Free A Perfect Stranger by Danielle Steel

story was, what her life was like, what she did all day long, and why she had been crying that night. Suddenly it bothered him more than ever. Do you travel a great deal?
    Now and then. Just for a few days. She looked down at her hands, her eyes fixing on the large gold and diamond knot on her left hand.
    Are you going back to France now? He had assumed Paris, and was, of course, right. But she shook her head.
    New York. I only go back to Paris once a year, in the summer.
    He nodded slowly and smiled. It's a beautiful city. I spent six months there once and I loved it.
    Did you? Raphaella looked pleased. Do you speak French, then?
    Not really. The broad boyish grin returned. Certainly not as well as you speak English. She laughed softly then and fingered the book she had bought at the airport. Alex noticed it with a twinkle in his eye. Do you read a lot of her?
    Who?
    Charlotte Brandon.
    Raphaella nodded. I love her. I've read every book she ever wrote. And then she glanced at him apologetically. I know, it's not very serious reading, but it's a wonderful escape. I open her books and I am instantly absorbed into the world she describes. I think that kind of reading seems silly to a man, but it she couldn't tell him that the books had saved her sanity over the last seven years, he would think she was crazy it's just very enjoyable.
    He smiled more deeply. I know, I've read her too.
    Have you? Raphaella looked at him in nothing less than amazement. Charlotte Brandon's books did not seem like the sort of thing a man would read. John 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 then she 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 now as 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