Midnight Wedding Page 5

  ‘You could stay here.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Why not? I’ve reserved a room for you.’

  ‘Because I can’t afford it,’ Holly said patiently.

  That tapping foot was mesmerising. He seemed full of pent-up energy. What would it be like if he caught her up in it? What would it be like if he was not involved with work and on the point of leaving? What if he touched—?

  Holly caught her thoughts just as they were about to run away with her.

  ‘I can’t afford it,’ she said again, not entirely referring to the room rate.

  ‘I can.’

  Holly stiffened. Her years on the road had taught her that offers of free bed and board seldom came without strings.

  Jack read her mind, it seemed. His eyes darkened until they looked almost black.

  ‘No need to look like that. I told you, I’ve got to work tonight.’

  Holly felt a fool. She took refuge in indignation.

  ‘Well, what was I supposed to think? Most guys want something in return.’

  Their eyes locked. Holly could almost hear the clash of swords.

  And more than that. For a moment, turbulent impatience came off him in waves. As if he could not wait to be off and was furious with himself for staying. As if he could not help himself.

  She blinked, utterly disconcerted.

  Jack’s mouth thinned. ‘You’ve been playing with the wrong guys,’ he said curtly.

  ‘I—’

  He took no notice. ‘Still, it’s up to you. The room is there if you want it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No bill.’ He was nearly spitting the words out. ‘No payment in kind. Goodnight.’

  And he was gone before she could think of one word to stop him.

  ‘Damn,’ said Holly with real feeling.

  She had simmered down by the time Ramon got back with her things. He came into the bar bearing her flute case and an incongruous plastic bag with a dusty pair of jeans and her canvas satchel spilling out of it. Holly seized the bag and began to rummage.

  Ramon felt in his jacket pocket. ‘If you’re looking for your passport, I’ve got it here.’

  He gave her an odd look. Holly did not notice. She just grabbed the little booklet with relief.

  ‘There was no money,’ said Ramon conscientiously. ‘Or keys.’

  Holly grinned and pulled a slim fold of notes out of her back pocket. ‘I never take more than running-away money to the club. As for my key—’ She shook her wrist and Ramon saw that she wore a charm bracelet. A serviceable key was attached to it.

  ‘Clever.’ He did not sound very comfortable about it. He looked round. ‘Where’s Jack?’

  Holly’s cheerfulness faded. ‘There was a phone call. He said he had to work.’

  Ramon groaned. ‘There goes another night’s sleep. I’d better go and see what he wants me to do.’ He hesitated, already halfway into the task. ‘You OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, as she had said to Jack. She had to be fine, she told herself. ‘Er—I suppose Brendan had gone by the time you got there?’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I don’t think you need to worry. The people at the club all seem to be on your side.’

  Ramon shifted uncomfortably. He had had a surprising conversation with Gilbert. He still did not know what to do about it.

  Holly said with constraint, ‘That’s nice of them.’

  She retrieved the discarded flute from the barman and began to dismantle it. Ramon watched.

  ‘Is it damaged?’

  She smiled. ‘It’s been through worse.’ She stowed it carefully and snapped the flute case shut. ‘You’ve been very kind. Thank you.’

  She held her hand out. Ramon recognised finality. He took her hand with reluctance.

  ‘I didn’t do anything. You should be thanking Jack.’

  ‘Both of you,’ she conceded. ‘I’m grateful. Really.’

  She picked up the plastic bag and the flute case. Ramon thought of what Jack would say if she left like this. ‘Aren’t you staying here?’

  ‘No.’ She offered no further explanation.

  Ramon’s heart sank. ‘I’m sure Jack was expecting…’

  ‘Yes, we’ve discussed it. He knows I’m going home.’

  She made for the door, undeterred. Ramon slip-stepped beside her.

  ‘Won’t you at least say goodbye to him?’

  Holly sent him an ironic look. ‘And disturb his work?’

  ‘Well…’

  He was so worried that Holly softened.

