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'Really, Tom,' she protested, 'must you always behave like a swine?'

'I'm
not the swine,' he said jerkily. 'You should apply that to your hero.'

'What do you mean?'

'The ten thousand pounds that Mark gave you was Matt's. Having you sign a document that you'd agree to Matt's proposal was Matt's idea too.'

Caroline was perplexed, and seeing it, Tom became even angrier. 'Matt's a bastard,' he said furiously. 'He's going to propose to you all right—but not marriage. He wants you to be his mistress. That's why the agreement was worded with no mention of marriage—and he got Mark to help him in the deception.'

'I don't believe you!' she gasped.

'It's true.' Tom was firm. 'I heard Mark ask Matt if he'd proposed yet, and Matt replied that he hadn't. He said he'd dropped several hints to you that he was not interested in marriage and he thought you were nearly ready to give in to him. Mark told him he should put his belief to the test, and reminded him that you weren't in a position to refuse.'

'But what about the shares that Mark wanted?' Caroline said huskily.

'There aren't any shares. The whole thing was a put-up job.
Matt
gave Mark the money and said that if he got you to sign that document he'd let him run the family business again.'

Caroline slumped into a chair. The story was so fantastic she could not believe it. Yet Tom could not have made it up. Matt knew she would never live with him unless they were married, and he had used Tom's need for money—and her own desire to help her brother—to make her commit herself to accept his proposal. But not a proposal of marriage, as she had foolishly thought. Tears poured down her face and she made no attempt to wipe them away.

Tom came over and put his arms comfortingly round her shoulders. 'I had to tell you the truth, Carrie. There's no point going on with this farce. I'll have to get ten thousand pounds and pay Mark back.'

'You can't! It would mean getting the money from Uncle Bill again. No, Tom—if Matt wants to buy me, I shall accept. Remember, I only have to stick it out for three months.'

'You can't live with a man knowing he only wants —to ' Tom stopped, fumbling to find the right words.

'To sleep with me?' she finished bluntly. 'Oh yes, I can.'

'I won't let you. As soon as we get home I'll go and see Uncle Bill. I'll borrow the money from him and then find a job and pay him back.'

'No. You'd have to admit you gambled away the first amount and that we asked Mark for a loan.'

'Maybe it's time Uncle Bill knew what a fool I am,' muttered Tom.

'I won't let you tell him,' Caroline reiterated. 'He'd be terribly upset.'

'Well, I won't let you go and live with Matt Bishop.'

'It might not be so bad for me,' she said quietly. 'After all, you've got to admire his determination to get me. He knows I'm in love with him, and he also knows how fond I am of my aunt and uncle. That's why he dreamed up this scheme when he learned you'd gone to Mark to borrow some money. He knew I'd do everything I could to help.'

'He was right,' Tom said bitterly. 'So he's won.'

'Don't be so sure.'

Her brother looked at her quizzically. 'What does that mean?'

'Perhaps
Mr
Bishop
won't get
value for his
money.'

'I still don't follow.'

'It's better that you don't,' said Caroline, and stood up, kissing him and dismissing him gently.

As soon as she was alone, her self-control broke, and she flung herself on the bed and gave way to tears. She cried until there were no more tears left, then lay back on the pillow and tried to put her thoughts in some kind of order. Matt's calculating plan had been like a knife plunged into her heart, cutting deeper the more she thought about it.

Did he believe her love for him was genuine or did he think she was mainly attracted to his wealth? Either way, he still felt he had the right to use every means in his power to get her to become his mistress. It showed such cruel determination that she was closer to hating him than at any time since she had met him. Though she had known he mistrusted women, she had fooled herself into believing that her love for him would give him greater understanding. What a joke that was. Matt did not know the meaning of the word love. She doubted if his cynicism was caused by his first disastrous marriage. He had probably always been incapable of loving and had always seen women as fair game.

She wondered if she would be repulsed by his touch now that she knew the truth about him, but that evening, after they had dined in Mougins—a pretty village in the hills above Cannes—and Matt took her in his arms and kissed her, she knew that however much she despised him, she
still
desired him physically. The knowledge disgusted her, even though she knew it would make her task that much easier in the future.

