Desperate Measures Read Online Free PDF

requires.' He lifted Philippa's
    nerveless hand and pressed a swift kiss into its palm. 'Au revoir, mignonne.'
    If the Giscards considered his departure eccentric behaviour for
    a new bridegroom, they kept their opinions well hidden. Philippa found herself being conducted over the apartment with a certain amount of
    ceremony. It seemed evident from the covert glances
    she'd seen them exchanging that not only was the marriage
    itself a shock to them, but that the Giscards considered her the last kind of wife they would have expected Alain de Courcy to choose. Her
    lack of sophistication and experience must be woefully apparent, she
    thought bitterly, and if she couldn't fool the servants, how could she hope to deceive his family and friends?
    She managed to contain her sigh of relief when Madame Giscard
    expressionlessly showed her to her bedroom, a pretty Empire-style
    room immediately adjoining the one used by Alain himself. In spite of the neutral attitude he had adopted towards her up to now, she had
    still secretly feared some confrontation over the sleeping
    arrangements once they were actually married. It was good to know
    he could be trusted after all.
    She requested a light dinner, and was served promptly and
    without fuss with a cup of bouillon, and a perfectly grilled sole with fresh fruit to follow. Afterwards she telephoned the New York clinic, as she always did, to ask after Gavin. She received the usual response—
    that it was still too early for any definite prognosis—and after that she was left pretty much to her own devices.
    She decided to conduct her own, more leisurely exploration of
    the apartment without Madame Giscard's chilly presence at her side.
    She found the place slightly austere and unwelcoming, with its large, high-ceilinged rooms, and vaguely reminiscent of Lowden Square in its elegant formality. There was nothing in the least homelike about it,
    Philippa decided, hearing the clatter of her heels on the polished floor.
    The furniture and curtains seemed to warn,
    'Look, but don't touch.' She found herself wondering how much
    time Alain actually spent there.
    But there was one blessedly familiar touch—Gavin's painting of
    the bridge at Montascaux which hung over the elegant marble
    fireplace in the salon. She stood, her hands behind her back, staring up at it. She had loved their time at Montascaux. She sighed soundlessly as she remembered the jumble of roofs on the steep hillside
    sweeping down to the river, with the ruined chateau towering above
    the gorge. They'd rented a house high above the village, with a wood
    behind it. The house in the clouds, she thought nostalgically. While
    Gavin painted, Philippa had done her own sketching, then shopped at
    the small but cheerful market, concocting what she now recognised
    must have been some weird and wonderful meals for them both. But
    her father had never complained, she thought, a smile trembling on
    her lips.
    As she turned away, uttering a wordless prayer for her father's
    safety and restoration to health, she noticed the exquisite clock which occupied pride of place on the mantelpiece.
    Certainly Alain seemed in no hurry to return, she thought. Not
    that she wanted him to, of course, she hastily reminded herself, but, on the other hand, he could have made slightly more effort to ease
    her into her new environment. Didn't he realise how totally strange
    and isolated she must be feeling? she asked herself with faint
    resentment.
    She tried to watch some television, but found it required more
    concentration than she was capable of. And a more extensive
    vocabulary too, she realised uneasily. She would probably have to
    have some intensive language coaching before she and Alain did
    any proper entertaining, although she could not imagine herself
    ever acting as hostess in these frankly formidable surroundings.
    In spite of her new hairstyle and new dress, she was still a fish
    out of water. It was an oddly desolate thought, and her