– 11 –

‘My feet are killing me,’ Madeleine groaned. ‘Why don’t we go and get a coffee somewhere?’

‘What a wonderful idea,’ Shamir sighed. ‘I think we’ve successfully managed to buy up Bond Street, so I’d say we deserve one.’

They looked around at the expensive shops, and when nowhere seemed to offer itself, Shamir hooked her arm through Madeleine’s and started to walk her towards Grafton Street. ‘We’ll go to Brown’s Hotel,’ she said, ‘they do a terrific afternoon tea there and I’m starving.’

‘It’s not far, is it?’ Madeleine wailed.

‘No, just round the corner in Dover Street.’

‘Bastard!’ Madeleine screeched as a taxi swerved into a puddle and soaked them up to the knees.

‘I swear he did it on purpose,’ Shamir snapped crossly, kicking off her shoes and emptying out the grimy water.

They had met several times since the day Madeleine had gone to the Marmoth Studios to do her shots for The Sun, and since at first the two of them were doing quite different kinds of modelling, they had become friends rather than rivals. Then Madeleine’s success had started to blossom and she began taking on the same kind of work as Shamir – the occasional fashion show, a TV commercial for a soft drink and another for a shampoo, a series of advertisements for underwear – but their closeness had unexpectedly continued. The world they moved in was not only highly competitive, but bitchy, devious and downright cut-throat at times, so that Madeleine was extremely proud of their friendship, particularly since Shamir had a reputation for being not simply aloof, but thoroughly supercilious. But though she was dubbed by some the Queen Bitch, Madeleine felt that she had come to know the other side of her that was occasionally shy, always self-critical, and often inordinately generous – as she was with her compliments on Madeleine’s glamour work.

Madeleine had appeared in Men Only and Playboy so far, but there were features to come in other magazines that had not yet gone to press. Since she had appeared as the centrefold in Men Only letters had poured in by the sack-load, and she, Deidre and Shamir spent hours giggling, and very often blushing, at what her fans proposed to do to her should they be lucky enough to get their hands on her. At night she would recite some of the letters to Paul in a way that made it sound as though the readers’ fantasies were a reality, and the savagery with which he made love to her as a result would leave her reeling from such violently sated lust. But she would never, no matter who the man or what the situation, be truly unfaithful to Paul. He was the focal point of her life, nothing was as important to her, not even her steady rise to fame. She was as devoted to him as any one person could be to another, and despite his unpredictable temper – which meant that he could be savagely cruel as well as wonderfully kind – she believed him when he told her that he loved her just as much as she did him.

‘OK, here we are,’ Shamir declared a few minutes later. ‘And I’m going to stuff myself rotten.’

‘All right for those who can,’ Madeleine griped, as she followed her into the hotel.

‘Well, some of us aren’t blessed with deliciously voluptuous figures,’ Shamir pointed out. ‘Instead we carry the curse of the great god bean-pole, whose only blessing is that we can eat cakes. Now, where shall we sit?’

As a waiter showed them to a sofa in the corner, every eye in the room followed their progress. It would have been difficult to say which of them was the more striking. They both wore loose, trench-style raincoats, jeans and white polo-neck sweaters – a coincidence that had made them laugh when Madeleine picked Shamir up from her Kensington apartment earlier – but while Shamir had her mass of thick black hair curled into a knot at the back of her head, Madeleine’s was loose and straight and fell around her shoulders like a shimmering fountain of white gold.

They dumped their bags on the floor, and Madeleine would have kept her coat on but for the trio of businessmen who were sitting at a table in the opposite corner, watching them. She shrugged off the coat and gave her shoulders a quick jiggle before sitting down, which elicited an extremely satisfactory response from the three men.

Shamir sighed. ‘You really should wear a bra sometimes, Maddy. Your boobs are too big, and they’ll start to droop if you aren’t careful.’

‘I know,’ Madeleine answered, ‘but Paul doesn’t like me wearing a bra. He says when he wants me, he wants me now, and not after he’s fumbled about with hooks-and-eyes, and straps and whalebones.’

‘But you’re out shopping, you could have worn one today.’

‘If I had one! He threw them all away when we moved to London.’

Shamir smiled fleetingly. ‘You’ll need one if you’re going to buy that dress you were trying on in Chanel.’ she said.

Madeleine picked up the menu. ‘I’m not too sure about that dress, actually – but I need something to wear for this charity ball at the Grosvenor. Are you going, by the way?’

‘Can’t. I’m off to Turkey to do a video for a holiday company the day after tomorrow. They’re paying a fortune, you know. You ought to get Deidre to organise one for you.’

‘She’s asked me to pop in later, I’ll ask her then.’ But Madeleine doubted if she would, she knew that Deidre was handling her career in her own way and didn’t much relish interference. But Madeleine couldn’t admit to Shamir that she was paying Deidre rather than the other way round. Of course, she received the occasional fee for her work, but Deidre kept the money to use as an incentive to magazines to change their front covers at the last minute, or to encourage newspapers to include her and Paul in their gossip columns.

After Shamir had ordered she turned in her seat to face Madeleine. ‘Now tell me all about this cosmetic range,’ she said. ‘It sounds fascinating. No – first tell me when your commercials are going out.’

‘Apparently the shampoo one starts next Wednesday. I’m still not sure about the other.’

