Midnight Wedding. Sophie Weston

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      Jack’s eyes narrowed almost to slits. ‘In what way?’

      ‘Irresponsible. Wild. She doesn’t listen to advice…’

      He saw Jack’s expression. His words dwindled into silence.

      ‘Doesn’t listen to advice, huh? Sounds like she doesn’t do what you want,’ said Jack softly.

      ‘Monsieur Armour,’ began the security guard, friendly but minatory.

      Jack ignored him.

      ‘Isn’t that the truth of it?’

      ‘Monsieur Armour, this is clearly a personal matter.’ The guard returned the passport. ‘As the young lady has gone and no damage has been done, there is no more to be said. Goodbye, gentlemen.’

      Brendan Sugrue shook himself. Then he straightened his tie and brushed out the creases in his elegant jacket.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said to the security guard. The look he sent Jack was less friendly. ‘I’d hoped to clear this up informally. Thanks to your meddling, I’ll probably have to go to the police now. Don’t get in my way again.’

      He shouldered his way past Jack and Ramon. The force with which he slammed out of the building sent the revolving doors spinning.

      The guard pulled a face. ‘Hope the young lady is a long way away by now,’ he said, all his French chivalry aroused.

      ‘Hope we don’t get involved,’ muttered Ramon, less chivalrous but infinitely more practical.

      The pristine floor was scattered with litter. Jack scuffed some with his shoe and then looked down, arrested. To Ramon’s astonishment he fell to his knees and began picking up several dozen bright yellow sheets of coarse paper.

      ‘Now what?’

      Jack held a sheet up to him.

      “‘Club Thaïs”,’ read Ramon. “‘Cool jazz, hot beat”.’ He turned it over. On the back there was a menu. He cast a knowledgeable eye over the prices. ‘Just some cheap brasserie. What about it?’

      Jack picked up the rest of the flyers. ‘She dropped them.’

      Ramon’s heart sank. ‘So?’

      ‘So maybe she goes there. Works there, even.’

      ‘Or maybe she works for an agency which delivers flyers and she’s never been over the threshold,’ said Ramon discouragingly.

      Jack stood up and retrieved his briefcase.

      ‘Nowhere this cheap employs agencies for anything,’ he said, stuffing the retrieved papers into his case.

      ‘OK. Maybe her boyfriend is a waiter there.’

      Jack stopped.

      ‘Most twenty-two-year-old girls,’ pointed out Ramon, sensing an advantage, ‘have boyfriends.’ As Jack still said nothing he ploughed on. ‘Look, who knows the rights and wrongs of this? Maybe Sugrue is right and the girl is nuts. We really don’t need you playing St George again.’

      Their eyes met for a long, comprehending moment. Ramon’s were the first to fall. Third time today, he thought. Well done, Ramon.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Jack, I’m real sorry.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Jack, expressionless.

      ‘But she can look after herself. You saw that. First chance she had, she took off. And that guy won’t catch her off guard again. She’ll be keeping an eye out for him.’

      ‘Not much doubt of that.’ Jack’s tone was light but there was a small muscle working in his cheek. ‘She looked like she wasn’t going to stop running for a week.’

      Ramon knew that tell-tale muscle all too well. He said desperately, ‘Nothing to do with us.’

      Jack just looked at him.

      ‘We’re only here for another two days.’ Ramon’s voice rose. ‘What could you do in two days? You don’t even know her name.’

      Jack stirred the remaining yellow litter with his foot. ‘But I’ve got a clue. And a good deductive brain. And time on my hands until the committee makes its call.’

      ‘You’re going to go looking for her?’

      Jack’s mouth twisted in self-mockery. ‘I’m going to follow my instincts.’

      Ramon flung up his hands. ‘You’re crazy.’

      ‘Maybe.’

      The mockery died, leaving only determination. Ramon had seen Jack look like that before. He gave up.

      CHAPTER TWO

      HOLLY raced out of the building and pelted blindly for the Métro. She could lose herself in the crowd that always filled the busy station.

      It was only when she was halfway down the steps that she remembered she was supposed to be in charge of Chef Pierre’s little van. Before taking the boxes up to the committee floor, she had parked illegally in the forecourt of the building. She knew that the attendant turned a blind eye to short-stay catering vans at lunchtime. But if she left it there for much longer he would have it towed away.

      She stopped. The man behind bumped into her hard. Holly’s heart lurched and she gave a small scream. But then she turned and saw that he was a complete stranger. Muttering something uncomplimentary, he pushed past her and ran down into the darkness of the Métro.

      Holly put a hand to her heart. It still thudded like a power drill. But at least she had her head back together.

      She toiled back up the steps into the spring sunshine. Calm down, she told herself. This is Paris, not Lansing Mills. Brendan won’t have the police dancing to his tune here. And even Brendan won’t kidnap me in the public street.

      But she still looked round warily when she went back to collect the van. To her huge relief, there was no sign of Brendan Sugrue. Or of her rescuer. That, she was affronted to discover, was no relief at all. In fact, she was definitely disappointed.

      ‘But it’s just as well,’ said Holly aloud. ‘I don’t need Gorgeous Jack to look after me.’

      She got into the ancient van and fumbled the ignition comprehensively. The engine flooded. Holly pounded her fists on the wheel.

      ‘I don’t need anyone to look after me,’ she raged.

      She turned the key again. The engine gave a tubercular cough and died. There was nothing to do but wait.

      And think. And remember.

      Oddly, it was not Brendan she remembered; not his schemes and manipulation and, when that failed, his bullying. Nor the claustrophobic world of Lansing Mills. СКАЧАТЬ