CHAPTER ONE

      IT WOULD BE the wedding of the year. In an elegant, luxurious church in the heart of London, crowded with wealthy, glamorous people, Amos Falcon, the financial giant whose name inspired awe and fury in equal measure, was to escort his stepdaughter down the aisle to be the bride of Dan Connor, a man of wealth and importance in the television industry.

      Not that that would impress Amos Falcon. It was common knowledge that he had wanted to marry his stepdaughter to one of his own sons but had failed: one of the few times in his life when he hadn’t got his own way.

      The excitement level was rising. The wedding wasn’t until midday, but the television cameras had been in place an hour earlier. Gossip said the entire Falcon family would be present, which meant Amos’s five sons, who hailed from England, America, Russia and France. Some were famous. Some were wealthy. All were notable. And nobody wanted to miss so many fascinating arrivals.

      ‘Travis Falcon,’ sighed one young female journalist. ‘Oh, I do hope he turns up. I always watch his television series and I’d love to meet him.’

      ‘You reckon he’ll really come all the way to London from Los Angeles?’ queried Ken, the cameraman with her.

      ‘Why not? He went to Moscow last month for Leonid’s wedding. Hey, who’s that?’

      A buzz of anticipation greeted the arrival of a luxurious car, which disgorged an expensively dressed couple. But then there was a faint groan of disappointment. This man wasn’t Travis.

      ‘Marcel Falcon,’ Ken mused. ‘The French brother. And the one in the car just behind is Leonid.’

      He focussed his camera on the two brothers as they climbed the steps to the great entrance and disappeared inside, then switched quickly back to another car from which a man and woman had emerged.

      ‘Darius,’ he said. ‘English.’

      ‘What about Jackson?’ she asked. ‘Surely he’s English as well, and after Travis he’s the best known because of those TV documentaries he does.’

      ‘He’s not a guest. He’s the best man and he’ll arrive with the groom. After that it’ll be Amos and Freya, the bride. Ah, look who’s getting out of that car! Freya’s mother, the present Mrs Amos Falcon.’

      Mrs Falcon was in her fifties, trim, well-dressed, but with an air of quiet reserve that made her stand out in this exotic atmosphere. She hurried up the steps, as though the spotlight made her uneasy.

      Just inside the church Darius, Marcel and their wives were waiting for her. They embraced her warmly, and Darius said, ‘This must be a happy day for you, Janine. Freya has finally escaped the terrible fate of being married to one of us.’

      His stepmother regarded him with wry affection.

      ‘You know very well that I’m fond of you all,’ she said, ‘and if Freya had really wanted to marry one of you I’d have had no problem. It was the just the way Amos— Well, you know...’

      They nodded, understanding her reluctance to be candid about Amos’s determination to get his own way. It had come close to bullying, but a loyal wife couldn’t say so.

      ‘How did you persuade him to give her away?’ Harriet, Darius’ wife, murmured. ‘I should think it was the last thing he wanted to do.’

      ‘It was,’ Janine said wryly. ‘I told him if he wouldn’t do it, I would. When he realised I meant it he gave in. Exposing a family disagreement in public—well...’

      ‘It would have made people laugh at him,’ Harriet said. ‘And he couldn’t have that. You know, marrying you was the best thing that ever happened to Amos. You’re the only person who can make him stop his nonsense.’

      ‘Shh!’ Janine put a finger to her lips. ‘Never tell him I told you.’

      ‘It’s a promise.’

      A cheer from outside put them all on alert.

      ‘Travis,’ Harriet said at once. ‘When you hear them cheering