CHAPTER EIGHT

      LUC was on the move early, needing to attend to his office. Shari stayed in bed, waving away any suggestion of breakfast. ‘I want to sleep a little more,’ she said weakly from her pillow, knowing what would happen if she tried to sit up.

      ‘Are you sure? Not even some chocolat?’

      She only just repressed a shudder.

      ‘Ah … if you are still wishing to visit the d’Orsay, I could collect you here at eleven.’

      ‘Oh, right. The d’Orsay.’ Though at that exact moment, pictures were not the first thing on her mind. ‘Oh, so you—want to come too?’

      His eyes veiled and he said carelessly, ‘Unless you prefer to be alone when you look at pictures.’

      She hated to hurt his feelings. ‘No, no, not at all. I’d love you to come.’ She should be able to fix herself up before then, one way or another. ‘How about I meet you there? I’ll enjoy finding my own way.’

      He looked more closely at her, his brows drawing together. ‘Are you feeling quite well?’

      ‘Oh, heck yeah. Just tired. What would you expect?’ She conjured up a grin.

      ‘Très bon.’ Smiling, he wrote down his mobile number for her, dropped a kiss on her forehead and left.

      The second the door closed behind him, Shari dragged herself up and lunged for the bathroom. There was another ghastly attack, though she seemed to deal with it more briskly this time. Maybe she’d even get used to it. Panting, she screwed up her face. How fun to be a woman. The likely diagnosis loomed with a hopeless inevitability.

      After showering and washing her hair, she felt slightly more human, if no braver. She dressed and took the lift down to the lobby.

      The concierge directed her to a nearby pharmacy. Outside, in cruel mockery of her situation, the sun was daring to shine weakly, the sky having the crass insensitivity to glow with a pale, hopeful blue.

      With a pregnancy testing kit burning a hole in her bag, Shari hurried back to the hotel and requested a taxi. Her own room at the Louvre felt more the place to face the moment of truth.

      An hour later she sat on the smooth coverlet of her bed, hot and cold by turns. An initial bout of sheer panic and desperation had given way to something like bleak acceptance, though her brain was in a jumble. Did she want to be pregnant? Without a relationship to depend on?

      Of course not. She couldn’t do it. She was in no position to. Her mother had been left to raise her on her own, and look how hard their life had been. Never two cents to scrape together. Shoes that wore through the soles before they were replaced. Her mother working two jobs. If Neil hadn’t been there as a support she didn’t know how they’d have held together.

      She supposed she’d always assumed she would have a child some day, but not until she had the man. Never, never without the man. She just didn’t have that sort of courage and she was hardly in any financial position, with her career still in its shaky infancy.

      One book published, and a tiny little advance for the next?

      Another attack of panic gripped her as her conscience chimed in to taunt her. Too late, Shari. A child has started now. Your …

      She broke out in a sweat. She needed to think. Focus on immediate practicalities. Like how to inform Luc.

      Oh, God.

      Whether to inform him.

      A man who invited a woman to stay for a week—in a hotel—wasn’t contemplating an ongoing relationship. She doubted if even his offer of the Ritz would stand once she told him. Everything would be over. He’d get rid of her fast.

      Nothing like the prospect of a responsibility to cool a man’s ardour.

      Although … Although … Try to think straight, Shari. Luc was a man of the world. He would be sophisticated about it. Suggest the logical solution. Surely that would be for the best.

      If only she hadn’t been so ignorant about France. Knowing Rémy and Emilie had given her some insights, but Rémy was hardly likely to have been typical of Frenchmen.

      Surely the French were very religious, Notre Dame de Paris and all that. If she told Luc, maybe he would insist she go through with it.

      And what? Leave her stuck with a child and send her money every month?

      The alternative was no less confronting. Her thoughts skittered towards movie images of the clinic waiting room and shied away again.

      If only she had a friend she could talk to, right here, right now—Neil. If only she had her brother. He was on her side, no matter what, and at least in Australia she knew the rules. With such huge scary decisions to make, a strange country was not the place to be.

      She considered phoning Em, but what was the point? She knew what Em would say. Anyway, Australia would be asleep now.

      Whatever, she’d better be on that plane tomorrow.

      Luc arrived at the Musée d’Orsay a few minutes before the appointed time. He strolled about before the entrance, enjoying the brisk air, avoiding tour groups and keeping his eye on the taxis that drew up to disgorge visitors.

      He felt no concern about taking another day away from the office. Zut, he might even take a few more.

      He glanced at his watch. A minute or two past the hour. Then some extra-sensory instinct alerted him and he glanced up. That dizzying swoosh as