Angela put her hands over her ears and screwed her eyes up tight, like a child hiding from monsters under the bed.
‘Stop!’ she begged him. ‘I don’t want to hear it. I’ll check into a hotel. You can have Hannah send a bag over later.’
‘Please don’t!’ Brett pleaded. He knew it had been madness to fly Tricia over. But the week she’d called him in London, he’d been so whipsawed with anger and frustration over Tati Flint-Hamilton, his reserves of self-control had been low. And then he’d got the pictures texted to his phone: Tricia, her legs spread and lips parted, staring right into the camera, right into his eyes. The ticket was booked, the deed done. He’d genuinely believed Ange would never find out.
He grasped at straws, desperate to stop Angela from leaving. ‘What about Logan? What will I tell her?’
Angela hesitated. She’d completely forgotten about their daughter. That complicated things. She needed to be alone, to think. But she couldn’t very well abandon Logie without any explanation. Her mind was racing so fast, it was hard to make any rational decisions.
‘Just tell her I’ve gone on a trip and I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘Will you?’
There was no mistaking the vulnerability in Brett’s voice. The need. Despite herself, Angela felt the tug at her heartstrings. But she was tired of being Brett’s mother, his security blanket, tired of being the one whose job it was to forgive and forgive and forgive. He was the one who’d betrayed her. This was her time to be comforted and cherished, not his.
‘Yes.’
His shoulders sagged with relief.
‘For Logan, not for you,’ Angela added sharply. ‘I want you gone by the time I get back, Brett.’
Brett nodded. ‘OK.’ He was hardly in a position to argue with her. ‘I’ll go back to London. Tell Logan it’s a business trip.’
‘Good.’
‘What about our guests?’
Angela grimaced. ‘I suppose they’ll have to stay. I can’t very well kick them out with no explanation. But they’re going to have to fend for themselves. I’m not in the mood for entertaining.’
‘I truly am sorry, Ange.’ Brett tried to touch her shoulder but she shrugged him off. ‘It’s you I love. You do know that, right?’
With as much dignity as she could muster, Angela walked away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Angela checked into Le Yaca hotel. She’d just been handed her keys and was heading for the lift when she caught sight of Didier Lemprière, the French lawyer who’d been one of the guests at last night’s dinner aboard Lady A.
Damn it, thought Angela. She vaguely remembered having liked Didier. He’d been more normal and low-key than most of the show-offs Brett had invited. Among other things he’d told a very funny story involving a camper van and a corpse that had reduced everyone to tears of laughter. But she was in no mood for small talk this evening.
Putting her head down she hurried across the lobby, praying that he wouldn’t see her.
For his part, Didier Lemprière was having a trying day.
A successful tax lawyer from Paris, Didier was in St Tropez on business, visiting two wealthy clients. The first, Jason Morgan, was a decent enough guy. It was Jason who knew Brett Cranley and who’d invited Didier out to Brett’s yacht for dinner, a fun experience but one that had left him with a hangover this morning that could have felled a rhinoceros. Unfortunately, it was Didier’s other client, a boorish German industrialist by the name of Helmut Schnetzler, who had invited him to dinner at Le Yaca tonight. Helmut had already completely hijacked Didier’s day, insisting on an afternoon round of golf (a game Didier loathed). Helmut had arranged tonight’s dinner for the sole purpose of ‘talking through’ his issues with the French tax authorities. As if he and Didier hadn’t just spent the past week discussing nothing else!
An attractive man in his late thirties, with dark hair, brown eyes fringed with long, jet-black lashes, and a strong jaw that no amount of shaving could ever completely rid of a faint shadow of stubble, Didier was funny and charismatic – unusually for a member of his profession. He enjoyed all the good things in life: wine, music, food, classic cars and beautiful women. But he worked hard and was not a liar, never promising his many girlfriends more than he could realistically offer, i.e. great sex and amusing company but on a strictly time-share basis. Didier Lemprière was not so much of a commitment-phobe as a freedom-o-phile. He loved his bachelor life, and had yet to be presented with any compelling reason to end it.