  ‘You and Mr Armour have already given me more help than I have any right to expect from strangers,’ she said kindly. ‘Brendan is my problem and I must find a way to deal with him. This is where I start.’

  ‘Gone!’

  The receptionist was apologetic. ‘I was off duty when she left last night but…’

  ‘Last night!’ Jack swung round on Ramon. ‘Did you know about this?’

  Ramon thought he had never known Jack to lose his cool so completely. Under the smooth golden skin, he was white. A little muscle worked at his jaw.

  Ramon shifted from one foot to the other. ‘She said thank you,’ he offered.

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. Ramon felt as if ice water was trickling down his spine. Then Jack turned away abruptly and reverted to the desk clerk. His mouth was tight as a vice.

  ‘She must have left a message.’

  The desk clerk scanned the pigeonholes.

  Ramon twitched Jack’s sleeve. ‘I told you—she said thank you. And that you were working, so she didn’t want to disturb you.’

  Jack ignored him. There was a handful of messages. Some made Jack’s eyebrows knit in a hard line. But, thought Ramon, reading his expression with an experienced eye, not one was what he was looking for. Ramon sighed.

  ‘Nothing from Holly Dent, huh?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So she’s done a runner. Seems a habit with her. Well, at least that’s one less thing for us to worry about.’ He just managed not to turn it into a question.

  Jack’s face took on its stony look. Ramon had seen that look before. He sighed; and decided that he had to share last night’s gossip after all.

  ‘Look, Jack,’ he said hardily, ‘she was stringing us along. The guy who runs the club said she was on the run from her husband.’

  Jack just stared at him.

  ‘In all likelihood, Brendan whatever-his-name-was is her husband, not her brother-in-law,’ Ramon repeated urgently. ‘You don’t want to be caught between husband and wife, do you?’

  He did not add ‘again’. He did not have to. The dark, dark eyes looked at him as if they did not see him.

  ‘She was terrified,’ Jack said almost to himself.

  ‘She said she was terrified.’ Ramon hesitated. ‘Oh, what the hell? I looked in her flute case. The name in it was not Holly Dent.’

  That got a reaction all right. The dark eyes lifted scorchingly.

  ‘What was it?’ Jack demanded. ‘Sugrue?’

  ‘N-no,’ Ramon admitted, startled by the intensity. ‘I don’t remember. I didn’t take much notice, to be honest.’

  ‘Too busy hustling her out of the door,’ said Jack, his mouth white.

  Ramon was stung. ‘That’s not true. I told her you were expecting her to stay and she said you already knew she was leaving. All right, I was relieved. But I didn’t persuade her. And I didn’t hustle her out of the door.’

  Jack riffled the papers between his fingers absently.

  ‘I don’t believe that girl is married,’ he said at last.

  Ramon flung up his hands. ‘You don’t want to believe.’

  ‘Nonsense. Why should I care?’

  ‘Exactly,’ cried Ramon in triumph. ‘Why do you care about a girl you never saw before yesterday?’

  The papers stilled in Jack’s hands.

  ‘She was brave enough later but when she saw that man she went to pieces,’ he said at last in a low voice. H
is mouth twisted as if he was in pain. ‘No one should be that afraid.’

  Ramon’s heart sank. But he said robustly, ‘When she went, she said Brendan was her problem and she would sort it out. She didn’t want you interfering.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Jack gave a short laugh.

  ‘The story of my life,’ he said with savage self-mockery.

  Ramon winced.

  ‘It’s OK, Ramon. You don’t have to rub it in. I’ve got the message. Holly Dent doesn’t need any help. I am off the hook.’

  Ramon gave silent thanks.

  Holly had a bad night, haunted by a tall man with high cheekbones and unreadable eyes. In the morning her tawny eyes were enormous in a face as pale as meringue. Even overworked Chef Pierre commented on it.

  ‘You look rough,’ he said helpfully. ‘Did the boyfriend catch up with you after all?’ He was Gilbert’s cousin, which was how she had found the job at Club Thaïs in the first place.

