When she spoke she could hear her voice shaking.

‘I’ll be all right when I’ve calmed down. Perhaps you should go now.’

‘No, I won’t leave you like this. You shouldn’t be alone. Sit down.’

He guided her to a chair and left her for a moment, returning with a glass which he held out.

‘Drink this.’

Another choke of laughter burst from her. ‘It’s champagne.’

‘It’s all I could find. They seem to have cleared everything else away.’

‘I can’t drink champagne at my husband’s funeral.’

‘Why not? You didn’t give a damn for him, did you?’

She looked up and found him watching her with an inscrutable expression.

‘No,’ she said after a moment. ‘I didn’t.’

Elise took the glass, drained it and held it out for a refill.

He obliged and watched her drink the second glass before saying, ‘Then I wonder why you’ve been crying so much.’

‘What do you mean? You haven’t seen me shed a tear today.’

‘Not today, no. But when you’re alone.’

It was true. In the depths of the night she’d wept her heart out, not for Ben, but for her desolate life, her ruined hopes, above all for the laughing young man who’d come and gone so many years ago. There was nothing of him now but aching memories.

It could all have been so different. If only—

Desperately she shut that idea off, as she’d done so often before.

But how had this man known?

‘It’s in your face,’ he said, answering her unspoken question.

‘You tried hard to conceal the truth, but make-up can only do so much.’

‘It fooled the others.’

‘But not me,’ he said softly.

At any other time she might have thought she heard a warning. Now there was only relief that he seemed to understand so much.

‘Drink up,’ Vincente said suddenly, ‘and I’ll take you out for a meal.’

His lordly assurance that she would follow his lead irritated her.

‘Thank you, but I’d rather stay here.’

‘No, you wouldn’t. You don’t want to be on your own in this empty place that’s much too big for you.’

‘Ben insisted on a huge suite,’ she said instinctively.

‘So I’d have expected. He had to show off, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, but—I won’t discuss him with you. He’s dead. Let that be an end.’

‘But death is never really the end,’ he pointed out. ‘Not for those left behind. Don’t stay here alone. Come out with me and say all the things you couldn’t say to anyone else. You’ll feel better for it.’

Suddenly she longed to do as he suggested. After today she need never see him again, and in that was a kind of freedom.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘Why not? Yes, I’ll come,’ she repeated, as though trying to convince herself.

‘You’d better change out of that black first.’

She’d been going to do just that, but again his cool way of dictating to her made her rebellious.

‘Don’t give me orders.’

‘I’m not. I’m only suggesting what you want to do anyway,’ he said, assuming a reasonable air that was almost as amusing as it was annoying.

It was an act. Nothing about this man was reasonable.

‘Indeed? And have you any “suggestions” for what I should wear?’

‘Something outrageous.’

‘I don’t do “outrageous”.’

‘You should. A woman with your face and figure can be as outrageous as she likes, and it’s her duty to make use of her gifts. Because I’m sure Ben would have preferred that. I’ll bet money that somewhere in your wardrobe there’s a “flaunt” dress that he wanted people to see you in, with him,’ Vincente said with confidence.

‘But Ben isn’t here. And if I go out with you people will say, “She’s wearing that when she’s just buried him?’’’

‘So let them call you scandalous. What do you care?’

‘I ought to care,’ she said, trying to conceal how shockingly tempting was the picture.

‘But you don’t. Perhaps you never did. This is no time to start.’

‘You’ve got it all worked out.’

‘I always plan ahead. It’s a great help in covering every angle.’

‘You should be careful, covering too many angles. It looks suspicious,’ Elise replied.

That checked him, she was glad to notice, and made him regard her uncertainly.

‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked.

‘In another age they’d have called you a wizard and burnt you at the stake.’

‘Whereas now they call me a wizard and buy my shares. No more talking. Time to be outrageous. Hurry. Don’t keep me waiting.’

Elise went into the bedroom, thinking that it was simply indecent that he should have known about her ‘flaunt’ dress.

It hung in the far corner of her wardrobe, low-cut, whispering honey-coloured silk that sparkled with every movement. Ben had chosen it.

‘You can wear it to do me proud,’ he’d declared.

‘I’d wear it if I wanted to be taken for a certain kind of woman,’ she’d protested.

‘Nonsense! If you’ve got it, flaunt it.’

He’d actually said that.

She’d worn it once and felt self-conscious at the way it hugged her so tightly that it was impossible to wear anything underneath, and emphasised every movement of her hips.

It was cut on the slant, clinging lovingly to her, the neckline so low as to be barely decent, the extra length at the back making a slight train. It was impossible to walk normally in such a dress. Only sashaying would do.

Elise tried it, watching her own provocative movements before the mirror, and was shocked at herself for enjoying it. But tonight she was a different person.

Taking a deep breath, she flung open the door and walked out.

The room was empty.

LOOKING round in strong indignation, Elise realised that Vincente Farnese had made a fool of her—teasing her expectations, then leaving her stranded. But the next moment there was a knock on the door and she opened it to find him there.

‘I went upstairs to my own room to change for the evening,’ he explained.

‘You’re staying here?’

‘Certainly. I don’t have a base in London. This seemed the best idea. May I say that you look magnificent? Each man there will envy me.’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ she said sharply.

‘Why not? Isn’t it what every woman likes to hear?’

‘I’m not every woman. I’m me. Ben used to say things like that, as though all that mattered was how he seemed to other people. It was horrible, and if you’re the same the whole thing’s off. In fact—’

‘Forgive me,’ he said, interrupting her quickly. ‘You’re right, of course. I shall say no more about your beauty. My car is waiting.’

Vincente took the velvet wrap that she’d brought out, placing it delicately around her shoulders.

The limousine stood by the entrance, the chauffeur holding open the rear door. Elise slid gracefully into place in the back seat and he followed her.

It was a short journey to a street in Mayfair, and a door that seemed to fade unobtrusively into the wall. Set into it was a small plaque that said ‘Babylon’.

Elise raised her eyebrows at one of the most exclusive nightclubs in London. Only members were admitted and membership was almost impossible to obtain. Ben’s application had been refused, much to his fury.

But Vincente Farnese, despite having no base in London, was a member who received an immediate respectful greeting.

‘We’re a little early,’ he said as they descended the long stairway, ‘so we can eat in peace and talk quietly before the music starts.’

He was a skilled host, with a connoisseur’s knowledge of exquisite food and wine. Elise had thought she wasn’t hungry, but when she tried the miniature crab cakes with sauce rémoulade she discovered otherwise.

For a few minutes they paid the food the tribute of silence, but she smiled and nodded in recognition of his choice. She was beginning to relax. Somehow it no longer seemed bizarre to be here on such a day, as though these hours existed in a cocoon, away from real life. Tomorrow the problems would be there, but tonight she could float free of them.