“Of course, Your Highness.” She gave the same lifeless curtsy before she continued on down the corridor.

“What an extraordinarily uninteresting woman,” Alexander commented when she was out of earshot.

“Alex,” Brie murmured, reprimanding him automatically even while she agreed.

“I know her credentials are impeccable and her efficiency’s unquestionable, but God, it must be a bore to have to deal with her every morning.”

Brie made a little movement, half shrug. “It doesn’t start the day with any stimulation. Still, I must have had a reason for hiring her.”

“You said you wanted a single woman you wouldn’t get so attached to. When Alice left—Janet’s predecessor—you moped around for days.”

“I certainly chose wisely, then.” When Alex gave her another quick grin, she shrugged again. “I’d best go down before this phone call comes through.” She didn’t add that she wanted to take a quick look through the notes and refresh her memory on Christina Hamilton. But before she left, she held out her hand. “Friends?”

Alexander took her hand, but gave a mock bow over it. “Friends, but I’m still keeping an eye on the American.”

“As you please,” she said carelessly, and turned to walk down the corridor. Alex watched her until she turned the corner toward the staircase. Perhaps he’d have a little talk with Reeve MacGee, as well.

Once in her sitting room, Brie sat down on the love seat with a stack of notes. She’d taken them in detail from instructions given by Reeve and her secretary. They were alphabetized, neat and thorough. They had to be thorough. The words on paper were her only reference to the people she’d once known so well. If her amnesia was to remain a closely guarded secret, she couldn’t make a foolish mistake.

Christina Hamilton, she mused as she found the two pages that would comprise her knowledge of a woman who’d once been her friend. They’d spent four years together at the Sorbonne in Paris. When Brie closed her eyes, she thought she could almost see Paris—rain-washed streets, mad traffic and lovely old buildings, dusty little shops and gardens that could break your heart with color. But she couldn’t see Christina Hamilton.

Chris, Brie corrected, noticing the nickname. Chris had studied art and now owned a gallery in Houston. There was a younger sister, Eve, whom Chris had alternately praised and despaired of. There had been romances. Brie’s brows lifted as she ticked off the names of men Chris had been involved with. But not involved enough to marry. At twenty-five, she remained single, a successful, independent artist and businesswoman. Brie felt a dull twinge of envy that came and went so quickly it nearly went unnoticed.

Interesting, she reflected. Had there been rivalry between them? She could be given facts, data, information, but no one could list feelings to her.

When her private line rang, Brie kept her notes in one hand while she reached for the phone with the other. “Hello.”

“The least you can do when an old friend calls you from across the Atlantic is to be available.”