Breaking the Rules (Harte Family Saga Book 7) by Barbara Taylor Bradford

Author:Barbara Taylor Bradford [Bradford, Barbara Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780312578060
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2009-10-12T04:00:00+00:00

Part Two

DODGING THE ENEMY

January–April

2007

Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.

William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Twenty-eight

She felt different.

Was it because she was head over heels in love? And marvelously loved in return? Was it because she was now living in married bliss with the man of her dreams?

Or was it because she was about to be launched as a supermodel by one of the greatest fashion designers in the world? Then again, perhaps it was because she was in Paris, a city she loved more than any other in the world. Yes, it could be that. Paris had forever cast its spell over her. The very thought of it made her drool.

Perhaps she felt different because all of these wonderful things were rolled into one big ball of absolute perfect happiness. Whatever it was, she felt fabulous. And free as a bird . . . liberated.

She clutched Larry’s hand tighter and stole a surreptitious look at him, smiled to herself. He was in disguise. So was she. They weren’t really, they had no reason to be, but what they were wearing felt like a disguise. Pants, heavy sweaters, and boots, covered by bulky quilted coats, wool caps pulled down over their ears, scarves around their necks, woolen gloves on their hands, and dark glasses. All of this clothing was to combat the icy January weather, and the chill wind. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful day, with a bright blue sky without a cloud and shimmering sunlight. A perfectly lovely day except for the freezing cold.

They walked at a steady pace down the Avenue Montaigne, heading for the Champs-Élysées. When they turned onto it, they were both surprised how busy it was, chockablock with people, and Larry said, “I think this is a city where people never worry about the weather, unlike London and New York. Paris is so bloody beautiful the weather doesn’t matter one bit.”

“You’re right, darling, I’ve always thought that. Isn’t it funny how we often think the same thing? Anyway, it’s the wind that’s a bit of a problem. It comes down from the steppes of Russia, blows right across Europe to Paris, where it seemingly stops.”

He looked at her swiftly, grinning. “I bet you just invented that, you clever little minx! A wind down from the steppes of Russia! What an imagination you have, M, and how clever you are.”

“Neither. I just have a good memory, and that was what I was once told by a very famous concierge in a very famous Paris hotel. And as you well know, being a seasoned traveler in La Belle France, concierges know everything.”

“Touché, my little chickadee.”

“Well, it’s true! I’ll call him at the hotel later, and if he’s on duty you can speak to him, and he’ll confirm what I just said. His name’s Vincent, and he’s a very good friend of mine.”

Larry tightened his grip on her hand, laughing, and they walked on, in complete harmony. She pinched herself every day to make sure she wasn’t dreaming all this, and he thanked God that he had found her when he had.

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