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He asked her all about Hawaii and about her mother and her sister. At first she was reticent, but soon she found herself talking to him far too easily. Even the difficult years after her father had left and then died, those years when she’d felt like the ugly duckling in a home with her beautiful sister and ambitious mother, Amy described with affection and humor.
“I was too much like my father. He thought there was no point in being rich and famous. I missed him when he was gone. I think Fletcher reminded me a little of him. My mother was always saying neither of them ever wanted to grow up.”
“A fatal failing,” he said.
“Well, at least I can brag about my sister.”
His eyes filled with empathy. “You are not the only one who has disappointed your family, you know.”
Pain flashed in his eyes. “I could tell you a story or two. More than a story or two. Maybe someday I will.” He pressed the back of her hand to his lips, and his voice was edged with such bleak bitterness she wondered if he was as disreputable as the man she’d read about. What was his side of the story?
As their capsule soared high and the city of London was spread beneath them, she stopped talking, hoping he would tell her something of himself. But he didn’t. Instead, he pointed out the various parks, the Tower, the Palace of Westminster, Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral, to name only a few sights.
“When I come back, I will see them all,” she said.
He laughed. “I’d like to show them to you.”
Would he really? Wasn’t he with her solely because of Château Serene or maybe the painting? Was he between glamorous women and merely bored tonight? Or did he just fling lines like that to any woman he happened to be with?
“It’s hard to imagine you sightseeing.”
“The simplest things can be fun if you’re with an enjoyable companion.”
He told her he preferred St. James’s Park to all the others because it had the best vistas and was the most royal.
“St. James’s Park is the first place I’d take you if I ever had the chance. In summer I often sit beside the lake and work there. If I get bored or stuck on a problem, I watch the pelicans.”
“In London?”
“You just saw one when we were on the bridge. The first flock was a gift from the Russian ambassador. These, however, are from Florida. They’re quite vicious when you get to know them, sort of like our paysans in Provence who will squabble over anything.” He smiled.
“And you enjoy that?”
“I understand it. When they fight over scraps, they take my mind off…” A shadow passed over his face, and again she sensed his pain. Did he blame himself for André’s death? Was he really as ruthless as the papers made him out to be?
Her own conscience was pricked. Should she confess she knew who he was and suspected what he was up to? No. Even if he was not guilty of the worst, he had deliberately deceived her.
She didn’t push him to confide. Finally he drew a deep breath and began speaking of London and Paris. His London that was made up of chauffeurs, private clubs and the best restaurants, shops and hotels was very different from hers. His London had nothing to do with vintage shops or flea markets. He never exhausted himself chasing about the city on the tube.
Not that he didn’t listen and ask questions when she described her world—the shop, her bargain-hungry customers, her triumphs at finding something wonderful for them at some insanely cheap price, her life in Hawaii, which was both casual and laid-back, but ridiculously expensive and, therefore, stressful. He seemed particularly interested in hearing about her mother and her sister’s sometimes unendurable ambition and conceit regarding Carol’s grand marriage to her English lord.
“And do you call her Lady Carol now?”
“Just to tease her. But I must confess, I have a picture of Steve being knighted and a picture of her estate on a bulletin board at Vintage, so I do brag about her when my customers ask about the pictures. Actually, technically, she can’t be called Lady Carol. Apparently, titles like that are acquired by birth. She’s Lady Burlingsquire, though.”
“Sounds very matronly and respectable. Old and boring, if you ask me.”
She began to giggle, maybe because she was on her third glass of champagne.
“How about some coffee and a truffle?” he said.
Before she could protest, he’d removed their glasses and set them on a little table, which was too far for her to reach.
If he was bad, shouldn’t he be trying to get her drunk so he could seduce her out of her transparent knickers and break her heart? To tell the truth, she felt vaguely disappointed that he was being so good.
