Free A Perfect Stranger by Danielle Steel Page A

Henry certainly never would have. Or her father. They read books of nonfiction, about economics, or world wars. “Do you like them?”
    “Very much.” And then he decided to play with her for a little longer. “I’ve read them all.”
    “Really?” Her huge eyes widened further. To her it seemed an odd thing for an attorney to do. And thenshe smiled at him again and held the book toward him. “Have you read this one? It’s the new one.” Maybe she had found a friend after all.
    He nodded as he glanced at the book. “I think it’s her best. You’ll like it. It’s more serious than some of her others. More thoughtful. She deals very heavily with death, it isn’t just a pretty story. She’s saying a great deal.” He knew that his mother had written it the previous year, before she’d had some fairly important surgery, and she had been afraid it would be her last book. She had tried to say something important with it, and she had. Alex’s face was more serious as he looked at Raphaella. “This one means a lot to her.”
    Raphaella looked at him strangely. “How do you know? Have you met her?”
    There was a moment’s pause as the broad smile returned to his face, and he leaned over and whispered to Raphaella, “She’s my mom.” But this time Raphaella laughed at him; the sound was that of a silvery bell and it pleased his ears. “No, really, she is.”
    “You know, for a lawyer you’re really very silly.”
    “Silly?” He tried to look outraged. “I’m serious. Charlotte Brandon is my mother.”
    “And the President of the United States is my father.”
    “Congratulations.” He held out a hand to shake hers and she slid her cool hand gently into his and they shook firmly. “By the way, I’m Alex Hale.”
    “You see!” she said, laughing again. “Your name isn’t Brandon!”
    “That’s her maiden name. She is Charlotte Brandon Hale.”
    “Absolutely.” Raphaella couldn’t stop laughing nowas she stared at him and laughed more. “Do you always tell stories like this?”
    “Only to total strangers. By the way, Magic Lady, what’s your name?” He knew it was a little pushy, but he desperately wanted to know who she was. He wanted to lose their mutual anonymity. He wanted to know who she was, where she lived, where he could find her, so if she disappeared again into thin air, he’d be able to track her down.
    But she hesitated in answer to his question, only for an instant, and then she smiled. “Raphaella.”
    He shook his head dubiously with a small smile. “Now that sounds like a story to me. Raphaella. That’s not a French name.”
    “No, it’s Spanish. I’m only half French.”
    “And half Spanish?” Her coloring told him that it was true, the raven-black hair and black eyes and porcelain-white skin were what he would have expected from Spain. Little did he know that she got her coloring from her French father.
    “Yes, I’m half Spanish.”
    “Which half? Your mind or your heart?” It was a serious question and she frowned as she considered the answer.
    “That’s a difficult question. I’m not sure. I suppose that my heart is French, and my mind is Spanish. I think like a Spaniard, not because I want to so much but mostly out of habit. Somehow that whole way of life pervades everything that you are.”
    Alex looked over his shoulder suspiciously and then leaned toward her to whisper, “I don’t see a duenna.”
    She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Ah, no, but you will!”
    “Really?”
    “Very much so. The only place I’m ever alone is on a plane.”
    “How strange, and rather intriguing.” He wanted to ask her then how old she was. He guessed twenty-five or -six, and would have been surprised to learn she was thirty-two. “Do you mind being chaperoned all the time?”
    “Sometimes. But without that it would probably seem very strange. I’m used to it. Sometimes I think it would be frightening not to be so protected.”
    “Why?” She intrigued him more