Shamir nodded. ‘Sometimes it takes ages before they reach the screen. Still, as long as they do . . . Have you seen the edited versions yet?’

‘Of the shampoo, yes. It’s fantastic. We shot it at Holmes Place, you know, the health club in the Fulham Road. I got a free membership out of it.’

‘Oh, I did something there, ages ago now. Can’t even remember what it was, but they gave me a membership too. They’ve got a swimming pool, haven’t they?’

‘That’s where we shot the commercial, in the pool. Did I tell you, there was this bloke in it too, all he had to do was put his arms round me at the end – outside on the street. Could he get it right? He was fantastic to look at, but queerer than a nine-bob note. I was obviously such a turn-off he couldn’t bear to touch me. And I can tell you, the feeling was mutual. Ugh! I don’t like queers, do you?’

‘Oh, they’re all right. God knows, we meet enough in this job. Anyway, tell me about the cosmetic range.’

‘Well, apparently it’s going to be ozone-friendly. Deidre wanted us to be thoroughly up-to-date, you know what she’s like. L’Oréal or is it Lancôme, are manufacturing the stuff and they’re calling it . . .’

‘Don’t tell me, The Look.’

‘You got it! But it’s not all fixed yet, I expect that’s what Deidre wants to see me about. If it comes off I’ll be even more famous than that silly cow who does Estée Lauder. What’s her name?’

‘Lillie Toppit. Ever heard such a ridiculous name? Actually, I’ve got a wonderful story about her. I don’t know if it’s true, but if it is I have to say she goes up in my estimation. It seems her boyfriend – he’s a struggling photographer or something in Paris – well, he got drunk one night, came home and buggered her. Can you imagine? It must have been agony. Anyway, you’ll never guess what she did. She only waited until he was asleep, got out her vibrator and rammed it up his bum.’

Madeleine’s shrieks of laughter brought frowns to the other faces in the room and one old lady actually told her to shush. ‘You’re not serious,’ she gasped, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘Are they still together?’

Shamir, who had been observing her friend’s hysterical mirth with cool amusement, said: ‘Apparently they are. Maybe he liked it.’ She smiled. ‘Anyway, back to the cosmetics. What does Paul think?’

‘He’s delighted for me. Well, he will be once I tell him.’

‘You haven’t told him yet!’ Shamir was amazed.

‘I haven’t had much of a chance. The day I came back from Ireland, where I was doing those shots for Penthouse, he went off up north researching. He only got back last night.’

‘And don’t tell me you had better things to do than talk about make-up?’

‘Last night we did, yes. This morning was a bit different, though.’ The light had dimmed in Madeleine’s eyes, and as she lowered her head Shamir noticed that her lips had started to tremble.

‘What is it?’ she asked, an expression of mild interest crossing her flawless face. ‘You haven’t had a row, have you?’

Madeleine tried to laugh it off. ‘A bit.’

‘What about?’

‘Oh, nothing really. But . . .’

‘But what?’ Shamir said impatiently.

‘No, it doesn’t matter. No doubt we’ll make it up tonight. What about you? Are you still seeing your rock star?’

Shamir shrugged. ‘God knows. He’s still in Los Angeles, but he’s staying at my house there so he’d better not be screwing anyone in my bed.’

‘What about that guy you met when we were at Annabel’s? Have you heard from him?’

‘Morning, noon and night. He’s got a title, I found out.’

‘What, you mean, like a book?’

Shamir choked on her tea. ‘Yes, the most boring one you can think of. Still, he should be good for a few weekend parties at that country house of his. I’ll keep you posted, we can all go.’

‘Fantastic. And if they’re anything like the one we went to in . . . where was it?’

‘Cocking.’

Madeleine giggled. ‘That’s it. How could I forget? Well, if they’re anything like that one then we’ll all be back in the Sunday newspapers. Wasn’t it a scream? Paul loved it.’

‘Paul loved it! So did everyone else. Where did you learn to strip like that?’

‘Oh, here and there. But the best bit was when we all went out driving in the nude. Do you remember that man and woman at the bus stop?’ She screamed with laughter.

Shamir smiled. ‘If the traffic lights hadn’t turned green when they did, I reckon the old boy would have died of a heart attack. And did you see Tony Rudley-North in the car behind? He only waved his willie at the old dear.’

‘That’s right! I’d forgotten that,’ Madeleine gulped. ‘Well at least he was safe when it came to the pictures in the Sunday papers. I mean they can’t show a man’s thing, can they? Who told the press we were there, anyway?’

‘God knows. But they were lurking in the bushes outside all weekend with their zoom lenses.’ Shamir narrowed her eyes. It was Madeleine they’d been after, of course.

‘Oh, look at the time,’ Madeleine groaned, glancing at her watch. ‘I’d better get going or I’ll be late for Deidre, which will mean I’ll be late getting home – and with the mood Paul’s in at the moment I don’t think that’s a very good idea. We’re cooking dinner tonight for his editor and his wife. Paul’s doing the main course – I’ve got to do the starter. Oh please God, let him be in a better mood when I get home. You don’t mind me not giving you a lift, do you?’

‘Not at all.’ Then, as Madeleine put on her coat and picked up her shopping, Shamir added, ‘Give me a call later, if you can. Let me know how it goes.’

Madeleine smiled, and when Shamir gave her a cool kiss on the cheek, she responded with an especially warm hug.

