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He stood at the window, his back half turned to her. ‘I tried to call you from Germany. My housekeeper told me that you’d cleared out without even staying the night. She said the bedroom was so tidy that she wasn’t too sure you’d been in it at all.’
Catherine bent her head. Luc’s security staff were thorough.
‘Then I saw that photo of you at the airport with Santini. It was in every newspaper,’ he sighed. ‘Daniel is the image of him. Harriet lied about your background. I put that together for myself.’
‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you the truth.’
‘It was none of my business when I first knew you. But I preferred competing with a ghost,’ he admitted wryly, and hesitated. ‘To take off with him like that, you have to be crazy about him…’
Her vague idea of explaining what had really happened died there. Somehow she felt it would be disloyal to Luc. Drew had no need of that information. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, half under her breath, and then, looking up, asked, ‘Did you get your contract?’
Unexpectedly, he smiled widely. ‘Not the one I went out for. Quite coincidentally, an even more promising prospect came up. It’s secured the firm’s future for a long time to come. What’s that saying? Lucky at cards, unlucky in love?’
Her eyes clouded over, but she was shaken to realise that Drew was quite unaware that his firm had been under threat and had ultimately profited from the change in contracts. He had undergone no anxiety, and the news that he had achieved that second contract through Luc’s influence would not be welcome.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘I’ve agreed to go to counselling with Annette, but I don’t know if it will change anything.’
A smile chased the tension from her soft mouth. ‘I’m glad,’ she said sincerely.
‘I still think you’re pure gold, Catherine.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I just hope that he appreciates how lucky he is.’
Not so’s you’d notice, she repined helplessly as she climbed back into the limousine. A male, punch-drunk on his good fortune, did not willingly vacate the marital bed and avoid all physical contact. Quite obviously, Luc couldn’t bring himself to touch her. The white-hot heat of his hunger had died along with the illusion. But it hadn’t died for her. Her love had never been an illusion. She had never been blind to Luc’s flaws or her own. She still ached with wanting him. And soon she would despise herself again for that weakness.
It was wrong to let Luc do this to her. It was undignified, degrading…cowardly. Their marriage had been a mistake. Continuing it purely for the sake of appearances demanded too high a cost of her self-respect. Nor could she sacrifice herself for Daniel’s sake. Daniel was like Luc. Daniel would survive. It was her own survival that was at risk. She couldn’t afford to sit back and let events overtake her as she had done so often in the past. A clean break was the only answer and it was for her to take the initiative.
Dazed by the acknowledgement, she wandered round Harrods in the afternoon. The heavens were falling on her. The ground was suddenly rocking beneath her feet. It was over…over. She had felt this way once before and she had never wanted to feel like this again.
The chauffeur was replacing the phone when she returned to the car. ‘Mr Santini’s back from Paris, madam. I said we’d be back within two hours, allowing for the traffic.’
Dear heaven, for someone who didn’t give two hoots about her, Luc certainly kept tabs on her! She was suddenly very reluctant to go home. It would be better, she reasoned, if Daniel was in bed when she returned.
‘We’ll be later,’ she said. ‘I want to stop somewhere for a meal.’
She selected a hotel. She spent ages choosing from the chef’s recommendations, chasing each course round the plate and deciding what she would say to Luc, how she would say it and, more importantly, how she would look when she said it. Cool, calm and collected. Not martyred, not distressed, not apologetic. When she told Luc that she wanted an immediate separation, she would do it with dignity.
She was tiptoeing up the stairs, deciding that she would feel fresher and more dignified in the morning, when Luc strode out of the drawing-room. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded, making her jump with fright.
‘Out.’ Carefully not sparing his lean, dark physique a single visually disturbing glance, she murmured, ‘I want a separation, Luc.’
‘Prego?’ It was very faint. She studied him then, unable to resist the temptation. The lights above shed cruel clarity on the sudden pallor defining his hard bone-structure. For some reason, he looked absolutely shattered by her announcement. It also occurred to her that he had lost weight over the last few days.
‘We can talk about it tomorrow.’ Consumed by raging misery, she lost heart in her prepared speeches about incompatability.
‘We talk about it now. You’ve been with Huntingdon!’ The condemnation came slamming back at her with ferocious bite as he mounted the stairs two at time.
He was seething, she registered bemusedly.
‘You go slinking back to him the instant my back’s turned. I won’t let you go,’ he swore fiercely. ‘I’ll kill him if he comes near you!’
‘I can’t think why. After all—’
‘After all nothing,’ he cut in wrathfully. ‘You’re my wife.’
Gingerly, she pressed open her bedroom door. ‘Your room’s next door, I seem to recall,’ she reminded him for want of anything better to say.
‘I was a fool to take that lying down! How dare you put me out of your bed?’ he ground out between clenched white teeth, following her in, slamming the door with a resounding crash.
She blinked. ‘I didn’t—’
