Desperate Measures by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online Page B

and the crisp croissants wrapped in a napkin, without particular appetite.
    During the wakeful hours before dawn, she had come to terms
    with the fact that she was caught in a trap of her own devising.
    However disastrous her marriage, she couldn't walk away from it as
    every fibre of her being was urging her to do, because otherwise the
    money for Gavin would cease. Alain had made that clear the previous
    night. So, somehow, she would have to get through the days—and
    endure the nights. Somehow.
    She showered quickly and dressed in a well-cut russet skirt and
    a matching blouse. She was still very pale, and there were deep
    shadows under her eyes, but she made no attempt to disguise them
    with cosmetics. She looked, she supposed, shrugging, like any other
    girl on the morning after her wedding night—except that most brides
    probably looked radiant as well as exhausted.
    It was a very long morning. Philippa soon discovered that her
    new environment ran like clockwork, needing no interference from her.
    In fact she was sure that any attempt to involve herself in Madame
    Giscard's superbly efficient regime would be strongly resented.
    She wandered restlessly about the apartment, unable to settle. In
    spite of the stunning views over Paris from every window which she
    hadn't been conscious of the previous night, she still found it
    characterless, and wondered if she would ever feel at ease there.
    But she couldn't spend the rest of her life looking at views. She
    would have to find some way of occupying herself—even if only to
    stop herself from thinking.
    As lunchtime approached, she found herself becoming more and
    more on edge. The eventual sound
    of Alain's voice in the hall sent her scuttling to one of the sofas
    in the salon. She tucked her legs beneath her, pretending to leaf
    through a current affairs magazine, and hoping she looked composed
    and relaxed.
    She heard him come into the room, and sat staring down at the
    picture spread on her lap until the photographs danced crazily in front of her.
    'Bonjour.' As Alain broke the silence, she was forced to look up.
    She returned his greeting, annoyed to hear her own voice falter
    slightly.
    'How was your morning?' He came to sit beside her on the satin-
    covered sofa, close, but not touching.
    'Fine—and yours?' Was this how they were going to play it, she
    wondered hysterically, with meaningless social chit-chat?
    'Busy.' He paused. 'May I offer you an aperitif?'
    'Just some Perrier water—if there is some.'
    'There can be whatever you wish,' he said politely.
    Philippa sat clutching the glass he'd handed her. He had poured
    himself a large whisky, she noted before resuming his seat beside her, still at the same careful distance.
    After a silence, he said, 'About last night...'
    'I'd rather not talk about it.'
    'I think we must.' His contradiction was courteous but
    implacable. 'My behaviour was quite unforgivable, after all. I can only offer you my profound regrets.'
    His expression was as cool as his voice. Stealing a glance at him
    under her lashes, Philippa saw a faint mark on his cheek where one of her nails must have caught him.
    She said stonily. 'It really doesn't matter. I—I married you, so I
    suppose I should have expected—
    something of the sort.' She took a deep breath. 'You said you
    wanted a child. Well, perhaps it's happened—and you'll be able to—to
    leave me alone in future.'
    Alain said curtly, 'I doubt, ma femme, whether matters generally
    arrange themselves quite so conveniently. However, let us hope you
    are right.' He swallowed the remainder of his whisky and sat for a
    moment, staring at the empty tumbler.
    His face was expressionless, but Philippa was suddenly and
    frighteningly aware of an anger in him which transcended anything
    she had experienced the previous night—a violence that was almost
    tangible. She had the crazy feeling that at any moment, the delicate
    piece of crystal in his hand was going to shatter against the