Bittersweet Passion

Hannah arrived punctually and suggested they visit Harrods first. Claire kept her own counsel when they entered the vast department store. A large, expensive wardrobe would be of scant use to her as Max’s wife and, as she had every intention of repaying Dane, she very carefully inspected price tags, drawing back in dismay from much of what Hannah admired.

‘But you’d look lovely in this,’ Hannah persisted, displaying a fine, crěpe de Chine dress in an elegant black, white and jade print. ‘It’s the latest fashion, Claire, and you have a lovely figure. It’s a sin not to show it off at your age.’

An assistant joined the fray and Claire was persuaded. It would do for the wedding, she told herself. In no time it seemed that she had also agreed to a new coat, a rather stylish jacket and a flying suit that appealed to her new sense of what was fashionable. Hannah continued to remind her that Dane was expecting her to renew her entire wardrobe, and Claire selected some jeans and sweaters, a couple of washable silk shirts as well as an array of new underwear

‘You’ll need one evening outfit,’ Hannah insisted.

Claire allowed her companion to urge her into a strappy, electric-blue sheath dress, which of course had to have shoes and an evening purse to match. Then she firmly pronounced herself satisfied.

‘What’s your wedding dress like?’ Hannah pressed cheerfully over lunch in a quiet, exclusive restaurant. ‘And dare I ask about your future husband, too?’ She smiled. ‘You’re as secretive about him as some ladies are about their age. I gather he’s not in business. You didn’t seem interested in evening wear.’

Under Hannah’s warm, inquisitive gaze, she blushed. ‘It’s to be a very quiet wedding because of my grandfather’s recent death,’ she said hurriedly, for she hated to lie. ‘And I’ll wear an ordinary dress, not a gown … She was fumbling to think of something bland to say about her future husband when a slim, dark-haired man in a tailored grey suit stopped by their table.

‘You have to be Claire.’ He extended a well kept hand and gave Hannah a teasing grin. ‘What harm can I do, Hannah?’

‘Claire, this is Monsieur le Freneau,’ Hannah said reluctantly.

‘You see, I met Dane in the Dorchester and, since it’s hardly his normal haunt, stopped to ask what he was doing there,’ he proffered. ‘You can only be his cousin. Strange, Dane left me with the impression that you were an adolescent in pigtails.’

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