Free Desperate Measures by Sara Craven Page A

don't need to paint. You're married to a
    millionaire. No question about where your next meal is coming from.'
    Philippa's eyes went frowningly to the canvas on the easel. 'Is
    that a problem?'
    'There's certainly something,' Zak spread his hands. 'What can I
    say? You're too locked up in yourself— too inhibited to paint as you
    should be doing. You're
    still feeling your way, instead of going for broke. Holding back all
    the time. So I ask again—why bother?'
    She looked troubled. 'Am I wasting my time—and yours too? Is
    this what you're trying to tell me?'
    'Hell, no. If I thought that, I'd have said so on day one.'
    Philippa was silent for a moment, then she said slowly, 'I
    suppose there could be several reasons why I'm doing this. I need to
    establish an identity for myself—to prove that I exist as a person in my own right, not just as a well-dressed adjunct to Alain. That's—not
    always easy to remember.'
    She paused. 'And there's Dad, of course. He always wanted me
    to paint. I feel I'm keeping faith with him somehow. That when I'm
    struggling to get the paint on the canvas here in Paris, I'm helping him fight for his health over in New York. Does that sound utterly
    ridiculous?'
    'It doesn't sound ridiculous at all,' Zak told her gently. He paused
    again. 'What's the latest news on Gavin, anyway?'
    She grimaced. 'Slow. I call the clinic every other day. They tell
    me it's still too early for any definite prognosis, but that everything's going to plan. I just keep hoping.'
    'That's as much as any of us can do.' Soberly Zak paited her
    shoulder. 'Tell me, Madame de Courcy, what does Gavin think of his
    son-in-law?'
    Philippa swallowed. 'Well, they don't really know each other very
    well as yet,' she evaded.
    Zak nodded. 'One of these days I'd be real interested to hear the
    history of this marriage of yours, and so would Sylvie. She says you
    haven't got the
    look in your eyes which means happiness for a woman. Yet your
    husband's a good-looking guy, and definitely no slouch when it comes
    to women, or so Sylvie says.'
    Philippa shrugged. 'I think most marriages have to go through a
    period of adjustment,' she countered.
    'And that's what yours is doing?'
    'I think so. Tell Sylvie to stop worrying about me.'
    'I will. At the same time, I'll tell the sun not to rise tomorrow.'
    Zak paused again. 'Speaking of my wife, she's making bouillabaisse
    tonight. Says there's enough for you too.'
    'Oh, Zak, I can't.' Regretfully Philippa shook her head. 'I have
    another dinner party to go to—a business affair. I'd much rather be
    staying for Sylvie's bouillabaisse.'
    'Some other time, then,' said Zak. 'See you tomorrow, honey.'
    Philippa was thoughtful as she walked slowly down the narrow
    staircase that led from the studio to street level. Even she could see that her work was still too tentative. She wondered if it was Alain's attitude that was colouring her approach. His disapproval of her
    decision to resume her studies was still patent, if unvoiced.
    Yet he had nothing to complain about, she told herself
    defensively. She was keeping her side of the bargain to the letter.
    Whenever he required her to be at his side, she was there, groomed
    and smiling. She was beginning to be less shy too, and could hold her own in conversation. And Alain played his part too— she could not
    deny that. He was attentive and affectionate, every word, every
    gesture expressing his pride in her, and his satisfaction with her as a wife.
    She was becoming used to hearing herself described as
    ' charmante ', and no one, to her knowledge, had drawn any more unfavourable comparisons with any other woman. So in that way, at
    least, he had reason to be pleased with her.
    She bit her lip. But that, of course, wasn't all. If their marriage
    could have been lived totally in public, it might have counted as a
    success. It was when they were alone together that it all went wrong.
    Oh, they didn't quarrel, or anything like that, she