aThen please arrange the financial details with Jack. I expect to have five thousand francs by the time I move into the Plaza,a Grenville said. aI now have an appointment.a He rose to his feet as a waiter s.n.a.t.c.hed away his chair. aThank you for the lunch, Mr. Patterson, and good day to you.a The matre dah'tel came hurrying up.

aI trust you were pleased, Monsieur Grenville.a aA perfect meal, Jacques.a Grenville shook hands, then accompanied by the matre dah'tel, he walked out of the grillroom.

aJesus!a Patterson exclaimed. aThat guy really has cla.s.s.a aIf anyone can produce two million dollars for you, Mr. Patterson, he will,a Archer said.

aYeah.a Patterson called for the check. aHeas got real style. Yeah. I donat think this guy can miss.a As Patterson stared with unbelieving eyes at the amount the lunch had cost, Archer thought: I hope to G.o.d he doesnat.

chapter two.

Helga Rolfe, one of the richest women in the world, lay in a hot, scented bath in her Plaza Athenee Hotel suite. Her long legs stirred the water and her hands cupped her firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Even though she had always travelled V.I.P., and was cosseted by the airhostesses, Helga detested long-distance flights, more particularly when she had to fly in the company of Stanley Winborn whom she disliked and Frederick Loman whom she considered an old bore, but both these men were essential to the smooth running of the Rolfe Electronic Corporation.

There had been a time, when she had become President of the corporation, when she had played with the idea of getting rid of both men, but after considerable thought, she had been forced to accept the fact that these two men were too efficient to lose.

It had been Loman's idea to set up a branch of the Electronic Corporation in France. He had had talks with the French Prime Minister who had been encouraging. The advantages were many, and Helga had agreed. Loman had said he and Winborn would fly over and have further talks.

Springtime in Paris! Helga thought.

To the surprise of the two men, she said she would go with them.

But now, lying in the bath, relaxing after the seven dreary hours of flight, Helga wondered if this had been such a good idea.

Paris in the spring had sounded wonderful, but when you were on your own; when you only had two hardheaded, dreary businessmen to escort you around, and when you knew the French press was watching, maybe it wasnat such a good idea.

She moved her long, beautiful legs, stirring the water. She had been a widow now for five months.

The magic key of Herman Rolfeas millions was hers. She was now worth a hundred million dollars in her own right. She owned a deluxe house in Paradise City, a deluxe penthouse in New York and a deluxe villa in Switzerland. But freedom? Whatever she did was reported in the press. G.o.d! How she hated newspapers!

s.e.x to her was as compulsive as drink to an alcoholic. When Rolfe had died, she had imagined she would be free to have any man who appealed to her, but she quickly discovered that if she wished to avoid newspaper headlines, she still had to be as furtive in her love affairs as she had been when Rolfe had been alive.

During the five months of her so-called freedom, she had had three lovers: a waiter in a New York hotel, an old rou who no one would have suspected was still potent, and a young, smelly hippy to whom she had given a lift, and who had taken her violently in the back of her car.

This canat go on, she told herself. I have all the money in the world. I have everything, but s.e.x. I must find a husband: some wonderful man who will love me, who will be on hand when I get this desperate s.e.x urge so I donat have to be furtive ever again. This is the solution: the only solution.

She got out of the bath and stood before the long mirror and looked at herself. She was now forty-four years of age. Age had been kind to her: expert handling by beauticians and a strict diet. She saw a woman with cone-shaped b.r.e.a.s.t.s, a slim body, rounded hips; blonde, with big blue eyes, high cheekbones, full lips and a perfect complexion. She looked ten years younger than she was.

But what was the good of that? she thought bitterly as she began to dry herself. To look like this, to have a body like this without a man to appreciate what she had to offer.

Returning to her suite, she found the maid had unpacked her clothes and everything was in order. She had agreed (G.o.d! What a bore!) to dine with Loman and Winborn in the grillroom. She put on a black silk jersey dress, s.n.a.t.c.hed up a black ostrich feather stole and took the elevator to the ground floor where she found Loman and Winborn waiting.

