it works well on you, and it does give the dress balance.’ She threw M a questioning look, and asked, ‘Where did you buy it?’
‘I thought I told you: my mother bought it for me. I think she found it in a little boutique in London.’
‘It looks as if it comes from Paris to me,’ Geo muttered, her head on one side, her eyes thoughtful. ‘Paris couture, maybe?’
M began to laugh and looked away. And caught her breath.
A man was standing in the doorway of the living room and he was watching her. Staring hard, in fact. She stared back at him boldly, and discovered she couldn’t tear her eyes away. He held her gaze. Mesmerized by him, she felt a sudden weakness in her legs, wished she had a chair to sit down in or lean against.
He began to walk towards her, his blue eyes never leaving her face. She knew who he was. Suddenly she was nervous and just a little bit afraid. Not of him, but of herself and what she might do.
He walked towards her.
The crowd had thinned out and the living room was half empty, and she stood waiting, watching him now, just as moments ago he had been watching her. Their eyes were locked on each other.
It seemed to M that no one else existed in this room except for him. Her stomach was in knots, and her heart suddenly lurched when he finally stood there in front of her.
His face was immobile, without expression, but his eyes were intense. They were a very deep blue, the colour of cornflowers, echoing the colour of the shirt he was wearing. She knew at once that they saw only her.
At last he spoke. ‘My name is—’
‘I know who you are,’ she cut in.
‘And I know who you are,’ he answered, smiling at her.
Genuinely shocked by this announcement, M took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘You do?’
He reached out, took hold of her hand and held it in his. ‘Yes, I do. You’re the elusive woman I’ve been searching for all of my life.’
Relief flooded through her, and she felt herself relax. Normally she would have thought: Oh, what a good line that is, and her cynicism would have kicked in, risen to the surface and brought a swift, dismissive comment to her lips. But she didn’t think that at all. Not now. Not with him. She believed him, believed what he said.
He leaned into her. ‘Though I must admit, I don’t know your name.’
‘It’s Marie Marsden, but everyone calls me M.’
‘Not M and M?’ His blue eyes were suddenly twinkling mischievously.
‘No,’ she laughed, staring into his face, a face that had been engraved on her heart since she was a little girl. ‘Just M is fine.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Old enough,’ she shot back swiftly, an eyebrow lifting. ‘And that was a rather rude question to ask me.’
‘Yes, you would think that, especially with your upbringing,’ he remarked. A small, amused smile lurked around his mouth.
Ignoring his comment, she said, ‘I know how old you are … you’re thirty-five, which actually makes you twelve years older than I am. But numbers don’t matter to me.’
‘Nor to me.’
‘Actually, I know a great deal about you.’
‘Not too much, I sincerely hope,’ he exclaimed, and threw her a look of mock dismay.
‘Enough.’
‘And why do you know so much about me?’ he asked, a dark brow lifting quizzically.
‘I saw you in Hamlet and got an instant crush on you. So I needed to know all about you.’
‘I’m so glad!’ He eyed her appraisingly.
‘When I was ten years old,’ she went on quickly, wanting to clarify, but leaning closer to him, she added, ‘I was dreamy-eyed about you.’
‘Are you still?’
‘Of course not! I’m a grown woman now.’
‘What a pity you don’t feel the same way.’
‘I’m older,’ M answered, smiling at him enigmatically.
‘Are you here with anyone?’
‘No. Well, that’s not strictly true. I came with my friend Geo. She’s over there somewhere. Oh, there she is, near the fireplace.’
He followed the direction of her gaze, and murmured, ‘The pretty blonde, right?’
M nodded.
He asked, ‘And why are you both here? Do you know Iris?’
‘No, neither of us does. We’re friends of Dax, the guest of honour.’
‘Oh, yes, Iris’s new protégé. The story is he’s a good actor. Is he?’
‘I don’t know. Does that matter these days?’
He heard the pithiness in her voice, and laughed. ‘And what about you, Miss M? Are you an actress?’
‘No, I’m a model.’
He stood away from her slightly, looking at her steadily, not speaking.
She gazed back at him boldly.
They were suddenly lost for words, lost in each other. The chatter swirled around, people moved past them, and they were unaware of everything except themselves. Her hand was still in his and he pressed it against his chest.
Finally he broke the silence when he said, very softly, ‘You’re the woman … the woman I want to run away with … Let’s do that, shall we?’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, of course now. If not now, when? Let’s find a desert island and set up camp …’
She noticed the amused twinkle in his eyes again, heard the laughter in his mellifluous voice. ‘But I can’t leave Geo stranded here,’ she protested.
‘We can’t take her with us!’ Then he warned: ‘You know two’s company, three’s none. Let’s move out into the foyer, it seems quieter there … we can make our plans.’
He led her across the room, and once in the foyer he leaned against a wall and drew her even closer to him so that her body rested against his.
M began to tremble, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, to be in such close proximity to this man with whom she had been infatuated as a child. Over the ensuing years he had remained her ideal, and she had always measured other men against him.
He asked gently, ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ Her voice sounded faint to her.
‘I don’t want to stay here. Too many folk. I want to be alone with you. Wouldn’t you prefer that?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Then it’s a done deal. I’m going to take you somewhere quiet for supper. There’s a little place I know.’
‘All right,’ M began, and paused. Geo, walking determinedly towards them, was accompanied by James. ‘Geo’s coming this way with James Cardigan.’
‘I’ll head them off, don’t worry,’ he said in a confident tone.
For the last ten minutes or so, Geo had been fascinated by M’s behaviour, by the way she had been glued to Laurence Vaughan. She had noticed how the famous movie star had made a beeline