Later, lying in bed, she tried to analyse why she should still love a man she despised. But love was not logical. For reasons best known to fate, Matt was the only man who could rouse her by his look; who made her think of bearing his children and sharing his sorrows as well as his joys. Whoever had said that love was akin to hate could well have been thinking of the way she felt towards Matthew Bishop.

Caroline
wished she had not agreed to spend Friday in Monte Carlo with Matt, for what had promised to be a joyful day together would now be nothing but a sham. Yet she managed to keep these thoughts to herself, and waited for him on the hotel steps, looking far more casual than she felt in navy French jeans, with a narrow white plaited leather belt threaded through the waist, and a navy and white cotton shirt worn bra-less. The tight-fitting denims showed off her slim hips and long legs to advantage, and Matt showed his appreciation as he greeted her.

'Good enough to eat,' he said, and to prove his point, nibbled gently at her ear before setting the car in motion.

Caroline made herself comfortable in her seat. Her eyes were covered by enormous sunglasses to hide the signs of her sleepless night, but she felt calm and was determined to act as normally as possible.

Matt caught her staring at him. 'Admiring me?' he grinned.

She had been thinking how attractive he looked in his white safari suit, and how immaculately turned out he always was, but certainly would not give him the pleasure of saying so.

'I was wondering why the French named this the Promenade des Anglais,' she replied, saying the first thing that came into her head. It was appropriate enough since they were driving along the famous boulevard in Nice, with its rows of palm trees lining the road like soldiers standing stiffly to attention.

'Because the English were the ones who made Nice so popular before the war,' he explained. 'We also built most of the hotels.' He pointed to the twin-turreted towers of the Hotel Negresco, almost gothic in its splendour, which they were passing. 'That's one of the examples of our architecture. I find it much more appealing than these new monstrosities they've put up.'

'So do I,' she said, and then smiled.

'What's amusing you?'

'I was remembering the night I stayed there.'

He looked surprised. 'I thought you told me you'd never been down here before?'

'I'd hardly count one night at the Negresco as a visit to the South of France,' she answered. 'I arrived at eight p.m., and left early the next morning.'

'How come?'

'I came here to see a film producer—Gregory Carson. I met an American at a party. He said he was Mr Carson's talent scout, and asked if I'd be interested in doing a screen test. Naturally I said yes.'

'Naturally.'

'I checked on him first,' she said quickly. 'That green I wasn't. It all appeared to be above board, and when he said Carson was filming in Nice and I'd have to fly down to meet him, I agreed.'

'And then?' Matt asked.

'I was given a luxurious room at the Negresco and taken to His Master's Suite for an interview. I '

She stopped as Matt suddenly pressed hard on the brakes and pulled up at a traffic light, putting out his hand to stop her being flung forward.

'Sorry,' he apologised. 'I was so absorbed in your story, I didn't notice it had turned red.'

'Like my face when I learned what part Mr Carson had in mind for me!'

'What happened?'

'What do you think?' She half smiled. 'You can imagine his face when I turned down his offer. He was furious—not with me, but with the chap who'd brought me down. Talent scout was the right word for him!'

'So you flew home, honour intact?'

'The next day,' she said, nodding. 'But first of all Mr Carson actually apologised to me and insisted I had dinner with him.'

'So purity won the day,' Matt said dryly.

Caroline restrained the urge to hit him with her handbag and said deliberately: 'I've grown up a bit since then. I realise one can't stick too rigidly to the old-time principles. Perhaps if I was offered the same deal now ...' Purposely she did not complete the sentence and enjoyed the puzzled look that fleeted across Matt's face.

For a few moments they drove in silence, and she waited expectantly for what he was going to say. But when he spoke, it was to comment on their trip.

'I thought I'd take you via the Grande Corniche,' he said as they skirted past the port and headed up the hills beyond Nice. 'The views are spectacular.'