The two men converged on her. It was now 21.30 and Winborn suggested they had their c.o.c.ktails at the table. Helga was aware that people were staring as she made her entrance. There was a fat, acne-scarred man, obviously a brash American, who was eating alone, and who stared more than the others.

Patterson watched her as she sat at a table across from him and he nodded to himself. Archer was right! This doll really needed special handling. While he ate yet another steak, he kept watching Helga as she talked to her two companions, and he told himself that Grenville was the right man to cope with this woman.

His meal finished, Patterson toyed with a double whisky on the rocks until Helga and her two escorts left the grillroom. The time now was 22.15, then he wandered into the lobby in time to see Winborn and Loman escorting Helga to the elevator.

As Helga was whisked up to her suite, she thought: Once again! Two sleeping pills! Will I ever be free to do what I want?

Entering her suite, she went to the window and drew aside the heavy drapes. She stared down at the fast-moving traffic. There below her was the excitement of Paris: movement, lights, noise, people. But what can a woman do on her own?

She jerked the drapes together, then turned and looked around the large, lonely suite.

A husband!

That was her solution!

A husband!

She stripped off her clothes and walked naked into the bathroom. She opened the cabinet door and found her sleeping pills. She swallowed two, then paused to look at herself in the mirror.

So this was to be her first night in Paris in the spring!

Going to her bedroom, she put on a shortie nightdress, then flopped into bed. How many times had she done this? Sleeping pills instead of a lover?

A husband, she thought, as the pills began to work. Yes, that was the solution: a kind, marvellous lover!

She drifted away into a drugged sleep.

There was a press photographer lurking outside the hotel as Helga walked into the mid-morning sunshine. Although she hated this ratty-looking little man, she gave him a flashing smile and a wave of her hand as he took her photograph. She had long learned always to be friendly with the press.

She walked up avenue Marceau, crossed to rue Quentin and taking her time, savouring the atmosphere of Paris, arrived at Fouquetas bar and restaurant on avenue Champs-Elysees.

Yes, she thought, this is really Paris in the spring. The chestnut trees were in blossom, crowds of tourists moved up and down the broad sidewalk, the sun shone and the tables of the many cafes were crowded.

She sat down at an unoccupied table and a waiter arrived. She decided to have a late lunch, so she asked for a vodka martini. The waiter, impressed by her champagne-coloured fine wool coat with fur cuffs, came back quickly with the drink.

She sat relaxing, watching the various freaks, the dull-looking tourists, the aged American women in their awful hats and their bejewelled spectacles. It was a panorama that amused her.

Winborn had suggested they should have lunch together, but Helga, rather than share his company again, had said she had shopping to do. She told herself even a meal on her own would be preferable to listening to Winborn's dull utterances.

But a meal on her own in Paris in springtime!

She opened her handbag and took out her cigarette case. As she put the cigarette between her lips, she heard a little click and saw the flame from a diamond-encrusted gold cigarette lighter being offered. She dipped the cigarette into the flame, and then looked up.

She wasnat to know that Grenville had been waiting outside her hotel for nearly an hour, that he had followed her up avenue Marceau and had watched her sit at the table, and then had moved un.o.btrusively to a table next to hers.

Helga looked into the brown eyes of a man who sent an immediate hot wave of desire through her.

This was a man! Everything about him was immaculate: his cream-coloured suit, the black-and-blue tie, the gold and platinum bracelet on his powerful, hairy wrist, and the smile, showing white, perfect teeth.

