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individuality. It would be almost impossible for anyone to copy Jade Lawford.’
    Your description of me comes as a surprise. You mentioned to Nicole that she was given to flights of fancy. It seems to me that you are also given to flights of fancy.’ Suddenly Jade felt trapped in the magnificent peacock-shaped wicker chair with its vivid blue silk cushion. ‘I think I prefer to think of myself as elegant rather than stylish.'
    ‘No, you are stylish,’ he replied, ‘and you carry this stylishness to the ultimate. In any case, the two are closely knit ... style and elegance.’
    Feeling inclined to argue with him, to show him that his very personal remarks did not affect her, she said, ‘I should say that elegance is—is very static. I am static.'
    ‘If you were static, you would not be here.’ He spoke the words slowly, with emphasis. ‘However, you are elegant and very beautiful and you do have style, and that alone must surely demand that you devote yourself to certain changes, whether you are aware of this, or not. Style goes hand in hand with a shifting nature, no? Therefore, as I see it, style can be so much more rewarding than elegance or just good taste.’
    She took a sip of her cocktail and looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘Oh? In what way?’
    ‘Style, I believe, is constantly searching for perfection, whereas elegance, on the other hand, can only bring about a tranquil pleasure.’
    ‘Well, is that such a bad thing?’ She wished he would not look at her in that cool appraising manner.
    ‘Yes, it is very bad. Style explores everything there is to explore. I don’t think you are complacent, and derive pleasure only from a feeling of tranquillity. You wouldn't be here with me now if you did. Think about this while I go and tell Capauelle what to prepare for us. We'll eat on the balcony. The studio will have been cleared of the remnants of the cocktail party, by the time the meal is ready.’
    Moodily Jade watched him leave the room. There was a kind of autocracy in all his movements. In his presence she felt seductive and, what was more, submissive, and knowing this, she realised that she was treading on dangerous ground. In a cold and exciting light, she saw herself as his victim—and hated herself for it.
    How many women, she wondered later when they were on the balcony which led off the studio, and as she surveyed the round table with its billowing voile cloth, posy of flowers and candles flickering in the breeze, had stayed on with Laurent Sevigny, alone, after one of his cocktail parties? The drink he had mixed for her downstairs, and the perfectly chilled wine she was drinking now with the well-prepared if light meal, did nothing to melt her apprehension.
    ‘Why do you look at me like that?’ he asked suddenly. His dark green eyes did not leave her face.
    ‘I was just thinking .....’ She searched around in her mind for something flippant to say. ‘I like to read in the evenings, and here I am, acting like a millionaire’s daughter on an island vacation. Do you realise I have to work tomorrow?’
    ‘But the following day you are free.’
    ‘How did you know that?’ She widened her eyes at him.
    ‘I took time off to find out. The day after tomorrow is your free day and that is the day we are going to Curepipe.’
    ‘You go on as if I have no say at all,’ she said crossly.
    ‘Don’t you respect masculine power?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, I do, but not when it’s directed at me.’
    ‘And how do you aim to stop it?’ He held his glass to the candle light and studied it.
    ‘Since you have no power over me I don’t have to try. You really are very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’
    ‘Certainly I recognise a certain reluctance,’ his voice was easy, ‘but I am of the opinion that you are very much aware of the fact that I am reasonably sure of myself.’
    Deliberately, Jade raised her glass to her lips. ‘Let me cue you again,’ she said, after she had taken a sip of her