She didn’t remember the name of the restaurant, only that it was far away from the hustle of Cannes, at Cap d’Antibes. Pierre had taken her there in his personal helicopter; the pilot saluted her as they touched down. She had been so taken aback she could hardly speak.

“What will you have?” Pierre asked, offering her a menu.

Sophie gazed shyly into her crystal glass of champagne.

“Whatever you think best. I don’t eat at expensive places very often,” she added artlessly.

“You’re extremely beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you.” She blushed.

Massot’s dark, calculating eyes swept over her. It was attention, focussed like a laser beam directly upon her, and Sophie wasn’t used to that.

She liked it.

He probed her delicately, carefully. Sophie answered honestly; she was eighteen; she was hoping to go to college; she wasn’t close to her family; she had led a sheltered life.

“And are you religious?”

“Yes—we’re Catholics.” Sophie thought she ought to say something. “We don’t believe in, you know. Sex, before marriage.”

He smiled. “How unusual. And have you had many boyfriends?”

“None at all,” Sophie said honestly. “They aren’t interested because . . . well, I’m not that pretty.” She self-consciously tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear.

“Nonsense. You are exquisite,” he said, so matter-of-factly that she glowed with pleasure. “And although you have not had the tools, you have a natural style.” He sipped at his glass. “No boyfriends . . . you are a blank slate. Tell me, do you enjoy your life?”

“Not that much.” She had stared at him. “Does anyone?”

“Oh, yes.” He smiled. “I do.”

“Then you’re very lucky.”

“I make my own luck,” he said confidently.

Sophie looked at him admiringly. Of course, now she’d told him they couldn’t have sex, he’d never want to see her again. But what a story to tell the girls back home! It was worth annoying Joanna for.

“I would like to show you my house.”

“Do you live near here?”

“Not at all. Just outside of Paris. But we can go in the helicopter.” He regarded her anxious face. “You can stay the night there—by yourself, of course, and I will send you back to England the next day, with a first-class ticket.”

“I’ve got clothes in the motel. . . .”

“I will replace them.”

Sophie didn’t hesitate. Somehow, it seemed less dangerous to accept than to say no. He simply wasn’t the sort of man you said no to.

“Thank you very much,” she said.

Pierre Massot smiled. “I find you intriguing,” he replied.

“But where are we?” Sophie asked. She walked hastily away from the chopper, its still-whirling blades blowing her dress up around her thighs. “I don’t understand. Where is your house?”