One Reckless Night (22 page)

 
The best and freshest ingredients, Madame told her with a broad smile, should be treated with complete simplicity, and then-voila-everything arranged itself.

 
Observing Madame chopping herbs with a fearsomely sharp knife, boning meat or stirring some delectably fragrant stockpot, Zanna thought, wryly, that there might be a little more to it than that.

 
She'd also paid several visits, under Gordon's guidance, to the Lantrell Gallery in Nice, where her arrival had caused a discreet stir. She'd received, in addition, a complex and thorough breakdown on how the galleries as a whole operated.

 
Gordon, she realized ruefully, was trying to woo her to his cause-convince her that here lay a far better career opportunity than any personnel recruitment service on the other side of the world. And under any other circumstances she would have agreed, would have been eager to take the place on the team that was clearly on offer.

 
The thought of leaving them all-of cutting herself off from all this warmth and affection-was almost unbearable. Just as the thought of never seeing Jake again was wholly unbearable.

 
She could fill the days, but her nights were torment. She was thankful when the moon began to wane and her bedroom was no longer aglow with that evocative silver light. It was easier to hide in the darkness from her thoughts-from her memories.

 
The arrangements for the party proceeded smoothly. Susan had specified on the invitations that guests were being asked to meet her daughter, and there had been few refusals.

 
'Everyone will be mad with curiosity,' Susan commented over lunch a week beforehand as she checked through some late acceptances.

 
'You don't mind that?'

 
'Darling, I'm too happy to mind anything. I'm just praying you'll meet someone wonderful on the night and decide you can't bear to tear yourself away.'

 
Zanna forced a smile. 'Well, you never know...' She hesitated. 'Can I do anything to help-prepare some of the food, maybe?'

 
Susan shook her head. 'I always use an outside firm. They do the food, the decorations, provide the music- everything. They're wonderful. And, more important, Gordon doesn't get upset.'

 
'Doesn't he like parties?'

 
'Loves them,' Susan said fondly. 'He's the most indulgent husband, and a marvelous host, but he hates the ordinary household routine being turned on its head for days beforehand. And if Sylvie stopped cooking his meals in favor of party food he'd be distraught.'

 
At that point the man in question came in, looking pleased. 'That was Jake on the phone, honey. He's arriving tonight and bringing Cindy Wybrandt with him.' He sat down, unfolding his napkin.

 
Under the edge of the table Zanna's hands were clenched suddenly together, her nails scoring ridges into her palms.

 
'Oh?' Susan raised her eyebrows. 'Is that on again?'

 
'Seems so-if it was ever off.' Gordon chuckled. 'Jake plays his cards close to his chest where his romantic involvements are concerned.' He broke off to sniff rapturously at the contents of the tureen which Madame Cordet had just placed in front of him.

 
'Well, she's a beautiful girl,' he went on, ladling the soup into bowls, 'and Abe Wybrandt is one of our most distinguished clients. He could do a lot worse.'

 
'Indeed he could.' Susan returned his smile. 'Maybe the next party I plan will be for his wedding.'

 
It was a hideous meal. Zanna had no appetite whatsoever, but she forced herself to eat and show her usual appreciation. Anything less would have been dangerously near to self-betrayal.

 
When lunch was over, she excused herself and went up to her room. She lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts churning wildly.

 
So that was the underlying reason for all Jake's bitter regrets. He was already seriously committed elsewhere, and to a relationship he wasn't prepared to jeopardize any further, whatever the temptation.

 
Dress it up as he might, all she'd been to him was a brief divergence off the straight and narrow path leading to engagement and a suitable marriage.

 
And men were so easily diverted, she thought bitterly. Wasn't that part of the wisdom you were supposed to acquire at your mother's knee-that casual sex meant nothing to them, and they wouldn't respect you in the morning? Whatever kind of sexual revolution might have taken place over the past thirty years, some unpleasant truths still seemed to apply.

 
I had no right, he'd said. And, I can't trust myself...

 
He'd been perfectly correct on both points, she acknowledged, wincing. And, almost more tellingly, he had also taught her that she couldn't trust herself.

 
Fleetingly it occurred to her that it would be terribly simple to blow his ship of happiness right out of the water, but that idea was quashed as soon as it was formed. That was the kind of plan that would appeal to her father, and she was following in his footsteps no longer.

 
Besides, however wretched she was feeling, she loved Jake, and, God help her, she always would, and nothing-nothing-would ever drive her to ruin his life.

 
When she was feeling more composed, she changed into her simple black maillot, donned a wrap and a pair of espadrilles and went down to the pool. She had it to herself this afternoon. Gordon was in Nice, and Susan was planning to wrestle in solitude with the notes for her book.

 
Under the shade of an umbrella, Zanna concentrated on the novel she was reading-a bitter-sweet story of love and loss that she could well have done without. When she could bear no more, she put it down and slid into the sparkling turquoise water.

 
In her other existence she'd have pounded up and down, completing length after length as if engaged in some personal marathon. Now she took things more cautiously, relishing the exercise and sense of well-being without pushing herself to the limit.

 
The last stretch she swam underwater, coming up breathlessly, blindly, into the dazzle of the sunlight as she reached for the rail.

 
And felt her wrists firmly clasped, herself drawn forwards and upwards to the steps out of the pool.

 
She shook her drenched hair out of her eyes, blinking away the drops of water on her lashes.