Madeleine’s movements were jerky and self-conscious. As she spoke her words tumbled over each other, and neither her heart nor her hands were quite steady. ‘So anyway,’ she was saying, wandering about the kitchen while Paul lolled in a chair, watching her, ‘Deidre thinks it could be launched sometime in the next few weeks. You see, it’s already in production and they were just starting their search for the right face. They like mine, so we’ll be signing the deal any day now.’ As she sliced into an avocado she waited for him to comment. He didn’t, so she went on, ‘She also said something about me having my own designer collection. She’s been talking to this fashion designer, and I’ve got to go and meet her the day after tomorrow. Deidre’s pretty certain that the meeting’s just a formality, though; the girl – Phillipa, I think her name was – was really keen when Deidre first talked to her. If it goes on like this, Deidre said, the next few months could be amazing. She reckons I’ll be in every newspaper and magazine going, and on the telly too. Not only in commercials, but on chat shows and things like that. And she said she wants to do the same in the States, so it’ll probably mean going to America quite soon. I told her I’d have to ask you if it was all right.’

Paul picked up his glass from the table next to him and took a sip of wine. ‘And how much is all this amazingness going to cost?’ he asked.

It was the question Madeleine had been dreading. Even she had balked at the amount Deidre had asked for. But it was vital, Deidre said, for the ‘promulgation’ – whatever that meant – of her plans, and the rewards to be reaped were even greater than Madeleine had dreamed of: international fame, and a style and image all her own.

‘Well?’ Paul prompted.

Madeleine braced herself, and with her back still turned she tripped the answer out as lightly as if she were telling him what she was making for dinner. ‘No more than a hundred thousand. Investment now, dividends later,’ she added, quoting Deidre. ‘Do you think I should put the prawns in the microwave to defrost them?’

He waited until she had no choice but to turn and look at him. When she finally did, he smiled. Then, as her eyes filled with tears, he got up and went to put his arms round her.

Women were the strangest creatures. It seemed that the worse you treated them, the more they loved you. Before he’d left the house that morning they’d had a blazing row and he had hit her. Now, here she was at the other end of the day, nervous and contrite, ready to do anything to make it up with him. He was relieved to see that he hadn’t left a mark on her face, it might have given rise to unwelcome speculation when their guests arrived later.

‘I’m sorry about this morning,’ she said, her voice muffled by his collar.

‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry.’ He held her tighter.

‘But you had a big day ahead of you, I shouldn’t have needled you the way I did.’

He kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘And I shouldn’t have been so jealous about you spending the day with Shamir.’

Suddenly she was kissing him frantically. ‘I love you, Paul. More than anything else in the world. I don’t want any friends, all I want is you.’

‘You deserve better, but you’ve got me. For richer or for poorer.’

Madeleine drew back and looked searchingly into his eyes, unsure whether he had just made a proposal.

‘A hundred thousand pounds.’ He shook his head, laughing. Deidre would very likely end up taking Madeleine for every penny she was worth. He knew he could stop it, but he wouldn’t – if anything, it fitted in rather neatly with his own plans.

‘You’re not angry?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘Not a bit. It’s your money, my darling, you must do as you want with it. And if that’s what makes you happy, it makes me happy too.’ He kissed the tip of her nose and let her go. ‘By the way,’ he said, when he reached the dining-room. Madeleine looked up as he leaned in through the serving hatch. ‘I love you too.’ She rushed across the kitchen and gave him a lingering kiss, then after she’d demanded that he say it again, she went contentedly back to her cooking.

As he showered and changed for dinner, those last words rolled around his mind – he even said them aloud once or twice. The most curious thing was that there was every chance he might mean them. Lately, her affection had got to him in a way that surprised him. It was as if the Russian doll was slowly coming to life, and beneath the first shell he had detected a vulnerability he had so far thought her incapable of. It made her shallowness seem less abrasive and her vanity more acceptable. But whatever his feelings for her might be, or become, he had no intention of allowing them to deflect him in the slightest degree from the achievements of his objectives.

She hadn’t asked him yet how his day had gone. After their scene that morning, he guessed she was afraid to. That was good. It meant she would be prepared to do almost anything to avoid another confrontation – which should make the task in hand somewhat easier. In fact his day had been bloody awful, and he was now convinced that he and Harry Freemantle were never going to see eye to eye. But whatever Harry said, Paul was adamant that not only was his book going to be published, it was going to be published as he wanted it. The only solution to this dilemma, as far as he could see, was to execute the plan which had been forming in his mind ever since the day he and Madeleine had lunched with Philip Hoves at Julie’s Wine Bar. His initial idea had been to get Madeleine to buy Harry Freemantle’s co-operation. He had been fascinated to find out how much it would cost, and to what extent Freemantle’s greed could be exploited. However, since then another solution had presented itself, one that was far more nefarious and therefore far more appealing.

When he went back into the Smallbone kitchen, which he had had installed while Madeleine was somewhere in Ireland spreading her legs and pouting her lips for the camera, she was pouring dressing – from a bottle – over the prawns she had spooned into avocado halves. He winced; but now wasn’t the time to tell her that one never served avocado and prawns as an hors d’oeuvre these days.

‘Everything under control?’ he asked.

‘I think so. I don’t know which wine to serve, though.’

He sat down. ‘Leave the wine to me. Now, we’ve got an hour before Harry and his wife arrive, so off with your clothes.’

