Читать книгу Waiting For Mr. Wonderful! - Stephanie Howard - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

GEORGIA knew instantly who the dark-haired stranger was, even though she’d never set eyes on him before. It had to be the Frenchman. She was absolutely sure of it. Deep inside, she felt a quick dart of fear.

He was seated on the wooden bench that stood against the front wall of the house beneath a glorious canopy of April-flowering wisteria. And, though it was obvious that he was waiting for her, he appeared not to have noticed her sudden arrival outside the front gate. His head was bent over the newspaper spread out on his knee.

So, for the moment at least, she had the advantage. Squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, Georgia pushed the gate open and stepped onto the gravel path.

‘Excuse me. Can I help you?’ Her tone was clipped as she strode towards him. Who did he think he was, making himself at home in her front garden?

He glanced up at once, quickly folding his newspaper and tossing it down beside him on the bench. Then, as though he hadn’t noticed her angry expression, with a slow, lazy smile he began to rise to his feet.

‘Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Jean-Claude Lasalle.’

The instant he’d glanced up, Georgia had stopped in her tracks, her anger and fear abruptly forgotten. Suddenly, quite unconsciously, she was holding her breath. He was the most gorgeous-looking man she’d ever seen in her entire life.

Somewhere in his mid-thirties, he was tall and muscularly lean. You could sense the whiplash power beneath the expensive-looking blue suit. And he exuded from every pore a poised, raw dynamism that seemed to turn the very air electric. Georgia felt herself shiver. This man had sex appeal to burn.

He started to come towards her. ‘Forgive me for taking the liberty, but the seat looked so inviting and I didn’t really want to wait out in the street.’

As he spoke, Georgia was aware of his eyes travelling over her. Swiftly. Expertly. Taking in every detail. Every nuance and shadow of her pale-skinned oval face with its wide hazel eyes and—in her opinion—over-generous mouth. Every shiny, shoulderlength strand of her mahogany-dark hair.

Devoured in a single glance! I’ll bet he’s even soused that I curl my eyelashes! she thought wryly.

Then as his gaze moved downwards, taking her in from neck to toe, she had the very strong impression that he’d also worked out the fact that beneath her fitted cerise wool suit she was wearing nothing but her underwear!

To her annoyance, she felt a flicker of warmth inside her. Shame on you, Georgia! she said to herself. You ought to be mad at him, but in fact you actually rather enjoyed that!

He stopped right in front of her, extending his hand in greeting, and now it was Georgia’s turn to take a closer look at him—though she was considerably more discreet about it than he’d been! And the first thing she had to acknowledge, though it hardly seemed possible, was that Jean-Claude Lasalle was even more gorgeous up close.

His tanned, sculpted face with its strong nose and well-shaped mouth exuded a vibrant, powerful intelligence, and he had the most remarkable eyes, which at first Georgia had believed to be brown, but which she could see now were an astonishing deep cobalt-blue and fringed with lashes that any woman would envy. His hair, which flopped engagingly over his forehead, was as glossy as silk and as black as a raven’s wing.

She accepted his proffered hand, which clasped hers with strong, cool fingers in a handshake that sent a delicious electric charge up her arm. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she heard herself say. ‘I’m Georgia Dee.’

‘Yes, I know who you are.’ The blue eyes smiled back at her. ‘I came here in the hope that I might have a few minutes of your time. There’s a rather important matter I’d very much like to discuss with you.’

His English was perfect, enhanced by a delicious French accent, and that lazy, warm smile was as seductive as sin. Georgia looked at him and felt her insides turn to jelly. You can discuss anything you like with me, she almost felt like saying.

Almost.

Mentally, she gave herself a shake. What was she thinking of? Had she forgotten who this man was? Was she out of her mind, allowing herself to be seduced by a handsome face and a far too easy smile? She snatched her hand away and took a couple of steps back as her anger and fear at once flickered back to life.

With suspicious, narrowed eyes, she looked into his face. ‘Was it you who came looking for me this afternoon at my shop?’

