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brocade hangings, but thankfully it had a sumptuous modern mattress for any exhausted guest who’d tried the hotel’s truly vast range of leisure facilities. The large marble en-suite had gold fittings, and a large whirlpool bath Laura would have killed for in the Berkeley Square apartment.
    A painting above the marble mantelshelf showed the local countryside in more clement weather. It was a watercolor of a woodland scene, with an unmistakably Cotswolds landscape in the background, and had been painted when bluebells carpeted the ground. Leafy shadows dappled a track leading toward a lightning-blasted oak tree that dominated the scene, and it had all been so skillfully painted she could almost smell the flowers. She didn’t doubt it was a scene from somewhere in the immediate neighborhood, for she was sure that the church spire on the hill in the background was the landmark she’d spotted earlier.
    The watercolor was soon forgotten as she took a quick dip in the whirlpool bath, and then dressed to join Jenny for dinner. After a meal that more than lived up to expectations, and for which Denise, a petite brunette from Bath who was far more formidable in her kitchen than her appearance suggested, was personally congratulated, the two friends enjoyed a glass of Cointreau in front of the fire in the Fitzgeralds’ private apartment.
    Jenny leaned her head back. “This is the life, eh?”
    “It’ll do,” Laura replied with mischievous understatement.
    “Do you miss the States?” Jenny asked suddenly.
    “Well, I would, except the States equals Kyle McKenna.”
    “I thought you were over him.”
    “Oh, I guess so, but I’m still mad as hell that I was such a fool. He’s a remake of Don Juan, but it took me a year to realize it!”
    “The one it matters to most is always the last to find out.”
    After a moment Laura grinned. “The sex was great, though. Until Kyle, I had no idea I was so carnal. I guess I should thank him for teaching me a thing or two in that respect.”
    Jenny gave a disbelieving snort. “Away with you, Laura Reynolds. You’re a natural-born daughter of sinful passion, and you probably taught him !” She looked at Laura. “From the photo you showed me, he seems very good looking.”
    “Not as good looking as—” Laura broke off, for she’d almost compared Kyle with Blair Deveril!
    Jenny raised a sly eyebrow. “Go on. Not as good looking as...?”
    “Oh, no one in particular.”
    “Out with it, Miss Reynolds. I know that right now you’re not thinking of Kyle.”
    Whether it was the Cointreau or the atmosphere, Laura was suddenly tempted to describe the odd things that had been happening to her. She wanted to brave the flying saucer factor and confide, but the phone rang.
    Jenny got up to answer it, and almost immediately her face went pale. “Oh, God! When? How bad is he?”
    Laura sat up in concern.
    After a moment Jenny replaced the receiver, and there were tears in her eyes as she turned. “It’s Alun. He’s been hurt in a car crash. That was the hospital in Dijon. I have to go to him.”
    “Yes, of course. I—I’ll find your parents.” Laura hurried out.
    Jenny’s father insisted on accompanying his distressed daughter to France, and rang the airport to book immediate flights, while her mother did what she could to offer comfort and reassurance. Laura felt a little in the way, and took the first chance to speak to Mrs. Fitzgerald. “Look, you don’t want me hanging around now. I’ll go back to London first thing in the morning.”
    “Oh, no, my dear, I won’t hear of it. You were invited here, and here you’ll stay. Besides, I’ll be more than glad of your company.”
    “If you’re quite sure?”
    “Absolutely certain, my dear, although, of course, you’ll be on your own a great deal. If that bothers you, and you’d rather return... ?”
    “I wouldn’t mind staying,” Laura said quickly, a little ashamed of herself because she knew Blair Deveril was a little