Desperate Measures Read Online Free PDF Page A

spare. So they were going straight to his Paris
    apartment.
    'I hope it won't be too dull for you,' he said.
    'Oh, no,' Philippa had stammered, hardly able to conceal' her
    relief. Simply sharing a roof with him would be ordeal enough, she
    thought. The prospect of being alone with him in the bridal suite of
    some exotic location with all that implied had been more than she
    could bear. And judging by the sardonic slant of his mouth he'd known exactly what she was thinking.
    She put a hand to her throat and touched the string of matched
    pearls which had been his wedding gift to her.
    'Exquisite!' Monica had exclaimed as she helped Philippa to
    change.
    'Yes—but don't they mean tears?' Philippa had felt faintly
    troubled as she fastened the clasp.
    'Not, my dear, if you have any sense.' Monica's smile held a
    touch of envy not unmixed with malice. 'Enjoy the loot, Madame de
    Courcy. Because you may find that's all there is,' she added cynically, then glanced at her watch. 'Now do make haste. Your husband's
    waiting.'
    Your husband. Philippa stole a covert look at this unexpected
    and alarming phenomenon who sat beside
    her, apparently engrossed in a sheaf of papers from his
    briefcase.
    She didn't know whether to feel glad or aggrieved at his
    absorption, and decided on balance that even if it wasn't exactly
    flattering, it was a relief. At least she didn't have to try to make
    conversation.
    During the past ten days she had seen Alain almost daily, but
    she knew him no better than she'd done that first evening when she'd
    walked into the library at Lowden Square, she acknowledged ruefully.
    To her relief, he had made no further attempt to kiss her, or
    move their relationship on to a more intimate level than the friendship he'd promised, although they were still really no more than acquaintances, she admitted to herself.
    He had been invariably charming to her, however, setting
    himself, she realised, to draw her out, discovering her tastes in
    literature and music as well as art, whether she preferred ballet to
    opera, if she enjoyed tennis or squash, her preferences in food and
    wine.
    It was as if he was compiling a dossier on her. And perhaps he
    was—a series of facts to be fed into a computer somewhere at De
    Courcy International and resurrected at birthday or anniversary times.
    And she was only just beginning to realise how very little he had
    vouchsafed in return, this stranger who was now married to her for
    better or worse.
    For better or worse. Philippa repeated the words in her head,
    and shivered suddenly.
    In no time at all, it seemed, they were landing. The formalities at
    the airport were mercifully brief, then Philippa found herself being
    whisked away in a chauffeur-driven limousine. She supposed this was
    the
    kind of treatment she would have to get accustomed to.
    Almost before she was ready, she found herself walking into an
    imposing building in one of the city's most fashionable areas, and
    travelling up in the lift to the penthouse.
    The apartment, Alain had told her, was not part of the family
    estate which he had inherited, but had been acquired by himself a few years previously as a pied-a-terre near his business headquarters. He was looked after by a married couple, a Madame Henriette Giscard,
    and her husband Albert, and they were waiting to welcome their
    master and his new bride, their faces well-trained masks.
    When the introductions were completed, Alain took her to one
    side. 'Will you be all right if I leave you here?' he asked in a low tone. 'I need to go to the office, and I cannot say when it will be possible to return.'
    'Oh, that's all right—that's fine,' Philippa stammered, feeling the
    colour rise in her face under his quizzical look.
    'I don't doubt it.' Mouth twisting, Alain ran his forefinger down
    the curve of her hot cheek. He turned back to Madame Giscard,
    waiting at a discreet distance. 'I shall not be here for dinner, Henriette.
    Make sure Madame has everything she