Georgia had been out at the time, having a late lunch, but when she’d got back Kay, her assistant, had told her about their mysterious foreign visitor. He hadn’t told Kay why he wanted to speak to Georgia, but Georgia had guessed without too much difficulty. And, for the rest of the afternoon, she’d been unable to think of anything else.

She watched him now, breathing carefully, as he responded. ‘Yes, I did drop in at your shop. As I told your assistant, I planned to return later, but unfortunately I got tied up with other things. So, since I’m rather short of time, I decided to try and catch you here. I figured you’d probably get home from work about now.’

With another quick smile, he answered her unspoken question. ‘It was very easy to find out where you lived. I simply looked up your home address in the phone book.’

‘I see.’ Her growing anxiety made it easy to resist his smile this time. Georgia fixed him with a sharp look. ‘And what’s this matter you wish to discuss with me? It must, as you say, be important for you to have put yourself to all this trouble.’ In spite of her calm tone, she could feel her heart thumping.

‘It is also rather urgent.’ His expression had grown serious. As he paused, Georgia could feel his eyes scour her face. ‘So let’s not waste any more time. Let’s go somewhere private and discuss it.’

He made as though to step past her and head for the front door of her flat.

‘Just a minute!’ At the harsh note in her voice, Georgia saw him hesitate. ‘This important, urgent matter...does it in any way concern my shop?’ She held her breath, fearing she knew what his answer would be, but praying with every fibre of her being that she was wrong.

She was not wrong. He looked straight at her. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It does.’

The words seemed to hang for a moment in the air, dark and menacing, sending a rush of panic through her. So her tormentors had not given up, after all.

Until Kay had told her about Lasalle’s visit this afternoon, Georgia had dared to believe that all her recent headaches were finally over. It had actually begun to look as though the Paris-based company who, six weeks ago, had begun an all-out campaign to persuade her to sell her thriving little clothes shop had finally accepted that it wasn’t for sale. They would never get their hands on her beloved Georgia D, no matter what dirty tricks they employed.

She took a deep breath and looked Lasalle straight in the eye. ‘In that case, you’ll have to talk to my solicitors.’

Her voice was stiff with contempt as she reeled off their names. On the surface, Lasalle appeared to be a rather different type from the other couple of envoys who’d been sent over to harass her, but beneath the glossy exterior he was no doubt just another thug who took pleasure in bullying a defenceless woman.

‘You’ll have no trouble tracking them down,’ she added with a cool smile. ‘They’re listed in the phone book which you’re already so familiar with. Just give them a ring. I’m sure they’ll be most helpful.’

Dismissively, she turned away, about to stride past him to the front door.

He moved faster than a viper. Before she’d taken a single step, Lasalle was standing in front of her, blocking her path.

‘You surprise me. I had imagined that, considering recent events, you’d be a little more interested in hearing what I have to say.’

Considering recent events. How about that for a perfectly blatant attempt at intimidation? As a couple of those recent events went flashing through her brain—the mysterious fire in the storeroom that had damaged most of her stock, the dispute over her lease that had almost lost her the shop—Georgia felt her contempt for him instantly double.

‘I’m sure my solicitors will be interested.’ She barely glanced at him as she spoke. ‘Give them a ring. Make an appointment to speak to them. But now, if you don’t mind, get out of my way.’

‘It’s not your solicitors I wish to speak to.’ He remained precisely where he was, fixing her with a look that seemed to pierce right through her skull. ‘The person I’ve come here to Bath to speak to, Miss Dee, is you.’

‘That’s really too bad, I’m afraid, Monsieur Lasalle. I don’t waste my time speaking to people like you.’

Her eyes flashed back at him, her cheeks pink with anger. What right did he think he had to take this overbearing attitude?

‘So, what I would suggest is that you move out of my way, now, then just get off my property and go back to wherever it was you came from.’

She’d expected him at least to look a little put out by this attack, which had been delivered in her most lethally cutting tone of voice. But, instead, he simply looked into her furious face and smiled.