They looked at each other.

aSpringtime in Paris,a Grenville said in his deep; musical voice. aEveryone raves about it, but when one is alone, it can be a bore.a aBut surely you are not alone?a Helga asked.

aMay I put the same question to you?a She smiled.

aYou can, and I am.a aThatas perfect. So we are no longer alone.a She laughed. For years now she had picked up interesting men and had often regretted it, but the drink, the sunshine, the atmosphere of Paris made her reckless.

aI havenat been to Paris for a year. It doesnat seem to have changed,a she said.

aCan time stand still?a Grenville shrugged. aParis has changed. Everything changes. Look at these people.a He waved to the continuous stream of tourists. aI now have the feeling that people like you and me are fast becoming anachronistic. It is these people, parading before us in their shabby clothes, their long, dirty hair, their guitars, who will eventually take over the world. People like us with taste, who know the difference between good and bad food, good and bad wine, are on the way out and perhaps it is a good thing. If the young generation donat appreciate the value of the good things in life as you and I know them, they not only deserve what they get, but also, of course, they donat know what they are missing.a Not bothering to pay attention to what he was saying, Helga regarded this man. She let him talk, and he could talk! she thought. His voice had a lulling effect on her.

He talked for about ten minutes non-stop, then said abruptly, aBut I am boring you.a Helga shook her head.

aNot at all. What you say is most interesting.a He smiled at her. What a man! she thought.

aYou may have a date, but if you havenat, suppose we lunch together? There is an excellent little restaurant not far from here.a She thought: here is a real fast worker, but she was flattered. He must be several years younger than she was, and he kept looking at her with open admiration. Why not?

aThat would be nice. First, we should introduce ourselves. I am Helga Rolfe.a She looked sharply at him to see if there was any reaction. More often than not when she mentioned her name she got a double take, but not this time.

aChristopher Grenville.a Grenville signalled to the waiter and paid for his coffee and Helgaas martini.

aPlease wait a moment. Iall get my car.a She watched him walk away: tall, beautifully built, immaculate. She drew in a quick breath. She had made so many mistakes in the past when she had picked up men. She thought of the boy she had befriended in Bonn who had turned out to be a h.o.m.o. She thought of the half-caste boy in Na.s.sau who had turned out to be a witch doctor of all things! She thought of that wonderful-looking hunk of beef who turned out to be a blackmailing detective. And many other mistakes, but this time, maybe she was going to be lucky.

She saw him waving to her as he forced his way against the traffic in a sleek, dark-blue Maserati. She jumped to her feet and ran across the sidewalk as he held open the off-side door for her. Horns blew, drivers shouted, but Grenville ignored them.

aParisians have the worst driving manners except, of course, the Belgians,a he said and sent the car forward.

aDriving in Paris is a nightmare to me,a Helga said.

aBeautiful women should never drive in Paris,a Grenville said. aThey should always have an escort.a She warmed to him.

At the end of avenue Champs-Elysees, Grenville crossed to the Left Bank. The traffic was heavy, but he handled the powerful car with expert ease. Helga was thrilled with the car.

aA Maserati?a she asked. aIave never driven in one before.a Grenville, thinking of what it was going to cost Patterson to hire this car, smiled.

aItas wonderful on the open road.a In a few minutes, he turned off Blvd Saint Germain into a tiny side street.

aNow the problem of parking,a he said. aParking is a matter of patience.a He drove around the block, then as he re-entered the narrow street, a car pulled out and Grenville, with cars behind him hooting, manoeuvred the big car into the vacant s.p.a.ce. He was out of the car and had the off-side door open before Helga could do it herself.

aThat was well done,a she said.

aWhen one lives in cities, one has to do this kind of thing or cease to exist.a Grenville took her arm.

aJust a short walk. Youall be amused. I hope you are hungry.a Helga, used to the deluxe restaurants of Paris, wasnat sure that she was going to be amused when she saw the dowdy entrance of this bistro with dirty curtains, dull bra.s.s work on the door, and when Grenville opened the door, to find a long narrow room crowded with heavy, ageing Frenchmen, eating ferociously.

