fixed on her, Holly felt as if she had made a very big mistake. And a complete fool of herself into the bargain.

Then he shrugged, confirming all Holly’s prejudices about his nationality and his indifference to food.

‘So I’m the king of the carry-out. What does that make you?’

Holly stared, taken aback.

‘I guess you don’t like the stuff,’ he suggested. ‘You just sell it.’

Oh, he was so confident, so pleased with himself, all high slanting cheekbones and black laughter. She had seen arrogance like that before.

Her brother-in-law and his best crony, the guy who ran her father’s company, had both been like that. So certain that they were right; so certain that the awkward, illegitimate newcomer would realise it in the end and fall into line. Suddenly Holly wanted to scream at all of them. She wanted to so much she choked on it.

He smiled. ‘Game, set and match to the slob who gets the pizza, huh?’ And turned away.

Behind her Ramon laughed. ‘Ouch.’

Holly flushed furiously. She could feel her ears tingle with it. There was a microsecond when she wanted to throw things, make him eat his words, make him look at her. Look and see more than a delivery robot.

Then the practical Holly reasserted herself. Reluctantly she curbed her temper. Pierre would never forgive her if she kicked a client. He might even sack her and she needed the job. She would have to get out of there before the temptation to hit him became overwhelming.

She almost snatched the docket from Señora Martinez and stuffed it into the canvas bag. It was full of flyers for the club where she worked in the evening. She was supposed to be circulating them. She had almost forgotten until now. With a gasp of guilt, she looked at her watch, clutched the bag to her and fled.

Another black mark in a bad, bad day.

First, a late night playing the flute at Le Club Thaïs had made her oversleep. Then there had been a delay on the Metro. By the time she’d got to work Chef Pierre had been growling with fury over intruders who interrupted his baking, the phone had been ringing off the wall and no one had even started to make up the day’s orders.

And then, to cap it all, a tall dark stranger who looked as if he’d just stepped out of a dream, had scored an easy point off her because she’d let her temper out of its cage.

No more temper, Holly vowed, punching the elevator button as if it were a personal enemy. ‘No more smart remarks.’

‘A message from the Chair, Mr Armour.’

Señora Martinez was wary as she handed over a sheet of paper. The Chair always said Jack Armour was a tough negotiator but Elena Martinez had never seen him anything other than charming before. She did not know why he had challenged the young delivery girl like that. She felt sorry for her.

Jack opened the paper and scanned it rapidly.

‘You and I,’ he told Ramon in a dry voice, ‘have got the afternoon off. The committee does not want us back.’

Ramon looked as if he might cry.

Elena Martinez said helplessly, ‘But of course you are welcome to…’ She gestured at the boxes Holly had brought.

Jack grinned suddenly. ‘No, thanks. We’ll pass on the picnic. The committee can have our share.’ He buffeted Ramon lightly between the shoulder blades. ‘No need to look like that. We can go play, now.’

Roman protested. ‘But the committee, the contract…’

Jack laughed aloud. ‘The committee has my mobile number and the contract is on the table. They can call when they’re willing to sign.’

On which magnificent announcement, he swept Ramon out of the office and into the elevator.

‘We should have stuck around,’ objected Ramon as they descended to the ground floor. ‘We should have gatecrashed that bloody committee again. We should—’

‘Cool it, Ramon.’

‘But—’

‘Wait until we get out of the building.’

‘What?’

Jack cast a meaning look at the closed-circuit camera above their head. Ramon subsided.

Jack tapped his fingers on the wood panelling.

‘I’ve had three months up to my neck in mud and bureaucracy. I can use some major frivolity. Paris is good for that.’

Ramon hunched his shoulders. ‘What sort of frivolity?’

‘Good food, great wine, music.’

‘That means you’re going to cut the Combined Agencies’ dinner,’ Ramon diagnosed gloomily. ‘I’ll have to do it on my own again. You know I hate these things.’