One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘Is this,’ he wanted to know, addressing her as though she were some disrespectful child who’d just had the temerity to talk out of turn, ‘the way you generally treat people who are trying to help you?’

‘Help me?’

‘Yes, help you. That is what I’m trying to do.’

This was a new twist. ‘And in what way are you trying to help me?’ Georgia feigned a look of curiosity. What kind of idiot did he take her for?

The cobalt-blue eyes narrowed. ‘You may not be aware of it, but you’re in serious danger of losing your business. I came here to try to help you hang onto it.’

Another new twist. So, he was a white knight come to rescue her? He really must think she was totally naive!

Georgia fixed him with a cool look. ‘That’s terribly decent of you, but it just so happens that I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly capable of hanging onto my business by myself.’

She paused for a moment, then added with a mocking smile, ‘What makes you think I’d fall for a ridiculous story like that, anyway? Why on earth would I believe that you want to help me? Why would you want to do that? You don’t even know me.’

‘Very true. I don’t. But I know a little about you, and I also know something about your situation...’ Before she could butt in and demand to know why he was so interested, he elaborated, a sudden harsh smile on his lips, ‘Actually, I would say I know more about your situation than you do if you seriously believe you can handle this thing yourself.’

‘What thing?’

‘The takeover bid.’

A tingle of fear ran down her spine. Ignoring it, she told him, ‘You’re a little out of date. I have reason to believe that the takeover bid’s been dropped.’

‘Really? Well, it would certainly be nice if you were right. After all your hard work building up your shop from nothing to become one of the most highly regarded fashion shops in the south of England, it would be a tragedy if it were to end up in the hands of someone else. I can appreciate that’s the last thing you’d want to see happen.’

‘You’re dead right. It is. And it’s the last thing that’s going to happen. Nobody’s going to get their hands on my shop.’

He was watching her. ‘I admire your confidence,’ he told her. ‘But alas, I very much fear it’s misplaced.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps you don’t appreciate the full extent of what you’re up against. Duval’s not the kind of man to give up on something he really wants.’

Duval. At the sound of that hated name, quite involuntarily, Georgia’s fists clenched. The owner of the French fashion chain which had been trying to buy her shop, Duval had come personally to pay her a visit once, seeking to win her round with a mixture of promises and veiled threats. And, though she’d no actual proof, she was totally convinced that Duval had been behind the series of events—including the storeroom fire and the wrangle over her lease—which had suddenly started happening after she’d refused to play ball.

Georgia didn’t scare easily, but Duval had scared her. For a time, it had looked as though he might manage to drive her out of business.

She felt a chill touch her skin now as, in a clinical tone, Lasalle spelled out to her, ‘Your shop is perfect for Duval. Just what he’s been searching for to provide him with a foothold so he can start expanding into Britain. And, believe me, he’s absolutely determined to have it.’

‘You would know that, of course.’ Anger and disgust filled her and she made no attempt to keep them from her voice. ‘Since it’s perfectly clear that you’re one of his lackeys. You’re a little different from the others, of course. Not quite so crude. I congratulate Duval on his subtle change of tactics.

‘But it’s not going to work. I’m going to give you exactly the same reply as I gave the others... Go back and tell Duval he’ll never have my shop. And now...’ she tossed her head at him ‘...get out of my way and let me past.’

‘I’m not Duval’s lackey.’

Georgia flicked him a scathing look. My, but weren’t those low-lifes touchy? ‘OK. Employee, then. I’m sorry I trod on a tender nerve. But the message is still the same.’ She glared into his face. ‘And now, for the last time, get out of my way.’

‘I’m not his employee either. I don’t work for Duval. That’s not why I’m here. Like I told you, I’m here to help you.’

‘Oh, yes. I forgot. And why do you want to help me? You didn’t get round to telling me that.’

‘No, I didn’t. My reasons are not something you need to know. Just be grateful that I do want to help you, Miss Dee—for, believe me, you very much need my help.’ His eyes raked her face, then suddenly he smiled. ‘Put it down to my passion for helping damsels in distress.’

