‘Double over here,’ murmured Simone.
Gabrielle snickered. ‘You do still want him.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Simone said indignantly. ‘Sarah, did I say that?’
Sarah dimpled and handed her a wine glass filled perilously close to overflowing. ‘So you’re the one.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The one who’s got him all riled. The one who got away. The one who ruined him for all other women,’ offered Sarah expansively.
‘Oh, that’s harsh,’ said Gabrielle, accepting a much smaller glass of wine from Sarah. ‘Harsh, yet disturbingly accurate.’
‘I did not ruin him for all other women.’ ‘Not knowingly,’ conceded Gabrielle. ‘If you had I couldn’t love you the way I do.’
‘Anyway, define “ruined”,’ argued Simone. ‘He didn’t look particularly ruined to me.’ He’d looked dangerously, broodingly desirable. ‘I’ll bet plenty of other women have found his attentions more than adequate.’
‘I’m sure they have,’ murmured Gabrielle soothingly. ‘The point being that he never attends them for very long. More wine?’
Simone had forgotten all about the wine. She sipped, and sipped again. They were big sips. Fortifying sips. It was very good wine.
‘You need a plan,’ said Gabrielle.
‘I have a plan. It’s called stay for your wedding and then leave.’
‘You need a better plan,’ said Gabrielle, sipping her own wine thoughtfully. ‘Sarah, can you ask Inigo if we can bring forward the menu planning to this afternoon? Say 5:00 p.m.?’
‘I can,’ said Sarah. ‘And he will. But he won’t be happy about it.’
‘Tell him there’s a bottle of Angels Tears in it for him. That ought to cheer him up.’
‘It’d cheer me up,’ said Sarah as she headed for the door.
‘Who’s Inigo?’ asked Simone.
‘The restaurant manager,’ murmured Gabrielle. ‘He’s very fussy about food choice. Anyone would think he was French.’
‘Most of us just think he’s mad,’ said Sarah from the door. ‘But he does run a fine restaurant service. He’s been trying to nail Gabrielle down to a meal plan for the reception for weeks.’
‘I was waiting for you to arrive,’ said Gabrielle to Simone as Sarah closed the door behind her on her way out. ‘My decision-making powers have temporarily deserted me. Mind you, if you prefer one thing and I prefer another we’ll still be without a decision. I’d better call Rafe. He can meet us there.’ She offered up an encouraging smile. ‘You don’t mind if he joins us, do you?’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Simone carefully. ‘But Rafael might not be enamoured of the notion.’
‘He doesn’t have to be enamoured,’ replied Gabrielle blithely as she fished her mobile from her handbag. ‘Although I’m not ruling it out.’ She pressed a couple of buttons and put the phone to her ear. ‘He just has to be there.’
Which was how, at exactly five past five that afternoon, Simone came to be examining plateware patterns in a sumptuously appointed private dining room with Gabrielle the indecisive and Inigo the sorely put upon. Rafael had not yet arrived, but the spectre of him doing so made concentrating difficult.
‘What about the pink and ivory Limoges design?’ asked Gabrielle.
‘Very elegant,’ murmured Simone.
‘Or just the plain white Limoges with the silver trim,’ said Inigo, pointing to it in the cabinet. ‘Food sits well on that plate too.’
‘Safe choice,’ agreed Simone.
‘Not helping,’ said Gabrielle.
Simone sighed. ‘Inigo, do you mind if we take some plates from the cabinet and set a few table places for comparison? We’ll need silverware, napkins and glassware as well.’
Inigo did not mind. Inigo was all for a decision. Any decision. He opened half a dozen sideboard drawers and indicated the silverware choices. Opened sideboard cupboards to reveal the glassware.
‘Is the restaurant décor similar to this?’ Simone gestured around the antique-filled room with its dark wooden floors and tables and fireplace filled with fresh flowers. Inigo assured her it was. Simone glanced at Gabrielle next. Gabrielle looked overwhelmed. ‘You’ve seen all this before?’
Gabrielle nodded. ‘As far as I’m concerned it’s all beautiful.’
Yes, it was. Fortunately, some of it was more beautiful than the rest. ‘And you really want my input? You do realise that the only opinion that counts in all of this is yours?’
‘I do,’ said Gabrielle. ‘And I have no idea what I want. Apart from Lucien beside me on my wedding day. The rest could be sawdust.’
‘Yes, well, it could be,’ murmured Simone, grinning at Inigo’s aghast expression. ‘But spare a thought for the rest of us.’ Simone stood and surveyed the tableware on offer. ‘Inigo, we’ll need the Swarovski glassware—no, not the large red wine glass, the medium-sized one, and the glasses for the white wine and the champagne too, merci. Then the silverware with the cutaway groove.Yes, please. Then the pink and ivory plates, the café-au-lait coloured napkins and we’ll finish with the pewter hedgehog napkin rings for whimsy.’ She surveyed the flowers in the fireplace with an eye to colour and form and finally plucked half a dozen old roses in creams, palest pink, and apricot and placed them above the setting.
‘What about tablecloths?’ asked Inigo.
‘No tablecloths on this woodgrain,’ murmured Simone, sliding her hand along the gleaming woodwork. ‘Let’s set another place. This time I’d like the white Hermès plates with the red and gold swirl, and to go with them the plain-edged silverware and white napkins.’
‘Very nice,’ said Inigo as the second place setting took shape with gratifying speed. ‘What else?’ Inigo held up a crystal champagne flute with a fine gold swirl running through it, and at Simone’s nod added it to the setting along with plainer wine glasses for the red and white wine. Simone chose another handful of the old roses from the basket in the fireplace, bolder hues this time, and added them to the table. Finally, she stood back and surveyed the two settings critically.
‘The Hermès gets my vote,’ she murmured, for it was gorgeous and vibrant and the room could take it. ‘Gaby? What do you think?’
‘This better not be your emergency, Gabrielle.’
Dark-edged, softly spoken words, threaded through with impatience. Simone felt the slide of them across her body as if a whip had lashed lightly across the skin on her back. Not to inflict pain, not yet, but the threat was there, and with that threat came the deeper knowledge that there was pleasure to be had in pain and that Rafael was more than capable of helping her find it.
Her pulse would triple, her heart would ache, and her eyes would be greedy once she’d turned to face him, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
She took her time turning to face him, knowing as she did so that she would find no welcome in his eyes. Knowing too that she would force him to acknowledge her and that she would pay for her boldness with pleasure and with pain. Oh, yes. There was a sweet, aching pleasure to be taken here and take it she would.
‘Bonjour, Rafael.’ He was still wearing his work clothes. He still looked dangerously out of sorts. Her heartbeat thudded its approval. ‘Big day in the field?’
‘Evening, princess,’ he murmured, those brilliant blue eyes shaded with no small measure of mockery.