We'll Always Have Paris

‘Really? That’s strange, as I was talking about quantitative easing.’

‘That too,’ she said.

He had to give her points for trying. Most of his ‘fans’ did their homework in an attempt to impress him when they met. This one clearly hadn’t bothered.

‘You’re interested in the banks’ asset policies?’

‘Fascinated,’ she said, clearly lying, but meeting his eyes with such limpid innocence that Simon felt an unfamiliar tugging sensation at the corner of his mouth. It took a moment before he recognized it as amusement, and he pressed his lips together before he actually smiled.

Now that he looked at her properly, he could see that she wasn’t particularly pretty. Once you got past the animated expression, her features were really very ordinary, with ordinary brown hair falling in a very ordinary style to her shoulders. And yet she seemed to shimmer with a kind of suppressed energy, as if she were about to break into a run or fling her arms around, that made her not ordinary at all.

She made Simon feel vaguely unsettled, and that wasn’t a feeling he liked.

‘Were you even at my lecture?’ he demanded.

‘I sat through every riveting minute of it,’ she assured him.

‘And how much did you understand?’

He saw a brief struggle with her conscience cross her face before she opted, wisely, for honesty. ‘Well, not everything … that is, not a lot … in fact, none of it, but I do admire you a lot, obviously.’ She cleared her throat. ‘The truth is, I don’t know anything about economics. I’m here because I really need to talk to you.’

‘I’m afraid I only talk about economics, so if you don’t know anything about the subject it’s likely to be a very short conversation,’ said Simon curtly and made to turn away but she clutched at his arm.

‘I won’t keep you a minute, I promise,’ she said and plunged into a prepared speech before he could shake his arm from her grasp. ‘My name’s Clara Sterne, and I—’

But she had already said enough. Simon’s eyes narrowed. ‘As in the Clara Sterne who has been ringing and emailing me and apparently doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no?’

‘Oh, you recognize my name? Good,’ said Clara brightly.

Simon’s mouth tightened. ‘Spare your breath!’ he said, flinging up a hand as she opened her mouth to go on. ‘No, I will not participate in your ridiculous television programme. Once and for all … No!’

‘But you haven’t even given me a chance to explain about the programme,’ she protested. ‘It’s not ridiculous at all. We want it to be a serious examination of the romance industry.’

‘Clara, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a global recession going on. I think there are more serious issues to examine than romance, even if such a thing existed.’

Clara pounced on that. ‘So you don’t think romance exists?’

She might as well have asked him whether he believed in the Jolly Green Giant. ‘Of course I don’t,’ he said. ‘It’s clearly an artificial construct dreamed up by marketing teams.’

‘Then that’s all we want you to say on the programme! That’s the whole point, in fact. It’ll be a serious discussion, with you and your co-presenter putting different sides of the argument.’

‘A serious discussion? I seem to recall you told me the other presenter was a footballer’s wife who hosts a daytime chat show!’

‘Ex-wife,’ Clara corrected him. ‘We think the contrast between the two of you will be very effective.’

She had an extraordinarily mobile face. Her eyes as she leant eagerly towards him were an undistinguished brown, but her expression was so bright that Simon was momentarily snared, like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights. Irritated by the image, he still had to make a physical effort to jerk himself free.

‘I don’t care how “effective” the contrast would be,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s not going to happen.’

Clara regarded him in dismay. How could she persuade him if he wouldn’t even listen to her? ‘I’d have thought you would be pleased at the chance to convince people about your point of view,’ she said. ‘Your last documentary was really important, and we want this one to be the same.’

‘My last documentary was about the alleviation of poverty! I hope you’re not going to try and convince me the importance of that can be compared to romance?’

Uh-oh. Wrong track. Clara did some swift back-pedalling. ‘No, of course not,’ she said quickly. ‘But we could offer the opportunity to do a follow-up programme on the projects you mentioned in your film,’ she offered, seized by inspiration, and mentally crossing her fingers that Roland would agree. ‘It would be great publicity for you.’

But that was the wrong thing to say too. ‘I’m not interested in publicity,’ said Simon quellingly. ‘I’m interested in making systems work so that the people who need help get it. It’s nothing—’

He broke off, obviously catching sight of someone over Clara’s shoulder, and stiffened.

Curious, she turned to see a couple coming towards them. The woman was coolly elegant, her companion dark and Mediterranean-looking and seriously hot.

There was an awkward pause, then the woman said, ‘Hello, Simon.’

‘Astrid.’ Simon inclined his head in curt acknowledgement, his voice clipped.

Clara looked from one to the other with interest. There was something going on here. Astrid was rather lovely, Clara thought enviously, with perfect skin, perfect bone structure and a perfect shining curtain of silvery-blonde hair.

And no prizes for guessing Simon thought so too. He was looking wooden but Clara prided herself on reading body language and, unless she was much mistaken, Astrid was an ex of some kind.

‘You haven’t met Paolo before.’ Astrid sounded composed enough, but there was a telltale flush along her cheekbones as she introduced the two men, who eyed each other with undisguised hostility. ‘Paolo Sparchetti, Simon Valentine.’

‘Ciao,’ drawled Paolo, and put a possessive arm around Astrid’s waist.

Lucky Astrid, was all Clara could think. Paolo was sulkily handsome, with a wide sensuous mouth and just the right degree of stubble to make him look sexily dishevelled. Now if he was commenting on the stock markets, she might take an interest in the economy. It was bizarre to think that Simon was the one with all the fans.

Simon was definitely jealous. He barely managed a jerk of his head to acknowledge the introduction.

Ver-rr-ry interesting, thought Clara.

It was hard to imagine two men more different. Simon was all buttoned up and conventional, while Paolo was smouldering passion in an open-necked shirt and a designer jacket, with a man purse slung over his shoulder. Clara was prepared to bet her life on the fact that Simon would die rather than carry a handbag.

There was another taut silence.

Clara looked from one to the other, intrigued by the fact that Astrid seemed torn. Her body seemed to be attuned to Paolo’s—and, frankly, Clara didn’t blame it—but her mind was apparently focused on Simon’s reaction.

Hmm. Clara scented an opportunity. Somehow she needed to get Simon and Astrid back together, which would make Simon so grateful that he would offer her, Clara, anything she wanted in return for restoring his lost love to him. At which point she would mention MediaOchre’s pressing need for him to appear in the programme.

Of course I’ll do it, he would say. Anything for you, Clara.

Well, it was worth a shot.

CHAPTER TWO

CLARA considered her options. She could try and draw Paolo’s attention away from Astrid, but that was frankly unlikely. Clara could scrub up well enough when she tried, but she had none of Astrid’s cool beauty.

The alternative was to make Astrid jealous of Simon.

It shouldn’t be too hard, Clara decided. A look, a hint, a suggestion that Simon had found someone else ought to be enough.