‘So, you’re a white knight in disguise?’ She really was supposed to believe that! ‘Well, I’m sorry, Monsieur Lasalle, but I’m afraid I don’t buy that. I stopped believing in fairy tales when I was twelve years old.’

‘But you still believe in monsters? Having met Duval, you must.’ The deep blue eyes looked steadily into hers. ‘And though, alas, I’m definitely no white knight, I can help you fight the monster Duval.’

There was a silence. Georgia stared at him, suddenly unsure what to believe. There’d been an earnest fless, almost an urgency in his eyes when he’d spoken then. Could he be on the level, after all? Was he really here to help her? Ought she to listen to whatever it was he’d come to say?

He seemed to read her mind. ‘Let’s go inside and talk. It’s important. I know how much your shop means to you.’

‘I doubt that.’

She glanced away. Her shop meant the world to her. For over three years she’d poured herself, body and heart and soul, into making it the runaway success it had become. It was the fulfilment of a dream. A lifetime’s ambition realized. But it was much, much more to her than just a business. It was the means to enable her to pay back those she loved. The thought of losing it and all it stood for made her blood run cold.

‘All the more reason to hear me out. Come on. Let’s go inside.’ As he spoke, he stepped forward and touched her lightly on the arm.

The touch of him scorched her. Something flared deep inside. A rush of excitement. A twist of longing like a knife. Georgia almost gasped out loud as she blinked up into his face.

Next moment, she was drowning in the black-fringed blue eyes, feeling the warm, physical aura of him wrap around her like an embrace. She opened her mouth, a mere breath away from saying, OK.

But at the last moment she stopped as a sense of panic seized her. It was utterly insane, but all at once she had the feeling of having been taken over by some irresistible force. He has the power, she suddenly sensed, to make me do anything he wishes. But I must resist. I must. Hurriedly, she took a step back.

‘No!’

Her tone was firm. She glared into his face. Jean-Claude Lasalle was clearly under the illusion that all he had to do to win any woman over was just look at her with those wonderful cobalt-blue eyes of his and treat her to one of his heart-stopping smiles. And no doubt it usually worked. Women would drop like ninepins at his feet. She’d very nearly dropped like a ninepin herself. It was the raw sexuality of him. Some rare magic he possessed.

But she refused to be one of his conquests. She would not do as he wished. She had no reason to trust him and every reason not to. In recent weeks, she’d learned to be sparing with her trust—especially when dealing with mysterious Frenchmen who were displaying just a little too much interest in her shop. Who knew what he might be planning?

‘No!’ she said again. ‘I’ve already told you the arrangement. If you want to discuss my business, you’re going to have to speak to my solicitors.’

‘And I’ve already told you I’ve no intention of doing that.’ The seductive charm had gone. His eyes were hard again. ‘I speak to you or I speak to no one. And time is short. I’ll be leaving Bath first thing tomorrow. So, if you want to hear what I have to say, you’d better make up your mind fast’

‘I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t want to hear what you have to say.’ Georgia shot him a withering look. ‘Now get out of my way.’

‘You’re making a big mistake.’ He ignored her command, and that withering look had simply bounced off him like rainwater. ‘But do what you like. I’m not going to insist If you want Duval to take your shop from you, what business is it of mine?’

He glanced down at her with a grim smile. ‘And he will take it from you. I know Duval well and that’s one thing I can guarantee.’

‘Don’t try to intimidate me! I’m not scared by your stupid threats! And if you don’t get out of here this minute I’m going to call the police and have you thrown off my property!’

But he was already leaving anyway, heading swiftly up the gravel path. At the gate, he turned to look at her. That was a warning, not a threat. And you’re just wasting precious energy shouting at me when you ought to be saving it for your coming fight with Duval.’ He flicked her a dark look. ‘He hasn’t finished with you yet.’

‘How do you know? You do work for him, don’t you?’ Anger and fear and confusion rushed inside her. ‘Since you seem to know so much, why don’t you tell me what he’s planning?’

