Yes. I can.

It's that guy from Milan. The one who carried Nathan Temple's bags out of the shop. What's he doing here?

Cautiously I take a few steps forward so I can hear their conversation.

"So, Mr. Brandon's not ill?" he's saying.

Oh no.

I retreat behind a door and slam it shut. What do I do now?

I take a gulp of champagne to calm my nerves-and then another. A couple of guys from IT saunter past and give me an odd look, and I smile gaily back.

OK. I can't cower behind this door forever. I inch my head above the gla.s.s panel in the door until I can see into reception-and thank G.o.d. Chalk-stripe guy has gone. With a whoosh of relief I push the door open and stride nonchalantly into the reception area.

"Hi!" I say casually to Janet, who's typing busily on her computer. "Who was that just now? That man talking to you."

"Oh, him! He works for a man called . . . Nathan Temple?"

"Right. And . . . what did he want?"

"It was weird!" she says, pulling a face. "He kept asking if Luke was 'better.' "

"And what did you tell him?" I say, trying to depress the tone of urgency in my voice.

"Well, I said he's fine, of course! Never better!" She laughs gaily, then as she sees my face she suddenly stops typing. "Oh my G.o.d. He isn't fine, is he?"

"What?"

"That was a doctor, wasn't it?" She leans forward, looking stricken. "You can tell me, Becky. Did Luke catch some tropical disease while you were away?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Is it his heart, then? His kidneys?" Her eyes are watering. "You know . . . I lost my dear aunt this year. It really hasn't been easy for me. . . ."

"I'm sorry," I say, fl.u.s.tered. "But honestly, don't worry! Luke's fine! Everything's fine, it's all fine. . . ."

I glance up-and the words wither on my lips.

Please, no.

This can't be happening.

Nathan Temple himself is walking into the building.

He's bigger and more barrel-chested than I remember, and is wearing the same leather-trimmed coat he was wearing in Milan. He exudes power and money and a smell of cigars. And his sharp blue eyes are looking right at me.

"Well, h.e.l.lo," he says in his c.o.c.kney rasp. "Mrs. Brandon. We meet again."

"h.e.l.l-h.e.l.lo!" I say. "Gos.h.!.+ What a . . . lovely surprise!"

"Still enjoying the bag?" He smiles briefly.

"Er . . . yes! It's fab!"

I have to get him out of here. I have to get him out of here.

"I've come to talk about my hotel with your husband," he says pleasantly. "Will that be possible?"

"Right!" I swallow. "Of course. Great! The only thing is, Luke's a bit tied up, unfortunately. But would you like a drink? We could go to a bar . . . have a really nice chat. . . . You could tell me all about it. . . ."

Yes. Genius. I'll hustle him out . . . buy him a few drinks. . . . Luke will never know. . . .

"I don't mind waiting," he says, easing his huge frame down into a leather chair. "If you'll let him know I'm here." There's a glint in his eyes. "I gather he's recovered from his illness?"

"Yes! He's . . . he's a lot better! Thanks for the flowers!"

I glance at Janet, who's been following this exchange in confusion.

"Shall I ring up and tell Luke?" she says, reaching for the phone.

"No! I mean . . . don't worry! I'll pop up myself," I say, my voice shrill.

I start walking toward the lifts. OK. I can still deal with this. I get Luke out of the building the back way by telling him somebody's spilled water on the foyer floor and it's really slippery. Yes. And we get in the car . . . then I pretend I've forgotten something, and I go back to Nathan Temple, and I say- "Becky?"

I leap about ten feet and look up. Luke is coming down the stairs, two steps at a time. His face is glowing and he's putting on his coat.

"So, is the car here yet?" He peers at my frozen expression in surprise. "Sweetheart . . . are you all right?"

Or I could tell Luke everything.

When this is over, I promise myself, I will never tell him a lie again. I will be honest and straight and truthful. Plus I will learn to make waffles.

"Er . . . Luke?" I manage at last.

"Yes?"

"There's . . . there's something I have to tell you." I swallow hard. "I should have told you ages ago, but . . . I didn't . . . and I was dealing with it, but-"

Suddenly I realize that Luke isn't listening to a word. His eyes are darkening as they focus beyond me, on Nathan Temple.

"Is that-" He shakes his head in disbelief. "What's he doing here? I thought Gary was getting rid of him."

"Luke-"

"Hold on, Becky. This is important." He pulls out his phone and taps in a number. "Gary," he says in low tones. "What's Nathan Temple doing in our foyer? You were supposed to be dealing with it."

"Luke-" I try again.

"Sweetheart, wait a minute." He turns back to the phone. "Well, he's here. Larger than life."

"Luke, please, listen-" I tug his arm urgently.

