'Did you want me to call him Mr Tennyson?' She pretended innocence.
'I want you to keep out of Jake's way in future,' Paul said grimly. 'He's a notorious wolf, and you, my dear, are just the type of little lamb to appeal to him.'
'I will not be dictated to,' she said in determined tones. 'I think we must get a few things straight here and now. When we made our bargain nothing was said about your having the right to tell me which friends to choose or how to behave. We are legally man and wife, but it stops there. I intend to remain a free agent, doing just as I please.'
'Do you indeed?' he bit out sharply.
'Yes? her chin was lifted in defiance, her eyes flashed across the room at him. 'You have no rights where I' m concerned, Paul, none at all.'
'Not even the right to expect you to make Argon happy by keeping up appearances?' he asked sarcastically.
She hesitated, frowning.
He went on coldly, 'If you were seen with Jake in public how long do you think it would take the gossip hounds to put two and two together? Our marriage must already have aroused suspicions of an arranged match. They'll all be watching closely to see whether their suspicions are correct. Such speculation would upset Argon a great deal.'
'But he knows perfectly well that our marriage is one of pure convenience,' she protested.
'Of course he does, but he still expects us to keep up a public facade convincing enough to persuade everyone else that our marriage is a normal one in every respect. You can't afford to be seen with other men in public, you can't allow anyone to suspect that you're not the radiant young bride you ought to be so soon after your marriage.'
She flushed at the sardonic note in his voice. 'Are you trying to make me a sort of prisoner, Paul?
'No, of course not, but you are my wife, whether you like it or not.' He turned away, driving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders irritably. 'Whether I like it or not,' he added in a fierce mutter.
Leonie felt a quick sting of pain. She foresaw how bitter an experience it would be to pretend to be a happily married woman while constantly aware of Paul's resentment.
'Very well,' she said. 'What do you expect me to do?'
'Now that we're back in Paris my friends will expect us to entertain. They'll want to meet you. I'll give you a list of names. We'll hold a series of dinner parties so that you can get to know them all.' He turned to study her coolly. 'You will need new clothes, too. You always look very pretty, but you must realise that as my wife you will be expected to dress superbly. I'll take you to Therese, I think.'
'Therese?' she asked blankly. One of his girlfriends? she wondered.
He smiled suddenly. 'You'll like her, I think. She's an original and she creates clothes that bear an unmistakable hallmark. She'll find the right style for your looks.'
They drove to the salon that afternoon. It was situated in a wide, traffic-crowded avenue. A shining expanse of plate glass gilded with the name Therese slid open as they approached with the noiseless efficiency of expensive electronics, and they found themselves in a white-carpeted lounge some thirty feet long. A few deep-cushioned chairs stood about the room. Behind a desk sat a long-legged dark girl with sleek hair and an enamelled beauty which was matched by the superb cut of the black dress she wore. She looked at them calmly, a faint smile on her red mouth.
'M'sieur Paul,' she lisped softly, rising. 'Madame is expecting you. Will you go through?' Her dark eyes surveyed Leonie with hard curiosity.
Paul put a hand beneath Leonie's elbow and guided her across the white carpet to a discreet little door at the side with the word Directrice printed on it.
He tapped, then pushed the door open. From a large leather desk piled high with papers arose a tiny, white-haired woman who gave a deep-throated murmur of welcome.
'Paul, mon cher ... there you are!' She darted across the room and kissed him on both cheeks, reaching up on her toes to do so, her hands holding his shoulders. 'You look very brown. How was Comus? Ah, I envy you that little retreat! The world is too much with us here in Paris.' On the words she turned to study Leonie with direct and unblinking curiosity. She had a withered complexion, the wrinkled olive skin of a tortoise, her mouth wide and passionate, her nose as sharp as a knife, fleshless and dominant. It was a striking face, but the black eyes gave it such life that at first one not
iced nothing else.
'So..The quick, deep voice held a note of satisfaction. 'So this is your wife. Bon.' A smile lit her face and she held out her hands to Leonie. 'I am very happy to meet you, ma petite.'
Leonie murmured a polite response, observing as she did so that Therese was wearing a dress cut on austere but impeccable lines. Her eyes met those of the older woman as each surveyed the other care- fully.
'Madame, I want you to design Leonie a new wardrobe,' Paul told her. 'A look created especially for her.'
A small, thin hand caught Leonie's chin between claw-like fingers and turned her face this way and that while the dark eyes continued to inspect her.
'What a bone structure! It will be a pleasure, Paul, to create clothes for her. She is Greek, of course. One sees the eyes, the skin ... what else could she be? Such lustrous hair ... a healthy texture, unmistakable shine.' An approving smile was conferred upon Leonie. 'Bien. First, we take your measurements. Then you go away. I do some sketches, then you return and see what I have done. If you approve, I will have some of the clothes made up. Then we have the fittings.' The black eyes twinkled. 'It takes time, you see?'
'But it is well worth waiting for,' Paul drawled.
The old woman laughed. 'I am glad you think so,