begged me to stay.'
Alexandra sat down on the edge of the bed. 'I don't know what to say.'
'You don't have to say anything. This has nothing to do with you.'
'Of course it has. If you're that unhappy here—' She stopped. 'You're probably right. It is a bloody waste of time. Who needs to conjugate Latin verbs?'
'Right. Or who gives a fig about Hannibal or his bloody brother, Hasdrubal?'
Alexandra walked over to the closet, took out her suitcase and put it on the bed.
Eve smiled. 'I wasn't going to ask you to leave here, Alex, but I'm really glad we're going home together.'
Alexandra pressed her sister's hand. 'So am I.'
Eve said casually, 'Tell you what. While I finish packing, call Gran and tell her we'll be on the plane home tomorrow. Tell her we can't stand this place. Will you do that?'
'Yes.' Alexandra hesitated. 'I don't think she's going to like it.'
'Don't worry about the old lady,' Eve said confidently. 'I can handle her.'
And Alexandra had no reason to doubt it. Eve was able to make Gran do pretty much what she wanted. But then, Alexandra thought, how could anyone refuse Eve anything?
She went to make the phone call.
Kate Blackwell had friends and enemies and business associates in high places, and for the last few months disturbing rumors had been coming to her ears. In the beginning she had ignored them as petty jealousies. But they persisted. Eve was seeing too much of the boys at a military school in Switzerland. Eve had an abortion. Eve was being treated for a social disease.
Thus, it was with a degree of relief that Kate learned that her granddaughters were coming home. She intended to get to the bottom of the vile rumors.
The day the girls arrived, Kate was at home waiting for them. She took Eve into the sitting room off her bedroom. 'I've been hearing some distressing stories,' she said. 'I want to know why you were thrown out of school.' Her eyes bored into those of her granddaughter.
'We weren't thrown out,' Eve replied. 'Alex and I decided to leave.'
'Because of some incidents with boys?'
Eve said, 'Please, Grandmother. I'd rather not talk about it.'
'I'm afraid you're going to have to. What have you been doing?'
'I haven't been doing anything. It is Alex who—' She broke off.
'Alex who what?' Kate was relentless.
'Please don't blame her,' Eve said quickly. 'I'm sure she couldn't help it. She likes to play this childish game of pretending to be me. I had no idea what she was up to until the girls started gossiping about it. It seems she was seeing a lot of—of boys—' Eve broke off in embarrassment.
'Pretending to be you?' Kate was stunned. 'Why didn't you put a stop to it?'
'I tried,' Eve said miserably. 'She threatened to kill herself. Oh, Gran, I think Alexandra is a bit'—she forced herself to say the word—'unstable. If you even discuss any of this with her, I'm afraid of what she might do.' There was naked agony in the child's tear-filled eyes.
Kate's heart felt heavy at Eve's deep unhappiness. 'Eve, don't. Don't cry, darling. I won't say anything to Alexandra. This will be just between the two of us.'
'I—I didn't want you to know. Oh, Gran,' she sobbed, 'I knew how much it would hurt you.'
Later, over tea, Kate studied Alexandra. She's beautiful outside and rotten inside, Kate thought. It was bad enough that Alexandra was involved in a series of sordid affairs, but to try to put the blame on her sister! Kate was appalled.
During the next two years, while Eve and Alexandra finished school at Miss Porter's, Eve was very discreet. She had been frightened by the close call. Nothing must jeopardize the relationship with her grandmother. The old lady could not last much longer—she was seventy-nine!—and Eve intended to make sure that she was Gran's heiress.
For the girls' twenty-first birthday, Kate took her granddaughters to Paris and bought them new wardrobes at Coco Chanel.
At a small dinner party at Le Petit Bedouin, Eve and
Alexandra met Count Alfred Marnier and his wife, the Countess Vivien. The count was a distinguished-looking man in his fifties, with iron-gray hair and the disciplined body of an athlete. His wife was a pleasant-looking woman with a reputation as an international hostess.
Eve would have paid no particular attention to either of them, except for a remark she overheard someone make to the countess. 'I envy you and Alfred. You're the happiest married couple I know. How many years have you been married? Twenty-five?'
'It will be twenty-six next month,' Alfred replied for her. 'And I may be the only Frenchman in history who has never been unfaithful to his wife.'
Everyone laughed except Eve. During the rest of the dinner, she studied Count Maurier and his wife. Eve could not imagine what the count saw in that flabby, middle-aged woman with her crepey neck. Count Maurier had probably never known what real lovemaking was. That boast of his was stupid. Count Alfred Maurier was a challenge.
The following day, Eve telephoned Maurier at his office. 'This is Eve Blackwell. You probably don't remember me, but—'
'How could I forget you, child? You are one of the beautiful granddaughters of my friend Kate.'
'I'm flattered that you remember, Count. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I was told you're an expert on wines. I'm planning a surprise dinner party for Grandmother.' She gave a rueful little laugh. 'I know what I want to serve, but I don't know a thing about wines. I wondered whether you'd be kind enough to advise me.'
'I would be delighted,' he said, flattered. 'It depends on what you are serving. If you are starting with a fish, a nice, light Cha-blis would be—'
'Oh, I'm afraid I could never remember all this. Would it be possible for me to see you so that we could discuss it? If you're free for lunch today... ?'
'For an old friend, I can arrange that.'
'Oh, good.' Eve replaced the receiver slowly. It would be a lunch the count would remember the rest of his life.
They met at Lasserre. The discussion on wines was brief. Eve listened to Maurier's boring discourse impatiently, and then interrupted. 'I'm in love with you, Alfred.'
The count stopped dead in the middle of a sentence. 'I beg your pardon?'
'I said I'm in love with you.'
He took a sip of wine. 'A vintage year.' He patted Eve's hand and smiled. 'All good friends should love one another.'
'I'm not talking about that kind of love, Alfred.'
And the count looked into Eve's eyes and knew exactly what kind of love she was talking about. It made him decidedly nervous. This girl was twenty-one years old, and he was past middle age, a happily married man. He simply could not understand what got into young girls these days. He felt uneasy sitting across from her, listening to what she was saying, and he felt even uneasier because she was probably the most beautiful, desirable young woman he had ever seen. She was wearing a beige pleated skirt and a soft green sweater that revealed the outline of a full, rich bosom. She was not wearing a brassiere, and he could see the thrust of her nipples. He looked at her innocent young face, and he was at a loss for words. 'You—you don't even know me.'
'I've dreamed about you from the time I was a little girl. I imagined a man in shining armor who was tall and handsome and—'
'I'm afraid my armor's a little rusty. I—'
'Please don't make fun of me,' Eve begged. 'When I saw you at dinner last night, I couldn't take my eyes off you. I haven't been able to think of anything else. I haven't slept. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind for a moment.' Which was almost true.
'I—I don't know what to say to you, Eve. I am a happily married man. I—'
'Oh, I can't tell you how I envy your wife! She's the luckiest
