Season of Desire: Complete Edition (40 page)

It’s almost an hour later when I finish. We’ve had another coffee each in the meantime while I opened my heart to Beth and related the story of our crash, the sojourn on the mountainside and everything that’s happened since.

Beth has listened, asking the occasional question, with rapt attention and now she shakes her head. ‘Wow. That’s amazing. You two have been through so much already – talk about a fiery start!’

‘I’m worried it’s all over,’ I say gloomily. ‘I don’t have a clue how Miles feels about me, or if he can overlook the fact that I’m a Hammond, and the daughter of a man he now despises.’

‘I’m sure he doesn’t despise your father,’ Beth reassures me. ‘He knows your dad just wants what’s best for you. It sounds to me like your father has a lot of other influences on him too – this Pierre man doesn’t sound very helpful.’

I nod. ‘He feeds Dad’s paranoia – it keeps him in a job, after all.’

‘I hadn’t realised you were one of the Hammond sisters,’ Beth remarks, stirring the foam on her coffee. ‘It certainly makes things a little less straightforward for you. The press watches your every move, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ I exclaim. ‘It’s a nightmare. And somehow my private life ends up there for everyone to read. The latest is a story about my ex and me – it’s on the front pages! Intimate details of my life served up for everyone like I’m some kind of real-life soap opera.’

‘It must be horrible,’ Beth says sincerely. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘No wonder Miles doesn’t want to be a part of it,’ I say, my shoulders slumping.

‘Don’t worry about that – Miles is a stubborn character. He wouldn’t let things like that stand between him and what he wants.’

I look up at her, my expression pleading. ‘So why has he just walked out of my life like this?’

‘You shouldn’t rush him,’ Beth says gently. ‘I know you want everything to happen right now, but this is all very sudden. You both need time to adjust to this. He just left his job yesterday – he must have a lot on his mind.’

I feel selfish and stupid. ‘Of course. You’re right. I’m only thinking about it from my point of view.’ I shut my eyes and sigh. ‘I feel like I’m going to mess this up. I really do.’

Beth puts her hand over mine and shakes it comfortingly. ‘You won’t. But you need to calm down and not rush things too much.’

‘Beth . . .’ I hesitate, not sure how to ask what I feel I need to know. ‘Miles has said to me that there was a woman in his past . . . a woman who died. Do you know anything about that?’

She looks back at me, her grey eyes wide. ‘I don’t. How awful. Dominic hasn’t said. I’ll ask him and if I find anything out, I’ll let you know.’

I look at my watch. ‘I ought to go. My sister’s waiting for me, and my bodyguard will be getting frantic.’ I sigh. ‘I’d better put in an appearance so that I can be safely accounted for and monitored.’

‘It’s so strange that you’re not free to do as you want.’ Beth shakes her head. ‘I can’t imagine it.’

I smile at her. ‘That’s why it’s great to be here with you, free and unnoticed. Just doing a normal thing like having coffee and chatting.’

Beth looks aghast. ‘Oh my goodness, that’s awful! You can’t do something as simple as this without being watched?’

‘Not usually. If my father could relax our security and let us sink more into anonymity, things might be easier. But he feels the risks are too great. And besides . . .’ I shrug. ‘The press aren’t going to lose interest in us anytime soon. I know I just have to live with that.’

Beth’s expression becomes determined. ‘That’s just terrible. If I can help you, I will. We’ll sort something out, I promise.’

Beth’s words cheer me up, and when we say goodbye and she promises to let me know what she can as soon as possible, I feel a little more light-hearted. She’s right, I mustn’t pressure Miles before he’s ready. We’ve both got a lot of stuff to process, after all. But I can’t help longing to see him as soon as I can.

I text Flora to tell her I’ll be with her within the hour, and then wander through the streets of Paris, watching people going about their lives, making my way towards Flora’s flat in the Marais. When I check my phone, there’s a message from Lola.

