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‘Where are you living now?’ she asked as she reached for more seafood.
‘Still in Paris, in the same hotel.’
Elisabeth paused, her hands on the serving spoons. ‘In Paris? I thought you’d have moved on by now. Weren’t you thinking of Germany or the Middle East next?’
He shrugged and took a sip of crisp white wine. It was a fine vintage but he wasn’t doing it justice because his mind was focused on his wife. It would be too easy to say something that would reopen the chasm between them when that was the last thing he wanted.
‘It’s not so far from Paris to Berlin or any of the other major German cities. Besides, there’s been plenty to keep me busy in France.’
He refused to admit to Elisabeth, barely even acknowledged it himself, that he hadn’twantedto leave Paris. There was no logical explanation. Just a gut-deep reluctance connected to the memory of her ditching him there. The need to have her walk back in through the very same door she’d closed so quietly behind her and resume their life together.
A psychologist would say something about his childhood scars and his parents’ abandonment. But Jack knew he’d got over that long ago. This was solely about his wife and getting her back.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to tackle a new city without her beside him. It had nothing to do with business. He could succeed without her, now he’d developed more contacts in Europe. The success of his projects spoke for themselves. Instead some deep-seated instinct told him he couldn’t merely shrug off her desertion and move on.
Elisabeth would come back to him. She’d walk into that Paris suite again, into his bed and into his life andthenhe’d be ready for his next move.
‘It’s an attractive city, don’t you think?’
She transferred some food onto her plate and put down the serving spoons. ‘I suppose so.’
One eyebrow rose. ‘I thought you enjoyed the restaurants and galleries. And everyone raves about the shopping.’
‘I’m not much of a shopper.’
It was true. Elisabeth always looked just as she should, the perfect outfit for each occasion, well-groomed and sophisticated. She’d spent his money on expensive gowns for expensive occasions but retail therapy wasn’t her thing. That set her apart from most of the women he’d known.
‘But you enjoyed the exhibitions I took you to.’ They’d attended several exclusive black tie gallery events as well as the usual charity galas, performances and dinners.
She swallowed a mouthful of food then nodded. ‘Yes, I enjoyed those.’ She lifted one shoulder. ‘But you can’t spend every day filling in time at galleries and restaurants.’
Jack frowned. That was exactly what partners of his business associates did. Ladies who lunched and shopped and had spa days.
‘You were lonely?’ That hadn’t occurred to him. She’d always seemed content, right up until the day she announced she was leaving. ‘You’d have made friends there in time.’
She put down her cutlery with a clatter. ‘What would be the point? Your schedule meant we wouldn’t put down roots because we’d move again in a couple of months.’
His eyes narrowed. More than once she’d mentioned buying a place within commuting distance of the city. He hadn’t been against the idea, but it didn’t fit into his five-year plan. Perhaps sometime in the future.
‘Anyway, I did have some friends there.’
Her look was pure challenge and she sat straighter. He knew they were on dangerous ground.
‘You mean Lara Cartwright.’
She nodded. ‘Marriage didn’t give you the right to dictate who I could be friends with.’
His heart sank. He remembered only snippets of that night. The migraine that had been the first sign of the flu that had felled him. He’d spend the evening in throbbing pain and sensitive to light. The last thing he’d felt like had been going to a gala and giving a speech. Then he’d been confronted with the paparazzi’s stories about his wife, just when he was in the middle of tricky negotiations with a blue-blooded CEO who already considered Jack a brash colonial. Normally he’d let his work speak for itself but that deal was the key to unlocking several he had his eye on.
‘I wasn’t dictating, I was advising. And she wasn’t a close friend, was she?’
As soon as he spoke he knew he’d said the wrong thing.
Elisabeth’s chin came up. ‘We were at school together and she needed a friend in Paris.’
‘She might have needed a friend but she had no right to drag you into the gutter press.’ The woman seemed to delight in flaunting her reputation for scandal.
The details of that evening were blurry but he remembered the photos of the two women leaving an exclusive Parisian bar. They were arm in arm, heads together as if sharing secrets, Lara waving a half-empty martini glass and the angle of the photo making it look like they were unsteady on their feet. The caption had implied they’d been carousing all afternoon and speculated maliciously about Elisabeth having more in common with her friend than the public realised.
