She was a good hour earlier than usual.
'Madame de Courcy.' She turned, alarmed, in time to see Fabrice
de Thiery loping towards her across the road.
'I hope you didn't think I was another thief.' His smile warmed
her. 'I wanted to see you to return these.' He produced her key ring
from his pocket and held it out to her. 'I must have picked it up by
mistake yesterday.'
'Oh, thank you. What a relief! I hadn't dared confess I'd lost
them.'
'Your husband is such a monster?' He sounded amused, but his
eyes were serious.
'No—no, on the contrary,' Philippa said hastily. There was a
pause.
Then, 'You are early today,' he remarked. 'I was lucky to catch
you.'
'Not really.' Philippa sighed. 'I have to wait in future to be driven home.'
'Well, that is the sensible course.'
'Yes, but it isn't what I wanted.'
He looked at his watch. 'You have time, perhaps, for another
coffee?'
Philippa hesitated. The sensible course in this instance would be
to decline gracefully, and she knew it.
'You're going to refuse, aren't you?' Fabrice de Thiery said
ruefully. 'Well, I don't blame you. Your husband is a formidable man, after all. He would not wish you to make a friend of someone of such
little importance as myself.'
Philippa stared at him. 'Is that what you really think?'
'But of course.' He looked slightly embarrassed. 'After I left you, I made some enquiries. If it had not been for the keys, I don't think I would have dared approach you again.'
Philippa lifted her chin. 'Monsieur de Thiery, I would be delighted
to have coffee with you.'
She learned a considerable amount about him in the half-hour
that followed. She discovered that his parents lived in Rouen, where
his father had a printing business, and that he was an only child.
Fabrice was
working in Paris, completing his training in accountancy with an
international firm. In the winter he played rugby, and he enjoyed
Japanese films. The information poured out of him.
It was very pleasant, Philippa realised, to sit in the sunlight with
someone who so obviously found her attractive. And if a warning voice in her mind murmured that this was a situation fraught with potential pitfalls, she chose to ignore it. And if Alain disapproved of her new acquaintance, what did it matter? she asked herself defiantly. He was hardly in any position to criticise, after what she had seen on the
terrace the night before. She was simply having an innocent cup of
coffee at a pavement cafe, so what did he have to complain about?
She wasn't embarking on a love affair.
All the same, the glow of admiration in Fabrice's eyes, the way
he leaned towards her, and almost touched her hand, yet didn't quite
—these things were balm to the inner wounds which Alain had
inflicted. It humiliated her to remember how she'd clung to him—how
she'd allowed him to kiss her—touch her. The way she'd almost
forgotten that he was only playing some cynical game with her,
amusing himself for a few hours, even though his heart, mind and body belonged to another woman.
She sighed inwardly when she thought of Marie-Laure. Yes, she
was beautiful, with a body that would be any man's fantasy. But
Philippa found herself wishing that she liked her more, or thought she was worthy of Alain's obsession with her. Was he so besotted that he
couldn't see how spoiled and spiteful she was, or did he just not care?
'All of a sudden,' Fabrice said softly, 'I feel I am talking to
myself.'
Philippa snapped out of her brief reverie with a start. 'I'm sorry—
that was rude of me.' She drank the remainder of her coffee. 'I have a lot on my mind, you see.'
He nodded gravely. 'I do understand. I know more than you
think, perhaps.'
She laughed, reaching for her bag. 'After two cups of coffee? I
doubt it.'
'I know for example that you are not happy,' he said. 'That your
husband lives a life totally his own.'
Philippa bit her lip. 'I'm not prepared to discuss my marriage
with you, or anyone,
'Madame de Courcy.' She turned, alarmed, in time to see Fabrice
de Thiery loping towards her across the road.
'I hope you didn't think I was another thief.' His smile warmed
her. 'I wanted to see you to return these.' He produced her key ring
from his pocket and held it out to her. 'I must have picked it up by
mistake yesterday.'
'Oh, thank you. What a relief! I hadn't dared confess I'd lost
them.'
'Your husband is such a monster?' He sounded amused, but his
eyes were serious.
'No—no, on the contrary,' Philippa said hastily. There was a
pause.
Then, 'You are early today,' he remarked. 'I was lucky to catch
you.'
'Not really.' Philippa sighed. 'I have to wait in future to be driven home.'
'Well, that is the sensible course.'
'Yes, but it isn't what I wanted.'
He looked at his watch. 'You have time, perhaps, for another
coffee?'
Philippa hesitated. The sensible course in this instance would be
to decline gracefully, and she knew it.
'You're going to refuse, aren't you?' Fabrice de Thiery said
ruefully. 'Well, I don't blame you. Your husband is a formidable man, after all. He would not wish you to make a friend of someone of such
little importance as myself.'
Philippa stared at him. 'Is that what you really think?'
'But of course.' He looked slightly embarrassed. 'After I left you, I made some enquiries. If it had not been for the keys, I don't think I would have dared approach you again.'
Philippa lifted her chin. 'Monsieur de Thiery, I would be delighted
to have coffee with you.'
She learned a considerable amount about him in the half-hour
that followed. She discovered that his parents lived in Rouen, where
his father had a printing business, and that he was an only child.
Fabrice was
working in Paris, completing his training in accountancy with an
international firm. In the winter he played rugby, and he enjoyed
Japanese films. The information poured out of him.
It was very pleasant, Philippa realised, to sit in the sunlight with
someone who so obviously found her attractive. And if a warning voice in her mind murmured that this was a situation fraught with potential pitfalls, she chose to ignore it. And if Alain disapproved of her new acquaintance, what did it matter? she asked herself defiantly. He was hardly in any position to criticise, after what she had seen on the
terrace the night before. She was simply having an innocent cup of
coffee at a pavement cafe, so what did he have to complain about?
She wasn't embarking on a love affair.
All the same, the glow of admiration in Fabrice's eyes, the way
he leaned towards her, and almost touched her hand, yet didn't quite
—these things were balm to the inner wounds which Alain had
inflicted. It humiliated her to remember how she'd clung to him—how
she'd allowed him to kiss her—touch her. The way she'd almost
forgotten that he was only playing some cynical game with her,
amusing himself for a few hours, even though his heart, mind and body belonged to another woman.
She sighed inwardly when she thought of Marie-Laure. Yes, she
was beautiful, with a body that would be any man's fantasy. But
Philippa found herself wishing that she liked her more, or thought she was worthy of Alain's obsession with her. Was he so besotted that he
couldn't see how spoiled and spiteful she was, or did he just not care?
'All of a sudden,' Fabrice said softly, 'I feel I am talking to
myself.'
Philippa snapped out of her brief reverie with a start. 'I'm sorry—
that was rude of me.' She drank the remainder of her coffee. 'I have a lot on my mind, you see.'
He nodded gravely. 'I do understand. I know more than you
think, perhaps.'
She laughed, reaching for her bag. 'After two cups of coffee? I
doubt it.'
'I know for example that you are not happy,' he said. 'That your
husband lives a life totally his own.'
Philippa bit her lip. 'I'm not prepared to discuss my marriage
with you, or anyone,
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