He shrugged. ‘That was what she wanted our relationship to be. No promises, no certainties. More than anything in the world she didn’t want to belong to anyone.’ His mouth made a sardonic curl. ‘So she said. That was what caused the final crash. She wanted our relationship to stay the same. But …’ He opened his palms and said simply, ‘I changed. I wanted—more. I understand now she saw that as a betrayal. At the time I was—angry. Disillusioned. You might say a little bitter. I said some things that were unkind, and she—stormed off to the airport in a fury, never to return.’
‘Oh.’ So it wasn’t just the Jackson Kerr affair that had broken their relationship. Shari hardly dared ask, but the question was burning on her tongue. ‘What was it you wanted?’
He flicked down his lashes and made a rueful grimace. ‘Not a Russian wolfhound. No. I … er … suffered a brainstorm on my way home one evening and thought I wanted to have a child. Imagine that.’ He shot her a veiled glance.
Her heart started thumping with a dawning realisation, but she struggled on to extract more of this astounding confession. ‘You and Manon? You wanted a—a—baby?’
He inclined his head.
‘Oh. Right. Well. Well. So … Did you—propose to her?’
He shrugged. ‘The roses, the ring, the carpet of rose petals, the private room in the restaurant, kneeling like a fool—the whole bloody farce.’
‘Oh-h-h.’ She winced in sympathy. ‘And she said no?’
He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Manon was a little like you in some of her ideas. She accused me of being a selfish chauvinist determined to cruelly subjugate her to domestic slavery and prevent her from realising her full potential by weighing her down with children.’ From the harsh intake of breath through his nostrils, some lingering outrage was apparent. ‘That was what she said to the media, among other things.’
She could imagine how bitterly such a rejection had hurt. Then to see Manon allowing herself to be subjugated by the next man in so precisely the manner she’d sneered at …
Shari’s heart positively ached for him. No wonder he’d been so cold to the beauty when they’d met. ‘That really wasn’t fair,’ she said earnestly. ‘You may not be perfect, but you aren’t cruel.’
He laughed and kissed her lips. ‘Thank you, chérie. I am trying very hard not to be. And the fates must have forgiven me, because now I have an adorable …’
‘Friend.’
His dark eyes gleamed. ‘And a child to look forward to. I am the happiest father-to-be in Paris. Do you believe that?’
Meeting his glowing gaze, she did. If there was one thing she was certain about, it was that. He was definitely in love with the baby.
‘And I’m not really like her at all, by the way,’ she said, getting out of the car.
But the concierge called to him at that moment, and Shari doubted he even heard.
Darkness was approaching when Luc strolled into a bar in a sidestreet tucked around the corner from the Ministry for the Interior. His elderly friend was already ensconced at a table, perusing Le Figaro.
‘Henri.’
‘Ah, Luc.’ He folded the news sheet and rose to brush cheeks. ‘Good to see you, my young friend. What are we drinking?’
Henri already had a cognac before him, so Luc signalled the bartender for the same. Once the courtesies had been observed, enquiries made about health, family and the stock market, the real reason for their meeting was subtly addressed.
‘I’m afraid the news is not good for your friend with the fiancée.’
Luc’s heart lurched. ‘No?’
‘There are some laws made of steel. They cannot be bent in the slightest. I’m sorry, my friend, but what can one do? This is the new world. The law is implacable on immigration matters. However …’ Henri contemplated his cognac. ‘Might I suggest a possible solution?’
Luc listened, and his spirits sank. Henri was assuming that this situation was straightforward, the woman like any other.
He endeavoured to explain. ‘She is not—I believe from what my friend says—she is not the sort of woman who wishes to be pinned down. Forever is not a phrase in her vocabulary. My friend is concerned that if he sets a foot wrong she’ll be fleeing to the airport in a snap.’
Henri arched his brows and laughed with frank amusement. ‘Ah, Luc. Tell your friend he is an idiot. He just needs to find the right inducement.’ He made a suggestive, masculine gesture. ‘In the end they all want to be pinned down.’
Luc grimaced ruefully. ‘Not all.’ He rose, thanking Henri before leaving and walking slowly back to the métro, a heavy weight constricting his heart. ‘No. Not all.’
Shari spent some of her afternoon engaged in research. It was a risk, it could have been self-defeating, but knowledge was power.
Unsurprisingly, there was little of recent date to find out about Manon. The grand passion seemed to have dropped altogether from public sight. As Shari had noticed as far back as Sydney, it seemed that once the scandal had been milked for every last drop the media circus had moved on. The tabloid sites were no longer swamped with sightings of Jackson Kerr and his new woman.
Just a view here or there of Manon spotted in Beverly Hills, always shying away from the camera. Manon sunning herself on Jackson’s private beach with a friend.
Was it possible they’d split up? Was this why Manon was back in France to have her baby? Shari was ready to bet LA was dotted with fabulous clinics for celebrities. Surely the American ones would compete with the best in the world.
She studied some of the old images from the time Manon had worked for the glossy. How could Manon have even dreamed of exchanging Luc for a butterfly like Jackson Kerr?
Scrolling back to the Malibu image, she enlarged it so she could get a clearer view of the friend. She could have been the same woman who’d been with Manon at the clinic.
Jackson might have been off on location somewhere. Shari hoped he wasn’t seducing another leading lady. He already had a few notches on his belt in that direction, if the celeb spotters were to be believed.
That would certainly explain why Manon had come back. Maybe she needed to call on friends and family for support.
When Luc arrived home Shari noticed a change in his mood. He tried to conceal it, but she sensed there was something on his mind. As if that over-the-moon excited guy in the street outside the clinic had plummeted to earth and it had gone hard with him.
She examined him carefully. ‘Is everything fine? At work? Your family?’
Anxiously she contemplated the meal she’d cooked. Her salad—she was leaving the vinaigrette dressing to him—the lamb cutlets with the Shari Lacey version of ratatouille instead of a sauce. It was Luc’s turn to make the dessert.
His handsome face lightened. ‘Everything is good. No need to worry.’ He smiled, but she couldn’t help wondering. And worrying.
He partook of the meal she’d partly prepared with apparent appreciation, but, as she’d noted before, he was a courteous guy. She made the resolution to take some lessons in French cuisine just as soon as she had the chance. Definitely.
Over the next week or so he often seemed deep in meditation. Once or twice she caught him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t interpret.
Well, she was starting to show. Her waist had thickened a little, and there were definite signs of a bump. To compensate she started making sure she looked beautilicious