The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

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СКАЧАТЬ was about as okay as she would ever be. ‘Sure.’ Seconds later she cleared the exit and joined the line of cars crawling along Toorak Road.

      Perth? Why had Camille mentioned Perth?

      It took several minutes to reach the turn-off, and she moved freely through various residential streets before entering her own.

      Miguel’s Jaguar was parked outside the front door, and she drew the Porsche to a halt behind it.

      No sooner had she entered the foyer than he was there, tall and brooding, his eyes compellingly dark as he raked her petite frame.

      His gaze shifted to the large envelope in her hand, and he took it from her, then he cupped her chin and kissed her, hard.

      ‘Let’s take this into the study.’ Miguel caught hold of her hand and led the way. ‘I think we could both do with a drink.’

      And then some, Hannah echoed silently as she entered the large book-lined room, watching as he opened a bottle of chilled white wine and filled two goblets with the golden liquid.

      She accepted one and took a long sip of the contents as he leaned one hip against the desk.

      Hannah indicated the envelope. ‘Aren’t you going to open that?’

      ‘In a minute. First, there’s something you need to know.’

      She held his gaze, then said slowly, ‘I don’t think I want to hear this.’

      ‘Camille apparently discovered I would be in Perth, and she not only caught an earlier flight, she also booked into the same hotel.’

      He caught the fleeting stricken look before she successfully controlled it, and he felt moved to violence at the lengths Camille was prepared to go to wreak destruction.

      ‘Don’t tell me,’ Hannah said bitterly. ‘Not only does that envelope contain doctored photographs we’ve already seen, but shots taken of the hotel with the date function exposed.’ Her gaze lanced his. ‘What else? You leaving your hotel room? Camille posing in the hallway with the room number showing, should I want to check it out?’

      ‘Worse. Camille lying almost naked in an unmade bed. The fact it isn’t my bed is immaterial, as most of the rooms are identical.’

      She stood up and carefully placed the goblet down onto the desk. Calm, a tiny voice soothed. Stay calm. Just go look at the prints. Examine them carefully. And don’t say a word until you’re done.

      With slow deliberation she slit the edge of the envelope and extracted the prints. One by one she discarded them onto the desk until she came to the final six.

      As she anticipated, there was a photo taken of the hotel exterior, another of the reception area with a clear view of Camille checking in. The hallway, displaying a room number on the door. Miguel emerging from the same room. And the final two showing Camille sprawled in differing poses among rumpled sheets looking dreamily sated and incredibly seductive.

      Hannah’s first inclination was to rip them in half and throw them in the waste bin. It sickened her to look at them, and she felt positively ill at the mental image of Miguel pleasuring another woman. Even if it hadn’t happened, just the thought was enough to kill her.

      ‘Look at the date.’

      Miguel’s voice penetrated the dark void into which she’d mentally retreated, and she shook her head.

      ‘Por Dios.’ The husky imprecation sounded like silk being razed by razor-sharp steel. ‘Look.’

      It was today’s date. Today? But—

      ‘I was here last night,’ Miguel relayed inexorably. ‘With you.’

      Irrefutable proof. ‘Just as well,’ Hannah ventured with a shaky smile. ‘Otherwise I’d have killed you, or worse.’

      He appeared vaguely amused. ‘Then it’s fortunate I have an alibi for Monday evening.’

      ‘I hope it’s watertight.’

      ‘It is. Alejandro will confirm.’ His voice became hard, his expression inflexible. ‘Camille will be served with an interim injunction. If she chooses to disregard it, she’ll be charged, independently of existing harassment charges.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Then there’s scientific proof regarding tampering of photographic prints.’ His gaze speared hers. ‘If she’s wise, she’ll take the first flight out of here.’

      And their lives would revert to normal. Until the next time, Hannah added cynically. Although many women coveted Miguel, none had gone to such extraordinary lengths as Camille. Because the woman was obsessive? A practised man-stealer who derived her satisfaction from setting the scene and playing a devious game?

      It made Hannah feel fiercely territorial. And possessive. About Miguel, her marriage, her home…everything she held sacred.

      There were a few what if’s tumbling around in her mind, and she felt sickened at the thought that Camille’s plan had almost worked.

      Don’t go there, she silently cautioned. A partnership, a marriage, had to be built on trust. If there wasn’t trust, there was nothing.

      She reached for her goblet and took a generous sip of wine. It curled round her stomach and seeped into her veins, gradually lessening the tension.

      A few weeks ago she hadn’t known of Camille Dalfour’s existence. Yet in the past week the Frenchwoman had managed to create chaos.

      Miguel could take whatever action he chose. But she intended to instigate a strategy of her own.

      In an impulsive move she drained the remaining wine in a long swallow, then replaced the empty goblet down onto the desk.

      ‘I feel like a swim before dinner.’

      Miguel let her go, and when the door closed behind her he slid the prints back into the envelope and locked them in the wall safe. Then he picked up the phone and dialled his lawyer’s number.

      Hannah slipped out of her clothes and stepped into a stunning deep aqua one-piece, then she pinned up her hair, snagged a towel and ran lightly down the stairs.

      The pool looked inviting, the water clear and sparkling in the early evening sunlight. The heat of the day had diminished slightly, but it was still hot, and she dived cleanly in at the deep end and when she surfaced she struck out with leisurely strokes, one lap after another, until she’d counted to fifty, then she turned onto her back and lay there, held buoyant by the crystal water.

      She could feel the sun on her face, her limbs, and she closed her eyes, becoming lost in reflective thought.

      Soon she would need to emerge, go upstairs, shower and change ready for dinner. But, for now, she was bent on enjoying the quietness and the solitude.

      Five minutes later she rolled onto her stomach in one fluid movement and made her way to the tiled ledge.

      The strategy took shape as she showered, then she dried her hair and slipped into a casual pencil-slim skirt and top. Minimum make-up, a touch of lipstick and she was ready.

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