THERE was a storm brewing. Libby could see flashes of lightning playing over the sea from the darkened windows of the limousine; they lit up the night like a searchlight turning the sea and the mountains to silver like a reverse negative on a roll of film.
But Libby’s mind wasn’t on the storm; it was on the conversation she had just had with Marc. She supposed she should have played it cooler, pretended she didn’t know he was lying to her, bided her time. Then perhaps she would have found out exactly where her father was. Instead her defences and her control had cracked, in the same way the forks of lightning were splitting the darkness of the sky now.
One moment she had been determined to keep calm and play him at his own game…and the next her calm resolve had gone, buried under much more complex feelings of hurt.
She really had for a crazy moment imagined that she was in love with him!
A roar of thunder tore through the silence of the night and then the rain started. It drummed wildly against the car window like a continuous sheet of water, the sound echoing her heartbeats, echoing the tears that were welling up inside just thinking about Marc.
With determination she pulled herself together. She wasn’t going to allow Marc Clayton to upset her, she told herself firmly. He wasn’t worth it!
She opened her handbag and found a comb for her hair and put on some lipstick. She didn’t want to arrive back at her hotel looking a mess.
They were in Cannes now. The lights along the Croisette reflected on the wet road in a mosaic of colour. The sea was a dark swirl lit by the occasional flash of lightning. Libby watched as the hotels and buildings swished by.
She could see the Carlton hotel up ahead. And suddenly she was remembering her father’s picture in the paper. The Carlton beach had been behind him, the flags from the hotel had been clearly visible.
‘Did you say you wanted the Rosette hotel?’ Jacques asked her suddenly from the front.
‘Actually, will you drop me outside the Carlton?’ Libby asked impulsively.
‘Oui, Mademoiselle.’
‘Would you mind waiting for me?’ Libby asked as the car slowed and she looked up towards the impressive entrance. She didn’t want to be lugging her old piece of luggage with her in there, she thought wryly.
‘Certainly, Mademoiselle.’
As Libby reached for the door handle it was opened for her from the outside. She looked out and saw a doorman waiting for her with an umbrella ready to shield her from the rain. ‘Merci.’ She smiled at the man as she headed past him and through the glass doors into an impressive lobby.
The air of elegance about the hotel was striking. For a moment Libby was distracted from her mission as she looked around in appreciation. Then she walked forward to the desk where a receptionist was dealing with an attractive young woman wearing a designer black trouser suit.
As Libby waited she absent-mindedly admired the woman’s Gucci cases and tried not to think about how nervous she felt about the prospect of finally seeing her father again.
‘Can I help you, madame?’ Another receptionist stepped forward.
‘Yes, I hope so.’ Libby smiled at him. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me if you have a Mr Carl Quinton staying here?’
The receptionist shook his head apologetically. ‘Ah, madame, I regret I cannot give you this information. I hope you will understand? It is classified.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Libby smiled at him. She supposed she should have known that would be the answer, but even so Libby couldn’t help feeling disappointed. ‘I shall just have to contact him in some other way. Perhaps I could write a note for him and leave it with you… Just in case he checks in?’
‘You may, and if he checks in I will be sure to give it to him.’ The receptionist smiled at her and handed her across some hotel notepaper.
‘Thank you.’ As Libby picked up a pen she noticed the woman who had been in front of her glancing around. And with a start Libby recognised her as Julia Hynes, the star of her father’s film, and if the papers were to be believed the woman her father was going to marry!
She was about Libby’s age and exceptionally slim and beautiful with long blonde hair and classically perfect features.
‘If you’d like to sign here, please, mademoiselle?’ The receptionist spoke to Julia and she turned away. ‘And we will arrange for someone to bring your luggage up to your room.’
Libby wondered if she should go across to her, tell her she was Carl’s daughter and ask if her father would see her.
Before she could move the lift doors opened and a few more people entered the lobby. There was a buzz of excitement as Julia Hynes was recognised and she was lost from Libby’s sight as a crowd started to gather around her asking for autographs.
Then Libby saw her being greeted by a man in a smart black suit.
‘Darling, it’s so good to see you.’ The woman’s heartfelt tones drifted above other voices.
The man embraced her and as he turned slightly Libby’s breath froze in her throat. It was her father, she recognised him instantly.
Their eyes met and held across the busy concourse, and she could see the recognition in his expression, could see he knew exactly who she was. For a moment it was as if everyone else melted away. Libby could feel her heart thudding so heavily against her chest that it hurt.