"Becky, whatever it is, can't it wait till later?" Luke says with a touch of impatience. "I have a problem here that I have to sort out-"

"But that's what I'm trying to tell you!" I say in desperation. "It's about your problem! It's about Nathan Temple!"

"How can it be to do with Nathan Temple? Becky, you don't even know Nathan Temple!"

"Er . . . well . . . actually . . . yes, I do." I bite my lip. "Kind of."

Slowly Luke closes up his phone. "You 'kind of' know Nathan Temple?"

"Here's Mr. Brandon!" A voice rings out and we both look up to see that Janet at the reception desk has spotted us. "Luke, you've got a visitor!"

"Just coming, Janet," Luke calls back with a professional smile. He turns to me, still smiling. "Becky, what the f.u.c.k has been going on?"

"It's . . . It's a bit of a long story," I say, my face hot.

"Were you planning to share this story with me at any stage?" Luke's smile is fixed in place, but there's a definite edge to his voice.

"Yes! Of course! I was just . . . waiting for the right moment."

"Do you think this might possibly be a good moment? Bearing in mind he's a few f.u.c.king yards away?"

"Er . . . yes! Absolutely." I cough nervously. "Well. It all began . . . er . . . in a shop, as it happens-"

"Too late," interrupts Luke in an undertone. "He's coming."

I follow Luke's gaze to see that Nathan Temple has got out of his chair and is advancing toward us.

"So, here he is." His hoa.r.s.e voice greets us. "The elusive Luke Brandon. You've been keeping your husband from me, young lady, haven't you?" He wags a mock-accusing finger at me.

"Of course not!" I laugh shrilly. "Er . . . Luke, do you know Nathan Temple? We met in Milan, um . . . remember, darling?" I give a bright, fake smile as if I'm a dinner party hostess and this is all perfectly normal.

"Good evening, Mr. Temple," says Luke calmly. "How nice to meet you properly."

"It's a pleasure." Nathan Temple claps Luke on the back. "So, you're feeling better, I hope."

Luke's eyes flicker toward me, then immediately back to Nathan Temple.

"I'm feeling quite well," he replies. "May I ask what this . . . unexpected visit is regarding?"

"Well," says Nathan Temple, reaching in his coat pocket for a monogrammed silver cigar case. "Seems you won't take calls from my office."

"I've been very busy this week," Luke replies without flinching. "I do apologize if my secretaries have failed to pa.s.s on your messages. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?"

"My hotel project," says Nathan, offering Luke a cigar. "Our hotel project, I should say."

Luke starts to reply, but Nathan Temple lifts a hand to stop him. He carefully lights his cigar and puffs on it a few times. "Forgive me for turning up here out of the blue," he says at last. "But when I want something . . . I don't hang around. I go and get it. Much like your good wife here." His eyes twinkle. "I'm sure she told you the story."

"I think she was probably saving up the best part," Luke says with a tight smile.

"I like your wife," Nathan Temple says affably. He blows out a cloud of smoke and runs appraising eyes over me. "You want to come to work for me anytime, sweetheart, you just give me a ring."

"Gos.h.!.+" I say, a bit thrown. "Er . . . thanks!"

I glance apprehensively at Luke. A vein is throbbing in his forehead.

"Becky," he says in polite, measured tones. "Might we have a little word? Do excuse us for a moment," he adds.

"No problem." Nathan Temple nods at his cigar. "I'll finish this up. Then we can talk."

Luke marches me into a little meeting room and closes the door. Then he turns to me, his face all tight and businesslike.

Suddenly I'm scared.

"OK, Becky, start from the beginning. No-" He interrupts himself. "Cut to the middle. How do you know Nathan Temple?"

"I met him when we were in Milan. I was in this shop and he . . . he did me this favor."

"He did you a favor?" Luke looks taken aback. "What kind of favor? Were you taken ill? Did you get lost?"

My mind is scurrying around, trying to think of the best way to put it. I'm not sure there is one.

"There was this . . . handbag," I say at last.

"A handbag?" Luke looks taken aback. "He bought you a handbag?"

"No! I bought it. But he got me to the top of the list. He was really sweet! And I was really grateful. . . ." I'm twisting my hands into knots. "So then when we were back in England he phoned up and said he wanted you to be involved with his hotel. . . ."

"And what did you say?" says Luke, his voice dangerously quiet.

"The thing is"-I swallow-"I thought you'd love to do a hotel launch."

The door suddenly bursts open and Gary comes into the room.

"What's going on?" he says, wide-eyed. "What's Nathan Temple doing here?"

"Ask Becky." Luke gestures toward me. "It seems she's been having quite the correspondence with him."

"I didn't know who he was!" I say defensively. "I had no idea! He was just this lovely c.o.c.kney man who got me my bag . . ."

"Bag?" says Gary, his eyes swiveling from me to Luke. "What bag?"