Past Tense by Freda Vasilopoulos Read Free Book Online Page B

the first indication. It was an expensive piece of real estate, and even if she were subletting, the rent would have been beyond what a free-lance translator could afford.
    In her bathroom he had seen the most conclusive evidence of wealth. Growing up with three sisters had given him a solid working knowledge of female paraphernalia. The cosmetics, some of which were barely used and obviously recent purchases, were of the highest quality, the most expensive brands. Crystal bottles contained French perfume.
    And the underwear drying on a little rack over the bathtub—pure silk and lace. Only her outer garments were plain and utilitarian. He would have given anything for a look in her closet, but hadn’t wanted to risk her catching him snooping. It had been rude enough of him to go through her bathroom cabinets.
    The morning after he’d left her apartment, he’d woken with a start from the fitful sleep he’d fallen into after nearly a whole night of puzzling over the problem.
    His photo in the newspaper. Had she hatched the idea of meeting him that morning when she’d seen the paper? The story had indicated he was from Montréal. What better cover than to strike up an acquaintance with him—expatriate Canadians meeting in London.
    Yet that didn’t add up, either. Her faint had been real. He would have sworn to it. And she hadn’t encouraged him. On the contrary, she’d had done everything she could to keep him at arm’s length.
    He couldn’t figure her out. Even if she knew nothing about the trade conference, there was still a mystery to her.
    He mulled it over all day Friday and most of Saturday as he completed mountains of paperwork in preparation for the conference. He called room service for a sandwich at ten, laughing ruefully as he thought how odd his friends would have found it to see him in the office on a Saturday evening. He’d declined an invitation to a party at a duchess’s mansion, and several offers of a more personal nature from women he knew. He’d been glad of the excuse of work.
    Samantha’s image floated into his consciousness as he took a break. She wouldn’t leave him alone. He frowned heavily. There was only one way to get rid of her once and for all.
    He had to see her again, satisfy his curiosity, and then she would stop haunting him.
    Making up his mind, he turned back to his desk, and dialed the number he’d memorized off her utility bill.
    His heart jumped when he heard her low voice. “Samantha, this is Tony,” he said. “How would you like to go for a drive with me tomorrow?”
    * * * *
    Damn, it would rain, Samantha thought as she got up on Sunday morning. The sun had held up for the entire week, only to disappear at the weekend.
    She let Bagheera in and gave him his food. While he ate, she showered and dressed in jeans and a sweater, her movements abstracted. Had she made a mistake in accepting Tony’s invitation, after all her earlier resolutions to keep him out of her life? But when he’d called last night, the warmth and charm in his voice had moved her to accept. A drive seemed innocuous enough, and a welcome break.
    Her biggest danger of exposure lay in his curiosity. If she could disarm him with simple friendship, she was safer.
    She’d called Amelia in Nice late the night before, but the artist had assured her that no one had contacted her about Samantha. In fact, Amelia, working to complete a series for an exhibit, hadn’t seen anyone at all in two weeks except for a lost tourist who’d stopped by her isolated villa to ask directions.
    The incident at the supermarket bothered Samantha. In itself it might have been nothing but a weird coincidence. But combined with the threat she’d received, it took on sinister significance. The woman who’d almost been kidnapped had looked like Sam, at least superficially, and she’d been in the supermarket at the time Sam habitually shopped there.
Sam couldn’t ignore it. On the other hand, hiding in her flat wouldn’t keep