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local antique shops.

      They had put a tremendous amount of energy, effort, talent, and money into its remodeling and redecoration, but the transformation was so stunning, they both knew it had been well worth it.

      And much to their gratification, it had proved to be a tremendous success as a small hotel. Château de Cormeron was close to many of the great châteaux of the Loire, such as Chinon, Chenonceaux, Azay-le-Rideau, Loches, and Mont-poupon, all open to the public and especially popular with foreign visitors.

      Well-heeled tourists gravitated to their charming little Château de Cormeron, seeking its luxury, comfort, and superlative service, which was becoming renowned, its bucolic surroundings, and its proximity to so many famous châteaux. And the fact that the hotel boasted one of the finest restaurants in the Loire region did it no harm.

      Agnes D’Auberville had become as good a friend as Patsy, as well as a most dependable business partner, and all three women enjoyed a good relationship.

      Patsy, like Meredith, was divorced with two children, twin boys of ten who were away at boarding school. Agnes, who was thirty-eight, the same age as Patsy, was married to Alain D’Auberville, the well-known stage actor, and they had a small daughter, Chloe, who was six.

      I’ve been lucky with them, Meredith thought as she completed her circle around Green Park and went out into Piccadilly. We all balance each other very well, and they’ve both done a great deal to make Havens work in Europe, been instrumental in its success.

      Drawing alongside the Ritz Hotel, she stood at the curb, waiting for the lights to change. Once they did, she crossed Piccadilly and headed back to Claridge’s on Brook Street.

      Meredith had always liked walking around London, and she was thoroughly enjoying her stroll, feeling invigorated by the brisk air and the exercise. Turning down Hay Hill, she went up into Berkeley Square. But as she traversed it, she couldn’t help thinking that the little park in the center looked a bit bleak today, with its bare trees and patches of dirty snow on the shriveled brown grass.

      On the other hand, she took great pleasure in looking at the lovely old buildings in Mayfair, which was the one area of London she knew best. She had been coming here for twenty-one years, ever since her marriage to David Layton in 1974. Twenty-three she had been at the time, and so young in a variety of ways; yet in others she had been rather grown up.

      England had made a lasting impression on her. She felt comfortable on its shores, and she enjoyed the British people, their idiosyncracies as well as their good manners and civility, not to mention their great sense of humor.

      David Layton had been a transplanted Englishman, living and working in Connecticut when she met him. After their wedding at Silver Lake, he had brought her to London to meet his sister Claire, her husband, and children.

      Meredith had liked David, and she had loved him well enough to marry him, and she had felt regretful that their marriage had foundered. Their genuine attempts to make it work had come to nothing, and in the end divorce had seemed to be the best, the only, solution.

      The one good thing that had come out of this rather dubious and tenuous union was their son, Jonathan. The sad thing was, David never saw his son these days. He had moved to California in the 1980s and had never made any effort to come east to see Jonathan. Nor had he ever invited Jonathan to visit him on the West Coast.

      David’s loss, Meredith muttered under her breath. She couldn’t help wishing that things were somewhat different, for her son’s sake at least, though Jon didn’t seem to care that he was so neglected by David. He never mentioned his father.

      Being a single parent all those years had been a strain on her at times, Meredith was the first to admit it. But Jon had turned out well, as had her darling Cat. And so it had been worth it in the end…the hard work, the sacrifices, the endless compromises, the cajoling, the bullying, and the unconditional loving. Being a good mother had taken its toll on her life, but she was proud of the children. And of herself in a funny way.

      Those years of bringing up Cat and Jon alone, plus creating and developing her business, had left her little time to meet another man, let alone become involved with him. There had been a few boyfriends over the years, but somehow her children and her work had intruded, got in the way. Deep down, she had never really minded. Her children had been her whole world, still were.

      Circumstances had been right when she had met Brandon Leonard four years earlier. But he was a married man. In no time at all, she had come to understand that not only was he not separated, as he claimed, but he had no intention of ever leaving his wife or getting a divorce. Simply put, Brandon wanted his wife. He also wanted a mistress. Since she was not a candidate for the latter role, she had terminated their friendship, and in no uncertain terms.

      Then this past September, on a trip to London, Patsy had taken her to the fancy opening of an exhibition of sculpture at the posh Lardner Gallery in Bond Street.

      And there, lurking among the Arps and the Brancusis, the Moores, the Hepworths, and the Giacomettis had been Reed Jamison. The owner of the gallery.

      Tall, dark, good-looking, charismatic. The most attractive man she had met in a long time. And seemingly very available. “Beware,” Patsy had warned. When she had asked her what she meant, Patsy had said, “Watch it. He’s brilliant but difficult.” Again she had pressed Patsy, asked her to elucidate further. Patsy then answered her enigmatically. “Save us all from the brooding Byronic hero. Oh dear, shades of Heathcliff.”

      Meredith had only partially understood, and then before she could blink, Reed Jamison, having taken one look at her, was in hot pursuit.

      Drawn to him initially, she had fallen under his spell; but gradually, over the following months, she had begun to feel suddenly and unexpectedly ill at ease with him. And she had begun to pull away from the relationship within herself.

      On his last visit to New York, in late November, she had been turned off. He had been morose, argumentative, and possessive. Furthermore, she had detected a bullying attitude in him, and this had alarmed her.

      Tonight she was going to tell him that she could not see him again, that their relationship, such as it was, had come to an end. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but she knew it must be done.

      “Why bother?” Patsy had said over lunch earlier. “Have dinner with him tonight. Say nothing. Tomorrow we’re going to the Lake District and Yorkshire. And then you’re off to Paris. Don’t make yourself sick over this. Avoid a troublesome confrontation.”

      “I have to tell him it’s over,” Meredith answered. “Don’t you see, he’ll be in my life, pestering me, circling me, until I make it clear I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

      “What went wrong?” Patsy asked curiously.

      “Reed went wrong. He’s just too complex a man for me.”

      “I hate to say I told you so,” Patsy murmured.

      “It’s all right, you can say it, Patsy. Because you did warn me, and you were right about him all along.”

      They had then gone on to talk about other things, but now Meredith could not help wondering if maybe Patsy was right. Might it not be infinitely easier simply to have dinner with Reed and say nothing?

      Maybe I should do that, she thought as she turned into Brook Street.

      “Good afternoon, madam,” the uniformed doorman outside Claridge’s said as she went up the steps.

      “Good afternoon,” she responded, smiling pleasantly, and pushed through the door that led into the hotel.

      Martin, one of the concierges, greeted her as she crossed the lobby, making for the elevator.

      “Meredith!”

      She stopped in her tracks, freezing as she recognized the cultivated masculine voice.

      Slowly turning, she pasted a smile on her face as she moved toward the man

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