A Perfect Stranger Read Online Free PDF

Alejandra flew back to Paris separately, surrounded by sisters, cousins, one of her brothers, and several close friends, but always surrounded, protected, as she had lived her entire life. And hours after the funeral they urged her to go back to Spain with them, and acquiescing tearfully, she allowed them to take her away. Alejandra had a veritable army to protect her, and Antoine had no one, only a fourteen-year-old child.
    But later the tragedy provided a strange bond between them. It was something they never spoke of, but it was always there. The tragedy also provided a strange bond between her father and John Henry, as the two men discovered that they had shared a similar loss, the deaths of their only sons. John Henry's boy had died in a plane crash. At twenty-one the young man had been flying his own plane. John Henry's wife had also died, five years later. But it was the loss of their sons that for each had been an intolerable blow. Antoine had had Raphaella to console him, but John Henry had no other children, and after his wife died, he had never married again.
    At the start of their business association, each time John Henry came to Paris, Raphaella was in Spain. He began to tease Antoine about his imaginary daughter. It became a standing joke between them until a day when the butler ushered John Henry into Antoine's study, but instead of Antoine, he found himself staring into the dark eyes of a ravishingly beautiful young girl who looked at him tremulously, like a frightened doe. She gazed up almost in terror at the sight of a strange man in the room. She had been going over some papers for school and checking through some reference books her father kept there, and her long black hair poured over her shoulders in straight streams of black silk punctured by cascades of soft curls. For a moment he had stood there, silent, awed. And then quickly he had recovered, and the warm light in his eyes reached out to her, reassuring her that he was a friend. But during her months of study in Paris she saw few people, and in Spain she was so well guarded and protected that it was rare for her to be alone anywhere with a strange man. She had no idea what to say to him at first, but after a few moments of easy banter she met the twinkle in his eyes and laughed. It was half an hour later when Antoine found them, apologizing profusely for a delay at the bank. On the way home in the car he had wondered if John Henry had finally met her, and he had to admit to himself later that he had hoped they had.
    Raphaella had withdrawn a few moments after her father's arrival, her cheeks blushing to a delicate pink on the perfect creamy skin.
    My God, Antoine, she's a beauty. He looked at his French friend with an odd expression, and Antoine smiled.
    So you like my imaginary daughter, do you? She wasn't too impossibly shy? Her mother has convinced her that all men who attempt to talk to a young girl alone are murderers or at least rapists. Sometimes I worry about that look of terror in her eyes.
    What do you expect? All her life she has been totally protected. It's hardly surprising after all, then, if she's shy.
    No, but she's almost eighteen now, and it's going to be a real problem for her, unless she spends the rest of her life in Spain. In Paris she ought to be able to at least talk to a man without half a dozen women standing in the room, most, if not all, of them related to her. He said it in a tone of amusement, but there was also something very serious in his eyes. He was looking long and hard at John Henry, sizing up the expression he still saw lingering in the American's eyes. She is lovely, isn't she? It's immodest of me to say it about my own daughter, but ' He spread his hands helplessly and smiled.
    And this time John Henry met his smile fully. Lovely isn't quite the right word. And then in an almost boyish way he asked a question that brought a smile to Antoine's eyes. Will she dine with us this evening?
    If you don't mind very