He answered none of her questions. ‘Up until now, you’ve had it easy. He’s played pretty clean, at least by his standards. But all that’s about to change. He’s beginning to get impatient. And when Duval gets impatient he starts to play dirty and he doesn’t give a damn who he destroys in the process.’

Georgia was aware that her cheeks had turned as white as sheets of paper. She stared at Lasalle numbly as he pulled open the gate.

‘I don’t believe you. You’re making all this up. You’re just trying to scare me. But I’m sorry, it won’t work.’

Brave words, but even to her own ears they sounded hollow. She did believe him and she definitely was scared.

She watched in dismay as the gate shut with a dismissive click. Then, without so much as a backward glance at her, Lasalle was stepping off the pavement and striding across the road to where a shiny low black Porsche was parked. As he snatched the door open and was about to climb inside, sudden panic rose up in Georgia’s throat.

‘Wait! Where are you going? Hang on! Don’t go yet!’

Without realizing what she was doing, Georgia was hurrying up the path after him. Perhaps she’d been too hasty. She ought to have listened to him, after all. He’d offered to help her. She shouldn’t have just sent him away.

She reached the gate as he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door.

‘Wait!’ she called out. ‘Please wait! Please come back!

But he paid her no heed. With a squeal of tyres, he was gone.

Jean-Claude got back to his hotel in central Bath to find a whole stack of phone messages and faxes waiting for him at Reception.

‘You’re an extremely sought-after man.’ The receptionist smiled at him prettily, cheeks pinking with pleasure as the blue eyes smiled back at her. For Georgia had been perfectly correct in her assumption that women the world over, regardless of age or race, tended to fall like ninepins at Jean-Claude’s well-shod feet.

Jean-Claude was not unaware of this power he possessed and which he’d first properly recognized at about the age of sixteen, and he’d never been particularly reticent about exploiting it. Good fortune, he firmly believed, was not something to be wasted, particularly not good fortune with women.

For Jean-Claude loved women. Looking at them. Being with them. Talking to them. Making love to them. Without women the world would be a grey and charmless place.

All the same, as he took his pile of messages and told the pink-cheeked receptionist, “Thank you, mademoiselle,’ flirtation was actually the last thing on his mind. At the sight of the heap of paperwork, his brain had switched instantly to business, and no woman yet had succeeded for very long in taking precedence over business in his personal list of priorities.

For, as much as he loved women, he had yet to discover one who stimulated and satisfied him half as much as his work. His work was what drove him. Women were a hobby—albeit a hobby which he pursued with great passion.

As he headed for the lift, he was already flicking through the sheaf of messages, a couple of which required urgent responses. He glanced at his watch as the lift doors opened, If he got down to it, he’d have time to fit those in before dinner.

He stepped into the lift. One of the messages, however, he would put aside to deal with later. It concerned the business he’d just been dealing with, the business of Georgia Dee, which at the moment could best be described as unconcluded. Remembering, he smiled. Georgia Dee was full of surprises.

His first sight of her had been perhaps the biggest surprise of all, for she was not at all what he’d been expecting. He’d known she would be young—twenty six years old, according to his information—but he’d been expecting some hard-bitten, tough-faced businesswoman, for who else would have the guts to stand up to a man like Duval? But, instead, she was the most beautiful, fresh, lovely creature, with the face of an angel and a body to invite sin—a perfectly irresistible combination!

As the lift soared up towards the top floor, Jean-Claude frowned to himself. What, if anything, should he do about Miss Dee? When he’d left her fifteen minutes ago in a blaze of frustration, it had been his intention simply to wash his hands of her. Chances were he could manage without her assistance anyway, though her cooperation might have made his task a little easier.

But now his mood had mellowed. Whether he really needed her or not, he rather liked the idea of having another go at winning her round. For a start, he was extremely partial to brunettes, especially brunettes with such glorious hazel eyes. And she had lots of spirit, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than crossing swords with a spirited woman. Unless, of course, it was making love to her.

