She heard Daisy’s shocked exclamation, and his quiet reply.
When she could think clearly again she found she was sitting on the sofa in the library, with a mug of strong, hot tea clasped in her icy hands.
Marc Delaroche was standing by the fireplace, an elbow resting on the mantelshelf, looking contemplatively into the blue flames of the small twig fire that she supposed he’d kindled in the grate.
He was wearing jeans and a matching blue shirt, its top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled back, revealing the shadowing of dark hair on his chest and forearms.
He turned his head slowly and met her accusing gaze.
She said huskily, ‘You knew, didn’t you? I mean about Nigel. Somehow, you knew.’
There was a pause, then reluctantly he nodded. ‘I regret, but, yes.’
‘And is that why you’re here—to gloat?’ She took a gulp of the scalding brew in her beaker.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should I do that?’
‘Who knows,’ she said, ‘why you do anything? Yet here you are—again.’
‘Among other things, I came to warn you. But I was too late.’
‘How can this be?’ Helen said, half to herself. ‘How can you have guessed that Nigel didn’t love me when I was still in the dark about it?’
He shrugged. ‘You were in the dark, ma mie, because you had closed your eyes to what was happening—perhaps deliberately. Also,’ he added, ‘I had an advantage, because you were not sitting in the window of the Martinique that day when your supposed fiancé arrived. He came by taxi, not alone, and his companion was most reluctant to let him go. That was how I came to notice him—because their leavetaking was quite a spectacle. Each time he tried to say au revoir she wound herself round him the more. She behaved with une ardeur etonnante,’ he added with a faint whistle. ‘I almost envied him.’
He paused. ‘And then I watched him join you at your table, and realised who he must be, and it was no longer so amusing.’
‘So you took pity on me,’ Helen said bitterly.
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But for a moment only. Because I could see that you were strong and would survive your disappointment.’
‘Disappointment?’ she echoed in angry incredulity. ‘My God, I’ve just been dumped by the man I’ve loved all my life. The only man I’ll ever love. And you talk about it as if it were a minor inconvenience.’
She paused. ‘Why didn’t you tell me there and then?’
‘Because I already knew that the committee’s decision would go against you,’ he said. ‘I did not wish to overburden you with bad news.’
‘So instead you let me stew in my fool’s paradise,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Shall we agree it was a no-win situation for us both?’ he suggested.
‘I don’t believe this,’ Helen said raggedly. ‘My life’s in ruins, I’m falling apart—and you sound so bloody casual.’
She gave him an inimical look. ‘And, for the record, there is no “both”. There’s myself alone, and no one else.’
‘Are you so sure of that?’
‘What are you saying? That he’ll dump this new lady too, and come back to me?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. And do you know why that is, Monsieur Delaroche? It’s because I lack the necessary social skills. Also, I’m frigid—and she isn’t,’ she added, her voice cracking. Then stopped, horrified at what she’d let him see.
‘He told you that?’ Marc Delaroche raised his eyebrows. ‘But how can he possibly know?’
She stared at him in silence, almost paralysed with shame as she interpreted what he’d just said to her. Oh God, she thought, he—he knows I’m still a virgin. And I wish I’d died before he told me so.
But you were the one who told him, said a small cold voice in her head. You let it slip the last time he was here. And he said he’d be patient. How could you have forgotten that?
She’d tried to block out every detail of their previous encounter, but that was something she should have remembered. Because it spelled danger.
‘I understand now why you pushed him into the lake,’ Marc added.
‘I didn’t push him,’ Helen said icily. ‘He slipped.’
‘Quel dommage,’ he murmured. ‘And, no—he will certainly not come back,’ he went on calmly. ‘But for a reason far removed from the ones you have given.’
She said, ‘Oh?’ her voice wooden.
The dark eyes studied her. ‘He did not tell you, peut-être, the identity of his new fiancée? Then I shall. Her name is Amanda Clayburn.’
‘Clayburn?’ Helen repeated, bewildered. ‘You—you mean she’s related to Sir Donald Clayburn, the chairman of the bank?’
‘His only daughter.’ His grin was cynical. ‘Your Nigel is an ambitious man, ma mie. He has chosen money and the fast track to the boardroom.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. And, anyway, he doesn’t need to do that. He has money of his own.’
‘Which he prefers to keep, sans doute.’ He bent and added another handful of twigs to the fire. ‘But it is all true. I have a colleague with contacts at the bank, and he informs me their affaire has been an open secret for weeks. She is wild and spoiled, this Amanda, and her father, they say, is glad she is marrying before she disgraces him openly.’
‘Obviously a marriage made in heaven.’ The words cut at her, but she refused to wince. Instead, she threw back her head. ‘Monteagle and Nigel—the two things I care most about in the world—I’ve lost them both.’
‘I notice,’ he said, ‘you place the house before your fiancé.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Nigel said that too. He said that because of Monteagle I would never be capable of loving anyone properly. All in all, it was a pretty comprehensive condemnation. And do you know the worst of it, Monsieur Delaroche? You—you were here to watch it happening.’ She almost choked on the words. ‘You—of all the people in the world. You’re like some terrible jinx—do you know that?—because each time you appear in my life, everything goes wrong.’
She punched her fist into the palm of her other hand. ‘Well, you’ve had your fun, monsieur, if that’s what you came for, so now you can go. I need to be on my own. Even you should be able to appreciate that,’ she added burningly.
His own glance was cool. ‘You have a strange idea of how I choose to amuse myself, ma chère,’ he drawled. ‘And, although I am desolate to grieve you further, I must tell you I have no intention of leaving yet. Because I came not just to warn you, but also to offer my help.’
‘Oh, of course,’ she said. ‘You spoke up for me at the committee—you and your Dutch colleague. I—I suppose I should thank you.’
‘If we had succeeded, perhaps,’ he said. ‘But as matters stand I do not expect you to torture yourself with an attempt to be grateful.’
‘But why should you do that?’ she asked. ‘When you knew what the verdict would be? You don’t look like someone who supports lost causes.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I felt you did not deserve to lose yet again.’ He gave her a measured look. ‘So—what do you plan to do now? Will you take advantage of Monsieur Newson’s offer—if it still stands?’
‘I’d