An enormous man, bald, with a belly like a beer barrel, came from behind the bar, his fat face, with many chins, wreathed in smiles.

aMonsieur Grenville! Impossible! How long it has been!a he grasped Grenvilleas hand, pumping it up and down.

aClaude!a Grenville said, smiling. aI have brought a very special friend. Madame Rolfe.a He turned to Helga, aThis is Claude who once was the head chef at le Tour d'Argent. He and I have known each other for years.a A little dazed, Helga shook hands with the enormous man as Grenville went on, aSomething special, Claude. Nothing too heavy. You understand?a aOf course, Monsieur Grenville. Come this way,a and under the staring eyes of the eaters, Claude, panting a little, led Helga and Grenville through a doorway to a small dining-room with four tables, comfortable, intimate and immaculate.

aBut this is nice,a Helga exclaimed, surprised as Grenville pulled out a chair for her. aI didnat know such places existed in Paris.a Grenville and Claude exchanged smiles.

aThey do, and this is one of my favourites,a Grenville said as he sat down. aNow tell me, would you like a fish lunch?a aYes.a Grenville turned to Claude.

aThen six Belons each and the sole cardinal. Let us have a Muscadet.a aCertainly, Monsieur Grenville. Perhaps an aperitif?a Grenville looked at Helga who shook her head.

aIn a few minutes, Monsieur Grenville.a Claude went away.

aYou wonat be disappointed. The sole cardinal is the best in Paris. The sauce is made with double cream and Danish shrimps and lobster sh.e.l.ls ground minutely.a He offered her his cigarette case.

As Helga took a cigarette, she said, aThis is a beautiful case.a aYes a present from an Austrian count. I did him a minor service.a Grenville thought of the dreadful hours he had spent, pushing the fat woman around the ballroom.

Helga looked sharply at him. Was there a mocking expression in the dark brown eyes?

aAnd what are you doing in Paris?a she asked.

aBusiness and pleasure.a He waved his hand in dismissal. aI take it you are here to buy clothes. Will you be staying long?a aI am also here on business, but I shall also be buying clothes.a Grenville appeared to be surprised.

aI canat believe a woman as beautiful as you, can be in Paris on business. Surely not!a Then he clapped his hand to his forehead. aRolfe? Of course! The Madame Rolfe! How stupid can I be!a The oysters arrived in a bed of crushed ice and Claude hovered.

aThey are truly splendid, Monsieur Grenville. I have fed them myself.a They were splendid.

Grenville nodded his approval, and Claude went back to the kitchen.

Smiling, Grenville said, aSo you are the fabulous Madame Rolfe. I canat pick up a newspaper without reading about you. I am flattered. And you are staying at the same hotel as I am, what a coincidence!a Helga looked straight at him.

aI happen to be an extremely wealthy woman who finds life often excessively boring, being in my position,a she said quietly.

Grenville regarded her, then nodded sympathetically.

aYes. I can imagine: the prying eyes of the press, no real freedom, gossip and great responsibility.a He shook his head as he speared an oyster. aYes, I understand.a aWhat is your business?a Helga asked abruptly. She now wanted information about this exciting man.

aThis and that. Donat let us spoil a meal with sordid things like business. You have Paris at your feet, and Paris is one of the most exciting cities in the world.a Grenville then moved into one of his monologues about Paris that was so enchanting, Helga listened, spellbound. He was still talking as the sole cardinal was served and he was still talking without a moment of dullness when coffee was served.

aI havenat enjoyed a meal so much nor have been so educated in years,a Helga said, smiling at him.

Grenville returned her smile, shrugging.

aYes, the meal was good. I talk.a He shook his head. aIt is when I have a perfect companion that I talk too much. Now, alas, I have to return to business. I have a dreary appointment. Let me drive you back to the hotel.a He left her for a few moments while he settled the check and had a word with Claude. After handshaking and smiles, they left the bistro and got in the Maserati.

As he started the engine, he said, aI wonder if you would feel like repeating this. Iall try not to talk so much.a He gave her his flashing smile. aThere is a little restaurant at Fontainebleau. Would it amuse you to dine with me tomorrow night?a Helga didnat hesitate. This man really intrigued her.

aThat would be wonderful.a He drove her back to the Plaza Athenee Hotel and escorted her to the elevator. As they waited for the cage to descend, they regarded each other.

aMay I call you Helga? Itas a beautiful name,a Grenville said.

aOf course, Chris.a aThen tomorrow night at eight here in the lobby?a She nodded, touched his wrist and entered the elevator.