As the lift doors opened, he stepped out onto the landing, a sense of warm anticipation gathering in his heart. Over dinner, he’d decide how to bring these pleasures within his grasp.

Lasalle wasn’t staying at the first hotel Georgia phoned. Nor at the second one and nor at the third. Maybe, she thought bleakly, he wasn’t staying at a hotel at all. Perhaps, instead, he was staying with friends. And time was so short. He’d said he was leaving Bath first thing tomorrow. How would she manage to track him down before then?

But then, with her fourth try, she finally struck gold.

‘Yes, we do have a Mr Jean-Claude Lasalle staying with us,’ the receptionist told her. ‘Would you like me to put you through—?’

Georgia cut in quickly, ‘No, thanks. Please don’t bother. I’d prefer to drop round to the hotel and speak to him in person.’

Ten minutes later, she was jumping into her red Polo and heading for the city centre.

Thank heavens! she thought. I’m saved! It was like winning a reprieve. Since that terrifying moment when she’d stood at the garden gate and watched him disappear in the proverbial cloud of dust, she’d been utterly convinced that she’d made a ghastly mistake.

Maybe he wasn’t genuine. There was always that possibility. But she also had to consider the possibility that he was. And if that was the case and he really did want to help her, then she’d been out of her mind to dismiss him the way she had. If it was true that Duval was about to come after her again, she was going to need every bit of help she could get.

She shivered, remembering all the strange things that had started happening after she’d turned down Duval’s third and final offer.

The first odd occurrence had concerned the lease on her shop. She’d been about to renew it, a perfectly routine affair, when suddenly, out of the blue, she’d been notified by her landlord that the lease was not renewable, after all. She’d have to find new premises by the end of the month.

That had been a nightmare. She could never have done it. Suitable premises in the city centre were rarer than hens’ teeth. But at the very last moment her solicitor had established that her landlord had no right to refuse to renew her lease.

Still, that hadn’t been the end of it. Next, her landlord had tripled the rent.

It had been totally out of the question that she could ever have paid such a sum, and for a while it had looked as though she might actually have to sell her flat in order to keep going till she could find new, cheaper premises. But in the end, after a fight, her landlord had been forced to back down again. He’d still put the rent up, but not by three times what it had been.

Georgia had barely recovered from all that when there was a fire in the storeroom which resulted in her losing most of her stock. The insurance company had paid up, but what was lost was irreplaceable. The only thing to be grateful for was that it had happened in between seasons, before the bulk of her summer stock arrived from France. Otherwise, it would have been a total disaster.

She’d no evidence to prove it, but Georgia was convinced that Duval was the one she had to thank for all her troubles. Each time something had happened, he’d instantly materialised, either by phone or in the shape of one of his lackeys, renewing his last offer, urging her to accept it and dropping hints that she’d be extremely unwise not to cooperate.

It had been a nerve-racking time, but Georgia had held out and, in the end, Duval had dropped from sight. Her solicitor had told her it was safe to assume that he’d finally abandoned his bid to take her over. But now Lasalle was saying that this wasn’t so and warning her that Duval was about to start playing dirty. That scared her to bits. What was dirty in Duval’s book? She’d been under the impression he was playing dirty already!

Of course, as far as Lasalle himself was concerned, there were still a lot of questions to be answered. Who was he? Who was he working for? Why did he want to help her? But, all the same, she was convinced that it had been a big mistake to send him away without even hearing what he had to say. If there was any chance at all that he really was genuine, she had to find a way to get him back on her side again.

As she headed through the light evening traffic in the city centre, Georgia was already planning how she would do that. She’d get him alone and apologize profusely for her rudeness, beg him to forgive her and plead for his help. And since it was a pretty safe bet that he was the type of man who would enjoy a begging, pleading woman—it would appeal to his overbearing masculine vanity!—he’d soon forgive her and do as she wished. Then, when she’d had a chance to consider what he had to say to her, she’d be able to judge whether he was genuine or not.

