Inside was the studio. The high-backed chair, a footstool, a tall wooden stool and a further couple of chairs were lined up. Over against the far wall was the velvet curtain on a portable rail, which had served as the backdrop for the school photographs, along with a screen painted with a drab pastoral scene. In front of the curtain was a small pink chaise longue. There was also a further door, bearing the sign Darkroom—Strictly No Entry. Genevieve thought she could hear Alexander moving about behind this door.

It was then that she got the jitters and had to sit down on the chaise longue to try to regain her composure.

What do I do now?

He was whistling.

Will he be glad to see me?

There was a smudge on the toe of one of her new red Bally T-strap shoes. She licked a finger and rubbed at it.

I ought to go over and knock on that door.

But it was as though someone had glued her to the chaise longue. Maybe, after all, it would be better to allow him to discover her reclining on the couch. Yes, that would be rather stylish.

I’ll wait here for five minutes, she thought. And if he doesn’t come out by then, I’ll get up and leave. Slowly, she took off her shoes and lay back on the couch.

{ FLASH }

Sudden lightning behind her eyelids, which flickered open with a start.

{ FLASH }

“My…” Dazzled and bewildered, she jerked up to a sitting position. He was behind the camera, the cloth covering his head. How could she possibly have fallen asleep? And how long had he been watching her, focusing on her?

“Alexander…How could you!”

He lifted the cloth and straightened up.

“Waiting for my son, were we?” The face had a mocking expression. “He had to stay home and help his mother today.”

“Mr. Giles…I…” A deep flush spread across her face and down her neck.

“Oh, very pretty. Hold that.” And he disappeared under the cloth again.

{ FLASH }

She reached for her shoes. “I was just…waiting. I didn’t want to…disturb him while he was working.”

“Him? Work? That’s a good one.”

All her fingers were thumbs as she tried to fasten her buckles. And all the while she fumbled he was watching her.

“What’s your name, schoolgirl?”

“Genevieve Samuel.” She got to her feet.

“Oh, that’s right. The Honourable, wasn’t it? I wonder what your headmistress would say about this, Miss Samuel the Honourable?”

“Oh, please don’t tell, Mr. Giles. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Trespassing on my property in order to meet secretly with my son—who, by the way, will be in big trouble when I get home—”

“It’s not his fault.”

“Isn’t it?”