He had begun to move closer, was reaching for her; at the mention of his ex-wife’s name, he stopped dead.

“What? You saw Helen? When? You never told me that.”

“Before Christmas. I could see she thought I was stupid. She knew you better than I did. She knew you wouldn’t come back for Christmas, or the New Year. She told me how it was when she was married to you. How she could never reach you. How she had to cope with Marianne all on her own—and I thought, yes, she’s right, Pascal is dedicated, that’s what he’s like, and it’s why I love him. Except—”

She stopped. Pascal’s eyes had darkened with anger. He caught hold of her arm.

“You finish this,” he said. “Go on. Except what?”

“Except it was destroying me, Pascal. Never knowing where you were, if you were safe. Not being able to tell you what I felt. It was tearing me apart now—and when she said that, when she said how it was, I thought—that’s how it would be if I had Pascal’s child. I’d be a second Helen. The baby would be a second Marianne. And you’d still be an absentee father, just the way she said.”

“Dear God, never say that to me.” He caught both arms in a painful grip and shook her hard. “Look at you…” He wrenched her face toward him. “I can see the marks of that man’s hands on your throat. I can smell him on you, and you talk to me about my wife and my child? You know what that marriage was like—you know what kind of hell it was. If it hadn’t been for my daughter…”

“Oh, I know you love Marianne…” Gini fought to break his grip. “Why are you here in Paris now, Pascal? Don’t lie to me. Don’t tell me that you suddenly decided you had to see me. I know what finally brought you back—and it wasn’t me at all. You’re here because it’s Marianne’s birthday next week.”

He hit her then, so hard she fell to the floor. The blow knocked her against the base of the bed, and she crouched there, shielding her face. He had never hit her before, and the blow was so unexpected and so painful that her vision went black. Pascal caught hold of her and pulled her back to her feet.

“How can you say that? How?” He was shaking with rage. “Don’t you believe anything I’ve ever told you? That’s all it takes, is it, to undo all your trust in me—one conversation with my ex-wife? That’s your justification, is it, for getting into bed with a man you’ve known three days, and fucking him all night? Christ…”

He thrust her away from him. “Don’t answer that. You don’t need to. Don’t speak to me about Marianne. I love my daughter. And just now I don’t want to hear her name on your lips.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”