Thinking. Remembering.
And—worse still—imagining.
About one single face. One single man.
Angrily, she tried to force the image from her mind.
What was the point in thinking about him? None—none at all. So why was she doing it?
Because her mind would not go anywhere else.
Would not even think about the one thing that, above all else in her life, she always thought about. The one person she always had to think about.
Guilt drenched through her. Oh, God—how low could she stoop? Even thinking it with a note of resentment, however faint. Automatically, as if to assuage her own guilt, she reached out a hand to let it rest lightly on the sleeping form beside her. A wave of love and pity welled in her.
If only she could wave a magic wand. If only she could make it somehow instantly better. If only she could …
But she couldn’t. Bleakness chilled in her throat. There was no magic wand. Nothing like that. Only a tiny sliver of hope. And even to seize that meant that all her waking hours had to be dedicated to one thing and one thing only—earning money. Saving money. Little by little. Slowly, oh, so slowly.
Unless Armand …
The chill intensified.
He hadn’t phoned. She had hoped against hope that tonight he would, but there had been nothing. That made it three nights in a row, not hearing from him.
He’s gone.
The grim words tolled in her brain. She might try to dispel them, but they would not disappear.
Gone.
A single word, extinguishing hope—hope she should not have allowed herself.
Against her will the image formed in her mind of sable hair and dark eyes and a sculpted mouth.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘LISSA, the manager wants you. In his office. Sharpish!’
Lissa swivelled her head from her cramped place at the vanity unit in the crowded dressing room that she and the other hostesses changed in. She had only just arrived, and was about to start on her make-up.
She frowned at the command, issued by one of the staff from the door.
‘What for?’
A shrug was her only answer, and with a sigh Lissa got to her feet again and made her way out of the dressing room. A couple of the other girls looked at her curiously.
The manager’s office overlooked the
casino floor, which was currently thinly populated.
‘You wanted to see me?’ said Lissa. She was wary and tense. It was seldom good news when the manager wanted to see a hostess. It was usually to reprimand her for not having brought enough custom to the bar. Maybe, thought Lissa tightly, the manager thought she hadn’t got the rich Frenchman to buy enough last night.
Damn, she didn’t want to be reminded of him. She’d done her best all day, all through the long slog into the City, and the long, tedious hours working in the office her temping agency had currently assigned her to. All through the crowded rush-hour journey home, sardined in the Tube train with all the other commuters until they’d been disgorged at the South London underground station closest to her flat. And certainly all through the brief time she’d had at home before setting out for her evening’s work here at the casino.
The manager, short and rotund and far from pleasant, eyed her up. Lissa stood impassively.
‘Private hire,’ he told her. ‘You’re to go straight there. There’s a car waiting outside.’