CHAPTER THREE

      SHE awoke suddenly in the dark. Listening intently, she could make out the sound of footsteps nearing her room. Marcel. She slid further down the bed, pulling the duvet over her, not sure that she wanted to see him.

      The door opened, someone came in and stood looking down at her. Her heart was thundering as the moment of truth neared. Last night he’d seemed not to know her, but then she’d heard her name whispering past. Surely that had come from him and now everything was different. What would he say to her? What could she say to him?

      She gasped as a hand touched her.

      ‘It’s only me,’ said Freya. ‘I’m sorry, did I wake you?’

      ‘No, no, I … I’m all right.’ She didn’t know what she was saying. Everything was spinning in chaos.

      Freya switched on the lamp and sat down on the bed, placing a cup on the sidetable.

      ‘I’m going now, but I brought you a cup of tea first.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Jane—do you mind if I call you Jane? Or should it be Mrs Henshaw?’

      ‘Oh, please, no.’ She shuddered. ‘I’ve had enough of Mrs Henshaw.’ ‘Jane, then?’

      ‘Yes, Jane. Although I think I’ve had enough of Jane too.’

      ‘Goodness, what does that mean?’ Freya’s friendliness was charming.

      ‘Suddenly I seem to be a lot of different people and none of them is really me. Does that sound crazy?’

      ‘Not in this family,’ Freya said wryly. ‘You have to be a bit crazy to get your head around the way they all live. Sometimes I worry for my mother. She’s Amos’s third wife and he wasn’t faithful to either of the others.’

      ‘Where does Marcel come in the picture?’ Jane Henshaw asked, careful to drink her tea at once to hide her face.

      ‘When Amos was married to Elaine, Darius’s mother, he travelled abroad a lot, and while he was doing business in France he met Laura, set up home with her and they had Marcel.’

      ‘While he was still married to Elaine?’

      ‘While he was still actually living with her in England. He divided his time between London and Paris, and even had another son by his wife. That’s Jackson. A couple of years later Elaine found out about his infidelity and left him. He brought Laura and Marcel over to England and married her as soon as his divorce was through.’

      ‘So Marcel grew up in England?’ Jane said slowly.

      ‘I think he was about eleven when he moved here. Of course it didn’t last. When he was fifteen Laura discovered that Amos had been “at it” again, and she returned to Paris, taking Marcel with her. He came back seven years later, but not to Amos. He resented the way his mother had been treated, and he even stopped using the name Falcon and went back to using Laura’s name, Degrande.

      ‘He had a rebellious streak and set up home with some other lads, living from day to day, doing any job they could get. He enjoyed it for a couple of years, then went back to France. Eventually he and Amos were reconciled, and he returned to England and became a Falcon again. Actually I think that was bound to happen. In his heart he was always a chip off the old block. Those two years being free and easy were fun, but it was never going to last.’

      ‘They might have done. Perhaps something happened to send that side of him into hiding.’

      ‘Kill it off for good, more like,’ Freya said robustly. ‘Marcel is Amos’s son through and through—hard, implacable, money-minded. Will it pay? What will I get out of it, and how can I squeeze more? That’s how his mind works.’

      ‘You don’t like him, do you?’

      ‘He’s all right, always pleasant to me, but Amos can forget about me marrying him. I’d sooner marry the devil.’

      ‘I’m surprised he isn’t married already. Rich men don’t tend to be short of women.’

      ‘Oh, he’s never been short of women,’ Freya agreed. ‘Just not the kind he’s likely to marry, if you see what I mean. They serve their purpose, he pays them off. I believe his ‘leaving tips’ are quite generous. But he doesn’t fall in love.’ She gave a brief laugh. ‘Don’t take me too seriously. I’m only warning you that he’ll be tough to work for. After all, you’re not likely to want to marry him, are you?’

      ‘Not if I’ve got any sense,’ she said lightly.

      ‘Right, I must be going, but first I need to take some of Marcel’s clothes from the wardrobe. He’s sleeping out there on the sofa and he says don’t worry, he won’t trouble you.’

      ‘He’s very kind.’

      ‘He can be. Not always. Now I’m off.’ ‘Goodbye. And thank you.’ Freya slipped out of the door.

      Cassie lay in silence, trying to come to terms with the storm of feeling inside her. It had started when she’d glimpsed him tonight, but now it had a new aspect. The woman who now convulsively clenched and unclenched her hands was no longer lovelorn and yearning, but possessed by a bitter anger.

      Marcel had known all the time that he was Amos Falcon’s son. And he’d deceived her, pretending to be poor as a joke, because it boosted his pride to think she’d chosen him over rich men. It might have started as an innocent game, but the result had been catastrophic.

       If I’d known you had a wealthy, powerful father, I wouldn’t have given in to Jake. I’d have gone to Amos Falcon, seeking his protection for you. He could have punished Jake, scared him off, and we’d have been safe. We could have been together all these years, and we lost everything because you had to play silly games with the truth. You stupid … stupid …

      She pounded the pillow as though trying to release all the fury in her heart, until at last she lay still, exhausted, shocked by the discovery that she could hate him, while the tears poured down her face.

      Finally she slept again, and only then did the door open and a figure stand there in silence, watching the faint light that fell from the hallway onto the bed, just touching the blonde hair that streamed across the pillow.

      He moved closer to the bed, where he could see her face, relaxed in sleep and more like the face he had once known. In the first moments of their meeting he’d denied the truth to himself, refusing to admit that the evil witch who’d wrecked his life could possibly have returned.

      But a witch didn’t die. She rose again to laugh over the destruction she had wrought.