Jack was unimpressed. ‘Take a date.’

‘Who do we know in Paris?’

Jack chuckled. ‘You could always ask the chairperson. She was impressed by your Latin charm.’

‘I couldn’t—’ Ramon began in lively alarm. Then he saw Jack’s expression and relaxed. ‘Take a date yourself. Then I can have the night off for once.’

Jack did not stop smiling. But suddenly it did not reach his eyes any more.

Hell, thought Ramon. Good score, Ramon. Second time in half an hour.

To cover his discomfort, he said roughly, ‘That kid who brought the food—you should have got her number instead of beating up on her. Then you’d have a date yourself.’

Jack shook his head. ‘Too much of a fighter.’ But at least he was smiling again as if he meant it. ‘I wonder who she really was?’

‘What?’

They were getting out of the elevator. Ramon looked back at the camera, suddenly worried. ‘Do you think she was some sort of spy? Political? Industrial? What?’

Jack laughed. ‘Hey. Calm down. No one spies on the guys who put up tents at disaster sites.’

‘But back in the elevator you said—’

‘Back there I didn’t want you bad-mouthing the committee. It would undoubtedly get back.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Security guards rent out embarrassing bits of the surveillance tapes.’

Ramon stared, torn between affront and suspicion. ‘I don’t believe it.’

Jack shrugged.

‘How do you know?’ said Ramon, half convinced in spite of himself.

‘I’ve done my time as a security guard.’

And that Ramon did believe. He knew that Jack had done every non-career job going while he was trying to get Armour Disaster Recovery off the ground.

‘Though never in a state-of-the-art building like this.’

Jack looked round the entrance hall with a wry smile. Trees wafted in the air conditioning. There was a faint tinkle from a baroque fountain. The marble walls gleamed. Palms were everywhere. Among them, almost unnoticed, a steady stream of people arrived, departed, delivered, left messages. Their heels clipped on the floor. Their voices were lost in the cathedral-high atrium. And not one of them took any notice of anybody else in the flow.

Ramon shuddered. ‘Give me mud every time.’

Jack nodded. ‘Not exactly human size, is it?’

‘Big enough to get lost in—’

But Ramon was talking to himself. As he stared, open-mouthed, Jack suddenly wasn’t there any more. He had cast away his briefcase and was sprinting across the mirror-tiled floor.

Bewildered, Ramon fielded the briefcase and tried to see what had grabbed Jack’s attention. The crowd streamed around him, oblivious.

And then Ramon saw.

It was the fiery delivery girl. She had lost her baseball cap and was backed up against a marble wall. A tall man was towering over her. He seemed to be shouting but his voice was lost in the echoing hall.

The girl did not seem to be following him anyway. Her eyes were quite blank. Terror, thought Ramon.

He had seen enough terror to recognise it easily, even across a crowded cathedral-sized entrance hall. So had Jack. Ramon knew exactly how Jack would react to the frozen panic on the girl’s face.

‘Oh, Lord,’ said Ramon. He stuffed Jack’s briefcase under his arm and pelted after him.

Jack was tall and fit as an athlete after the last three months’ physical demands. But the girl’s opponent was built like a prize fighter with huge shoulders and a neck like a bull’s. Jack should not have been any match for him. But Jack had him in an arm lock in three short, vicious movements.

Ouch, thought Ramon who knew what Jack was capable of in one of his rare fits of fury. He speeded up.

‘That’s enough.’ Ramon grabbed Jack’s arm and hung onto it. He meant to sound authoritative but it came out like a plea.

Jack looked down at him as if he had forgotten where he was. He shook his head a little, as if to clear it. Then looked at the man in his grip.

‘Who are you?’

The man choked out something indecipherable. He put up his hands to ease the pressure on his throat. Jack relaxed his grip a little.

‘What makes you can think you can push women around?’ Jack rapped out.

The man’s chest heaved. He looked furious—and bewildered.

