The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

her chair.

      Miguel could indulge in polite conversation with Camille if he chose, but she didn’t have to stay and watch Camille’s play-acting!

      ‘I’ll come with you.’ Elise rose to her feet and together they began making their way towards one of the exits.

      Hannah paused to greet a few friends as she threaded her way through the ballroom, and she took unnecessary time freshening her make-up.

      Elise joined her after using the facilities, and she pressed a hand to her waist, then groaned and vanished into a stall, only to emerge looking slightly pale and wan.

      Comprehension was immediate. ‘You’re pregnant?’

      Elise managed a faint smile. ‘After two sons, this one has to be a girl. Already she’s exerting her personality in a way neither of the two boys did.’

      ‘Uh-huh,’ Hannah conceded with an impish grin. ‘I gather Alejandro knows?’

      ‘He finds it incredibly amusing.’

      ‘Naturally, he’ll be captivated from the instant she’s born and be hers to command within minutes.’

      Elise’s gaze misted. ‘He’s a wonderful father.’

      ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘Oh, yes. I get to throw up on a regular basis halfway through breakfast and dinner.’ She opened her evening purse and produced a toothbrush and paste. ‘Before and after, I’m fine.’

      Minutes later, their make-up restored, they moved towards the door, only to see Alejandro standing immediately outside in the vestibule.

      Oh, my, Hannah breathed silently. Elise was his most precious possession. It was evident in the way he looked at her, the protective arm that immediately circled her waist. Body language that was intense and evocative.

      It must be wonderful to share that kind of emotion, to be twin halves of a whole, and so complete. Together they returned to their table, and Miguel cast her a discerning look as she regained her seat. She was willing to swear she caught a glimmer of amusement evident as she reached for her wine.

      ‘Your meal has cooled.’ He beckoned a waiter and instructed another plate be served. Something that was done with alacrity.

      ‘I’m not really hungry.’

      ‘Nevertheless you will eat something,’ Miguel chastised silkily, and saw her eyes widen as he lifted a hand and brushed the edge of her cheek with his fingers.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      His mouth formed a sensual curve. ‘It’s called reassurance.’

      ‘The attentive husband bit, huh?’ Hannah queried with a touch of mockery.

      ‘Something like that.’

      ‘For Camille’s benefit?’

      ‘Yours.’

      Oh, he was good. Very, very good. She doubted anyone present observing their byplay could be in doubt as to his feelings. She could almost hear the unspoken comments…fifteen months into the marriage, and look at them.

      She offered him a brilliant smile. ‘Careful, querido, you’re in danger of reaching overkill.’

      He touched a thumb-pad to her lips. ‘Think so?’

      The lights dimmed, a spotlight hit the MC, and the charity organiser announced the amount of money raised for the night’s function, alerted guests to the next gala evening, and indicated a return of the comedian.

      Somehow Camille had managed to manoeuvre the seating so she occupied a chair next to Miguel, and Hannah had to commend her determination while silently condemning her to hell.

      Hannah picked at the decorative fare on her plate, forked a few mouthfuls, then pushed the plate aside.

      Camille took every opportunity to engage Miguel’s attention with a light trail of red-lacquered nails on his sleeve, a touch to his hand, and her smile was a work of art in the seduction stakes.

      The models took the catwalk for the final round while dessert was being served, and afterwards the waiters brought coffee while the singing duo closed the entertainment for the evening.

      A DJ switched on special lighting effects, set the first of several CDs playing, and background music and recorded vocals encouraged those inclined to dance to take to the floor.

      Now was the time for guests to mingle, table-hop and socialise with friends who were also present.

      Alejandro and Elise communicated their intention to leave. ‘Tomorrow,’ Elise promised quietly. ‘We’ll catch up. I have photos, and the men have organised a day cruise and a picnic lunch.’

      As they left a colleague crossed to their table to talk to Miguel, Camille slipped through the crowd heading for the ballroom exit, Miguel excused himself briefly and moved a few steps away as a friend joined the colleague, and within seconds Hannah was aware of someone taking Miguel’s seat.

      ‘How are you, Hannah?’

      The male voice was familiar, and she turned slowly to face the man to whom it belonged.

      ‘Luc,’ she acknowledged coolly. ‘Believe me, there is no need to observe the social niceties. I have nothing to say to you.’

      ‘So cool,’ Luc mocked. ‘Still the ice princess, I see.’

      ‘You expect me to believe your presence here is purely coincidental?’

      He inclined his head in a gesture of musing cynicism. ‘We could enjoy a conversation. Three years, Hannah. We have some catching up to do.’

      ‘No,’ she denied. ‘We don’t.’

      ‘Why, chérie?’ His smile aimed to melt her heart. ‘It was good while it lasted.’

      She could feel the anger begin to burn deep inside. ‘Strange,’ she remarked coolly. ‘Our memories don’t match.’

      She fixed him with an icy glare. ‘So let’s cut the pretence, shall we?’

      He spread his hands in an expressive gesture. ‘Who’s pretending? I was very fond of you.’

      ‘Words,’ Hannah dismissed. ‘Suppose you tell me exactly why you’re here?’

      ‘This event?’

      ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. Cut the game-playing. You know very well what I mean.’

      ‘Are you ready for the facts, chérie?’

      As ready as I’ll ever be! She didn’t bother answering, just sent him a fulminating look that spoke volumes.

      He gave a voluble sigh. ‘It will cost you.’

      ‘No, it won’t,’ Hannah denied heartlessly. ‘You owe me. For living the good life at the expense of my foolish generosity.’

      He proffered a mocking smile. ‘When did you become so cynical?’

      ‘Three years ago.’

      ‘All right, chérie. This one is on me, for old times’ sake.’

      ‘Merci,’ she acknowledged in a voice as cold as an arctic ice floe.

      ‘Camille sought me out, paid my air fare, and is footing my accommodation,’ he revealed, and she arched one eyebrow.

      ‘And you’re bent on playing both ends against the middle?’

      He gave a negligent shrug. ‘Your words, not mine.’

      Hannah looked at him carefully, saw the handsome features, the rakish gleam evident in his expression, and wondered how on earth she could have been swayed by his charm. His megawatt smile had no effect whatsoever.

      ‘Go get a life, Luc.’

      ‘A