She sat upright and blinked. For a second she had no idea where she was. The room was dark, though a chink of light peeping around the edge of the heavy curtains told her it was daylight. The air-conditioner hummed. She’d been dreaming of the Norman church in the village where her parents lived, walking down the aisle in an ivory dress with a lace bodice. George was waiting for her, his back to her, but when he’d turned it was Alex’s face she saw. She shivered. The bed was empty, just an indentation in the mattress beside her and the smell of his aftershave on the pillow. And on her. She put a hand over her eyes. ‘Oh, God,’ she said aloud. Right at that moment, Jane wanted to be back in her old room, in her parents’ cottage, with a mum who’d tell her everything would be fine, and a father who’d bring her tea in bed. She wished she’d never met George Penfold or Alexandre Tremain.
