Desperate Measures. Sara Craven

in America, starting his treatment.’

      ‘Well, just as you wish, of course. I’ll have a room prepared for you, and expect you some time later today. We’re going to have to do some serious shopping.’

      ‘Why?’

      Monica’s sigh quivered with irritation. ‘My dear girl, although the ceremony will undoubtedly be very quiet, and extremely private, you still cannot be married in denim jeans. Lennox and I will supply your trousseau as our gift.’

      ‘It really isn’t necessary …’

      ‘Nonsense,’ Monica said crisply. ‘I’ll see you later.’ And rang off.

      An hour later, Philippa found herself being shown into Alain de Courcy’s hotel suite. He was sitting at a table by the window, eating breakfast and reading a newspaper, as she entered, but he rose to his feet immediately, greeting her courteously.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Philippa said when they were alone. ‘I should have telephoned first. I’m obviously too early …’

      ‘Pas du tout.’ He motioned her to the seat on the other side of the table. ‘Have you eaten?’

      Philippa realised with embarrassment that the table was laid for two. ‘Oh—you’re expecting company as well.’

      He smiled at her. He was casually dressed this morning, she noticed, in slim-fitting dark blue pants and a matching shirt, open at the neck to reveal the tanned column of his throat, and the first shadowing of hair on his chest.

      He said, ‘I was expecting you, ma chère. Will you have some coffee?’ He lifted the pot and poured some into the other cup, then offered her cream and sugar which she refused.

      Alain de Courcy took an apple from the bowl of fruit which had accompanied his breakfast and began to peel it.

      ‘You’ve had sufficient time to think?’

      She nodded wordlessly.

      ‘So—what is your answer?’

      She picked up the spoon and aimlessly stirred the dark aromatic brew in her cup, deliberately not looking at him.

      ‘I—will marry you, monsieur.’ She paused. ‘But there are conditions.’

      ‘I imagined there might be,’ he said with a certain irony. ‘Tell me about them.’

      She said, ‘My father’s treatment is to start as soon as possible—and he’s to know nothing about our—arrangement.’

      ‘You are going to keep our marriage a secret from him? But why?’

      ‘Because he’d know why I was doing it, and he’d refuse to go to America—to let me sacrifice myself for him. I can’t risk that happening.’

      ‘I understand, but I am not sure you will be able to carry it through. There will come a time when he has to know.’

      Philippa flushed dully. ‘You mean when—if I get pregnant? I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’

      ‘I did not entirely mean that,’ Alain said slowly. ‘If the treatment is successful, he will wish to take up his former life again, and you were a close part of that. Don’t you think he might notice you had acquired a husband?’

      She said quietly, ‘If the treatment works—when he’s fully recovered, I’ll tell him everything, because it will be too late then for him to object, and I hope he’ll understand why I had to do it.’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘If it doesn’t work, then it won’t matter anyway.’

      She hesitated again. ‘Also, I was wondering whether you wanted me to have a medical examination.’

      He put down the quarter of apple he was eating and stared at her. ‘Why should I wish such a thing? Are you feeling unwell? Do you believe your father’s illness is hereditary in some way?’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Philippa’s face was like a peony. ‘I was thinking over what you said about wanting a—a child—an heir. I thought maybe you’d want to check that I was capable …’

      Alain lifted a hand and stemmed the halting words. ‘You are not some brood animal that I am purchasing,’ he said bitingly. ‘I think, when the time comes, that nature should be allowed to take its course, don’t you?’

      She mumbled something in acute embarrassment.

      ‘I can’t hear you,’ he said with faint impatience. ‘And why don’t you look at me when you speak?’

      She gave him a despairing glance. ‘I said—this is never going to work. I mean, no one in their right mind is ever—ever going to believe in this marriage.’

       ‘Pourquoi pas?’

      ‘Well, just look at me!’

      ‘I am looking,’ he said. ‘You are a little underweight, and your hair needs cutting. What else is there to say?’

      Philippa’s hands clasped together tensely in her lap. ‘I don’t feel like anyone’s wife—especially someone who’s a millionaire and has got houses dotted all over France. I don’t know what you expect …’

      ‘Believe me, I expect very little. At the beginning it will be enough that you exist—that you appear in public at my side.’ He shrugged. ‘As for my homes—I employ efficient staff.’ He gave her an ironic glance. ‘You will not have to keep the rooms clean or cook for me.’

      ‘But you’ll want me to act as hostess when you entertain—and I’ve never done anything like that before.’ Her voice broke a little as she remembered the endless sundrenched days with Gavin in the southwest of France, the casual camaraderie, the street markets and the tiny bistros.

      ‘You can speak,’ he said. ‘You can express yourself articulately. But I would be at your side—and I would naturally warn you if there were any topics of conversation best avoided with particular people.’

      ‘And I’d have to wear—different clothes.’

      His mouth twisted in faint amusement. ‘Did you plan to spend the rest of your life in those deplorable jeans, ma petite?’

      ‘Of course not.’ Philippa was silent for a moment, then said jerkily, ‘I don’t think you realise just how fundamentally my whole life is going to change.’

      ‘Mine also. Marriage as a concept has no more appeal for me than for you, ma chère.’

      ‘Well, I still think it would make more sense if you married your cousin Sidonie,’ she said stubbornly, drinking the last of her coffee. ‘She must know you don’t care for her, and if she’s prepared to pretend …’

      ‘But she is not,’ Alain said coldly. ‘She would wish me to do so, however. She would expect me to act as if I was madly in love with her—to explain every absence from her side each minute of the day and night in order to spare myself tears, temper and jealous scenes. I would find that wearing in the extreme.’

      ‘I can imagine,’ Philippa said sarcastically. ‘I gather I’m not supposed to ask questions?’

      ‘Ask whatever you want, ma chère.’ He gave her an enigmatic look. ‘But don’t blame me if you do not like the answers.’

      He pushed back his chair and rose. ‘And now we have a busy day ahead of us. I will contact my lawyers, and the London branch of my bank, and arrange to have a preliminary payment made to you for your father’s expenses.’ He walked round the table and stood looking at her with a slight smile. ‘You will not, I hope, take the money and run, chérie. Because that would not amuse me at all.’

      ‘I’ll keep my word.’ Philippa lifted her chin. ‘We shall just have to—trust each other, monsieur.’

      ‘So it seems.’ He held out his hand. ‘Shall