He really didn’t look that different. Yes, he was older; there were a few silver hairs at his temples, a few lines at the corners of his blue eyes, but apart from that he looked the same… Except that he was different. It was hard to define. It was as if he was the same on the outside, but that spark of warmth inside…that way he’d had of smiling at her that had made him special and ‘her dad’ had gone…
Julia was saying something about Paris being just divine, before continuing on to say, ‘Oh, and a few moments ago a woman was asking about you at the desk. Is it someone you know? I think she is still here…’ Julia started to turn around.
Carl looked away from Libby and put his arm through hers. ‘Julia, I can’t see anyone I know in here. Let’s go, darling. I want to hear all about Paris over dinner.’
Shock sizzled through Libby, but somehow she gathered herself together and, leaving the blank piece of paper on the desk, she turned to walk out of the hotel. Obviously her father didn’t want to see her, and if that was the case she wasn’t going to walk over to him. She had her pride.
It was a relief to climb into the limousine and hide behind the tinted glass away from prying eyes.
All right, she had only been seven when her father had walked out, but she knew he had recognised her; she had seen that look of recollection in his eyes. He’d known she was his daughter…yet he had still turned away.
He hadn’t wanted to know her!
‘Where to, Mademoiselle?’
The driver’s voice cut into her thoughts.
She only hesitated for a second before saying huskily. ‘Jacques, would you take me to the airport, please?’
‘Yes, of course, Mademoiselle.’
As the limousine sped through the darkness of the evening Libby wished she could wave a magic wand and just be home in the security of her own flat. And she wished more than anything that she had never come here.
Afterwards that trip to Nice airport just seemed like a blur. She thanked the driver as he dropped her off outside the main terminal building, and she hurried inside.
The airport was busy and she had to wait a while before someone could deal with her at a desk. Her air ticket home was useless as it was for a few days’ time, so she had to purchase another one. It seemed to take an age to sort out, as the time and availability of a flight to London was checked.
The only available seat was on a flight at two the next morning. Libby glanced at her watch. It was only nine-thirty now, but although it sounded like an interminable time to wait she slid her credit card across and booked it. All she wanted was to go home.
The check-in desk for her flight didn’t open for over an hour, so she was stuck with her luggage until then. Carrying her bag over towards a café, she bought herself a glass of mineral water and waited. For a while she watched lovers embrace, families say goodbye and the flight information boards flick over. All of life seemed to pass her by.
She remembered how hopeful she had been when she arrived here. Hopeful that she would, not only find her father, but return to a time and place in life when she had loved someone deeply and felt loved in return. Remembering the expression in her father’s eyes as he’d turned away from her, she realised how foolish that hope had been. You could never go back in time because nothing stayed the same. You could only move forward.
And then there was Marc. She realised now that she had got it wrong when she had accused him of not telling her dad she was here. But that still didn’t change the fact that he had lied to her about her father’s whereabouts…used her. And he’d probably been the one to tell the press that she had shunned her father for years. Marc would do whatever it took to protect his business interests. Hard to believe when he had kissed her so passionately, made love to her so ardently. But lovemaking for him was probably just a recreational pastime. He was probably with his ex-wife now, having a sophisticated supper… A cold, gnawing ache sprang up inside her.
She really couldn’t bear to think about Marc.
‘Libby?’
The familiar tone took her very much by surprise and as she looked up into Marc’s dark eyes she thought for a moment that she was imagining things. But she wasn’t imagining it; he was standing next to her table looking directly at her, and her heart lurched crazily.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked huskily.
Marc smiled. ‘I’ve come to find you, of course.’
He was so indolently confident that it brought back her fighting spirit. ‘Well, you shouldn’t have done,’ she said in annoyance.
He pulled out the chair opposite her. ‘May I sit down?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
He ignored that and sat down anyway, and a small part of her…the absolutely mad part that was glad he had ignored her…was glad he was here.
To counteract that silly emotion she glared at him. ‘Just go away, Marc.’
‘We have things to sort out,’ he said calmly.
‘I don’t think so.’ She took a sip of her water and tried to regain control of her emotions. ‘Shouldn’t you be having dinner with your ex-wife?’
He didn’t look surprised that she knew this. ‘Yes, but under the circumstances I thought it best to cancel.’
‘What’s the matter, Marc? Frightened that you have a loose cannon on your hands?’ she grated sardonically. ‘Scared I might run to the press and malign your client? Is that why you are here?’
‘No. And I don’t think for one moment that you are going to do that.’
‘No?’ Libby fixed him with a perceptive stare. ‘I take it this is the point in the conversation where you offer me a pay-off?’
‘No.’ Marc shook his head. ‘This is the point in the conversation when I tell you I’ve come to take you to see your father.’
The remark took Libby by surprise. ‘Why now?’
‘Because I am a man of my word, Libby. I promised you that I would arrange a meeting for you and I have.’