As she was still wearing her polo neck and jeans, it was a matter of seconds before she had complied.

‘Turn round,’ he said.

She revolved slowly until she was facing him again. He pulled her forward and kissed her navel. Her skin was so smooth it was almost like caressing a baby, and her hair, when he touched it, was so sleek and soft it ran through his fingers like spun gold. Despite her height and the strength of her bone-structure there was, even in her slightest movement, a femininity that made him feel as powerful as a god. It was only when she opened her mouth to speak, and the broad tones of a West Country accent spewed out like frogs, that the alluring image crumbled.

‘God, I hardly know what’s happening to me when I look at you,’ he murmured, pulling her to her knees so he could kiss her. ‘Why am I spending so much time trying to impress a boring old publisher with my boring old book?’

‘Was today all right?’ she asked tentatively.

He shook his head. ‘He’s not listening to a thing I say. He wants it his way or not at all I’m not going to win this, Maddy.’

She didn’t know what to say, so she combed her fingers through his hair and smiled sympathetically.

‘Look at you,’ he whispered, as he blew gently on her nipples. ‘If he knew what I had in you, he’d think differently about me.’ He raised his eyes to her face and felt a driving surge of desire at the sultriness of her full mouth and the slant of her eyes. ‘Do you love me, Maddy? I mean really love me?’

She ran her tongue over her lips, leaving them moist and slightly parted. ‘You know I do,’ she breathed.

‘Enough to sleep with Harry Freemantle?’

The lazy, seductive look retreated from her eyes, leaving them unsure and bewildered. She looked at him for several moments before she finally pulled away, shaking her head. ‘But you’ve always said you’d kill any man . . .’

‘This is different, Maddy. I’m asking you to do it because I love you so much that I’ve come to share all your dreams – the ones you have for us. I want to be successful with you, be up there at your side, but I’m not going to make it without your help.’

‘Why can’t I offer him money?’

‘Because he’s got enough.’

She stood up and he waited, wondering what was going through her mind. Silently she put on her clothes, and when at last she turned to face him her eyes were suffused with pain. ‘If you really loved me, you wouldn’t ask me to – don’t look at me like that, I can’t do it, Paul. I won’t.’

His smile was resigned as he slowly nodded his head and got up from the chair. She watched him, as if in a stupor, while he opened the oven door, checked the roast duckling, then walked past her and out of the kitchen. After a minute or two she followed him upstairs to the bedroom.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked from the doorway.

‘Calling Marian.’

The blood drained from her face. ‘What for?’

He replaced the receiver and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Come here,’ he said.

She walked over to him, expecting him to reach for her hands, but he didn’t touch her.

‘You think asking you to go to bed with Harry Freemantle is the worst thing I could do to you, don’t you?’ he said. ‘Well, it isn’t. The worst thing I could do would be to tell Marian what you have done to her. And I think, after all Marian did for me, that I owe it to her to tell her. You see, I realise now that she is someone who has more decency and more compassion in her little finger than you have in the whole of your body. What’s more, she loves you more than you could ever deserve. You know that, and that’s why you’re so riddled with guilt that it keeps you awake at nights. Well, it does me, too. And now I know that I’m never going to be published the way I want to be, I’m going back to her, because I’d rather be a failure with her than with you.’

Madeleine’s eyes were wide with shock. ‘You can’t,’ she breathed. ‘You don’t mean that. You’ve got to understand, Paul, it’s as if you were asking me to be a prostitute.’

‘No, all I’m asking is that you use your talents for me. That’s what being in love is – sharing all that you have.’

She looked at him, too stunned to answer.

‘You said you loved me, that you’d do anything for me. And now I’ve been forced into putting you to the test . . .’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘It’s not even as if you were a virgin. Think about all the men you slept with before me.’

‘You bastard!’ she gasped.

‘But it’s true. And now I know that you are incapable of doing anything for anyone, even someone you claim to love.’

‘No!’ She was frantically shaking her head, and fear and confusion had turned her face to an ugly purple. ‘No. It’s because I love you that I can’t do it. You understand that, you must.’

He got up. When he reached the door she threw herself after him, but he pushed her away. ‘Paul!’ she cried, grabbing at his sleeve. ‘Paul! Listen to me! Please!’ Again he shrugged her off, but as she fell against the banister he gripped her shoulders and turned her so that she was looking into his face. There were tears on his cheeks, and she tried to embrace him. ‘What is it? Why are you crying? I don’t understand!’ she sobbed.

‘Stop it, Madeleine,’ he snarled. ‘Just stop! You’re making me hurt you. You’re making me torment you when we both know I love you so much that if it was for any other reason than this I’d rather kill myself than ask you to sleep with another man. But what else can I do? I can’t change the book, so if you refuse me this I’ll end up losing you anyway – you won’t be able to take me as a failure, Madeleine!’ He threw her away from him and buried his face in his hands.

‘No! You won’t lose me. You won’t be a failure. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t go. Please, say you’ll stay.’ She managed to prise his hands from his face and pulled his head onto her shoulder. ‘It was just the shock of you saying it, that’s all. It’ll be all right, Paul. If you think it’ll work, we’ll give it a try. I’ll do it. I’ll do it for you.’

‘Oh God, Madeleine. If only you knew how it’s tearing me apart just to think of it. But . . .’

‘Don’t! Please don’t say that.’

