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He laughed again, a full-throated, exuberant sound that attracted the smiling attention of passers-by. ‘You’re so good for my ego!’ Still chuckling, he scooped up her hand in his and tugged her along at his side. ‘Come on, we have better things to do than hang around here like a pair of damned groupies!’
A little further up the street he stopped her outside a very stylish jewellery store, the kind that had a security guard manning the heavy glass door. ‘I shan’t be a moment,’ he promised as he slipped inside.
She watched through the glass, and when he drew a small object out of his wallet to show the assistant she put a hand to her throat, suddenly realising what he was asking. She was a trifle embarrassed, knowing that although the sterling silver chain and jade pendant had been difficult for her parents to afford at the time, it couldn’t possibly compete with the kind of expensive jewellery discreetly displayed in the light-boxes dotted around the store.
However the elegant assistant didn’t reel back in disdain at Luc’s request, probably because he was leaning casually on the glass counter, totally at ease in the luxurious surroundings, a picture of dark, masculine charm.
As the assistant disappeared into the back room, Luc glanced up and Veronica ducked across to pretend to be admiring the window display, a dazzling array of diamond rings.
Luc grinned at her through the glass shelves, then he straightened, a faint frown drifting across his face. He stiffened, and strode towards the door and out onto the street.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Veronica as he slid his arm around her, keeping their backs to the street and looking furtively over his shoulder. She tried to follow his gaze but he blocked her movement with his body.
‘Keep looking in the window. I don’t think he’s quite sure, yet, but…if that’s who I think it is—’ He swore virulently as he did another quick sweep of the pavement across the street.
‘Which ring do you like? I like that one?’ he said, pointing haphazardly into the window. His arm tightened around her waist, pinning her to his side and he nuzzled her neck, using the shade of her brim to disguise the fact he was keeping a wary eye behind them.
‘What are you doing?’ Unnerved by his behaviour, Veronica twisted in his grasp in time to see a plump little man in a backwards baseball cap and beige cotton waistcoat and trousers festooned with bulging zip pockets start to dodge his way across the busy street, a long-lens camera bumping against his chest, sweat running in rivulets down the sides of his face.
‘Hey—yo! Ryder!’
With another curse, Luc hustled Veronica inside the store, directing a burst of French at the security guard who hastily locked the door behind them.
‘Who is that?’ said Veronica as the man vainly gesticulated to the guard to let him in, then mashed himself against the glass to peer in at them, wiping at the haze of perspiration that was fogging up his view.
‘No one you want to know. Bloody paparazzi! I should have realised they’d be buzzing round here with the festival on…it’s always a drawcard for celebrities and see-me wannabes…’
‘I’m not going away until you give me a money-shot, you know, Ryder!’ the photographer was yelling through the toughened glass in a cockney accent. ‘So you may as well give it up now, and I’ll go away and leave you in peace. Remember me from London? I know where you live—!’
‘Blackmailing bastard!’ ground out Luc as the man banged on the door with the flat of his hand.
‘Come on, Ryder—just one exclusive and I’m outta here! Have you seen Foster since he came out of rehab? Are you down here to see his show? Seen Mrs Malcolm lately? She’s supposed to be at a health spa but no one can find her—’ The man had swapped his heavy, long-lens camera for a smaller, digital SLR, snapping off pictures as fast as his questions. ‘You looking at buying your lady some jewellery? Is she anyone we know? Yo! Darlin’—how about taking off the hat, and giving me a nice, big smile—’
‘For goodness’ sake!’ spluttered Veronica as Luc pushed her over towards the counter, out of sight of the door, but the photographer just moved over to the display window and began shooting between the shelves.
‘Damn! He’s not going to go away. They’re like bloody pit-bulls when they lock onto a target,’ said Luc furiously. ‘They staked out my flat in London, but thank God they didn’t know about the one in Paris—’
‘Perhaps the guard can do something?’ suggested Veronica, realising the intrusive attention she had suffered in New Zealand was mild in comparison.
‘And make even more of a scene? He’d love that! It’s part of the pap technique—goading people into doing something that makes a more dramatic picture. And we don’t want to risk bringing down the rest of the pack—where there’s one, there’s bound to be others…’
‘Hey—these are some pretty fancy rings you two were looking at here in the window, Ryder!’ The baying hound’s words were greatly muffled by the layers of glass, but still audible in the quiet atmosphere of the shop. ‘You gonna to buy her one? What’s the big occasion?’
‘Honestly! He’s not very good at goading, if that’s the best he can do,’ scorned Veronica, firmly suppressing a leap of forbidden yearning.
Luc looked at her with an arrested expression, his eyes travelling down to the cabinet in front of them, holding a small arrangement of very expensive rings, and then back up to Veronica’s flushed face, innocent of make-up, her soft eyes bright with indignation and dark with embarrassed empathy.
She could almost see his brain working like lightning behind his suddenly abstracted gaze; dangerous, forked lightning—the kind that raised the hair on the back of your neck, then sizzled you on the spot before you even had time to run, or even recognise you were in peril. Unfortunately, she seemed to have fallen in love with this particular natural hazard, and flight was no longer a desirable option.
‘Well, we could try giving him what he wants…’ he said slowly, his eyes coming back into focus and filling with a strange, liquid warmth that made something inside her quiver. He reached up and pulled off her hat, dropping it beside them on the counter as she automatically winnowed her fingers through her flattened hair. ‘And save both you and I a load of hassles in the process…’
‘But—there’s no reason for him to be interested in me—’ Glancing out the window, she could see the photographer’s camera had drooped with disappointment as he registered that her hat hadn’t been hiding a recognisable face or glamorous beauty.
‘Nor me, per se. I’m only a target right now because of Elise and now he’s seen you with me that makes you a potential target, too,’ he told her, turning her to face him and running his finger under the strap of her sundress, gently aligning it more precisely over the faint tan-line on her smooth shoulder. ‘If you become tabloid fodder here, because of me, it could follow you home, because you can be sure the Kiwi papers would probably pick it up, and what they don’t know about us, they’ll make up. It might even get your loony ex a fresh batch of publicity for his crass stunts.’ As she opened her mouth to protest he gently sealed her lips with the press of his forefinger. ‘I know. It’s not fair—that’s just the way it is. But we could get him off our backs and kill two birds with one stone…’
‘What do you mean?’ she said warily, her spine tingling at the silky smile that was stealing over his face.
To her shock he cupped her chin and kissed her square on her puzzled mouth, in full view of the snapping camera. ‘I mean, that if we can convince him we’re engaged, then our scandal value plummets…we’re a humdrum social paragraph rather than a titillating piece of spice. We can make our relationship appear to be so cosily domesticated and respectable that no tablo