  Holly was tying an apron over her jeans. Her head reared up at that. ‘He’s no boyfriend of mine.’

  Pierre did not stop filling quiches but his eyebrows flew up. ‘You mean he really is your husband? I thought that story was just for Gilbert’s benefit.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said understanding. ‘You mean Brendan.’

  This time Pierre did stop filling quiches. ‘Who else?’

  Holly flushed, appalled. Why on earth had her mind jumped to Jack Armour? She turned the tap on and began to scrub her hands with quite unnecessary vigour.

  ‘Never mind.’

  He went back to his work. ‘So which one makes you look like only half of you came to work this morning?’

  Holly was startled. She peered at her wavery reflection in the shiny steel draining board. ‘That bad?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pierre brutally. ‘So you got away from Monsieur Brendan all right?’

  She tensed involuntarily. Doing her best to ignore it, she pulled a face. ‘So far.’

  ‘I’ve warned the others. If the guy comes back again they’re not to tell him anything. They’ll be more careful next time.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Holly.

  But she was sure it would only be a matter of time before Brendan tracked her down. He had done it before—in Barcelona, in Dublin. No reason to think he would have lost his touch in Paris. She would just have to leave as soon as possible.

  She told Pierre as soon as they were alone in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry. Of course I won’t leave you in the lurch. But I’d be really glad if you can get someone to take over from me before the end of the week.’

  The young chef’s eyebrows rose. ‘That soon? Going away with someone?’

  Holly shook her head vigorously. ‘Travelling alone. I always travel alone.’

  But—just for a moment—she thought about Jack Armour again and wished…

  Pierre laughed. And Holly, cheeks flaming, flung herself into rolling pastry with such energy that it ended up almost transparent.

  The events of the night had left Jack in savage form, as the International Disaster Committee found to its cost. The Committee was willing to discuss detailed projections, said the Chair kindly. Now if they could just consider a few alternative scenarios…

  Three hours later she was looking as if she had gone ten rounds with a world-class heavyweight. The coffee was long finished. Most of the bottles of mineral water were empty, too. And Jack was clearly just getting into his stride.

  ‘Now, as you’ve already pointed out, Madam Chair, those last figures assume that all sites are accessible which, as we know, is not the case. So my next assumptions—’

  He passed round a package of ten sheets or so, one for each person round the table. The committee’s expressions ranged from horrified to depressed. Ramon bit back a smile. Jack in negotiating mode was inventive.

  ‘Well, perhaps we might take a short break,’ said the Chair desperately.

  Jack managed to look disappointed. But he acquiesced and soon they were out in the corridor again.

  ‘What are you doing?’ muttered Ramon. ‘Drowning them in paper?’

  Jack’s eyes glinted. ‘Making a good case for three times what we need. By the time I’ve finished with them, they’ll think they were lucky to settle for the base figure.’

  He was right.

  ‘I’ll sign the letter of confirmation as soon as the secretariat can prepare it,’ said the Chair, giving in gracefully.

  ‘Tonight,’ the committee secretary assured her.

  Jack frowned. ‘But we need to start drawing against the funds as soon as possible for the Ignaz operation.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Armour,’ said the Chair, not without a touch of malice. She knew that Jack avoided official functions with skill and dedication. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll be going to the President’s Dinner this evening. I’ll have someone deliver it to you personally.’

  For the second time that day, Ramon hid bubbling laughter.

  The Place des Abbesses was one of the Métro’s original stations. The stone steps came up to a lovely confection of curlicued iron railings at street level under a canopy of frosted glass. Normally Holly never emerged without taking a moment to savour that canopy. Its ribs of steel always reminded her of the pleats on an Edwardian bonnet.

  Today she did not spare it a glance. Nor the trees in their lacy spring leaf. April sunshine blasted the white-painted buildings like a spotlight but Holly did not notice.

  Where next? she was thinking. Brussels? London? But Brussels was too small. Brendan would find her even more easily than he had in Paris. And the thought of London appalled her, with its dirt and heartless crowds and, worst of all, its hurtful memories.

