To Be the Best by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page A

did in France, of that he was quite certain.
    Michael’s mind turned on business matters.
    Sir Ronald and Paula continued to chat about her celebratory plans for the store’s anniversary. Their voices were a faint murmur, barely audible against the buzz of the lunchtime crowd in the busy restaurant.
    The waiter came back and served the dessert, poured the coffee.
    Michael picked up his cup, further ruminating on the talented Amanda. If they bought Lady Hamilton, whether now or in the future, she would have to remain as head fashion designer and managing director. That was an imperative. If she was in any way reluctant to stay on, to work for them, he would have to come up with some special inducements –
    Paula’s sudden laughter reverberated on the warm air, cut into his myriad thoughts. It was a full, throaty, curiously sexual laugh and it caused Michael to lift his head swiftly.
    He glanced across the table at her. She was spooning sorbet into her mouth. A small glob of it clung to her upper lip and she licked it off with the tip of her tongue and went on eating. He watched her, fascinated, and as he did he experienced the most extraordinary physical attraction to her. His reaction unnerved him. Michael held himself perfectly still in the chair, dropped his eyes and stared into his coffee cup.
    When he eventually looked up she had finished the sorbet and her face was averted as she responded to something his father had just said. He blinked, not understanding himself at all. He must be mad to think of Paula in this way.
    Brilliant sunshine was pouring in through the window immediately behind her and it encircled her with shimmering light, brought her into focus as if she were under a pinspot on a stage. Her colouring appeared to be more vivid than ever…the black hair, the violet eyes, the incomparable skin touched with a faint tan like the golden bloom on a summer peach. How vibrantly alive she was at this moment…and how very sexual.
    Michael, who had never felt anything but fraternal affection for Paula, was filled with a fierce desire to make love to her. He took a steely hold of his feelings, which had flared so suddenly, and lowered his head, fearful that something would show in his face, that his eyes would betray his lust for her. Why? he asked himself. Why do I want to take her to bed now after knowing her for so many years? He gazed intently at the small vase of flowers in the centre of the table, his face unreadable as he endeavoured to quell his emotions.
    Sir Ronald was saying, ‘And I shall be in Paris next weekend, Paula, en route to Biarritz. If you’re going to be over there, visiting the Paris store, perhaps we could dine together.’
    ‘No, I won’t be in Paris next weekend – ‘Paula began, and came to an abrupt halt. ‘Oh damn!’ she exclaimed, sitting up jerkily in her seat, frowning, remembering the note on her desk. She had forgotten to cancel the Paris airline reservation which had been made for her for later in the day.
    ‘Is something wrong?’ Sir Ronald asked in concern.
    ‘No, no, it’s nothing,’ Paula assured him, making a mental note to telephone British Airways the minute she returned to her office. ‘I forgot to do something before lunch, but there’s no problem, really there isn’t, Uncle Ronnie.’
    Michael, who had managed to extinguish his erotic thoughts about Paula, gave his father a puzzled look. ‘Why are you going to Biarritz at this time of year, Dad? The season’s over.’
    ‘Yes, I know it is…but I’m going to look at an Imperial Russian Easter Egg by Fabergé,’ Sir Ronald announced with obvious pleasure.
    He beamed at them both. ‘My art dealer in Paris has a client in Biarritz. A very old lady. A White Russian lady. She is apparently ready to sell her jewelled egg at long last. And, quite naturally, I want to get there first, before the American publisher Malcolm Forbes or any other serious collector hears about it and snaps it up before I do.