 
He said, 'Good afternoon.' In his light-colored trousers and dark blue shirt he looked cool and relaxed, but the dark eyes were watchful, even wary, as they surveyed her.

 
Nor did it take long to suss out the reason for his uneasiness. It was standing beside him, its smile revealing the kind of perfect teeth for which American orthodontists were famous. The rest of Cindy Wybrandt was near ideal as well, Zanna's lightning glance absorbed, from her gleaming nut-brown hair and the honey-tanned skin shown off by a brief white cut-off top down to her endless legs revealed by an equally minute skirt.

 
'And hello to you.' She'd practiced her next greeting to him so often that the words emerged with all the composure she could have wished, in spite of the fact that she was standing there dripping the entire contents of the pool onto the tiled surround. She even managed a smile to match Cindy's.

 
'How do you do, Miss Wybrandt? I'm Zanna Westcott, and I've heard so much about you.' And all of it in the last few hours, she refrained from adding.

 
'And Jake's told me about you too.' The voice was low-pitched, with a trace of Southern drawl. The limpid blue eyes fringed by amazing lashes didn't look as if they missed much. 'Apparently you're his long-lost sister.'

 
So that was how he wanted to play it, Zanna thought with a pang. She gave a slight shrug, smiled again. 'I'll settle for that,' she agreed lightly.

 
She trod over to her lounger, retrieved her towel and began to blot off the worst of the moisture, using the fabric as a barrier.

 
'Did you have a good journey?' She couldn't believe how polite and civilised she sounded, when in reality she'd like to claw the pair of them till they bled.

 
'Oh, amazing.' Cindy gave a gurgle of laughter. 'Jake drove us down here in that wonderful car of his. All that power just waiting to be released-like sharing a cage with a tiger,' she added with a mock shudder. 'It was a real turn-on.'

 
The car or the driver? Zanna wondered silently, and decided she'd rather not know.

 
'And we stayed over in this cute little hotel, like an old millhouse, right on the bank of a river,' the other girl went on dreamily. 'They served dinner on the terrace and there were all these little fireflies darting about. It was so-o-o romantic'

 
Nor, thought Zanna, aware she was hurting, did she want to hear any more. She slid damp arms into her wrap and picked up her bag.

 
'If you'll excuse me, I'll get back to the house. My mother may need me. I'm a working girl, you know.' She was starting to babble.

 
'A sister with tact. I can see we're going to be friends.' The words were a mite too sugary. Cindy turned to Jake. 'What do you say, honey? Shall we cool off in the pool after that long, hot ride?'

 
'Fine.' Jake's tone was equable. 'But we'll need to unpack a bit first-get our swimming things.'

 
'That doesn't usually bother you, baby.' Cindy moved close, began to unbutton his shirt. 'And we'll have the pool to ourselves, after all.'

 
Zanna, momentarily transfixed, shook herself into activity. If she didn't move soon, the lovely Cindy would have him stripped, she thought frantically.

 
She threw an inane 'See you later' over her shoulder, and got herself out of there as fast as her flapping espadrilles would let her.

 
And she heard following her that throaty gurgle of laughter which, she decided savagely, she could soon, learn to hate.

 
She did not feel any more amiably disposed towards the newcomer when she was finally able to escape to her room after dinner that night.

 
Cindy's creamy drawl had dominated the conversation at table. She'd been charmingly deferential to Susan and Gordon, sweetly polite to Zanna, and all over Jake like a badly fitting suit. Her coral-tipped fingers had flickered with self-conscious grace from his sleeve to his cheek, smoothing his hair, picking non-existent threads from his jacket throughout the meal.

 
She'd been wearing a shift dress in a stinging shade of yellow. A wide bracelet made of plaited white and yellow gold had been clasped round one wrist, with a matching necklet adorning her throat.

 
They were a gift, she'd told them all coyly, from her daddy, who'd had them made specially for her birthday after he'd vainly trawled the jeweler stores of three states looking for a suitable present.

 
A wistful glance at her bare left hand had indicated the piece of jewellery she anticipated next.

 
Zanna had had to stop herself grinding her teeth.

 
In the salon it had been even worse. Cindy had gone overboard for Gordon's hi-fi unit, and had scoured through the CDs, most of which seemed to have some deep, personal meaning for Jake and herself. She'd even insisted they dance together, and Jake hadn't seemed reluctant.

 
But then, Zanna thought bitterly, as she recalled the circumstances of their own meeting, he liked dancing.

 
When she'd finished her coffee, she'd made an unobtrusive exit.

 
She sat for a long time by the window, staring out into the darkness. No moon tonight, but the sky was awash with stars, looking indeed close enough to touch, demonstrating just how and why Les Etoiles had got its name.

 
In all the vastness of the universe, the problems of one girl on one small planet had to seem ludicrously unimportant. But the pain was there, nevertheless, and it wouldn't go away. Somewhere in the garden an owl hooted, and it was somehow the loneliest sound in the world.

 
Zanna shivered. It was time she went to bed and tried to forget her troubles in sleep, she thought, getting to her feet. And then she paused, halfway across the room, as someone tapped quietly at her door.

 
'Who's there?'

 
'It's Jake.' He rattled the knob impatiently. 'Open the door, Zanna. I need to speak to you. I have something of yours,' he added, when the lengthening pause made it clear she wasn't going to respond.

 
'Can't it wait until the morning?'

 
'It nearly is morning,' he reminded her drily. 'And you're not asleep, so what's the problem?'