Desperate Measures Read Online Free PDF Page B

throat
    constricted suddenly.
    Oh, no, she told herself determinedly. You're not going to cry.
    You're just tired and rather fraught after one hell of a day, so you'll go to bed—and, in the morning, you can start keeping your side of the
    bargain by getting to grips with this new life of yours.
    She was on her way across the wide entrance hall when the
    telephone rang. For a moment she hesitated in case the Giscards
    reappeared from whatever fastness they had retired to and thought she was usurping their prerogative, but when its shrill summons went on
    and on unchecked, she reached out and gingerly lifted the receiver.
    'Alain?' It was a woman's voice, low, warm and husky. 'C'est toi, mon coeur? '
    For a second, Philippa felt as if she'd been turned to stone. But
    what the hell was she surprised about? Alain had made no secret of
    his proclivities, after all. It was because of them that she was here at all. She just hadn't expected this kind of confrontation so soon.
    She said curtly in French, 'I'm afraid Monsieur de Courcy is not
    here, madame.'
    'And who are you?' Some of the warmth had dissipated.
    'His wife,' said Philippa, and put down the phone.
    CHAPTER THREE
    PHILIPPA was shaking with temper, and another less easily defined
    emotion, when she closed her bedroom door behind her. If the phone
    rang again, it could burst into flames before she'd answer it, she told herself. Turning a blind eye to Alain's amours, as required, was one
    thing, taking messages from them quite another.
    She stood still for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to
    restore her equilibrium. Madame Giscard must have unpacked for her,
    she realised, as she looked round her. Her toilet things were waiting for her, and one of the new nightgowns Monica had insisted on was
    lying, elegantly fanned out, across the turned-down bed.
    Philippa looked at it with distaste. Its oyster satin and lace had
    cost more than she'd been used to paying for a whole term's clothes at art school, she thought with irritation. What a terrible waste of money for a garment no one would see but herself!
    The bed itself came in for its fair share of disapproval too. She
    glanced at the draped and ruched green silk bedhead, and wondered if
    she would ever be able to sleep amid such opulence.
    She shook herself mentally, telling herself she was now being
    petty. Maybe a warm bath would relax her a little.
    The bathroom, needless to say, was the last word in luxury.
    Philippa, accustomed to fighting for her
    turn with half a dozen others, was in the seventh heaven as she
    lay back in the deep, scented water, feeling the tensions slowly
    seeping out of her.
    She dried herself slowly on one of the enormous fluffy bath
    sheets, then experimented with some of the deliciously perfumed
    lotions and colognes provided before putting on the nightgown. She
    looked at herself judiciously in one of the long mirrors, and grimaced.
    The tiny lace bodice hugged her small high breasts, and each side of
    the sleek shimmering skirt was slashed, almost to the thigh. With her hair hanging, straight as rainwater, almost to her shoulders, she
    looked like a child playing at being an adult, she thought
    disparagingly.
    She flicked the soft brown strands away from her face and
    walked back into the bedroom, halting with a gasp as she found
    herself face to face with Alain.
    He looked almost as taken aback as she did herself, she
    realised, her face flaming.
    He was still wearing the formal dark suit in which he'd been
    married, but he had discarded the jacket and silk tie, and unbuttoned his waistcoat.
    'What are you doing here?' Her voice was husky with
    embarrassment as she looked round vainly for a robe, or some other
    covering to shield her from the totally arrested expression in his green eyes. 'What do you want? It's late.'
    He said slowly, 'I came to wish you goodnight.'
    'Well, now you've said it, perhaps you'll go.' Her tone was curt,
    and his dark brows lifted in surprise and hauteur.
    'I