The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

of a guest seated opposite.

      Alejandro and Elise were a welcome inclusion, and anyone seeing Miguel and Alejandro together could not fail to note they shared relatives in common. They were of a similar height and possessed the same breadth of shoulder, the same physically fit stature and ease of movement. Even their facial features bore a certain similarity, the sculpted angles and planes, piercing dark eyes, that beautifully moulded sensual mouth.

      Their respective fathers were brothers who had each left the land of their birth to seek a fortune in another country, succeeded, married and produced one son.

      Alejandro resided in Sydney, with his wife Elise and two young children. The Santanas name was well respected in the business arena, and both Alejandro and Miguel shared a mutual stake in a few financial ventures.

      Hannah embraced Elise warmly. ‘It’s so good to see you. When did you arrive?’

      ‘Midday. Alejandro has only used the cell-phone once, and has yet to open the laptop.’ She gave an irrepressible smile. ‘And I’ve only checked with the nanny twice.’

      Hannah’s eyes twinkled with humour. ‘This is the first time you’ve left them at home?’

      ‘Second,’ Elise owned. ‘It doesn’t get any easier.’

      ‘She has a compulsive need to check on the children’s welfare,’ Alejandro drawled as he leant forward to brush a kiss to Hannah’s cheek.

      ‘Of course,’ Elise acceded, sending her husband a long glance of the kind that made Hannah’s nerves shimmer with envy.

      ‘We’re seated together,’ Hannah indicated, and watched as Elise slid into a chair, then patted the one next to her.

      ‘Sit beside me. We have so much to catch up on.’

      There was background music, and the majority of guests were already seated.

      There were only two empty seats at their table, and Hannah had to concede Camille made a stunning entrance, clothed in a deep red creation that covered her perfect body like a second skin.

      Hannah’s gaze slid to Camille’s partner, and froze in shocked disbelief for all of three seconds before she quickly masked her expression.

      Luc Dubois.

      Dear heaven. It was three years since she’d last seen him.

      Then, he’d been a charming rake whose main occupation was insinuating himself into the lives of wealthy women. Young, not so young, it hadn’t seemed to bother him. A photographic professional who used his skill to gain entry into the realm of the rich and famous.

      She should know. For three months in Paris he’d exercised his considerable charms on her. Wined, dined, and eventually swept her off her feet and into his arms.

      Now, Hannah watched as Camille began weaving her way towards them with Luc in tow, and she forced herself to maintain a polite smile as they drew close.

      Had Miguel noted their entrance? Recognised Luc?

      Apprehension scudded down her spine at the thought of his reaction when he did.

      Although it was possible, she wasn’t sure the two men had ever met. A hysterical bubble of laughter rose and died in her throat.

      Dear heaven. Camille and Luc seated at their table? How cruel could fate be?

      Hannah was aware the instant Miguel caught sight of them, and could only wonder if anyone else noticed the way his body uncoiled and then became frighteningly still. Like a jungle animal scenting an enemy and assessing when to strike.

      ‘Miguel, Hannah.’ Camille resembled an aristocratic cat who’d just snacked on caviare and cream.

      All it took was one glance at Camille’s bland expression to guess that Luc’s invitation had been deliberately orchestrated.

      ‘Camille.’ She thought her face would crack with the strain of keeping a smile pinned on her face as she acknowledged the Frenchwoman.

      What was Luc doing here? Not so much Australia, or even Melbourne, but this particular charity event, and partnering Camille?

      It didn’t take a genius to arrive at the correct answer, Hannah decided wryly. Even the most kindly disposed person would suspect Camille of mischief-making. Luc’s appearance here simply reinforced Hannah’s belief that Camille was not only serious in her pursuit of Miguel, but she’d stop at nothing to gain her objective.

      So it was war. Well, she was very good at self-protection. She had years of experience in dealing with it. If Camille thought snaring Miguel would be a walkover, she had another think coming!

      ‘You know each other, of course,’ Camille purred as she slid into her seat, and Hannah opted for confrontational strategy.

      ‘The media made much of it at the time.’ She looked at Luc, wanting to sear him to a burnt frizzle on the spot. ‘I hope they paid you well.’

      ‘Handsomely.’ His smile would have melted many a hardened female heart.

      But not hers. ‘Let me introduce my husband, Miguel Santanas.’

      Miguel was incredibly polite. Anyone who knew him would have blanched at the icy silkiness apparent in his voice.

      Luc, however, seemed totally oblivious.

      Wine stewards began serving drinks, and the event began with an introductory speech by the charity chairwoman, followed by the MC who outlined the evening’s entertainment.

      The organisation was very smooth as models strutted the catwalk to funky music while waiters served the starter.

      Hannah looked at the artistically arranged seafood in a bed of salad greens, and merely forked a few morsels, her appetite seriously impaired by the presence of not one enemy, but two, in her immediate vicinity.

      She would have given anything to be able to walk out of the ballroom and take a taxi home. Except that would amount to running away, and her pride forbade such an option.

      Pretend, a tiny voice urged, and act as if you don’t have a care in the world.

      Miguel ordered champagne, and indicated that the steward should fill her flute. Hannah cast him an enquiring glance and caught the faint smile curving the edge of his mouth, the steady gleam apparent as he raised his glass in a silent salute.

      He knew, of course, exactly who Luc Dubois was, and the part Luc had played in her life.

      ‘What is this in aid of?’ Hannah queried quietly, slanting one eyebrow in quizzical humour as she touched the rim of her flute to his. ‘Courage?’

      ‘Do you need it?’

      She inclined her head slightly, and offered with soft-edged mockery, ‘This is going to be one hell of an evening.’

      ‘Do you want to leave?’

      Her eyes widened. He’d do that for her? ‘No.’ Her voice was steady, but inside her heart missed a beat.

      The models concluded showing the after-five segment, and the MC announced a well-known comedian who delivered a few amusing and occasionally risqué anecdotes while an army of waiters removed plates and the stewards tended to the guests’ drinking needs.

      Two singers performed two numbers, after which the models returned to the catwalk with a comprehensive display of evening wear.

      It was while the main course was being served that Camille chose to engage Miguel’s attention with a flirtatious coquetry that made Hannah barely refrain from grinding her teeth in angry vexation.

      ‘Am I missing something here?’ Elise ventured, sotto voce. ‘Or is the beautiful Camille on a flirting mission with Miguel?’

      ‘If he responds,’ Hannah murmured, ‘he’s dead meat.’

      ‘Luc is the smokescreen, or the ammunition?’

      ‘Both,