Free Echoes in the Darkness by Jane Godman Page A

new mill. The identity of the man to whom I had given my body—and, yes, my heart—with such desperate abandon, was no longer a mystery. For the remainder of the meal my mind insistently took me back, with a combination of embarrassment and pleasure, to that delirious afternoon, soon after my arrival in Paris.
    “How did you know Paris was ‘buzzing’ about my engagement to Eddie?” I asked him later, when we were sipping tea in the parlour. Tynan, still weakened by his illness, had already retired to bed. Lucy and Eleanor were seated at a table in a corner of the room, poring over a magazine. Cad and I sat on opposite sides of the hearth watching the leaping ballet of the firelight. The very normality of the scene added to the surreal sensations I was experiencing.
    “I was there.”
    I started in surprise. “You were in Paris at the same time as your brother, but you didn’t come to see him?” This was the strangest family I had ever known.
    “I got the distinct feeling he didn’t wish to be seen,” he replied. “Not by me, anyway. In fact, Eddie has become quite skilled over the years at evading me.” He laughed at my puzzled expression. “I have made several trips to Paris during the past few years, the purpose of which has been to apprise Eddie of certain aspects of the business that he needs to be aware of. He has managed to successfully avoid me every time.” He smiled into my eyes. “Of course, some of my visits to Paris have been more memorable than others.”
    * * *
    Twelve months earlier
    I lay back on the velvet chaise longue while two men stood to one side of me, discussing my nipples. The conversation had been going on for some time and my left calf was cramping painfully. When I attempted to stretch my foot out, however, Maurice squealed in outrage. “
Cherie! S’il vous plaît.
Please, the pose you strike now is perfection, do not, I beg you, ruin it!”
    I subsided, surreptitiously wiggling my toes when he wasn’t looking. He was, after all, paying me double my usual hourly rate for this private sitting, so it wouldn’t do to upset him.
    “The colour and texture are quite divine, reminiscent of perfectly placed rose petals on cream silk,” Claude said pompously, regarding my errant breasts thoughtfully. “But the nipples should stand proud, and they will not stay that way.” He stuck his lower lip out sulkily and regarded me with an accusing stare.
    “It’s too warm in here,” I pointed out for the third or fourth time. My head was thrown back over the curve of the chaise so that the heavy mass of my hair tumbled almost to the floor. Maurice had piled cushions behind me so that my back was arched, emphasising the contrast between the slenderness of my waist and the full curves of my breasts. I held two feathered fans, one shielding my face so that only my eyes showed above it, and the other teasingly positioned so that it didn’t quite cover my pubic bone.
    The third man had not spoken since he entered the room. He stood in the shadows beyond the light of the open window, and all I had was the impression of height and a faint aroma of expensive cologne. Maurice and Claude had greeted him with fawning sycophancy, so I assumed he was a wealthy patron.
    I heard the stranger move across the room. Whatever he was doing now, he was out of my vision, but, after some clattering around in Claude’s tiny kitchen area, he approached me. My boredom vanished instantly. I had heard men described as “beautiful” and dismissed the phrase as overly poetic. Suddenly, I knew exactly what it meant. This man’s masculinity was so perfect—so pure—that my breath caught in my throat just to look at him. His smile was as devastating as the first ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. I knew, beyond rational thought or reason, that this was a defining moment, a point from which there was to be no return. This man was going to change my life. Was it as simple as love at first sight? The