We'll Always Have Paris. Jessica Hart

co-presenter putting different sides of the argument.’

      ‘A serious discussion? I seem to recall you told me the other presenter was a footballer’s wife who hosts a daytime chat show!’

      ‘Ex-wife,’ Clara corrected him. ‘We think the contrast between the two of you will be very effective.’

      She had an extraordinarily mobile face. Her eyes as she leant eagerly towards him were an undistinguished brown, but her expression was so bright that Simon was momentarily snared, like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights. Irritated by the image, he still had to make a physical effort to jerk himself free.

      ‘I don’t care how “effective” the contrast would be,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s not going to happen.’

      Clara regarded him in dismay. How could she persuade him if he wouldn’t even listen to her? ‘I’d have thought you would be pleased at the chance to convince people about your point of view,’ she said. ‘Your last documentary was really important, and we want this one to be the same.’

      ‘My last documentary was about the alleviation of poverty! I hope you’re not going to try and convince me the importance of that can be compared to romance?’

      Uh-oh. Wrong track. Clara did some swift back-pedalling. ‘No, of course not,’ she said quickly. ‘But we could offer the opportunity to do a follow-up programme on the projects you mentioned in your film,’ she offered, seized by inspiration, and mentally crossing her fingers that Roland would agree. ‘It would be great publicity for you.’

      But that was the wrong thing to say too. ‘I’m not interested in publicity,’ said Simon quellingly. ‘I’m interested in making systems work so that the people who need help get it. It’s nothing—’

      He broke off, obviously catching sight of someone over Clara’s shoulder, and stiffened.

      Curious, she turned to see a couple coming towards them. The woman was coolly elegant, her companion dark and Mediterranean-looking and seriously hot.

      There was an awkward pause, then the woman said, ‘Hello, Simon.’

      ‘Astrid.’ Simon inclined his head in curt acknowledgement, his voice clipped.

      Clara looked from one to the other with interest. There was something going on here. Astrid was rather lovely, Clara thought enviously, with perfect skin, perfect bone structure and a perfect shining curtain of silvery-blonde hair.

      And no prizes for guessing Simon thought so too. He was looking wooden but Clara prided herself on reading body language and, unless she was much mistaken, Astrid was an ex of some kind.

      ‘You haven’t met Paolo before.’ Astrid sounded composed enough, but there was a telltale flush along her cheekbones as she introduced the two men, who eyed each other with undisguised hostility. ‘Paolo Sparchetti, Simon Valentine.’

      ‘Ciao,’ drawled Paolo, and put a possessive arm around Astrid’s waist.

      Lucky Astrid, was all Clara could think. Paolo was sulkily handsome, with a wide sensuous mouth and just the right degree of stubble to make him look sexily dishevelled. Now if he was commenting on the stock markets, she might take an interest in the economy. It was bizarre to think that Simon was the one with all the fans.

      Simon was definitely jealous. He barely managed a jerk of his head to acknowledge the introduction.

      Ver-rr-ry interesting, thought Clara.

      It was hard to imagine two men more different. Simon was all buttoned up and conventional, while Paolo was smouldering passion in an open-necked shirt and a designer jacket, with a man purse slung over his shoulder. Clara was prepared to bet her life on the fact that Simon would die rather than carry a handbag.

      There was another taut silence.

      Clara looked from one to the other, intrigued by the fact that Astrid seemed torn. Her body seemed to be attuned to Paolo’s—and, frankly, Clara didn’t blame it—but her mind was apparently focused on Simon’s reaction.

      Hmm. Clara scented an opportunity. Somehow she needed to get Simon and Astrid back together, which would make Simon so grateful that he would offer her, Clara, anything she wanted in return for restoring his lost love to him. At which point she would mention MediaOchre’s pressing need for him to appear in the programme.

      Of course I’ll do it, he would say. Anything for you, Clara.

      Well, it was worth a shot.

      CHAPTER TWO

      CLARA considered her options. She could try and draw Paolo’s attention away from Astrid, but that was frankly unlikely. Clara could scrub up well enough when she tried, but she had none of Astrid’s cool beauty.

      The alternative was to make Astrid jealous of Simon.

      It shouldn’t be too hard, Clara decided. A look, a hint, a suggestion that Simon had found someone else ought to be enough.

      All she had to do was pretend to be in love with Simon.

      And how hard could that be?

      Years earlier, when she had still been dreaming of making it to Broadway, Clara had done a drama course. Her acting career had been humiliatingly short, but she could still pull out the stops when she tried.

      Putting on a bright smile, she stepped just a little closer to Simon and stuck out her hand to Astrid. ‘Hello, I’m Clara.’

      It was pretty clear that Astrid hadn’t registered Clara’s presence up to that point. Clara wasn’t offended. If she had Paolo on her arm, she wouldn’t notice anyone else either, and it wasn’t as if Clara was a likely rival for his interest, more was the pity.

      Still, Astrid’s perfect brows drew together as she took in Clara’s appearance, and when her perfect green eyes reached the hem of Clara’s mini-dress, the perfect mouth definitely tightened.

      ‘Hello,’ she said with marked coolness.

      Clara pretended not to notice. ‘Simon was brilliant, wasn’t he?’ She threw Simon an adoring look.

      The feedback at the end of her drama course had been succinct: stick to dancing. If only her tutors could see her now! They might change their minds about her acting abilities. She deserved a gleaming statuette at least for convincing Astrid that she was starstruck by Simon Valentine, Clara decided.

      ‘I’ve just felt so inspired about the economy since meeting Simon,’ she cooed. ‘I’ve learnt so much, haven’t you?’

      Simon unfolded his lips. ‘Astrid is a hedge fund manager.’

      Clara didn’t have a clue what a hedge fund manager was, but she gathered from Simon’s tone and Astrid’s expression that there was little the other woman had to learn about economics.

      ‘How exciting,’ she said, bestowing a kind smile on Astrid. ‘Did you enjoy Simon’s lecture anyway?’

      ‘Of course,’ said Astrid. She glanced from Clara to Simon. ‘I’ve heard him talk before, obviously.’

      Obviously.

      ‘It’s still a thrill for me every time.’ Clara thought that was a clever touch, hinting that she had sat through hours of economic lectures just for the pleasure of listening to Simon’s voice. Talk about devoted!

      Astrid hesitated. ‘I just thought it would be a good idea for you and Paolo to meet, Simon,’ she said, effectively cutting Clara out of the conversation.

      It was Clara’s cue to make an excuse and leave, but instead she put a hand on Simon’s arm and beamed at the other two, not budging. ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she assured them, very aware of Simon, who had gone rigid at her touch.

      Baulked of the tête-à-tête she so plainly desired, Astrid had to concede defeat. ‘Well, I’ll