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others, but all the same it had not been pleasant to sit on one side of Bianca's gleaming dining table and watch Peter succumb without a struggle. He and Alix had talked and laughed and enjoyed each other's company, but he had never stared at her with that look of hot and glittering desire that he was turning on Bianca. Dinner ended, the other guests departed and Alix invented a headache to take her up to her room.
    What happened after that was anyone's guess. And Alix didn't want to know. Nor, she found, did it help to tell herself that the ache in her heart was dented pride and no more. She was tired of having to face the fact of how easily Bianca could eclipse any charms she might have. It was hurtful to see someone she had liked apparently forget that she existed.
    She knew the pattern, of course. Bianca's little flings were unvarying. There would be flowers delivered, and long intimate phone calls, often while Alix was in the room, with Bianca lying on her chaise-longue, the receiver cradled against her cheek.
    Alix couldn't really be sorry that she was going to miss this particular episode in the long-running saga of Bianca's love life.
    And she thought, 'I'd be frightened to let myself love someone in case she did the same thing to him. I might have loved Peter, for all she knew, but it made no difference. She still has to prove that she's irresistible.'
    As she queued at the box office of the theatre of her choice, Alix found herself wondering without too much curiosity what had happened to Peter. She could imagine, of course. One day, out of the blue, he would have found that Miss Layton was no longer accepting his calls. She wondered if he had accepted the situation with dignity, or made a scene. Not that it would have mattered. When it was over for Bianca, it was over, and there were no reprieves.
    The disappointments of the day were still with her when she reached the box office window, to be told regretfully that all the seats had been sold, including the few returned tickets. And there was no prospect of any more cancellations.
    Alix turned- away ruefully. There were other theatres and other plays, of course, but this was the one she had -set her heart on. She should have realised the necessity to book. She stood in the street outside the theatre, trying to decide what to do next. She would have dinner, of course, and then back to the house, she supposed, for an early night. Or she could always read the Clive Percy book, she thought with a glance at the parcel in her hand.
    There was a small Italian restaurant just round the corner and she would eat there, she decided, deliberately removing from her mind the remembrance that Peter had taken her there.
    Even though it was comparatively early in the evening, the restaurant was quite busy, its tables mostly occupied by couples. Alix was shown to a corner table, given a menu and offered an aperitif. She ordered a Cinzano and leaned back in her chair, a feeling of relaxation and contentment beginning to steal over her. Perhaps she wouldn't have an early night after all. There was a musical she wouldn't mind seeing—and there were cinemas. She would ask the cheerful proprietor if he had an evening paper and see what was on.
    Aware that someone had stopped beside her table, she looked up with a smile, expecting that her drink had arrived.
    Liam Brant said courteously, 'Good evening, Miss Coulter. We meet again.'
    Alix felt the smile freeze into something like a grimace. Without stopping to think, she said hotly, 'You wouldn't be following me, by any chance?'
    His brows lifted. 'You flatter yourself, secretary bird. As it happens, I often eat here. The food is good and the service is quick. I hope that reassures you.'
    It wasn't particularly reassuring to know that she'd just made a fool of herself, so Alix remained silent, staring down at the checked gingham tablecloth.
    'And what are you doing out of your gilded cage?' the infuriating voice went on.
    'I was hoping to