‘Marc, good to see you.’ Lycos gave a firm shake of the hand extended to him. He would not call Marc Derenz a friend. He would call no man a friend. That was not his way. But Marc was a man he could trust, indeed did trust, with the investment of a good deal of his money. He was, he knew, a valued client of the prestigiousBanc Derenz. Marc himself moved in the first circles and was on social terms with all his clients. Including now, Lycos.
Greeting Marc’s wife, Lycos drew Arielle forward to introduce her. Tara Derenz might be a former model, and she certainly looked it in the bias-cut silver gown she was wearing, but Arielle was in no way outclassed. No way.
She looked, Lycos knew, stunning.
Superbe! Fantastique! Incroyable!
The French words formed in his head, the only ones to do justice to the vision at his side. The Grecian-style, pale blue gown followed her lovely, curvy figure from breast to ankle. Her lustrous hair was looped up, exposing the nape of her neck, enhancing the height of her cheekbones that were already contoured with skilful shading. Shading that also deepened the colour of her eyes, as mascara lengthened her lashes. Lipstick giving a wondrous sheen and lushness to her mouth.
He’d wondered, briefly, how Tara Derenz would take to a woman who could compete against her, but her smile was warm. So was Arielle’s.
‘Lycos mentioned you were English,’ Arielle said to Tara in English.
‘Scots originally,’ Tara replied. ‘Mackenzie. You sound English too. No French accent at all!’
‘My father,’ said Arielle. ‘But my mother was French.’
‘Arielle, what would you like to drink?’ Marc asked.
The four of them settled themselves down on the plush banquette in the very plush cocktail lounge of the extremely plushViscari Pariswhere they were to dine. Lycos took satisfaction in knowing that Arielle looked perfect for the exclusive setting.
Champagne was mutually agreed on and, as Arielle took a sip of hers, she turned to Lycos with a smile.
‘Does it make wine taste better now, do you think, having had the experience of picking the grapes in the first place? Not champagne grapes, of course, but the principle is the same!’
‘Picking grapes?’ Marc queried, non-plussed.
Lycos turned to him. ‘Arielle and I got roped into helping with the grape harvest while staying in Provence.’
Marc’s expression was a study. ‘Quite a novelty for you,’ he said.
‘And an enjoyable one,’ Lycos said, taking an appreciative mouthful of the superb Viscari house champagne, a unique blend only available at Viscari hotels. ‘It was very…’ he sought for the right word, ‘…collaborative. I think we pitched in pretty well, didn’t we, Arielle? OK, I didn’t do nearly as well as the practised harvesters, but I wasn’t too pathetic!’
‘You were very good,’ Arielle praised him.
‘What part of Provence?’ Tara Derenz asked with interest. ‘Marc is lucky enough to have inherited an original art-deco villa on Cap Saint-Pierre, the last unspoiltcapon the Côte d’Azur. But inland is far less spoilt.’
‘Quite near Saint-Clément,’ Lycos answered. He wanted to change the subject. He did not want to bring up Arielle’s lostmas.Nor consider why he did not wish to.
‘Cap Saint-Pierre,’ he mused. ‘I must say I’ve never been there. I tend to stick to Monaco, Nice and Cannes when I’m at the coast. And, of course, the casinos.’
He made no secret of how he’d acquired his wealth, nor his reputation. Not that that meant anything to Marc Derenz. He had other acquaintances in Paris to whom it signified more. He would meet up with them while he was here, but tonight was for the Derenzes.
‘We stick to thecap,’ Tara said decisively. ‘I’m not a fan of cities. Oh, Paris is gorgeous, in its own way. I’ll allow that. But when we married we made Versailles our base. Though Marc keeps apied-à-terrehandy over the bank.’
‘Versailles sounds, well, palatial!’ Arielle smiled.
‘It is. And the palace grounds are ideal for pushchairs!’ responded Tara.
Lycos heard Arielle enquire after the occupants of the pushchairs and was glad to realise she and Marc’s wife seemed to be hitting it off. They went on chatting. An easy conversation switching in and out of French and English. He turned to Marcto ask him something about the current French political scene. Menus were bestowed upon them. Choices made, champagne consumed, they made their way into the Viscari’sMichelin-starred restaurant to take their table. The evening was going well and Lycos was glad.
His eyes were still feasting on Arielle. How fantastic she looked.En grande tenueindeed. Effortlessly holding her own in these luxury surroundings. She was relaxed and he was glad for that too.
He realised he was also relaxed. And enjoying himself. The Derenzes might be an established married couple, but he and Arielle were—
Were what?
He paused inwardly a moment, searching for thebon mot.
