The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

that supposed to say about your instincts? Look where that’s got you.’
    Elodie smiled. ‘You, miss, needed my help. Obviously.’
    ‘And she needs mine,’ Jane retorted, but she had doubts of her own.
I can give her her family back. She seems to want to belong somewhere, and I can show her where that really is. But that means turning an innocent girl who’s already had a tough life over to Lynne Doran. That’s not what most people would call ‘help’.
    Elodie seemed lost in dark thoughts of her own, and by the time their food came out – crispy, oily, and, most of all, hot – it was a merciful distraction from their gloomy silence.
    Jane never could have predicted it, but finding Annette seemed to bring up yet more questions and problems – rather than solving any.

Twenty-six
    J ANE POKED AT a sliver of Cornish mackerel with her fork, pushing it around her plate for a moment before remembering where she was and carrying it politely to her mouth. It was better than the oily, deep-fried fish she and Elodie had gulped down that afternoon, definitely. And any sane person would cheerfully have taken a late dinner at the celebrated Hibiscus with a dangerously sexy man over an early one of reheated standbys at a grimy pub.
    Guess I’m feeling insane again,
Jane admitted complacently. The grey, gold, and ivory tones of the dining room were soothing, the food was extraordinary, and the wine was plentiful, but her companion’s obvious bad mood made it impossible to really enjoy.
    ‘The white-onion ravioli is delicious; would you like a taste?’ Tonight, André’s accent sounded coarser somehow; instead of purring, it almost grated.
    What are you still doing here and why won’t you leave?
Jane wanted to shout at him. She still had no idea where he was going after London, because, day after day, he just wouldn’t
go.
And while she was sort of curious about the private guided tour of the Tower of London he had insisted on planning for the next morning, thanks to his near-constant attention, she was starting to feel more like a prisoner than a spy. She tapped her fork nervously against the rim of her plate. ‘No, thanks,’ she replied weakly.
    He tilted his head in a fashion that suggested genuine concern for her mood and well-being, and Jane cursed her overly suspicious mind. Just because she and André were both lying to each other didn’t mean they couldn’t get along for the moment.
    She smiled wanly. ‘I know I must seem like a bit of a drag today,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been having a lovely trip so far, but my business has taken some unexpected twists.’ She and Elodie had eventually had to accept defeat earlier in the evening. The Cheeky Dragon wasn’t much to look at, but apparently it was an extremely popular after-work stop for a lively blue-collar crowd. By the time they had eaten enough of their food to decently call it ‘finished,’ there was barely room to turn around. Having another pseudo-casual chat with Anne would have been impossible, so Jane and Elodie had agreed that they had done all they would be able to do right then. Jane would just have to return – during lunch, she thought might be better – and try again. ‘How about you – what’s on your horizon this week?’ she prompted, dipping her fork into a strawberry-balsamic reduction and sucking it thoughtfully.
    ‘I believe passionately in unexpected twists,’ André replied with a twist of his full lips that Jane could practically feel on her own skin.
    That’s not an answer.
‘I don’t mean to press, but I would at least like to know your travel plans. I might need to take a side trip to Europe, and it might be awkward to run into you on the street somewhere after you’ve gone through all this trouble to be mysterious.’ That was a lie, of course: she intended to be back on a plane to New York as soon as humanly possible after convincing Anne to come with her. But it was a pretty low-risk lie and well worth the trouble if André believed it.
    He seemed frozen for a moment, although he continued to chew his ravioli and reach for his wine. But just as quickly, the impression was gone. ‘You haven’t even told me what you’re doing here,’ he pointed out reasonably. ‘Not the truth, at least. But you want to know where I’m going next? Ella, my dear, this is hardly in the spirit of our . . . arrangement.’
    Of course he didn’t buy the hard-partying cousin thing.
Jane sighed to herself.
Probably because