The traffic lights ahead turned red and he slowed down to a halt, using the opportunity to glance at Sabine beside him. She was busying herself looking at the contents of an envelope she’d taken out of the bag on her lap. It was, he could see, a bill from the pension. She gave it a cursory check, replaced it in her bag, then took out another envelope. Bastiaan could see it had a French stamp on it, but she was turning it over to open it, so he could not see the writing on the front.
As she ripped it open and glanced inside she gave a little crow of pleasure. ‘Oh, how sweet of him!’
Then, with a sudden biting of her lip, she hurriedly stuffed the envelope back inside her handbag, shutting it with a snap.
Abruptly the traffic lights changed, the car behind him sounded its horn impatiently, and Bastiaan had to move off. But in the few seconds that it took a chill had gone down inside him.
Had he really seen what he’d thought he’d seen?
Had that been a cheque inside that envelope?
He threw a covert sideways glance at her, but she was placing her bag in the footwell, then getting out her phone and texting someone, a happy smile playing around her mouth.
Bastiaan found he was revving the engine, his hands clenching momentarily around the steering wheel. Then, forcibly, he put the sudden burst of cold anger out of his head. Why should Sabine not receive mail? And if that mail were from a man what business was it of his? She might know any number of men. Very likely did...
Another emotion stabbed at him. One he had not experienced before. One he never had cause to experience. Rigorously, he pushed it aside. Refused to allow his mind to dwell on the question that was trying to make itself heard. He would not speculate on just who might be sending her correspondence that she regarded as ‘sweet.’ He would not.
He risked another sideways glance at her as he steered through the traffic. She was still on her phone, scrolling through messages. As his gaze went back to the road he heard her give a soft chuckle, start to tap a reply immediately.
Bastiaan flicked his eyes towards her phone screen, hard though it was to see it from this angle and in the brightness of the sun. In the seconds his glance took a face on the screen impinged—or did it? It was gone as she touched the screen to send her message, but he could feel his hands clenching on the wheel again.
Had that been Philip?
The thought was in his head before he could stop it. He forced it out. It had been impossible to recognise the fleeting photo. It could have been anyone. Anyone. He would not let his imagination run riot. His fears run riot...
Instead he would focus only on the day ahead. A leisurely drive to St Paul de Vence...strolling hand in hand through its narrow pretty streets, thronged with tourists but charming all the same. Focus only on the easy companionable rightness of having Sabine at his side, looking so lovely as she was today, turning men’s heads all around and making a glow of happy possession fill him.
It would be a simple, uncomplicated day together, just like the days they’d spent together at his villa. Nothing would intrude on his happiness.
Into his head flickered the image of her glancing at the contents of that envelope in her lap. He heard again her little crow of pleasure. Saw in his mind the telltale printing on the small piece of paper she’d been looking at...
No!
He would not think about that—he would not.
Leave it be. It has nothing to do with you. Let your suspicions of her go—let go completely.
Resolutely he pushed it from his mind, lifting his free hand to point towards the entrance to the famous hotel where they were going to have lunch. She was delighted by it—delighted by everything. Her face alight with pleasure and happiness.
* * *
Across the table from him Sarah gazed glowingly at him. She knew every contour of his face, every expression in his eyes, every touch of his mouth upon her...
Her gaze flickered. Shadowed. There was a catch in her throat. Emerging from the villa had been like waking from a dream. Seeing the outside world all around her. Being reminded of its existence. Even just driving past the nightclub had plucked at her.
The days—the nights—she’d spent with Bastiaan had blotted out everything completely. But now—even here, sitting with people all around them—the world was pressing in upon her again. Calling time on them.
Tomorrow she must leave him. Go back to Max. Go back to being Sarah again. Emotion twisted inside her. This time with Bastiaan had been beyond amazing—it had been like nothing she had ever known. He was like no man she had ever known.
But what am I to him?
That was the question that shaped itself as they set off after lunch, his powerful, expensive car snaking its way back towards Cap Pierre. The question that pierced her like an arrow. She thought of how she’d assumed that a man like him would be interested only in a sophisticated seductive affair—a passionately sensual encounter with a woman like Sabine.
Was that still what she thought?
The answer blazed in her head.
I don’t want it to be just that. I don’t want to be just Sabine to him. I want to be the person I really am—I want to be Sarah.