His voice soft, not much above a whisper, Milo Caine said, ‘You were ill?’
‘Yes. There was—they said there was an accident.’
‘Who said so?’
‘The people at the hospital.’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘No. No, I don’t remember.’ She suddenly straightened up, said irritably, There, I’ve told you all you wanted to know. Now leave me alone. You have ruined the party for me.’
‘There’s just one thing more.’ He took the newspaper clipping from his pocket. ‘I’d like you to read this.’
Reluctantly Angélique took it from him, glanced at it, then immediately handed it back. ‘It’s in English.’
He made no comment, but took it back and said, ‘Then I’ll translate it for you.’ But he didn’t even glance at the cutting as he went on, ‘Basically it is a report of our engagement. It states that our marriage will set the seal on a business partnership between our two families that has existed for over two centuries. The company of Caine and Chandos has recently been run by Milo Caine, the direct descendant of one of the original founders.’ He glanced at her to make sure she knew he was referring to himself. Her expression was one of wooden boredom, but he seemed satisfied and went on, ‘Half of the business, though, is still owned by the Chandos family, but their shares have passed through the female line since the death of George Chandos in 1983. His daughter married a Frenchman but the marriage was eventually dissolved and the entire shares for the family’s half of the company are now owned by his granddaughter, Miss Paige Chandos.’
Folding the clipping, he looked at her expectantly, but Angélique merely made a moue of disinterest. ‘Why do you tell me this? It seems a strange way to announce an engagement. Your English society pages must be very boring.’
‘It wasn’t in the society pages, it was in the business supplement.’
She laughed and gave him a pitying look. ‘So that was what your engagement was—a business arrangement But that I can understand. They still have those kind of marriages among the wealthy classes here in France.’ Her eyes disparaged him and her voice was taunting. ‘No wonder you are eager to find your fiancée; how annoyed you must be not to have all those shares under your control, the entire power under your command.’
‘Is that what you think?’ he asked, watching her closely.
She gave an eloquent shrug. ‘Why should you care what I think? I am nothing to you.’
‘On the contrary. You mean a great deal to me.’ His voice was warm, forceful.
With a small laugh, Angélique said, ‘How can I when you have never seen me before?’
But Caine ignored her and went on, ‘Is that why you ran away? Did you think that I didn’t care about you, was only interested in the company? You couldn’t be more wrong, Paige. I care about you very deeply.’
Slowly she raised her eyes to look into his, then gave a mocking smile. ‘I always understood that Englishmen were cold fish—now I know why.’
His mouth thinned. ‘I hardly think that the punishment you inflicted fits the crime, especially when the crime existed only in your imagination, Paige.’
Her eyes shadowed. ‘Don’t call me that. You’re wasting your time. I am not the woman you’re looking for. You’ve made a mistake. How many times do I have to tell you?’
Jean-Louis walked into the room. ‘Are you still arguing?’ he demanded exasperatedly.
‘Do you read English, Monsieur Lenée?’ Caine asked, and when he got a nod in reply handed him the cutting.
His eyes widening as he read it, Jean-Louis said, ‘Are you saying that this woman is Angélique?’
‘I’m sure of it.’
‘If what he is saying is true then you could be rich, chérie. Is she rich, this—’ he glanced at the clipping ‘—Paige Chandos?’
‘Very.’
They both watched him as he stood silently, thinking it through, then Jean-Louis said, ‘Is it really possible that you could be this woman, Angélique?’
‘No,’ she said positively.
‘I’ve asked her about her background,’ Caine interrupted, ignoring her denial, ‘but she seems very confused. She said that she was in an accident and she doesn’t seem to remember much that happened before that.’
‘That’s true,’ Jean-Louis agreed at once. ‘She has never told me anything about her past, her family. And I have never met anyone who knew her before I met her.’ Going to Angélique, he said in a persuasive tone, ‘If you are this woman, then it is only right that you should claim your inheritance, chérie.’
Her green eyes grew cold. ‘What are you saying?’
He spread his hands. ‘You may be right, he may have made a mistake, but—’
‘He has,’ she interrupted fiercely.
Jean-Louis frowned, then turned to Caine. ‘Please, I wish to speak to my fiancée in private.’
For a moment the Englishman hesitated, but then nodded. ‘Very well.’
When they were alone, Jean-Louis took her hand. ‘I have agreed to paint the American woman’s portrait immediately. Tomorrow I am to go to the château near Montpellier where she is to visit friends and do the painting there. It will take me at least three weeks, probably longer, and I cannot take you with me.’
‘So?’
‘Angélique, it could be that you are not this woman the Englishman is looking for, so then, OK, you have lost nothing. But you have always refused to talk about your childhood, your past before you came to Paris. I’ve often asked you but you’ve never told me anything, except that you were in an accident. So maybe you are this English girl.’ He paused, then said, ‘Caine seems very sure that you are, but even if you are not, what harm would it do to take this fortune he’s offering you?’
‘I don’t want money. I don’t want to be rich. I just want to be your wife, your model.’
‘You will still be that, of course. But it’s better to be rich than poor. And think what we could do with the money; we could pay off the loan from the gallery. I would be free to exhibit my paintings wherever I liked. I could paint what pictures I wanted all the time instead of having to take commissions. And I could—’
Her green eyes glacial, Angélique said acidly, ‘And you could wear Armani suits all the time, and go to parties, and drink champagne all day long. You could have a house in Tahiti and an apartment in New York. You could travel and mix with all these beautiful, rich people you so admire.’
‘And what is wrong with that?’ Jean-Louis demanded, incensed. ‘A great talent should be nurtured. You should be pleased that you could make me free to do the work I want.’
‘Pleased?’ she said derisively. ‘Pleased that you could toss off a painting every now and again just so that the women keep fawning over you?’
He laughed and pulled her to him. ‘Ah, I see what it is, chérie; you are jealous. You think that if we were rich I would flirt with other women. But you know that there has never been anyone but you since the first moment I met you. It was love at first sight, was it not? I am your slave; I am the ground under your pretty feet.’ He was kissing her neck, the corners of her mouth, her eyes. ‘You know I adore you, that I would give my life for you. How could I even look at another woman when I am blinded by your beauty? Every moment away from you will be a lifetime. I hate this American woman for taking me away from you, but I have to do it. I can’t afford not to. You know that.’ He sighed against her lips. ‘But if we had money of our own then I would never have to leave