She smiled to herself. It was going to be easy. She had Jean-Claude Lasalle all figured out.

At the hotel reception desk, however, she received a bit of bad news.

‘I’m sorry,’ the receptionist told her, casting a quick glance behind her at the row of numbered cubby-holes where the guests’ keys were kept, ‘but Mr Lasalle appears to have gone out.’

Damn. ‘I don’t suppose he said where he was going?’ If she knew where he’d gone, maybe she could go after him.

But the receptionist shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea. We don’t keep track of our guests’ movements,’ she added sniffily.

Georgia took a seat in a corner of the lobby with a good view of the door. Chances were he’d gone out to dinner, but it would be pointless to try and track him down, for there were any number of restaurants he might have gone to. No, she’d just have to sit here and wait till he got back.

She leaned back and suppressed a sigh. It would probably be a long wait. Jean-Claude Lasalle, with his designer suits and shiny Porsche, was not the type of man to make do with a quick bite. No takeaway Chinese or instant hamburger for him. He’d be treating himself to three leisurely courses of Bath’s best, with a bottle of good wine and a shot of brandy to follow. Suppressing another small sigh, she reached for one of the magazines on the table.

An hour and a half later, there was still no sign of him. Georgia stood up to stretch her legs and stifled a yawn. She’d read every single magazine on the table from cover to cover and she was starting to grow tired of the sniffy receptionist’s beady stare. Maybe she thinks I’m some high-class hooker who’s arrived a little early for my appointment! she thought.

But there was a more worrying consideration. It was far too hot here in the lobby and she’d caught herself very nearly nodding off a couple of times! That really was serious. Imagine the disaster if she was sitting there in a state of oblivious slumber when he finally walked into the lobby! For it was perfectly possible that the beady-eyed receptionist might not actually bother to tell him she was there. He could be fast asleep in bed by the time she discovered he was back.

Georgia frowned. Maybe I ought to stay on my feet and pace about, she told herself. That would keep me awake, as well as entertaining the receptionist! But then she had a much better idea.

She crossed again to the reception desk. ‘I wonder if you’d mind checking if Mr Lasalle has left a message for me?’ She smiled a long-suffering smile. ‘You see, he was supposed to meet me here, and I can’t believe he’d be this late without letting me know.’

With a haughty little smile, the receptionist obliged, turning to the row of cubby-holes behind her. Then, as Georgia held her breath, terrified her ruse mightn’t work, she proceeded to do precisely what Georgia had prayed she’d do. She reached up and inserted her hand into one of the cubby-holes.

A moment later, she was examining the slip of paper she’d removed. ‘No, I’m afraid there’s no message. This is a fax for Mr Lasalle.’ And she returned the slip of paper to the cubby-holes.

Georgia was struggling not to grin. Of course there was no message for her! But she’d got what she wanted. She now knew his room number, something the sniffy receptionist would never voluntarily have told her. So she could go ahead and put her brilliant idea into action!

She went back to her seat, picked up a magazine at random and waited till the receptionist disappeared into the office behind the desk, as she did from time to time. Then Georgia leapt to her feet, tore across the lobby and dived through the doorway that led to the lifts and stairs. Scarcely pausing for breath, she sprinted up to the top floor.

What she’d do was wait for him outside his room. There, she’d be able to pace about in private and, when he finally arrived, she’d be able to speak to him more easily, away from curious, prying eyes.

As she approached his room, however, she was taken by surprise. A maid suddenly emerged through the half-open door, carrying an armful of used bath towels.

‘Good evening.’ She smiled at Georgia. ‘I’ve just been tidying the bathroom.’ And she held the door open to allow her to pass inside.

Georgia’s immediate, instinctive reaction was to point out the mistake.

‘It’s not my room,’ she was about to confess. ‘I’m not even a guest here.’

But, for some quite unfathomable reason, she didn’t.

She hesitated for only a second. ‘Thank you,’ she replied. Then, with barely a thought for what she might be walking into, she quickly squared her shoulders and strode through the open door.