Freya, I’ve just had Jacob call me wanting to know where you are. He’s in a terrible state about this story in the papers. I told him I don’t know. Has he tried to call you? He might be trying to reach you. Speak soon Lx

There’s a message from Jane-Elizabeth too:

I hope you had a good journey to Paris. We’re all horrified to see the newspapers today. Your father is investigating the leak right now, and limiting the damage. By the way, Jacob called, wanting to know your whereabouts. I told him you’re in Paris, I hope that’s all right. He might want to contact you. Let me know if I can help. Love J-E

I read the messages twice, wondering why Jacob hasn’t called me himself. He knows that I wanted to keep this out of the papers as much as he did, but it’s out there now, and who knows how? It’s hard to trust anyone – someone in the lawyers’ offices might have leaked it, or one of the girls involved might have decided to make some money out of her connection to me. Even though Jacob betrayed me and caused me such pain, I feel sorry for him now. He’s been publicly humiliated and I don’t think he deserves that, even if he is a selfish playboy. Besides, it will hurt his parents deeply, and they don’t deserve that either.

I’m wondering whether to call him myself when my phone rings. I don’t recognise the number and when I answer, it turns out to be a very panicky Thierry on the other end, wanting to know where I am.

‘I’m fine!’ I soothe. ‘I’m on my way to Flora’s right now. Everything’s okay. I’ll let you know when I’m there. Just sit back and enjoy the hotel. I’m sorry the Ritz is closed for refurbishment – I’d forgotten about that – but I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable at the Hôtel de Vendôme for now.’

‘I can’t enjoy myself,’ he says, exasperated. ‘My job is to look after you.’

‘Relax, Thierry, really. It’ll all be back on track soon, you’ll see. I’ll call when I get to Flora’s.’

‘I’ll go there now and wait for you.’

‘No – there’s no need. Flora’s got her own security. It’s really not necessary. Bye, Thierry!’

When I end the call, I think for a second and on impulse I summon up Jacob’s number and ring it. He doesn’t answer and I don’t leave a message on his voice mail. If he wants me, he can call me himself. I’m not sure what I want to say to him anyway – just to sympathise, I suppose, and tell him that my father is trying to discover who leaked the story. Even though I feel for him, I still remember how much he hurt me with his behaviour. If he hadn’t done it, we wouldn’t both be in this situation.

I put my phone away and press on towards Flora’s flat.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When I turn into the road where Flora’s flat is, I come to a dead stop. Flora lives not far from the Place des Vosges, in a small winding little street lined with beautiful old buildings in mellow stone that reach up several storeys, each with narrow, elegant windows adorned with tiny wrought-iron balconies. Outside Flora’s building, photographers are hanging around, smoking and chatting, their huge black cameras round their necks. The sight makes me feel physically sick, my hands prickling with sweat. I dart into a doorway and call Flora.

‘You’ve got a press pack outside!’

‘I know,’ she says apologetically. ‘They turned up this morning, I’ve no idea why.’

‘Because I’m on the front page again, that’s why!’

‘Oh, yes. I forgot about that. I haven’t seen the papers yet.’

‘How do they all know where you live?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Flora’s tone is weary. ‘I’ve given up wondering about it. Just come inside. My door code is 1509.’

I realise that I’m shaking. ‘I can’t. I can’t face them.’

‘Just walk past them and don’t look up! You know the drill.’

‘Flora, I mean it – I really can’t!’

There’s a pause and I can sense her exasperation. ‘Then what are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll think of something.’

‘You shouldn’t have given your security the slip like that. You need your bodyguard to get you past them without being hassled.’

‘I just need to be free, Flora! You must be able to understand that. I have to be able to live like a normal person.’

‘Of course I understand. But you and I both know it’s not going to happen.’

‘I’ll call you later,’ I say, leaving the shelter of the doorway and marching in the opposite direction, away from Flora’s flat. ‘When I’ve figured out what I’m going to do.’