He looked into her face, then suddenly grabbed her and kissed her savagely on the mouth. ‘I love you,’ he raged. ‘I love you. Hold me, don’t let me go.’

‘No, I won’t let you go. I love you. Look, let me show you.’ She started to fumble with his trousers but he clasped his hands over hers and stopped her.

‘Oh God!’ His voice was strangled, and he turned his face to the ceiling. ‘I want you so much I can’t control myself. Look at me. Look at what I’m doing to us. It’s because I want you, I want you every minute of the day. Yes, touch me, Madeleine, feel me. Tell me what you’re going to do to him. We’ll make it a game, we’ll make it so that it doesn’t seem true, maybe that way I can stand it. Oh God, tell me you won’t fall in love with him. Tell me I’m not going to lose you.’

‘It’ll be all right,’ she sobbed. ‘I love you. I could never love anyone else. Just tell me what I have to do, what I have to say to him. Is it blackmail? Is that what we’re going to do?’

He closed his eyes as she lifted his penis from his jeans. ‘Don’t say that,’ he groaned. ‘It’s such an ugly word on your lips.’

‘But it’s what we’ll have to do, Paul, in the end. Don’t you see?’

He fell against her, burying his face in her neck. ‘But how?’

‘We can rig up a video camera – I’ve seen it done in films. I don’t have to go all the way, just so long as it looks as if he’s having sex with me. If I can degrade him in some way, even, he’d do anything to stop his wife seeing it, wouldn’t he?’

‘Yes, I suppose he would.’ Then taking her face between his hands, he buried his tongue deep inside her mouth. When he let her go, he looked into her eyes and said, ‘We’ll do it your way, Madeleine. Whatever you want, just tell me and I’ll do it.’

By the time Harry Freemande and his wife arrived at the mews house Madeleine had managed to calm Paul down sufficiently for him to be able to go and finish dinner preparations in the kitchen. Occasionally he came back upstairs to watch her and kiss her while she gelled and back-combed her hair into what she called her come-to-bed style. He selected a black leather mini, low-heeled pumps and a semi-transparent top from her wardrobe, then when she’d checked herself from all angles in the mirror, he followed her down to the dining-room and helped her set the table.

Now that she was over the initial shock, the challenge of using her sexuality in the way Paul wanted was beginning to appeal to her. She had never met Harry, but as long as he wasn’t some hideous ogre – and Paul assured her that he wasn’t – then all that concerned her was to prove to Paul how much she loved him – and to stop him from going back to Marian. To prevent that she would do anything, and if ‘anything’ meant going to bed with Harry Freemantle, that was what she would do – not only expertly but willingly. Not for one minute did she consider the possibility of failure because, as Paul pointed out after they’d made love at the top of the stairs, sex was the one thing she excelled at. And when it came to a kinky imagination, he added, she was second to none. To prove him right, she had racked her brains and come up with the idea of getting Harry to tie her to the bed before they had sex; then it would look like rape.

When the doorbell rang at a quarter past eight Paul gave her a quick hug, then waiting a moment while she checked her make-up, he took her hand and led her down the hall to greet their guests. As he opened the door Madeleine braced herself for the sight of a short, balding, red-faced, middle-aged boor, but she very nearly gasped when she saw the suave, darkly handsome features of the actual Harry Freemantle. Her nerves evaporated on the instant and she treated him to one of her most provocative smiles, knowing that this wasn’t going to be difficult at all.

‘Harry, let me introduce you to Madeleine,’ Paul said, and as she took the hand Harry held out, she gently scratched her fingernails across his palm and projected her bewitching smile into the very depths of his black eyes.

‘I thought Paul had told me everything about you,’ she said huskily. ‘But he never mentioned you were so good-looking.’

A smile shot to Harry’s lips, and gently but firmly releasing his hand, he said, ‘Then I had the advantage over you, because I knew exactly how beautiful you were. May I introduce you to my wife, Julia?’

Madeleine smiled at the other woman, and would have turned away again but for the look in Julia’s eyes. It was so openly friendly that Madeleine found herself responding to it by saying, ‘It’s really nice to meet you. I hope the dinner’s going to be all right for you. It should be, Paul’s cooked it. I just did the starter.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,’ Julia answered in a deep, plummy voice.

Once they were in the sitting-room with their drinks, Paul hovered for a while to see what Madeleine would do, and when she sat back on the sofa opposite Harry and crossed her long legs in a way that offered an enticing view of fishnet-clad thigh, he excused himself and went off to the kitchen. He had decided to give Madeleine a completely free rein for the evening. He would do nothing to correct either her language or her table manners, and if she offended Julia, which was highly likely, so be it. All that mattered was that she got through to Harry Freemantle.

Her avocado and prawns was already on the table, so he quickly prepared a dressing for the salad, tossed it, then went back to the sitting-room to tell them dinner was served. They walked through to the dining-room, Madeleine’s face wearing an expression of dazed bewilderment as Julia told her about her job on the Financial Times.

‘Sounds really interesting,’ she said, sitting herself down at the round table and indicating to Harry that he should sit on her right. ‘It’s all about money that paper, isn’t it?’

Julia, not knowing where she was to sit, looked at Paul, who immediately pulled back a chair for her. ‘And business. And news,’ she answered, as she smiled her thanks.