‘Well, it’s too late for that now.’ As she lifted the glass of water to her lips again she was alarmed to find that her hand was shaking. Hurriedly she put the glass back down again and hoped that Marc hadn’t noticed, but she could see his eyes watching her, noting her every movement.
‘It’s not too late,’ he said gently.
‘For me it is,’ she said firmly. ‘Apart from anything else I have booked and paid for a flight to London.’
‘Can I see your ticket?’
The calm question puzzled her. ‘Why do you want to see my ticket? Don’t you believe me? Do you think I’m just sitting here for the good of my health?’
‘I believe you, Libby. I just want to see it.’
‘Well, if it will make you go away…’ She grabbed her handbag, took out the ticket and slid it across to him.
She watched as he opened it. ‘Flight at two a.m.,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t think you are going to be able to make that, Libby.’
‘I—’
Before she could stop him he had put the ticket away into the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘Marc, what the hell do you think you are doing?’ Her voice rose unsteadily and a few people at neighbouring tables glanced over at them curiously. ‘Give me my ticket back!’
‘All in good time.’ Marc pushed his chair away from the table and reached to pick up her luggage. ‘Now, let me give you a hand with this.’
‘No, thank you!’ She tried to stop him, but he was too quick for her and got there first so that her hand just closed over his on the handle. The physical contact made her instantly relinquish the bag and flinch away as if she had been burnt.
He watched as she rubbed at her hand as if trying to erase the memory of his skin against hers.
‘Libby…I just want to put things right.’ The husky, gentle tone cut straight through her.
‘As if you give a damn about that!’ She gave him a fulminating glare from vivid blue eyes. ‘You are just thinking about a possible PR disaster before your precious client’s premiere.’
Marc shook his head. ‘You couldn’t be further away from the truth.’
‘Well, I don’t believe that. In fact I don’t believe one word you say any more.’ She remained firm and held out her hand. ‘Now give me my bag back.’
‘No.’ The gentle tone was gone now, replaced by a steely kind of calmness that totally infuriated her.
‘Look, if you don’t give my luggage and my ticket back to me,’ she snapped, ‘I’m going to start making a scene.’
‘Really?’ There was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes now. ‘What are you going to do?’
Hell, but this man was infuriating. How she could ever have thought that she loved him! ‘I’ll…’ She cast about frantically in her mind for some threat. ‘I’ll yell that I’ve been mugged.’
Marc shrugged. ‘Yell away, but I’ll just say we are having a lovers’ spat, and the French are very understanding about affairs of the heart.’
Before she could say anything to that he was walking away from her, taking her luggage with him. She hesitated for just a second before following him.
‘Look, Marc, I can assure you that I have no intentions of talking to the press about my father, so you can just put my bag down, give me my air ticket and let me go.’
‘I can’t do that,’ Marc said tersely.
They were outside now. It had stopped raining, but the roads glistened with water under the street lights. Marc put up his hand and the black limousine that had dropped Libby off pulled up beside them.
Jacques got out and came around to take Libby’s bag from Marc and open the doors for them.
‘I suppose Jacques told you where I was?’ Libby murmured as she watched her bag being deposited in the boot.
‘Of course.’ Marc nodded towards the car. ‘Now, are you going to get in, or am I going to have to put you in there bodily?’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ She was horrified.
He took a step towards her and she got hurriedly into the car. ‘This…this is kidnapping,’ she said furiously.
‘Don’t be so dramatic.’ Marc slid in beside her. ‘You wanted to see your father and I am making sure you get your wish.’
‘I told you, it’s too late for that!’ Her heart pounded uneasily against her chest.
‘No, it’s not. I’ve spoken to Carl and he is waiting for you at his hotel.’
‘I’ve already been to his hotel.’ Libby bit down on her lip.
‘I know that. But they will let you in now I’m with you.’
Libby shook her head and for a moment her eyes blurred with tears.
‘They will, Libby, and I’ve cleared it with your father. He is expecting you.’
Libby couldn’t answer that…couldn’t tell him that in fact her father had already seen her…and turned away.
The limousine pulled out onto the busy roads. Libby sat quietly as far away from Marc on the comfortable long leather seat as she could.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Marc opened the drinks cabinet opposite. ‘I have champagne.’
‘I only drink champagne when I have something to celebrate,’ Libby said numbly.
‘Well, you have got something to celebrate. I’m taking you to see your father.’
Libby shook her head.
‘A glass of white wine, then?’ Marc reached for a bottle.
‘I don’t want a drink, Marc. I just want to go back to the airport to catch my plane.’
Marc closed the cabinet and sat back in the seat. ‘Look, I am sorry that I told you your father hadn’t arrived in France. At the time it seemed like a necessary lie.’
