“Stealth bombers?” Lindsay gave a sniff.

He gave her a cunning look. “Trust me, I have a plan. Never been known to fail. Especially with a man of his character.”

“You don’t know anything about his character. Neither do I, I realize. You don’t know him. He’s an enigma, Markov.”

“Crap. Women always think that about the men they love. And the amount you’ve told me, sweetheart, I know this guy like he’s my brother. I know him upside down, and inside out, like I invented him, Lindy. And this man has a weakness, Liebling, an Achilles’ heel.”

“He has?”

Lindsay, knowing she never learned, that she was cursed to be eternally optimistic, drank some more wine fast. Markov looked sublimely confident. She felt new hope.

“Gallantry,” Markov said, thoughtful now. “He has these protective instincts toward women. Sweet, that—”

“He has a broken heart,” Lindsay said bitterly. “At least, that’s what I suspect.”

Markov brushed this minor problem aside.

“Darling,” he said, “in this world, even the best of hearts mend eventually. It’s just a matter of time. I’m not saying he’s going to be a pushover—I never underestimate the opposition. It’ll take a while, I can see that. But first he has to notice you, spend some time with you….” He frowned, then added in a casual voice, “When’s that christening you mentioned? At Maxopolis? It’s in two weeks’ time, in May, right? And he’s going to be there, and you’re going to be there.” A triumphant smile appeared on his face.

“What is it, Markov?”

“Oh, my God, why didn’t I think of this before? I mean, it’s just so perfect, this cannot fail, this—”

“What is it, damn it?”

Markov grinned broadly.

“Remember fairy tales?” he said. “Then think, damsel in distress.”

Chapter 23

THE HEART COULD MEND, Gini thought. She raised herself on one elbow and looked down at Pascal’s face. He was sleeping deeply still, but then, it was early, only just six o’clock. His dark hair was rumpled, falling across his forehead. Sleep eased the intensity of his features, and one by one she enumerated these accidents of nature she so loved: this the brows, this the cheekbones, this the mouth. A ray of sunlight moved against his face; he stirred, then returned to sleep. Gini leaned over him, watching him with a jealous delight. If she kissed him, she wondered, just very lightly, would he wake?

She decided against it. She wanted this morning to be perfect, and she had preparations to make. Very quietly, she eased herself from the bed and stood by the balustrade looking down at their wonderful tall studio room, and its great north window, and its curtains edged with light.

They had been back in London two days. No one knew yet that they had returned. They had been right to keep their arrival a secret, she thought. Most of their friends would be away this weekend at the christening of Max and Charlotte’s daughter. She and Pascal had been away for so long, over three months, that people were unlikely to call anyway. Even so, this secrecy gave them a few days’ more protection from intrusion. They were alone, and it felt intoxicating, as if they possessed this city. She gave a quick impulsive gesture of exultation, hugging her happiness to herself. A May day, she thought; a beautiful May day in which the sun would shine without fail, and the new leaves would move in the lightest of breezes beneath the arch of their window. A May day; a heart mended; yes, happily ever after—a new life.