‘I don’t read it,’ Madeleine said. ‘Paul gets it, though, don’t you, Paul? I’m useless where money’s concerned, he has to handle everything – including me.’ She giggled, and gave Harry an eye-fluttering shrug. ‘Do you handle everything in your house, Harry?’ she asked, after a pause.

‘Not everything, no. In fact, if it weren’t for Julia I expect everything would fall to pieces in a matter of days.’ He looked at his wife and Madeleine’s smile froze.

‘Oh, you’re not one of those wives who are good at everything, are you?’ she cried, reaching out to squeeze Julia’s hand. ‘You’ll have to give me some hints. For one thing, I can’t cook. Paul’s brilliant at it. Well, he’s brilliant at everything really, aren’t you, my love?’ She looked across the table at him, hoping to outshine the look of intimacy Harry and Julia had shared a moment before.

‘As I told you earlier,’ Paul answered, ‘there is certainly one thing you excel at.’

Madeleine gave a shriek of laughter. ‘Don’t ask what he’s talking about,’ she told Harry, ‘or he might tell you.’

There was an awkward silence while Julia threw a helpless look towards her husband and Paul reclined in his chair, watching Madeleine.

Madeleine looked at her guests, wondering why they didn’t start eating. Then it hit her. People like them probably said grace before meals, so they were waiting for her, as the hostess, to do it.

Immediately she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. Paul couldn’t hide his amazement, and almost exploded with laughter as she started to mumble, ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘Shall we start, then?’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ Julia answered, utterly bemused.

Paul waited, and at last, after glancing back and forth several times between Julia and Harry, Madeleine tentatively picked up a spoon.

‘You say you made the starter?’ Julia said, as she followed suit. ‘Did you make the dressing as well?’

‘Oh God, no,’ Madeleine answered. ‘It’s from a bottle.’

Julia laughed. ‘No one I know would ever have admitted to that,’ she explained, when Madeleine gave her a curious look, ‘but strictly between you and me they all use bottled dressing, every last one of them.’

‘Tastes just as good, doesn’t it?’ Madeleine said, warming to Julia.

‘Oh, absolutely.’

‘The serviettes!’ Madeleine cried suddenly, and leaping up from the table she ran out of the room.

Paul looked at his editor, longing to know what was going through his mind.

‘Have you always written, Paul?’ Julia asked him, taking a sip of wine.

‘Always wanted to, but I didn’t get round to doing anything about it until a year or so ago.’

‘I imagine it’s terribly time-consuming.’

‘I was thinking after you left the office earlier,’ Harry put in, ‘that if we were to put our heads together and . . .’

‘Couldn’t find them anywhere,’ Madeleine said, coming back into the room, ‘so I brought some kitchen roll instead. Will that do you?’ And tearing off four pieces, she handed them round the table.

‘I think we’re about to get into a heavy editorial session,’ Julia warned her.

‘What?’ Madeleine looked at Paul.

Paul chuckled. ‘Not at all,’ he said. Knowing that Harry’s mind was soon going to be changed for him, he saw little point in discussing their differences of opinion over the book any further. Not that he expected Madeleine to pull it off that night; there wouldn’t be any point since they didn’t have a camera yet. Nevertheless, editorial debates were very definitely redundant until such time as Madeleine had done her best – or worst, depending on which way you looked at it.

Wading into the silence, Madeleine said, ‘Avocados are really fattening, you know.’

‘So I believe,’ Julia smiled. ‘But you don’t need to worry about your figure, you’re so wonderfully tall and slim.’

‘I have to be a bit careful,’ Madeleine confessed, deciding she really did like this woman, ‘especially with my kind of work. One dimple of cellulite and that’s it!’

‘Do you take any exercise?’ Harry asked.

Madeleine turned and swept her eyes across his face with a smile of such indolent sexual hunger that his jaw ground to a halt and his spoon clanged against the dish in front of him. ‘Depends what you mean by exercise,’ she purred. Then her eyes shot to Paul as he muttered something about checking the duck and darted from the room.

‘Do – do you read at all, Madeleine?’ Harry stammered as she brushed her foot against his shin.

‘I never get the time,’ she murmured. ‘Always too busy taking exercise.’ And she suddenly screeched with laughter.

Julia laughed too, but more at her husband’s discomfort than at Madeleine’s little joke. ‘Don’t you read anything? Not even the magazines you appear in?’ she asked.

‘What, the rude ones, you mean? Yeah, I read them sometimes, but not the others. They’re always going on about cancer or babies or diets or all that feminist stuff. Can’t be doing with all that, can you?’

‘Not really,’ Julia agreed. ‘But Harpers & Queen usually has a few good articles, I . . .’

‘I’m on the cover of that one next month,’ Madeleine interrupted. ‘I’ve got this fantastic hat on, you wait ’til you see it. It’s all lace and fruit with a veil that finishes about here.’ She indicated a spot just above her eyes.

‘Sounds wonderful,’ Julia enthused. ‘I adore hats. I just wish there were more occasions to wear them, don’t you? Have you ever been to Ascot?’

‘No, but I think we’re going this year. My agent’s got a box or something, there’s a whole crowd of us going. You know, models from the agency, photographers, important clients. Tell you what, why don’t you come too?’

Julia looked at Harry. ‘That would be splendid,’ she said, ‘I’m sure we’d love to, wouldn’t we, darling?’

