CHAPTER ONE
THE first day of April in London, April Fool's day in England, April Fish day in France, and nature was playing a typical April trick on the city, beginning the day with bright sunshine which deceived Londoners into going to work without a raincoat, only to send dark clouds scudding across the sky at around ten o'clock, followed up with a sudden thunderstorm at about eleven which had people running through the streets, sheltering in doorways.
It was still pouring with rain when the taxi dropped Nadine off outside the television centre just before midday. She opened her little yellow silk umbrella before she got out of the taxi, then ran inside, so that the wind howling across the car park shouldn't wreck her chestnut hair, which had just been expensively restyled at the hairdresser's. Usually any men she passed would stop and stare, amazed to see such a famous face passing by, but today the weather made her practically invisible. Everyone was too busy trying not to get too wet to have time to look at her. Even the taxi driver had failed to recognise her, although on the seat beside him lay a magazine whose cover carried a glossy photo of her in the latest look from Paris.
The electronic doors swished open automatically as she approached; she hurried through without lowering her umbrella, and collided with someone.
'Sorry!' she began, smiling, then looked up and froze on the spot, her hazel eyes widening and darkening in shock.
'Well, well, if it isn't Nadine!' he drawled, and the sound of his deep, smoky voice sent ice trickling down her spine.
She had not seen him for over a year, and had begun to think she was over the worst, but at that instant she realised she had been wrong, dead wrong. The worst had only just happened. She felt her body go into flight mode: heart racing, nerves tense, adrenalin going ready to flee.
She couldn't run, though. She had to play it quite a different way, look cool and unflustered, although she wasn't sure her voice was going to come out steadily. But she managed it.
'Good heavens, if it isn't Sean,' she said, taking time to shake her umbrella slightly to one side so as not to splash either of them before carefully closing it. It gave her an excuse for not meeting his eyes. 'What on earth are you doing here?' she asked lightly, finally looking up again. 'Don't tell me you've gone into television!'
He shrugged those wide, smoothly clothed shoulders while she watched and tried not to notice too much about him. Didn't she know exactly how he looked? He hadn't changed. But he was eye- riveting, and she couldn't help staring, although she told herself she was admiring the wide-lapelled black jacket, tight-fitting black jeans, black shirt, a scarlet silk tie the one splash of colour. Not many men would risk an outfit like that: meant to look casual, but with the stamp of a top French designer's flair. Jean-Paul Gaultier, she thought, his style perfect for Sean Carmichael's powerful build, the force of his body.
'I've just been on the Harper show.' His wide mouth twisted impatiently. 'The woman is some sort of idiot; she asked me all the same old questions I've been asked a hundred times, and didn't really listen to the answers. God knows why her ratings are so high.'
'People like her, she has a lot of charm,' Nadine said absently, trying to sound as calm as he did.
A year ago they had been hurling words like weapons at each other; it had been a bitterly fought divorce and she had thought she would never get over the pain of it, yet here they were just twelve months later talking politely, like the merest acquaintances. On the surface, at least. Underneath there was something very different, on her side, at least; but she wouldn't let herself think about that.
She thought about Juno Harper instead: a comfortably rounded woman, with softly silvering blonde hair and a warm smile, she had in her youth been a musical comedy star, and her new career as a chat-show host in her still glamorous fifties had brought out millions of loyal fans from her past to boost her viewing figures. She was popular with her famous guests, too, because she never asked awkward or embarrassing questions, was never malicious, never laid traps for unwary tongues, had a famous giggle for every comedian's jokes, was happy to puff a new film or book, and was invariably likeable.
'Her charm didn't work for me; she's too lightweight,' Sean said curtly. 'What about you? Are you here to do a programme?'
'No,' she said reluctantly. 'I'm here to see one of the producers; I'm auditioning for a new show.'
His eyebrows shot up. 'Acting? So you still have ambitions in that direction?'
'No,' she said sharply, a flush invading her creamy skin. She knew that tone—it was only too familiar, the sound of Sean in his sardonic vein. She had made several attempts to become an actress and failed dismally; had finally been forced to admit that she simply could not act. It hadn't been an easy admission for her, especially as she and Sean were drifting apart at the time. She had bitterly accused him of wanting her to fail; he had denied it but she was still convinced he hadn't wanted her to be an actress, any more than he had wanted her to model.
'No?' he drawled. 'So what are you doing here?'
'I'm having an interview with Greg Erroll,' she said shortly, but he still waited, his brows lifted and a quizzical expression on his face, so she felt compelled to expand her answer. 'He's looking for a female presenter for a new show he's going to launch in the autumn. It would be a morning show, an hour long; they want two presenters, a man and a woman.'
'Don't tell me... the man would do all the heavy stuff, the current affairs and serious interviews; and the woman would do the chatty interviews with other women, and the fashion and cookery and dieting!'
'Something like that,' she admitted, and Sean gave her a wry little smile.
'Well, never mind, if it is a huge success you could always use your muscle to get a better deal for yourself.'
She had to laugh at that. 'I haven't even got the job yet!'
'Always think ahead!' he said, as he had said to her so many times before, and she exchanged a grin with him, then could not believe this was happening. A year apart, and then within five minutes she felt as if they had never split up. It was a surreal experience; she could almost believe she was dreaming this encounter. She felt like pinching herself to make sure she was awake.
Instead she stared at him. At first she had thought he hadn't changed, but she saw suddenly how wrong she had been. Sean wasn't the same. He had always been slim, but she was sure he had lost some weight; he must have been working at full stretch over these months, and no doubt he had often forgotten to eat.