‘I bet.’ Libby averted her gaze from his. ‘You didn’t tell me that he was dating his leading lady either.’
‘I thought it was your father’s place to tell you that. Not mine.’
‘But my father didn’t want to see me, did he?’
The words dropped into the silence and lay there for what seemed like a never-ending period of time.
‘Your father has been under a lot of strain, Libby,’ Marc said finally. ‘It’s not easy being under the full glare of the media spotlight. I know this is difficult for you as well, but I think you should try and cut him some slack.’
Libby looked over at him then, her gaze sharp. ‘You should have told me the truth.’
Marc held her gaze steadily. ‘I thought about it…but I didn’t want to upset you.’
Libby rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, please…do you think I am completely naïve?’
‘Believe it or not, that is the truth,’ he cut across her firmly. ‘Yes, I probably did the wrong thing pretending that your father wasn’t here, I realise that now. But I just didn’t want to tell you that he wasn’t ready to see you.’
This statement truly incensed her. ‘He’s had twenty years to prepare himself to see me, Marc. Let’s not pussy-foot around this any more. The fact is he just doesn’t want to see me.’
Marc looked over at her steadily. ‘I won’t lie to you, Libby. He’s very nervous about seeing you, but that is to be expected,’ he said quietly.
‘Why? Because I’ve shunned him over the years?’ Libby’s voice dripped with derision. ‘I suppose it was you who leaked that little titbit to the press.’
‘I haven’t said anything to the press about you, Libby.’
‘And I don’t believe you.’ Her voice trembled with fury.
‘Well, it’s true.’ For a moment his lips slanted in a wry smile. ‘If you remember, I’m the one who wanted to keep you out of the press completely. I was all for just issuing a one off statement.’
‘Because of course you are such a gentleman.’ She practically spat the words at him.
He smiled at that, but it was a self-deprecating smile. ‘I tried to be.’
Something about the way he looked at her and the husky timbre of his tone cut into her raw emotions.
It was hard to read the expression in his eyes, but she could see a pulse beating in the side of his jaw.
‘Libby, I realise I’ve handled things badly. When I moved you into my house I really did it for the best of intentions. I wanted to help soothe things over between you and your father. I didn’t intend for things to go as far as they did between us.’ He reached out and touched her face, but she flinched away from him and the rawness inside her became a physical ache.
‘But somewhere along the line I—’
‘I don’t want to hear this. I really mean it.’ She steadfastly avoided looking at him. But inside she felt as if her heart were breaking. Those words ‘I didn’t intend for things to go as far as they did between us’ were burning inside her. ‘And I don’t want to see my father.’ The fire had gone from her tone now.
‘Libby, I’m not turning back. It’s best we get this over with.’
Easy for him to say, she thought. But the idea of facing her father now, knowing he didn’t want her here, was too much hurt to bear.
‘I don’t see the point,’ she muttered. ‘I just want to go home now.’
‘The point is that once you do this you will feel more at peace…be able to move on with your life.’ Marc’s gentle tone made her heart turn over.
She glared over at him and her eyes shimmered with tears. ‘Don’t pretend to understand how I feel, Marc…because you have no idea.’
‘I think I do,’ he said softly.
She shook her head and looked away from him. ‘You just think I am cold-hearted and mercenary…fair game, in fact.’
‘Libby, I don’t think that.’
The warmth and the softness of his tone made her want to cry all the more, but she held herself together with difficulty. ‘Don’t lie to me, Marc. I know the only reason that you are here now is that you are worried about what I will say to the press about your precious client. You’ll protect him to the hilt. You were doing it a while ago with all the spiel about how hard it is for him in the media spotlight.’
‘I’m not trying to protect him, Libby; I’m trying to protect you,’ he said softly. ‘I was trying to explain that Carl is so caught up in his career that he doesn’t think clearly sometimes.’
‘He was thinking clearly enough a few hours ago when he blanked me in the hotel lobby,’ Libby retorted swiftly.
‘And he’s full of remorse,’ Marc said quickly.
‘Oh, so you know about that?’ Her voice trembled slightly.
‘Yes, I got a distraught phone call from him.’ Marc’s voice was grim. ‘You need to see him and sort this out.’
As Marc finished speaking the limousine pulled up outside the Carlton hotel again.
‘Do this, Libby, for yourself as much as for him.’ Marc’s tone was low and persuasive and he reached out and touched her hand. ‘It will lay ghosts of the past to rest.’
The touch of his fingers against her skin instantly turned her feelings of anxiety into something much more volatile. She pulled away from him.
‘I’ll give him five minutes,’ she said huskily. ‘But then I want to go home, Marc.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll wait for you in the foyer.’