Harry nodded, and as Madeleine’s foot moved further up his leg he looked longingly at the door, hoping for Paul’s return. Julia kept up a flow of friendly feminine chit-chat while Madeleine’s loot slid closer and closer to its target – Harry was on the point of excusing himself when at last Paul came back into the room.

‘OK, I’ll just clear this away,’ he said, ‘and then I’ll bring in the duck. How are you all doing for wine?’ He was looking at Madeleine’s glass and saw with satisfaction that it was empty again. ‘If you take out the dishes, darling, I’ll see to the wine.’ Taking the bottle from the cooler, he started to pour.

‘How do you think I’m doing?’ Madeleine asked him as he followed her into the kitchen.

‘You’re perfect,’ he said, moving behind her and putting his arms round her.

‘He seems a bit dedicated to his wife, though, don’t you think?’

‘Which only goes to prove that you’re getting through to him.’

‘How do you work that one out?’

‘He’s putting on a show for her benefit. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he was on the phone to you first thing in the morning.’ He gave her breasts a quick squeeze, then turned to take the vegetable dishes out of the oven.

‘Ugh! What are those pea pods?’ Madeleine said as he removed the lids.

‘They’re mange touts, my darling, you’ll love them. Now go back in there and keep our guests amused.’

The conversation over the main course was mainly about books and writers, and as Madeleine had only managed to struggle her way through one or two Barbara Cartlands, she was completely at a loss when they started to exchange views on Anita Brookner and some French writer whose name she couldn’t even pronounce. To keep herself amused, she managed to twist her leg round so that she could tickle Harry’s groin with her toes. The first time she did it he choked on one of his pea pods and had to leave the room, but the second and third times he merely continued his conversation with Paul as though there was nothing at all happening under the table. Indeed, as far as Madeleine could tell, very little was happening. There was no parting of the legs to give her foot easier access, and no tell-tale bulge either. Then she realised what the problem was, and threw Julia a look of deep compassion. Poor Harry, he obviously only had a little one.

‘I’ll get the afters,’ she said, when Paul finally put down his knife and fork. ‘It’s fruit salad. You wouldn’t like to help me clear the table, would you, Harry?’

‘Er, yes, of course,’ he said, getting to his feet and this time avoiding Julia’s eyes.

‘Paul’s such a good cook, isn’t he?’ she said as she stacked the plates on the draining board and directed Harry to put the vegetable dishes on the side.

‘Excellent,’ he mumbled.

‘Don’t go yet,’ she said, when he made for the door.

He turned back with an awkward smile and a faint colour deepening his ski-holiday tan.

‘I was wondering what you thought of my top?’ she said, pulling it tight over her breasts. ‘It drives Paul wild.’

‘Yes, yes, I can imagine,’ he stammered.

‘If you like, I’ll show you the pictures of me in Men Only later.’

‘That would be very nice,’ he said, taking a step back as she started to saunter towards him.

‘Of course, you might be very lucky and get to see the real thing,’ she told him. ‘But not tonight, of course.’

‘No, no. Not tonight.’

His hand was shaking as she lifted it and placed it over her left breast. ‘Does that feel good?’ she asked, her mouth very close to his.

‘Er, yes, very nice, but I think I’d better go and fetch what there is left of the duck. Excuse me.’ And he fled.

Shrugging her shoulders, and realising there was little point in taking things any further while his wife was around, Madeleine picked up the bowl of fruit salad and went after him.

When they’d finished their dessert Paul suggested they have brandy and coffee in the sitting-room, and while Madeleine was in the kitchen preparing the coffee, Julia wandered in. ‘Can I help?’ she said.

Madeleine looked round, surprised. ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘everything’s under control, as they say.’ She wished she didn’t like Julia so much, it was making things difficult. Still, the whole point was that Julia would never know, so she didn’t have to feel too guilty about it.

‘This is a wonderful kitchen,’ Julia said. ‘In fact, the whole house is wonderful. Do you think I could have a look round?’

‘Of course. Let me take this coffee through and I’ll take you upstairs, show you the bedrooms. We only use one, of course, there’s not much in the others. And I’ll take you out onto the roof garden. You can see all over London from there.’

In the sitting-room Paul and Harry had resumed their literary conversation and barely heard when Madeleine told them she was going to give Julia a guided tour. It was only when he got up to pour more brandy and happened to glance at the clock that Paul realised over half an hour had gone by, and there was still no sign of them returning.

Harry had returned to the subject of Guy de Maupassant and was at present engaged in a lengthy eulogy of the short story ‘Clair de Lune’. Paul handed him another brandy and sat down to listen, but his eyes kept wandering to the door. Julia had had enough time to view every house in the street by now.

Eventually he excused himself and went to search them out. He hunted the bedrooms, the roof garden, the kitchen, the dining-room and finally found them in his study. Madeleine was sitting on his desk, Julia on the chair in front of her. Their abrupt silence as he walked in sapped the geniality from his smile, and to his astonishment he found himself apologising. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but could I have a word, Maddy?’

Madeleine gave Julia a quick look, then followed him into the hall. ‘What’s going on in there?’ he hissed, once she had closed the door.

‘Just girl-talk, you know. We’ll join you in a minute.’

‘Well, hurry up. And when you do, walk around a bit – let him get a good look at your legs. Are you wearing any underwear?’

Madeleine nodded.

The door opened and Julia came out. ‘I was wondering if I might have another drink,’ she said, holding up her empty glass.

