Hotel du Cap. Her husband, who’d made millions selling medical supplies to hospitals, had gone off to a casino in Cannes. It said everything about the state of their marriage that he hadn’t invited her to go with him, and she hadn’t invited herself.
Carver, meanwhile, had just watched his whole life falling apart around him. Alix Petrova, the woman he loved, had told him she’d married another man. She swore that someone had told her Carver was dead. It was a complicated story. But then, he thought, everything about his relationship with Alix had been a complicated, painful, impossible bloody story.
Madeleine had been sitting by the bar, watching the whole charade of his conversation with Alix and her subsequent departure. Left alone and defeated at his table, Carver had been too lost in his own self-pitying misery even to notice another woman. He’d walked up to the bar to get a double whisky and it was only then he heard someone say, ‘So it didn’t work out, huh?’
He turned and saw an immaculately glossed and painted brunette, whose scarlet dress was perfectly cut to reveal the swell of her breasts, the slenderness of her waist and the flawless line of her caramel-tanned thighs. That much Carver caught at a glance. It took him a while to notice the knowing, feline tilt of her eyes or the sharp, dry mind that lay behind them.
Since both their partners had let them down, they decided to find out how well they could make it work together instead. Pretty well was the answer, but it had only ever been the one night. A fair amount of time had passed, long enough for Carver and Alix to get back together, try to make it work and fail. Since then he’d exchanged occasional texts and emails with Maddy. It had all been friendly, but nothing more than, and they’d never got round to meeting up again. Maybe it was time to change that. He made the call.
‘Hello?’ Her voice was sleepy. Damn! Had he woken her up?
‘Hi, it’s Sam … Samuel Carver … You texted me a while back. I couldn’t get back to you till now.’
‘Sam … ? Oh, Sam! Hey, great to hear from you. Where are you?’
‘I’m at Richmond airport, Virginia, thought I’d take a plane to Chicago. Fancy some brunch when I get there?’
‘No, I don’t think that would be possible …’
Carver was shocked to discover how sharp the pain of disappointment felt. ‘Oh … Right … Look, I’m sorry if I disturbed you, I—’
‘No, it’s fine, you didn’t disturb me at all …’ He could hear the smile in her voice as she admitted, ‘OK, you did, but I don’t mind. It’s just I’m not in Chicago.’
He gave an exhausted, ironic laugh. ‘Oh God, I don’t believe it … Where are you then?’
‘On my ranch. It’s a few miles out of Cascade, Idaho. It’s where I come from. I told you, remember?’
‘Yeah, maybe, I think so. But excuse my ignorance, where exactly is Idaho?’
‘Where’s Idaho?’ She sounded outraged by his ignorance. ‘I should put this phone down, right now, just for that.’
‘Seriously, how do I get to you?’
‘You’d do that? Really?’
Now he detected something else: she wanted him to make the effort.
‘Sure. In the past twelve hours I’ve parachuted 25,000 feet, swum about a thousand yards and driven 120 miles. What’s one extra flight?’
She laughed. ‘OK, action hero, when do you get to O’Hare?’
‘About eleven.’
‘Perfect. There’s a United flight to Boise, that’s the closest airport to me. It leaves around midday, gets in early afternoon. Why don’t you take that?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘And if you’re very good, I’ll meet you at the airport.’
Now Carver knew his luck was in. As the first call for passengers was being made he dialled a number in Oslo, Norway. It belonged to Thor Larsson, the eccentric Norwegian who was both his closest friend and the supplier of much of the surveillance equipment, computer hard- and software and assorted gadgets Carver
Carver, meanwhile, had just watched his whole life falling apart around him. Alix Petrova, the woman he loved, had told him she’d married another man. She swore that someone had told her Carver was dead. It was a complicated story. But then, he thought, everything about his relationship with Alix had been a complicated, painful, impossible bloody story.
Madeleine had been sitting by the bar, watching the whole charade of his conversation with Alix and her subsequent departure. Left alone and defeated at his table, Carver had been too lost in his own self-pitying misery even to notice another woman. He’d walked up to the bar to get a double whisky and it was only then he heard someone say, ‘So it didn’t work out, huh?’
He turned and saw an immaculately glossed and painted brunette, whose scarlet dress was perfectly cut to reveal the swell of her breasts, the slenderness of her waist and the flawless line of her caramel-tanned thighs. That much Carver caught at a glance. It took him a while to notice the knowing, feline tilt of her eyes or the sharp, dry mind that lay behind them.
Since both their partners had let them down, they decided to find out how well they could make it work together instead. Pretty well was the answer, but it had only ever been the one night. A fair amount of time had passed, long enough for Carver and Alix to get back together, try to make it work and fail. Since then he’d exchanged occasional texts and emails with Maddy. It had all been friendly, but nothing more than, and they’d never got round to meeting up again. Maybe it was time to change that. He made the call.
‘Hello?’ Her voice was sleepy. Damn! Had he woken her up?
‘Hi, it’s Sam … Samuel Carver … You texted me a while back. I couldn’t get back to you till now.’
‘Sam … ? Oh, Sam! Hey, great to hear from you. Where are you?’
‘I’m at Richmond airport, Virginia, thought I’d take a plane to Chicago. Fancy some brunch when I get there?’
‘No, I don’t think that would be possible …’
Carver was shocked to discover how sharp the pain of disappointment felt. ‘Oh … Right … Look, I’m sorry if I disturbed you, I—’
‘No, it’s fine, you didn’t disturb me at all …’ He could hear the smile in her voice as she admitted, ‘OK, you did, but I don’t mind. It’s just I’m not in Chicago.’
He gave an exhausted, ironic laugh. ‘Oh God, I don’t believe it … Where are you then?’
‘On my ranch. It’s a few miles out of Cascade, Idaho. It’s where I come from. I told you, remember?’
‘Yeah, maybe, I think so. But excuse my ignorance, where exactly is Idaho?’
‘Where’s Idaho?’ She sounded outraged by his ignorance. ‘I should put this phone down, right now, just for that.’
‘Seriously, how do I get to you?’
‘You’d do that? Really?’
Now he detected something else: she wanted him to make the effort.
‘Sure. In the past twelve hours I’ve parachuted 25,000 feet, swum about a thousand yards and driven 120 miles. What’s one extra flight?’
She laughed. ‘OK, action hero, when do you get to O’Hare?’
‘About eleven.’
‘Perfect. There’s a United flight to Boise, that’s the closest airport to me. It leaves around midday, gets in early afternoon. Why don’t you take that?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘And if you’re very good, I’ll meet you at the airport.’
Now Carver knew his luck was in. As the first call for passengers was being made he dialled a number in Oslo, Norway. It belonged to Thor Larsson, the eccentric Norwegian who was both his closest friend and the supplier of much of the surveillance equipment, computer hard- and software and assorted gadgets Carver
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