Love in Vogue (29 page)

‘Did Stessenberg give you much trouble?’ enquired Toinette. ‘He’s rather an enigmatic character.’

‘Oh, he’s not such a bad old stick when you get to know him.’

Corinne, who had been keeping an eye on things from a distance, managed to shake off Paul and drag Miles and Yves away to evade further questions. Georges and Toinette remained in their corner, perplexed.

‘Did you believe him?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure. It sounds far too neat. But I’m certainly not complaining. It’s the best news I’ve had for over six months. If Corinne and Yolande would only come to some agreement, my mind would be perfectly at ease.’

Toinette took a cigarette from her case and lit up. ‘It doesn’t look too good with Yolande, I’m afraid. She’s coming over in the summer so they can start haggling over the art collection.’

‘Jean-Claude would turn in his grave.’

‘Quite. I suppose I’ll have to move again once it’s all settled. Miles will obviously move in here, and I’d hate to be in the way.’ She paused. ‘I’ve had a letter from my husband.’

‘What!’

‘He’s coming to Paris in April and wants to see me with his lawyer.’

‘Would you like me to be there?’

Toinette patted his arm. ‘I’d really appreciate it, Georges. I thought I’d seen the last of that bastard ten years ago.’

Georges sighed. Bernard Brozard was bad news. A washed-up professional skier, he had attempted to extort money from Jean-Claude Marchand once he found out about his relationship with Toinette. He’d cleaned her out when he’d walked out on her two years before that, not that it made a difference to the brutal way he treated her. Georges and Jean-Claude had rushed to the Avenue Foch in response to a frantic telephone call, to find Toinette slumped on the floor, battered and bleeding. A very nasty business. It had been hushed up, of course. Brozard had been served with a restraining order, and Toinette had been treated at a discreet private clinic. Fortunately Corinne and Yolande were away in England, and Jean-Claude made sure they never heard about it.

‘I assume he won’t be coming here?’

‘God, no! He’s going to stay at the Bristol, so we’ll meet him there.’

‘Must be doing well.’

‘I expect he’s finally inherited from that old uncle of his in Geneva. That’s all Bernard ever thought about when he was sober.’

‘How did a rat like that ever persuade you to marry him?’

‘I was overpowered, I suppose. He was so handsome in those days. His skiing career was really taking off, and everyone said he had world class potential. He loved me, and I was bored with life in Strasbourg. So I married him. Perhaps if he hadn’t had such a bad accident he wouldn’t have turned to drink. The treatment was horrendous – and extremely expensive. He just took it out on me.’

Georges shook his head and relinquished his seat to the financial journalist Laurent Dobry, who had been hovering on the fringes of the conversation. Toinette was another person entirely, then. Pretty, laughing, flirtatious; nothing like the mature cynic who took over in moments of reflection. He wandered over to Yves, who was standing alone by the door, having eluded Corinne’s attempt to thrust him into company.

‘What’s all this about substantially increasing our stake in Elegance Hotels?’ Yves asked for the sake of saying something.

‘Still on the drawing board at the moment. I’ll give you a full rundown next week. They’d like us to complete the deal we had on the table before Yolande sold out. Corinne’s giving it serious consideration.’

‘I see.’ Yves put down his glass and prepared to leave. ‘Think I’ll shoot off. I’ve got a heavy day tomorrow.’

‘Of course, Philippe’s home! I’d quite forgotten. How is he?’

‘Great. He’s rather tied up at the moment, but he’ll be making a few announcements later on.’

Corinne came over and accompanied Yves to the door, a little put out that although he’d been as polite as the occasion required, he had virtually ignored everyone. But she understood his reasons, and said nothing. Yves returned alone to his flat, and went to bed thinking of Yolande. He always did.

‘Jesus, Althea, this place is turning into a hotel! I’m tired, I want to relax, and you’ve got that dumb movie crowd here again.’

‘OK, Hank, OK. I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow. I’ll send them away.’

He slumped down on the bed, looking haggard, his suit crumpled and his tie loose. Althea forced a smile to hide her annoyance. Something must have happened to bring him back from New York on a Thursday evening. It couldn’t be more inconvenient. Patrick was here without Yolande again, and they could have had the place to themselves when Vic and the others had gone.

‘Shall I fix you a drink?’

‘Please – bourbon and soda.’

