LITMIR.BIZ

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long fight with cancer, had been in pain for years. In one way it was a blessing for her, she was no longer suffering. I had gone to live with her after Andy’s death, and inherited this house from her, where I’ve been living ever since.’

      ‘I’m so sorry about Andy and the baby, and your mother. How you coped I’ll never know,’ M murmured, her heart going out to Georgiana.

      Geo nodded. ‘I suppose I coped by getting married again. When I was twenty-two, and it lasted a big two months. One day Ken packed his bags and left, without even saying goodbye. We eventually got a divorce, thank God.’ Now Geo glanced at M, and finished in a sad, low voice. ‘I’m known as a person who never talks much about the past, but I certainly talked last night … to a man I liked, and in a way I never spoke to Dax. You go and figure that one. And I’ll never hear from James again.’

      ‘I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t believe James Cardigan was shocked, or put off. How could he have been? And if he’s the man I think he is, then I’m sure he was touched, felt tremendous sympathy for you. I certainly do.’

      ‘You’re a woman: you would be sympathetic. Men sometimes aren’t at all empathetic, certainly about the kind of things I’ve just told you about – death, illness, and all that. It’s too much for them to handle.’

      ‘Oh, I do think you’re wrong! There are any number of men who are sympathetic, compassionate and very caring. At least I know a few.’

      ‘Introduce me to one. I’d like to meet a sympathetic man,’ Geo muttered.

      ‘Actually, I believe you were with one last night. Give James a chance. I think he’s worth it. And, you know what, I bet you he calls today.’

      ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’ Geo answered, and she did not sound very convinced.

      Later, in her room, as she got ready to go out, M soon discovered that her mind remained focused on Georgiana. She had been touched and moved by the conversation they had just had, their most intimate to date. And now she realized yet again how little they knew about each other really. Yet they had bonded, become closer in the last few weeks, had quickly discovered they liked the same things: going to the theatre, and the movies, reading good books, especially biographies, listening to their favourite music. And art. That was the one great link between them, their love of beautiful paintings. And there was something else. Geo was endeavouring to make it on her own without cashing in on her mother’s name.

      A week ago, Geo had confided that her mother had been Constance Redonzo, a well-known artist in the Seventies, Eighties and into the Nineties. M was familiar with her work, and knew that she was from the school of Marie Laurencin and Mary Cassatt, specializing in paintings of children and women in the Impressionist style. Geo had explained that soon after her mother’s death, she and her sister began to understand there was a very viable market for their mother’s work. Many of her fans, reading of her death in the obituaries, had been in touch with the gallery that represented her work, suddenly wanting to buy paintings. ‘Joanne and I had an unexpected but wonderful windfall. We made a lot of money and that’s why I am able to paint in peace. For now.’

      Later, Geo had shown her some of the paintings by her mother that she owned, and M had been impressed, almost salivating over one in particular, longing to buy it on behalf of her father. But she did not dare. Such a move would be dangerous, would expose her. She had too much to hide, she knew that, and then wondered if James was aware of who she was. After all, he was in the business of … information. She doubted it, though.

      And what about Laurence Vaughan? Did he suspect she was not who she said she was? Not at all, she was absolutely positive of that. Although she did have to admit that he would obviously be aware she came from a certain echelon of English society … their backgrounds were almost identical in so many ways, and he couldn’t have failed to miss the telltale signs last night.

      As she buttoned the white cotton shirt and tucked it into her navy blue trousers, M contemplated the combination of Geo and James. It seemed to her that they would fit well together. She hoped he called this morning because that would make Geo exceedingly happy.

      Turning away from the mirror, M pulled on a three-quarter-length navy blue knitted coat, added her pearl earrings, snatched up a battered red Hermès Kelly, slung it over her arm and left her room. She ran downstairs, strode down the corridor and waved to Geo, wishing her well, and swiftly exited the house. She hailed a cab, excited and intent on her purpose – being with Larry.

THIRTEEN

      Laurence Vaughan’s face was wreathed in smiles as he opened the door, greeted M, and added, ‘I just knew you’d be punctual, and thank God you are! I couldn’t wait to see you.’

      She smiled back at him. ‘I know what you mean … and good morning, Larry.’

      Taking hold of her hand, he brought her into the front hall of the apartment swiftly, drew her into his arms and closed the door with his foot, all of these movements executed with a smooth and agile fluidity.

      He held her close, kissing her on the cheek, taking in the perfume of her – lilies of the valley, he decided – and the fresh lemony tang of her newly washed hair. She was wearing it loose today and it fell around her face like a sleek black veil.

      A crooked smile lurked around his mouth. ‘You are beautiful, M, simply perfect.’ His eyes narrowed slightly, held a mischievous glint as he finished. ‘And, just imagine, you’re not even half an Audrey today. You’re just M, and that’s good enough for me.’

      ‘I’m glad you like me.’

      ‘You bet I do.’ Taking hold of her arm he led her into the living room, walking her through to the library. ‘This is my favourite room,’ he explained, and immediately took her over to the bay window. ‘Just look at this view, isn’t it great?’

      ‘It’s fantastic, I feel as if I’m on a ship,’ M responded, looking up at him. She was wearing flat shoes today, which made her a couple of inches shorter than Larry, who was six feet tall. She was five-ten in her stocking feet. We’re a perfect fit, she thought, most probably in every way. I hope we are.

      ‘You really ought to see the view at night, then you’ll realize how spectacular it actually is,’ Larry told her. ‘How about staying for dinner?’

      M couldn’t help laughing. ‘We haven’t even had lunch yet. But yes, you’re right, I shouldn’t miss this view at night. So of course I’ll stay for dinner, I’d love it.’

      ‘That’s a big relief.’ He grinned at her. ‘I thought you’d be fleeing after lunch, leaving me alone again.’

      ‘Aren’t we going to the cinema?’

      ‘We’ll do whatever you want. In the meantime, how about a Bloody Mary?’

      ‘Thank you, yes, that’d be nice.’

      ‘Coming up in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ He strode across the floor to a chest that held a silver tray filled with bottles of liquor, a jug of tomato juice and various other important ingredients for drinks.

      She smiled to herself, remembering a nanny she’d once had who had constantly used that old and rather curious phrase: three shakes of a lamb’s tail.

      Larry busied himself with the drinks, and M turned to look at the amazing collection of silver-framed photographs lined up on another chest, positioned to one side of the sofa. What an array it was.

      Taking pride of place was an eight-by-ten of Larry’s father when he had been a much younger man. How devastatingly handsome Nicholas Vaughan was, truly glorious looking in this particular picture by Patrick Lichfield. It hit her then. Larry, as he was today at thirty-five, was the spitting image of his father in this photograph. Except for the hair. Larry’s was as dark as a raven’s, like hers, whilst his father’s was a light brownish-blond, almost nondescript. It’s the eyes, she

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