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She was in the process of changing for di
The voice was feminine and Dio
‘There is a telephone call for you, mademoiselle,’ she explained with a smile. ‘Unfortunately, you will have to take it downstairs –in the hall.’
Dio
‘Mais certainement, mademoiselle. It is a man, mademoiselle!’
‘A man!’ Dio
As she thrust her legs into close-fitting cream pants and a chunky jade green sweater that accentuated her extreme slenderness she sought about in her mind for an explanation. Surely if that had been Louise she could not have recognized her voice so quickly! And even if she had, how could she have known where she was staying?
Her legs trembled as she ran downstairs to the phone, but when she picked up the receiver the voice that said: ‘Mademoiselle King?’ was most definitely not Manoel’s. It was much lighter, much younger, and infinitely less disturbing.
‘Who – who is that?’ she asked, jerkily.
‘Henri Martin, mademoiselle. We met yesterday, on the plane.’
Dio
‘I know. But I was lucky enough to learn yours. Tell me, have you settled into your hotel? Is everything satisfactory?’
Dio
He sounded disconcerted. ‘Why am I ringing, mademoiselle?’ He chuckled. ‘But of course you know. I want to ask you if you will dine with me this evening.’
Dio
‘Why? Why is it impossible?’
Dio
He uttered an exclamation. ‘Ah, but I am desolated, mademoiselle. Surely you must eat!’
Dio
‘Tomorrow, then.’
‘I don’t know what I shall be doing tomorrow.’ That at least was true.
‘You are wrecking my ego,’ he commented lightly. ‘Please, lunch, then.’
‘Some other time,’ said Dio
Leaving the booth, she walked slowly back up the stairs to her room and once there she did not bother to change, but flung herself on the bed, a well of bitterness rising up inside her. She felt completely alone, and not even the knowledge of Clarry and Jonathan waiting for her so confidently in England could dispel the desolation she was feeling.
Deciding she could not bear the idea of facing a meal in the restaurant, she collected her handbag and went downstairs again and out into the square. The shadows of the street lamps cast pools of light on the shadowed streets, but it was very warm and she found the melting softness of the darkness like a balm to her troubled heart and mind. Tomorrow was another day!
She had a cup of coffee and a pastry in a small bistro on the banks of the Rhone and then walked in the direction of the Arena. She had been to the Arena several times with Manoel, watching the spectacle which could bring nausea to the most hardened stomachs. The famous bulls of the Camargue were worthy opponents for their human counterparts and while Dio
Dio
A pain twisted in her stomach. How swiftly those months had gone by, how sweetly had each day been the culmination of her wildest dreams, and how tortuous had been the parting when it inevitably came.
She returned from her walk about nine o’clock, the solitary stroll having had a calming effect on her heightened senses. She felt pleasantly tired, and she refused to consider any more the probabilities and possibilities of the morrow. It was hopeless trying to speculate on anything so nebulous.
She entered the reception hall of the hotel slowly, her bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, her hand raised to tuck an errant strand of black silk behind her ear.
She thought the hall was deserted at first, but as she crossed the wide expanse of green carpeting a man rose from a chair positioned at the foot of the stairs and stepped to block her path.
Dio
‘Hello, Dio
CHAPTER TWO
DIONNE stared at him disbelievingly, unable to accept for a moment that this was not some crazy hallucination brought on by her intense longing to see Manoel St. Salvador again, a longing which until this moment had existed only in her subconscious.
But this was not the Manoel she remembered. Her recollections of him were acute, and this cold-eyed stranger bore little resemblance to the warm-blooded man she had known and loved. The features were the same, and yet not the same. They were arranged in the same order, grey eyes below dark brows, arrogantly carved cheekbones, a full and sensual mouth, dark side-bums growing down to his firm jawline. But he was leaner than she remembered, and the grey eyes were more deeply set in their sockets and tinged with bitterness. Deep lines etched nose and mouth, and he had a slightly bored and jaded air. His body was leaner, too, although the muscles of his chest rippled beneath the soft suede of his short jacket, and the strong thighs strained against his taut-fitting trousers.
Now she shook her head helplessly, aware that this moment had come upon her una
‘Well, mademoiselle?’
It was the cold detached voice of a stranger, and Dio
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
Copyright