‘Why don’t you freshen up and change into something comfortable, darling? By the time you’re through I’ll have gotten them to quit.’

‘OK.’ He stretched out a hand and half-smiled. ‘Thanks, sweetheart.’

Althea went back to her guests. Only an intimate party, so there wasn’t too much fuss. Jayne Herford had already left. Vic and his wife lived nearby and were about to call it a night, knowing that Hank in a bad mood was best avoided. Patrick, however, was not visible.

‘He’s out on the terrace,’ said Vic in response to Althea’s query.

‘I guess I’ll have to kick him out.’ She smiled. ‘I must get Hank back into the human race.’

‘Good luck with that.’ Vic kissed her goodbye. Not wanting to alert Juanita, Althea took a generous bourbon through to the master bedroom, where Hank was undressing for a bath. ‘Your drink, honey. I won’t be a moment. They haven’t all left yet.’

‘OK. I’m in no rush.’

She hurried out to the terrace. Patrick was wandering up and down smoking a cigarette, looking, she thought, distractingly kissable in tight jeans and T-shirt.

‘Althea! At last. I need to talk to you.’

‘Not now, Patrick. My husband’s come home. The others have gone already.’

He groaned. ‘Shit! This was my last chance until after Easter.’

‘What makes you think you have a chance?’ she enquired, her expression wry. At least he was open about it.

‘You do. You’re so sexy.’ Suddenly she was in his arms, and his kisses were burning her lips. ‘I want you, Althea. I always get what I want.’

She tried weakly to push him off, but his kisses were delicious. When he pushed his tongue between her lips, resistance melted. Sensing acquiescence, Patrick slipped his hand between her thighs, pulled aside her thong, stroked. She struggled, but her mouth clung to his desperately.

‘Patrick, you must go!’

But her body was arching unbidden towards his. He was delighted to find her so hot and horny. She gasped as his fingers pushed up inside her.

‘Althea, I want you now. Now!’

‘But my husband!’

‘Where is he?’

‘Taking a bath.’

She found herself propelled through the French doors into the sitting room. Patrick ran upstairs and along to Hank’s bathroom; sounds of splashing water and financial reports on the television. He returned to the sitting room, locked the door, and unzipped his jeans.

Althea watched, fascinated and unresisting. He was so gorgeous, so young, so dominant. Afterwards she didn’t remember how she had been overwhelmed, only the desire throbbing through her, the need to take him. He wanted her. He made her feel young again. He pulled her thighs apart and knelt on the floor, and began to do incredible things to her with his tongue.

‘You’re lovely, Althea. Beautiful.’ His eyes bored into hers, enjoying her pleasure.

She had to bite her lips to stop herself screaming as he brought her to the edge. Then he plunged into her, and all that mattered was his inexorable rhythm until they came together in a suppressed howl of exultation. It seemed impossible that only a few days ago she’d been afraid to touch him. Now she was irritated by their remaining clothes and the inhibiting circumstances.

‘You find it really hard to be quiet, don’t you?’ Patrick said, amused, hurriedly pulling on his clothes. When he was dressed, he held her fast in his arms, kissing her, whispering endearments. They had to fix another meeting, but he was going on location, then his mother would be visiting California. ‘After Easter should be all right,’ he said. ‘Yolande will be in New York, I think. I’ll call you as soon as the coast is clear. You can come to my apartment.’

Althea groaned with disappointment. ‘I can’t, Patrick. I’ll be in New York too – for the whole of April.’

He swore savagely. ‘When you come back, then. Althea, this is terrible. I want you so much.’

‘Patrick, you really must go:’

But they had to kiss again, and when she kissed him, nothing else mattered. He was her lover. She realised now that she’d wanted this ever since their first meeting in Le Grand Véfour.

‘Hank’s going on a trip round the Pacific in May,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll be awfully lonely.’

He caught on at once. Yolande would have to be got out of the way, but that wouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. She was fed up already. He could surely engineer a scene at the studios and force her to storm off in a tantrum. He knew exactly how to push her buttons. He kissed Althea goodbye. Her husband was still soaking in the bathtub as he drove back to Beverley Hills. Patrick gloated over this added triumph.

Althea managed to pull herself together before she had to face Hank. She surprised herself with her own coolness as they sat together in the lounge after a light supper. His mood was no better than it had been when he arrived.