'You're always so thoughtful,' she said, and clasped his hand, hoping he would not notice how she almost choked on the pleasantry.

The road narrowed, then wound round and round like a helter-skelter as they passed houses precariously perched on the cliffs' edge. Only a low stone wall separated them from the hair-raising drop to the sea below, with no room to overtake if a slow driver was ahead. When they had climbed to the highest point, Matt stopped in the half moon at the side of the road and they walked over to the stone parapet and leaned against it, mesmerised by the beauty of the panorama before them.

Fabulous villas, each with its own pool, could be glimpsed nestling among the pine trees on the lush green slopes, and the cliffs fell in ledges down to the coast, seventeen hundred feet below. There the blue of the sky melted into the deeper cobalt blue of the sea, glittering in the sunlight.

Afterwards they descended slowly towards Monte Carlo, precariously sited on the cliffside around a natural port that contained a vast number of luxury yachts. The town was a maze of winding streets, and buildings occupied every available site. Land was at a premium in this tax haven, and no space was too small to leave empty.

'Have you ever thought of coming to live here?' Caroline asked.

'Frequently. But in spite of its obvious attractions, I prefer to pay my taxes and live where I choose.'

'I wouldn't find it a hardship to be a Monegasque!'

'Don't be so sure. What would you find to talk about here, knowing that the weather tomorrow is going to be just as good as today!'

They drove along the Avenue Princess Grace, fronted by luxurious apartments facing the sea, and Caroline
was annoyed with herself for not having brought a swimsuit. The water was clear and bright blue, with hardly a ripple to disturb the smooth surface.

'The sea looks so tempting,' she remarked wistfully.

'We'll sneak away again on Sunday afternoon if you like, and go out in a motorboat. Do you water-ski?'

'No, but I'd love to try. Do you?'

'Yes. I took it up on my first holiday here.'

'Are you good?' she asked.

'I'll let my performance speak for itself—as usual!'

He parked the car near the huge cream stone Casino and they walked up the marble steps to the entrance. Caroline had never been interested in gambling, and wondered fleetingly if Matt had brought her here to remind her of Tom's weakness, and what she had agreed to do because of it.

'Would you like to play?' he asked. 'I'll stake you, if you wish?'

'No, thanks. I've never won anything in my life.'

'Nor me. Luck is what you make it—not what the cards dictate.'

Outside in the sunlight again, she breathed the fresh air with a sense of relief, then strolled with Matt around the elegant shops adjoining the Hotel de Paris. She stopped outside Cartier's window to admire a little gold poodle brooch, with two emeralds for eyes and a cap of rubies on his head.

'I love poodles,' she exclaimed, and tried to look underneath the glass shelf to read the price tag.

'Why don't you stand on your head?' Matt laughed, and drew her away to look at a boutique selling exquisite hand-painted scarves.

She was so absorbed looking at them and debating
whether to buy one that she did not realise Matt was no longer with her until, turning to say something to him, she spied him coming out of Cartier's. He strode over to her and handed her a small package.

She blushed and trembled, feeling like a gauche schoolgirl.

'A reminder of me,' he said.

Silently she opened it and stared at the gold poodle nestling in the black satin lining. How naive of her not to know Matt would see her comment on the brooch as a desire for him to buy it for her. In his world, this was what his type of women did.

'Like it?' he asked.

'Yes, but '

'No buts. That poodle's
me.
Remember our first quarrel?'

A smile lifted, her mouth as she thought of the sequence of presents Matt had sent her on the day that Jane had moved out of the flat, culminating in the gold charm—a tiny kennel with a poodle peeping wistfully out of it.

'At least I'm out of the doghouse now,' he added.

And panting at the leash, she thought bitterly, but managed a misty smile.

'Put it on for me,' she breathed, and leaned close to him to let him do so, enjoying the way his fingers trembled as he fixed it to the front of her shirt.

His eyes darkened as they met and his mouth moved slightly, as if he wanted to kiss her.

'You're so beautiful,' he whispered.

'And so hungry,' Caroline continued prosaically. 'It's time for you to feed me!'