LITMIR.BIZ

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Camille lying almost naked in an unmade bed. The fact it isn’t my bed is immaterial, as most of the rooms are identical.’

      She stood up and carefully placed the goblet down onto the desk. Calm, a tiny voice soothed. Stay calm. Just go look at the prints. Examine them carefully. And don’t say a word until you’re done.

      With slow deliberation she slit the edge of the envelope and extracted the prints. One by one she discarded them onto the desk until she came to the final six.

      As she anticipated, there was a photo taken of the hotel exterior, another of the reception area with a clear view of Camille checking in. The hallway, displaying a room number on the door. Miguel emerging from the same room. And the final two showing Camille sprawled in differing poses among rumpled sheets looking dreamily sated and incredibly seductive.

      Hannah’s first inclination was to rip them in half and throw them in the waste bin. It sickened her to look at them, and she felt positively ill at the mental image of Miguel pleasuring another woman. Even if it hadn’t happened, just the thought was enough to kill her.

      ‘Look at the date.’

      Miguel’s voice penetrated the dark void into which she’d mentally retreated, and she shook her head.

      ‘Por Dios.’ The husky imprecation sounded like silk being razed by razor-sharp steel. ‘Look.’

      It was today’s date. Today? But—

      ‘I was here last night,’ Miguel relayed inexorably. ‘With you.’

      Irrefutable proof. ‘Just as well,’ Hannah ventured with a shaky smile. ‘Otherwise I’d have killed you, or worse.’

      He appeared vaguely amused. ‘Then it’s fortunate I have an alibi for Monday evening.’

      ‘I hope it’s watertight.’

      ‘It is. Alejandro will confirm.’ His voice became hard, his expression inflexible. ‘Camille will be served with an interim injunction. If she chooses to disregard it, she’ll be charged, independently of existing harassment charges.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Then there’s scientific proof regarding tampering of photographic prints.’ His gaze speared hers. ‘If she’s wise, she’ll take the first flight out of here.’

      And their lives would revert to normal. Until the next time, Hannah added cynically. Although many women coveted Miguel, none had gone to such extraordinary lengths as Camille. Because the woman was obsessive? A practised man-stealer who derived her satisfaction from setting the scene and playing a devious game?

      It made Hannah feel fiercely territorial. And possessive. About Miguel, her marriage, her home…everything she held sacred.

      There were a few what if’s tumbling around in her mind, and she felt sickened at the thought that Camille’s plan had almost worked.

      Don’t go there, she silently cautioned. A partnership, a marriage, had to be built on trust. If there wasn’t trust, there was nothing.

      She reached for her goblet and took a generous sip of wine. It curled round her stomach and seeped into her veins, gradually lessening the tension.

      A few weeks ago she hadn’t known of Camille Dalfour’s existence. Yet in the past week the Frenchwoman had managed to create chaos.

      Miguel could take whatever action he chose. But she intended to instigate a strategy of her own.

      In an impulsive move she drained the remaining wine in a long swallow, then replaced the empty goblet down onto the desk.

      ‘I feel like a swim before dinner.’

      Miguel let her go, and when the door closed behind her he slid the prints back into the envelope and locked them in the wall safe. Then he picked up the phone and dialled his lawyer’s number.

      Hannah slipped out of her clothes and stepped into a stunning deep aqua one-piece, then she pinned up her hair, snagged a towel and ran lightly down the stairs.

      The pool looked inviting, the water clear and sparkling in the early evening sunlight. The heat of the day had diminished slightly, but it was still hot, and she dived cleanly in at the deep end and when she surfaced she struck out with leisurely strokes, one lap after another, until she’d counted to fifty, then she turned onto her back and lay there, held buoyant by the crystal water.

      She could feel the sun on her face, her limbs, and she closed her eyes, becoming lost in reflective thought.

      Soon she would need to emerge, go upstairs, shower and change ready for dinner. But, for now, she was bent on enjoying the quietness and the solitude.

      Five minutes later she rolled onto her stomach in one fluid movement and made her way to the tiled ledge.

      The strategy took shape as she showered, then she dried her hair and slipped into a casual pencil-slim skirt and top. Minimum make-up, a touch of lipstick and she was ready.

      Dinner was timed for six-thirty, and a quick glance at her watch revealed she had just five minutes to set the plan in motion.

      Rather than use the house line, she extracted her cell-phone and punched in a series of numbers.

      ‘Graziella?’ She exchanged pleasantries, then voiced her request. ‘Could I speak to Camille, if she’s there?’

      If Camille was surprised at the identity of her caller, she didn’t show it.

      ‘Hannah, how charming, chérie.’ Her tone was pure feline.

      ‘Let’s do lunch tomorrow.’ Hannah named an up-market restaurant a block from the boutique. ‘One o’clock. Be there.’ She cut the connection before Camille had a chance to utter a further word.

      Dinner was a simple meal of chicken served with piquant rice and a delectable salad with fresh fruit to follow. Hannah declined wine in favour of a lemon spritzer, and admired Miguel’s appetite while she merely picked at the food on her plate.

      ‘Not hungry?’

      She met Miguel’s steady gaze and effected a light shrug. ‘A client brought in a platter of fresh grapes, crackers and cheese. Elaine and I nibbled all afternoon.’

      ‘You haven’t forgotten we have tickets for the opening of David Williamson’s new play tomorrow night?’

      She’d been so preoccupied with Camille, she hadn’t checked her social diary for days. ‘No, of course not.’

      ‘I have some work to do on the laptop for an hour or so,’ Miguel declared as Hannah pushed her plate to one side.

      ‘Likewise.’ End-of-month invoices, stock receipts, and she also needed to check catalogues from several different fashion houses. ‘I should make a start on it.’

      ‘You load the dishwasher,’ he instructed, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll make coffee.’

      There was a part of her that wanted the comfort of his touch, the warmth of his arms and the feel of his mouth on hers. In reassurance? It didn’t help to feel this needy. Yet they shared a marriage, had created a bond, and what more natural than to go to him, wind her arms round his neck and pull his head down to hers?

      She couldn’t do it. Not here, not now. Camille stood like a spectre between them, a living, breathing entity that seemed to sap her natural warmth and spontaneity.

      When the coffee was made, she poured it into two cups and carried hers through to the comfortable room next to Miguel’s study. It wasn’t as large as his, but it held an antique desk, bookshelves, filing cabinet, and a laptop.

      For the next two hours she worked diligently, and when the paperwork was up to date she fired off a few e-mails to friends, which mostly took care of personal correspondence.

      ‘Not finished yet?’

      Hannah looked up and saw Miguel’s tall frame leaning against the door-jamb. He’d removed cufflinks

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