Beyond them, the girl straightened slowly. The black panic left her face but she still looked frighteningly young and vulnerable. A loose golden-brown plait fell forward over her shoulder.

She was panting. ‘He has no right. He’s nothing to do with me.’ Her voice was suddenly very young, too.

The man was conventionally handsome, with chiselled features and expensively styled hair. But when he turned his head to look at her, his expression was as ugly as a street-corner punk’s.

‘Oh, no? I’ve got a piece of paper that says I’m your guardian.’

She flinched. But she did not deny it.

‘Great,’ muttered Ramon. Aloud, he said soothingly, ‘Jack, these people don’t want us interfering in their private affairs…’

Jack ignored him. He looked at the girl. ‘Well?’

‘He’s married to—a relation of mine,’ she said in a hurried, uneven voice. ‘I don’t ask them for anything. I don’t want to have anything to do with them.’ Her voice rose. It was quiet enough but it had the intensity of a scream.

Ramon winced. He was not surprised that Jack did not let the man go.

The man let out a roar of frustration that at last attracted the attention of one of the security guards. He ignored Jack and Ramon. ‘You owe Donna,’ he said. ‘You know it. I know it.’

It sounded menacing, even to a stranger. The girl whitened. Her sudden pallor revealed a dusting of golden freckles across her nose.

The security guard began to stroll over. Jack was still holding the attacker in an arm lock. The girl looked past the man, straight at Jack, her hands twisting.

‘I don’t. I don’t owe anyone. I never asked…Please…’ Her voice was all over the place.

Jack said, ‘Your guardian?’

She looked at the man, though it was easy to see that she did not want to meet his eyes. ‘Brendan, please don’t do this.’ It was obviously a huge effort to speak with even an attempt at calm. ‘I don’t want anything from you. I never have. I just want to be free.’

Jack’s face was a mask.

Oh, Lord, that’s torn it, thought Ramon.

Jack said slowly, ‘How old are you?’

‘T-twenty-two.’

He looked at the big man in his grip. ‘No one has a guardian at twenty-two.’

‘You do if—’

But the girl was not waiting any longer. The security guard reached them. They all turned to him instinctively, the tight little circle round the girl widening for a moment. She saw her chance and took it. She dived between Ramon and Jack so fast that she knocked Ramon flying. In seconds, she was out through the revolving doors.

Jack’s captive swore. He would have taken off after her if Jack had not wrestled him up against the wall and held him there.

‘I think not,’ Jack said very softly.

‘But that girl is my ward.’

‘She doesn’t seem to think so.’

‘I tell you—’

‘And I tell you, ward or no ward, you will not manhandle her while I’m here to stop you.’

There was a steely note to Jack’s voice which brought the hairs up on the back of Ramon’s neck. Even the stranger seemed to recognise that this was not a man he could bully. Some of the bluster left him.

He took refuge in sarcasm. ‘Sweet little Holly done a number on you too, has she?’

Jack did not answer.

The man tried to push his restraining hand away and failed.

‘That’s a real good act she’s got,’ he sneered. ‘Can’t tell you the number of guys she took in back home in Lansing Mills. That was why she ran out—’

Jack stopped him with a gesture of disgust. ‘Enough, already.’

The security guard decided to intervene at last. He had checked Jack Armour into the committee many times and trusted him. The other man, however, was new to him. Mindful of the fat folder of guidelines under the reception desk, he asked some slow and careful questions. By the time Ramon had appointed himself interpreter and translated them from French, the girl was long gone.

Jack let go of his captive. After a brief struggle with frustration, the man came up with his answers readily enough.

‘My name is Brendan Sugrue.’ He produced a passport from his back pocket. ‘That girl is my sister-in-law. By adoption. My wife and I are her legal guardians. We are from Lansing Mills, Oklahoma. She ran away. I have been on her trail ever since.’

‘Why?’ said Jack. It was quiet enough but it had the force of a bullet.