I don’t know where I’m going, I only know that I’ve got to get away from the press. I can’t take them right now. If they get my picture, I’ll be on the front pages again tomorrow, the subject of frenzied speculation about what I’m doing in Paris, and what state my love life is in.

I just need some time and space to sort myself out! I can’t live with this kind of scrutiny.

I’m filled again with a wild longing for Miles. I want the security of his presence, I yearn to feel that deep inner sense of safety that I have when I’m with him.

Where are you, Miles? What are you thinking? Are you wondering about me?
I’m sure that if he knew how I felt right now, Miles would be with me in an instant, wrapping his strong arms around me and reassuring me that I don’t have to worry.

But he also knows I can cope. He knows I’m strong when I have to be.

The thought floats into my mind and comforts me. I pull out my phone again and ring Beth.

‘Hi, Freya.’

‘Beth . . .’

‘Are you all right?’ She picks up on the anxiety in my voice at once. ‘Where are you? Haven’t you reached your sister?’

‘The press are all over her street. I can’t bear them to find out where I am – I won’t have a hope of any privacy if they do.’

There’s a tiny pause and then Beth says decisively, ‘Come here.’

My heart flips over. ‘Is Miles there?’

‘Not yet. Dominic’s not here either. Come right away, I insist.’

‘All right,’ I say, grateful of the refuge, and she gives me the address of an apartment in the smart area of St Germain-des-Prés. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

I make my way towards Bastille and on the Boulevard Beaumarchais I manage to find a taxi. It’s only a short drive along the Left Bank to the beautiful, polished district where Beth and Dominic’s apartment is situated. We stop in front of a huge flat-fronted building in beautiful pale stone, with a vast double door of glossy black wood. A smaller access door is cut into it, with a buzzer set in a brass surround on the wall nearby. I ring the buzzer and a moment later the small door swings open, revealing a concierge, an old man in a grey uniform.

‘
Oui, Madamoiselle
?’ he asks, fixing me with a piercing gaze.

‘
Je voudrais visiter l’apartement C, s’il vous plaît
.’

‘
Vous êtes
 . . .?’

‘
Mademoiselle Hammond
.’

My name doesn’t seem to register with him, but he returns to his small office just inside the door and checks a list. I’m on it, evidently, because he comes out again and beckons me in. Inside the door is a lush courtyard, the building around it rising up five storeys. The concierge indicates a wide hallway to one side, where an old, very broad and uneven wooden staircase leads upwards. ‘
Le deuxième étage
,’ he says, and I start to climb the ancient stairs. They’re highly polished, their unevenness part of their charm. I love the way Paris has these beautiful places hidden away, little oases of calm and beauty so close to the busy city streets.

When I reach the second floor, I tap the brass knocker on the elegant white front door. A moment later, the door is opened and Beth stands there, beaming at me.

‘You made it! And you’re alone . . . no press?’

I shake my head. ‘Mission accomplished. No one has a clue where I am.’

‘Excellent. Come in. Would you like some tea? I was just about to have some myself.’

‘English tea?’

‘Of course.’

‘Yes please. I love English tea.’

I follow her through the stylish apartment. It’s light and spacious, with classical proportions and signs everywhere of its venerable age: marble fireplaces, ornate plasterwork and antique shutters at the windows. But it’s been decorated in a cool, modern style that makes it feel calm and fresh. The kitchen is small, clad entirely in black marble and supplied with high-spec chrome appliances. I lounge against the marble counter as Beth makes the tea.

‘I take it you weren’t expecting the press to know you were going to your sister’s flat,’ she says as she gets out the cups.

I shake my head. ‘No. I’ve no idea how they found out.’

Beth frowns. ‘Have you told anyone that you’re here?’

‘No one. Friends and family know I’m in Paris, but not exactly where.’

‘Then you should definitely keep it that way. There’re obviously some leaks going on.’