Madeleine took it. The two women’s eyes met for an instant, then Julia went back into the study.

‘I’ll get the drink,’ Paul said. ‘You get rid of the underwear.’

When he returned with Julia’s drink he was relieved to find Madeleine wasn’t there, which could only mean that she was doing as he asked. Julia thanked him politely for the brandy, made several admiring remarks about his collection of books, then sat quietly waiting for him to speak. More than a little confused, he told her Madeleine wouldn’t be long, then muttering something about topping up Harry’s glass, he went back to the sitting-room.

‘As long as I live,’ he told Harry, ‘I’ll never understand how it is a woman can make a man feel so ridiculous by simply saying nothing.’

Harry looked up. ‘What are they doing?’

‘God knows. They’re in my study. Girl-talk, I was informed.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be in in a minute,’ Harry smiled, but his face had paled, and as he leaned forward to pick up his drink Paul couldn’t help noticing the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Another half an hour went by and again Paul got to his feet. Not only was he angry with Madeleine, but Harry’s discomfort was becoming positively embarrassing.

This time he listened at the door before going in, but the heavy wood muted their voices, and though he knew it was Julia doing most of the talking he couldn’t make out what she was saying. In the end, without knocking, he pushed open the door and walked in. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, apart from the two of them sitting as he’d found them before – and they were, except that now Madeleine was wearing a dress he’d forbidden her to wear, even about the house. It was white and flowery, belted at the waist, and covered everything from neck to knee.

She looked up as he came in, flicked back her hair and smiled.

Quickly swallowing his amazement, Paul forced a chuckle into his voice as he said, ‘It must be one hell of a conversation you two are having. You’ve been in here hours.’

‘Classical history,’ Julia informed him before Madeleine could speak. ‘I’ve been telling Madeleine all about what went on in the Greek gymnasia.’

He looked from one to the other and could see that Madeleine didn’t have the faintest idea what Julia was talking about.

‘Anyway, I think that’s probably enough for one night, don’t you?’ Julia said, getting to her feet. ‘Let’s go and liven up the male side of the party.’

Harry’s nervousness abated slightly when Julia came back into the room, and he complimented Madeleine extravagantly on her dress. ‘Everything all right?’ he said, as Julia sat down beside him.

‘Yes, yes. Everything’s fine,’ she answered. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

Paul found that an extremely odd remark, and watched the two of them closely as they finished their brandies. There had been a sub-text in that small exchange, he was sure of it, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what it might be. Eventually Harry said it was time they were going, and while Madeleine and Julia kissed one another on both cheeks, Paul walked to the door with Harry.

‘Think about the suggestions I made earlier,’ Harry said, once again his affable, though somewhat stiff self. ‘I want to publish you, Paul, very much – but the book’s too long and too obscure the way it is.’

‘Yes, I’ll think about it,’ Paul promised, then as Julia came out of the sitting-room he gave her a polite kiss, and he and Madeleine stood at the door waving them off in their old Bentley.

‘What the hell was going on?’ he demanded as he followed Madeleine back into the sitting-room. ‘And why are you wearing that bloody awful dress?’

Madeleine shrugged. ‘It seemed more suitable for a history lesson.’

‘Don’t get smart with me. I thought . . .’

Madeleine was shaking her head and laughing. ‘You thought wrong, Paul. There was no point me doing anything to try and seduce Harry. You see, I have it on the best authority that you’re more his type than I am.’

‘What!’

‘He’s gay.’

‘But he’s married.’

Again Madeleine shrugged. ‘Married or not, he’s gay.’

For a long moment there was silence, then suddenly Paul threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘That’s what you two have been talking about all night?’

Madeleine nodded. ‘Mostly.’

‘Of course,’ he said, drawing out the words with dawning realisation. ‘Now I see the connection with the Greek gymnasia. What did she say?’

Madeleine was still obviously baffled by the Greek business but didn’t bother to ask about it. ‘Basically, she said that I was wasting my time trying to get her husband into bed.’ She tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘It’s quite sad really, you know, because she’s desperately in love with Harry, and I can’t say I blame her – he’s gorgeous. She didn’t know about the way he is until after they got married; they keep up appearances for the sake of the family name and the children. He’s very discreet, apparently, and never tells her who he’s seeing, or when.’

Paul was watching her suspiciously. ‘No one comes out with highly guarded secrets just like that,’ he said. ‘How do you know she’s telling the truth?’

‘I don’t, for sure. But I can tell you one thing, I didn’t give him an erection. Anyway, why should she lie?’

He shook his head. ‘To throw you off the scent perhaps. But it’s a bit excessive, going to those lengths. She could have just confronted you with it, and told you to back off.’

‘Well, she didn’t. And as I said, I don’t think she’s lying. She made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, she might be posh and all that, but I think she quite liked me. She said we ought to have lunch together some time next week.’

‘Are you going to?’

She shrugged. ‘Doubt it. I’ve got a really busy time coming up. Unless you want me to, of course.’

‘Not particularly.’

She started to pick up glasses and cups and pile them onto the coffee tray. ‘What are you looking like that for?’ she demanded. ‘He’s queer, isn’t he? That must give you some ammunition.’

‘Ammunition, yes,’ he answered thoughtfully. ‘But what we need now is the gun to fire it with.’

Madeleine screwed up her face. ‘What?’

‘Proof,’ he explained.