The security guard looked up curiously from his perusal of the passport.

Brendan Sugrue blinked. ‘She’s young…’

‘Twenty-two-year-olds can take care of themselves.

‘Unstable…’

Jack’s eyes narrowed almost to slits. ‘In what way?’

‘Irresponsible. Wild. She doesn’t listen to advice…’

He saw Jack’s expression. His words dwindled into silence.

‘Doesn’t listen to advice, huh? Sounds like she doesn’t do what you want,’ said Jack softly.

‘Monsieur Armour,’ began the security guard, friendly but minatory.

Jack ignored him.

‘Isn’t that the truth of it?’

‘Monsieur Armour, this is clearly a personal matter.’ The guard returned the passport. ‘As the young lady has gone and no damage has been done, there is no more to be said. Goodbye, gentlemen.’

Brendan Sugrue shook himself. Then he straightened his tie and brushed out the creases in his elegant jacket.

‘Thank you,’ he said to the security guard. The look he sent Jack was less friendly. ‘I’d hoped to clear this up informally. Thanks to your meddling, I’ll probably have to go to the police now. Don’t get in my way again.’

He shouldered his way past Jack and Ramon. The force with which he slammed out of the building sent the revolving doors spinning.

The guard pulled a face. ‘Hope the young lady is a long way away by now,’ he said, all his French chivalry aroused.

‘Hope we don’t get involved,’ muttered Ramon, less chivalrous but infinitely more practical.

The pristine floor was scattered with litter. Jack scuffed some with his shoe and then looked down, arrested. To Ramon’s astonishment he fell to his knees and began picking up several dozen bright yellow sheets of coarse paper.

‘Now what?’

Jack held a sheet up to him.

“‘Club Thaïs”,’ read Ramon. “‘Cool jazz, hot beat”.’ He turned it over. On the back there was a menu. He cast a knowledgeable eye over the prices. ‘Just some cheap brasserie. What about it?’

Jack picked up the rest of the flyers. ‘She dropped them.’

Ramon’s heart sank. ‘So?’

‘So maybe she goes there. Works there, even.’

‘Or maybe she works for an agency which delivers flyers and she’s never been over the threshold,’ said Ramon discouragingly.

Jack stood up and retrieved his briefcase.

‘Nowhere this cheap employs agencies for anything,’ he said, stuffing the retrieved papers into his case.

‘OK. Maybe her boyfriend is a waiter there.’

Jack stopped.

‘Most twenty-two-year-old girls,’ pointed out Ramon, sensing an advantage, ‘have boyfriends.’ As Jack still said nothing he ploughed on. ‘Look, who knows the rights and wrongs of this? Maybe Sugrue is right and the girl is nuts. We really don’t need you playing St George again.’

Their eyes met for a long, comprehending moment. Ramon’s were the first to fall. Third time today, he thought. Well done, Ramon.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Jack, I’m real sorry.’

‘Yes,’ said Jack, expressionless.

‘But she can look after herself. You saw that. First chance she had, she took off. And that guy won’t catch her off guard again. She’ll be keeping an eye out for him.’

‘Not much doubt of that.’ Jack’s tone was light but there was a small muscle working in his cheek. ‘She looked like she wasn’t going to stop running for a week.’

Ramon knew that tell-tale muscle all too well. He said desperately, ‘Nothing to do with us.’

Jack just looked at him.

‘We’re only here for another two days.’ Ramon’s voice rose. ‘What could you do in two days? You don’t even know her name.’

Jack stirred the remaining yellow litter with his foot. ‘But I’ve got a clue. And a good deductive brain. And time on my hands until the committee makes its call.’

‘You’re going to go looking for her?’

Jack’s mouth twisted in self-mockery. ‘I’m going to follow my instincts.’

Ramon flung up his hands. ‘You’re crazy.’

‘Maybe.’

The mockery died, leaving only determination. Ramon had seen Jack look like that before. He gave up.