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place to stay. Otherwise—if things didn’t work out soon—she would be forced to take the sort of steps she’d vowed she’d never stoop to. She would have to find a flat of her own. Maybe even look for a job. Fleur shuddered, and her jaw tightened in determination. She would just have to get Richard into bed. Once that had happened, everything would become easy.
     
    As they turned into Great Portland Street, Richard felt Fleur nudge him.
    “Look!” she said in a low voice. “Look at that!”
    Richard turned his head. On the other side of the road were two nuns standing on the pavement, apparently engaged in a bitter dispute.
    “I’ve never seen nuns arguing before,” said Fleur, giggling.
    “I don’t think I have either.”
    “I’m going to talk to them,” said Fleur suddenly. “Wait here.”
    Richard watched in astonishment as Fleur strode across the road. For a few moments she stood on the pavement opposite, a vibrant figure in her scarlet coat, talking to the black-habited nuns. They seemed to be nodding and smiling. Then all of a sudden she was coming back across the road towards him, and the nuns were walking away in apparent harmony.
    “What happened?” exclaimed Richard. “What on earth did you say?”
    “I told them the Blessed Virgin Mary was grieved by discord.” Fleur grinned at Richard’s incredulous expression. “Actually, I told them how to get to the tube station.”
    Richard gave a sudden laugh.
    “You’re a remarkable woman!” he said.
    “I know,” said Fleur complacently. She tucked her hand under his arm again, and they began to walk.
    Richard stared at the pale spring sunlight dappling the pavement, and felt a bubbling exhilaration rise through his body. He had known this woman for a mere four weeks, and already he couldn’t imagine life without her. When he was with her, drab everyday events seemed transformed into a series of shiny moments to relish; when he wasn’t with her, he was wishing that he was. Fleur seemed to turn life into a game—not the rigid maze of rules and conventions to which Emily had so tirelessly adhered, but a game of chance; of who dares wins. He found himself waiting with a childish excitement to hear what she would say next; what plan she would surprise him with. He had seen more of London over the last four weeks than ever before; laughed more than ever before; spent more money than he had for a long time.
    Often his mind would return to Emily, and he would feel a pang of guilt—guilt that he was spending such a lot of time with Fleur, that he was enjoying himself so much, that he had kissed her. And guilt that his original motivation for pursuing Fleur—to discover as much about Emily’s hidden character as he could—seemed to have taken second place to that of simply being with her. Sometimes in his dreams he would see Emily’s face, pale and reproachful; he would wake in the night, curled up in griefand sweating with shame. But by morning Emily’s image had always faded, and all he could think about was Fleur.
     
    “She’s stunning!” said Lambert in outraged tones.
    “I
told
you,” said Philippa. “Didn’t you notice her at the memorial service?”
    Lambert shrugged.
    “I suppose I thought she was quite attractive. But . . . just look at her!” Just look at her next to your father! he wanted to say.
    They watched in silence as Fleur took off her scarlet coat. Underneath she was wearing a clinging black dress; she gave a little wriggle and smoothed it down over her hips. Lambert felt a sudden stab of angry desire. What the hell was a woman like that doing with Richard, when he was stuck with Philippa?
    “They’re coming,” said Philippa. “Hello, Daddy!”
    “Hello darling,” said Richard, kissing her. “Lambert.”
    “Richard.”
    “And this is Fleur.” Richard couldn’t stop the smirk of pride spreading across his face.
    “I’m so glad to meet you,” said Fleur, smiling warmly at Philippa and holding out her