‘So what’s bugging you?’ she asked at last. ‘I’ve told you all my news.’

‘You only stayed here to hang around with Vic’s mob. What the hell do you see in these movie types?’

‘They’re fun. Oh come on, Hank, lighten up. I only stay here because when I’m in New York you’re always tied up.’

‘But you never used to like this place so much. It was always better in Paris, or London, or Timbuktu.’

‘Don’t forget I’m a Californian. Sometimes it’s good just to hang at home.’

He frowned, sipping his drink. ‘Well, I came back early because I found an unexpected hole in my schedule. Rikki von Stessenberg blew the Marchand deal.’

‘
What
!’

‘I thought that would get your attention. We don’t get the shares. He’s sold them to Corinne Marchand.’

She stared incredulously. ‘But he drew up that preliminary agreement with you only last week! I don’t get it. It must be a mistake.’

‘No mistake, honey. Read this.’

He handed her a brief email from Stessenberg, stating baldly that UVS had sold its stake in Marchand Enterprises to Corinne.

‘I managed to get a call through to his hotel, but he was out – or so they said. He’s in Europe for the next few weeks. So I won’t be able to give the son of a bitch the sock on the jaw he deserves.’

Althea sat silently opposite him, hardly able to digest the news. She was only too conscious that it had been her idea. Hank had every right to be mad at her. After all, Rikki was really her friend, not his. But she couldn’t get upset about it, not now she had Patrick. It had been a game, and Hank had lost, but it wasn’t likely to affect Pedersen Corporation’s global well-being.

‘What do you think happened?’ she said.

‘I guess they outbid me. Maybe they had some leverage on him because of that deal he’s working on with Franco Rivera’s new label. Rivera was designing for Marchand, wasn’t he? I don’t know. It just stinks, Althea.’

‘Darling, I’m really sorry. Can you do anything about it? Sue him?’

He snorted derisively. ‘Sue him? Are you crazy? What would be the point? Forget it. I’m just mad I even started the whole thing. We could have capitalised something worthwhile instead of chasing this mirage.’

‘Go on, blame me. I put you up to it. Did you lose much?’

‘Only my threadbare faith in human nature.’ He smiled, then chucked her under the chin. ‘But I’ve still got you, darling. Everything would have worked fine if Stessenberg had stuck to his end of the deal. I don’t blame you at all. How can I, when you’re the most wonderful woman in the world?’

He kissed her lovingly. She felt terrible. Fortunately he was tired, and fell asleep that night almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, leaving her to ponder on the fit of lunacy that had made Patrick Dubuisson her lover. Now he was gone, their ten minutes’ passion seemed quite crazy and wrong. But delightfully wrong. She knew she would have to have him again. Her senses ached for Patrick’s touch. She was nowhere near so indulgent towards Hank’s snoring, and gave him a kick to shut him up. He just grunted before relaxing into snores again. The magic of Malibu. She had it all.

Chapter Sixteen

La Guardia was full of passengers heading off on Easter vacation when Grace met Yolande, who rushed headlong into her mother’s arms and just clung for a few moments. They were soon ensconced in a limousine for the drive to Manhattan under a lowering sky, but Yolande didn’t regret the sun she’d left behind. She was finally back on familiar turf.

‘So Corinne and Miles aren’t coming?’

‘No. They’re going to see his family in Wiltshire – not that far from Albury House.’

‘I suppose it’s my fault,’ said Yolande gloomily.

‘Of course it isn’t.’ Grace hugged her. Something was obviously going badly awry with Patrick. She’d never seen her youngest daughter looking so forlorn before.

‘Have you met Miles yet?’

‘Yes, on New Year’s Eve. Corinne was extremely coy about it all. He’s a lovely guy. I don’t know why she was holding off. Everything seemed to move once Philippe went back to France.’

‘Well, she must have got Philippe out of her system at last. I suppose it was because of his daughter.’

‘His daughter!’

Yolande explained it all without mincing her words. Her mother was staggered. On the two occasions she’d seen Philippe just before he left New York, he hadn’t given the least hint of being anything other than fancy-free. It had been rather galling to learn he had been living only two miles away for the previous eighteen months without her knowing. She had thought it must be because of Corinne, but Yolande’s explanation threw a quite different light on his reasons for maintaining such an uncharacteristically low profile.