  How was it that the memories of really good times could be more hurtful than pain?

  She started back up the hill towards her rented room, brooding. How many more times could she pack up and move on? How much longer could she pretend that it did not matter that she had no home? That every time she made a friend she had to remind herself that the friendship was provisional until Brendan and all the Lansing family caught up with her again?

  At least she had not pretended with Jack Armour, Holly thought suddenly. She had not had the time. Anyway, he had seen Brendan Sugrue at his bullying worst. So Jack Armour knew her as nobody else had done since she was a schoolgirl. It was an odd feeling. Scary but, somehow, a challenge…

  Holly stopped dead, shocked. She was in front of a pillar advertising a new play and an old opera. She did not read either notice.

  A challenge? A challenge? Was she seriously thinking that Gorgeous Jack and his high-handed ways would carry on strolling through her life? She had never met him before yesterday and he had hardly been conciliating. Surely she did not want to see the man again?

  But he made me feel safe.

  For a moment she almost thought she had spoken aloud. Holly was shocked. She looked round furtively. But none of the springtime tourists seemed to have heard anything. They went on chatting and photographing, hardly noticing as Holly pushed between them.

  She took herself to task with force.

  What sort of an idiot was she? Safety was a cruel illusion. The most you could hope for was peace of mind. All that men did was threaten that precarious equilibrium.

  Well, maybe not all men. Some were like Chef Pierre, preoccupied but basically well-meaning. Some were carefully uninvolved, like Gilbert. And too many thought that they could sort out your problems by hijacking your life. You just could not afford to let them too close.

  Remember Mum, thought Holly painfully. If ever there was a woman who had paid dearly for letting a man too close, it was her mother.

  No, relying on yourself was best. It might get lonely sometimes. But loneliness was manageable. The sort of destruction sown by men like Brendan Sugrue and, Heaven help her, her tycoon father was not.

  So she was going to stop dreaming wistful dreams about Jack Armour and make some sensible plans.

  She s
et off briskly through the steep streets. She had a room over a café which boasted a romantic history of talented artists and impoverished musicians. The food was indifferent and the building horribly run down but the room was cheap and the landlord had not asked for references.

  She smiled wryly. It was to be hoped that the next landlord in the next city would be equally relaxed. In the meantime, she had better pack her few possessions so that she could take off at a moment’s notice.

  She was just starting to do that when there was a perfunctory knock on the door of her room. Holly spun round, shocked into mouse stillness. Another knock—then the rickety door burst open as if someone had put his shoulder to it.

  Holly stood frozen, her face perfectly white.

  Jack Armour dusted off his hands, straightened his jacket and said, ‘It’s all right. It’s me.’

  Holly did not move.

  With an impatient exclamation, he strode forward and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Don’t look like that.’

  Holly pulled herself together with a great effort. She twitched her shoulders out of his grasp.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice cracked.

  He had been asking himself the very same thing, ever since he got her address from Gilbert at Le Club Thaïs. He had still not achieved an answer. So he ignored the question.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘No, we don’t.’

  ‘Believe me, we do.’

  Holly closed her eyes briefly. He makes me feel safe. That was crazy.

  She opened her eyes. ‘Why?’ she said with an effort.

  ‘Because Brendan Sugrue has been leaving messages for me,’ he said levelly.

  The sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheekbones stood out like toast crumbs. With her long plait, she looked about six, Jack thought. It infuriated him. He wanted to take her face between his hands and tell her to trust him. That made him want to shout with rage. He did not.

  Instead he half turned away and said in his most neutral voice, ‘The hotel tells me he has been round in person twice already today.’

  She looked sick. ‘Oh, God.’

  He waited.

  At last she shook her head as if to clear it. ‘What did you tell him?’

  Jack’s mouth thinned. ‘Oh, sure, of course I told a violent man everything I knew about you. Which you had seen to wasn’t much, for that matter. Good forward thinking, that.’