Falling for the Rebel Falcon Read online

  ‘Him? Who him?’

  ‘Any him.’

  ‘And that’s important?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Perdita said with a little smile. ‘That’s very important.’

  Hortense made no reply. It could be hard to know just how much of Perdita’s lively speech she actually meant.

  They had reached the most expensive part of Paris, and soon a magnificent building reared up before them.

  ‘There’s La Couronne,’ Hortense said.

  ‘Wow! It looks a fabulous place.’

  ‘It was once the home of aristocrats, but the family was wiped out in the French Revolution, and the building went into decline until Marcel bought it. He specialises in grandiose hotels in big cities all over the world, and La Couronne is the best.’

  When she’d checked in Hortense accompanied her upstairs to her room, whose luxury made Perdita nod appreciatively.

  ‘It may strain your budget,’ Hortense said, ‘but it was the last one available, and it’s on the same corridor as the Falcons.’

  ‘That’s the bit that matters,’ Perdita agreed.

  They ordered a meal from Room Service and sat munching contentedly.

  ‘Was it difficult to dash off at a moment’s notice?’ Hortense asked.

  ‘Well, one person wasn’t too happy,’ Perdita admitted, and told her about Jim.

  ‘But in another way it was handy,’ she added. ‘I was due to go to my parents tomorrow, for a party to celebrate my cousin Sally’s engagement, and it’s probably better that I won’t be there.’

  ‘Your parents are academics, aren’t they? Big names in the world of learning, so I’ve heard.’

  It was true that Professor Angus Hanson was an imposing man whose learning and reputation struck awe into the hearts of those who knew him. His family were equally erudite, occupying high positions in research and education. All except Perdita, his youngest child.

  ‘They’ve always seen me as the black sheep,’ she told Hortense. ‘Frivolous, foolish, not caring about serious matters.’

  ‘Why is it better that you’re not there?’

  ‘Sally’s fiancé is a man I used to know, about three years ago. It seemed to be going well for us, but then I got the chance of a big scoop. Someone let slip something. I followed it up and…well, it did me a lot of good professionally.’

  ‘Ah yes, I remember hearing about that. It made your reputation as a journalist.’

  ‘But Thomas was horrified. He thought it was all terribly vulgar, and wanted me to abandon my career. When I wouldn’t…well…’ She shrugged.

  ‘If he’d loved you he wouldn’t have broken your heart for a reason like that,’ Hortense said, shocked.

  ‘Who said my heart was broken?’ Perdita demanded indignantly. ‘With all the chances that were opening up for me, I had other things to think of. Besides, I realised that he didn’t love me. He’s an academic, and he wanted to join my family for the sake of their standing.’

  ‘So he courted your cousin instead. Yes, it’s better you’re not at their engagement party.’

  Perdita gave a wry smile. ‘The only thing academic about me is my name. Apparently when my father discovered that my mother was pregnant yet again he groaned, “Well, I’ll go to perdition!”’

  ‘And perdition means hell, doesn’t it?’ Hortense chuckled.

  ‘That’s right. He really wasn’t keen on another child. After that, Perdita became the family nickname for me.’

  ‘But it’s not really your name, is it?’ Hortense said. ‘You write your features as Perdita Davis, but I noticed you checked in as Erica Hanson.’

  ‘Yes, that’s my real name, but I only use it for official stuff. Erica Hanson keeps her bank account in order, pays her taxes on time and generally behaves properly. Perdita Davis is as foolish and frivolous as a scholarly family ever produced.’

  She said this with an air of pleasure, even pride.

  ‘Where does the Davis name come from?’

  ‘The family more or less ordered me not to use Hanson in case people connected me with them and they died of shame,’ Perdita said ironically. ‘I just plucked Davis out of the air.’

  ‘So they can deny all knowledge of you,’ Hortense said, outraged. ‘That’s pretty nasty of them.’

  ‘They have a serious reputation to keep up,’ Perdita said, shrugging. ‘You can’t really blame them.’

  ‘I can. Reputation nothing! You’re a big success but they treat you like an outcast.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not melodramatic about it,’ Perdita said. ‘It’s not really important.’

  She spoke lightly to hide the fact that Hortense had hit a nerve. In truth she cared more for her family’s attitude than she would admit, and her friend’s indignation on her behalf warmed her heart.

  ‘They’re probably jealous that you’re making your fortune out of it,’ Hortense observed. ‘Your scoops are fast taking you to the top. Though, let’s face it, you do sometimes sail a bit close to the edge.’

  ‘I did at one time,’ Perdita agreed. ‘But recently I’ve been a bit less “adventurous”. I don’t break quite so many rules now. I’m even getting a bit respectable.’

  ‘You?’

  Perdita shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s my academic background coming out at last. Serious, respectable, upright. How about that?’

  ‘What brought this about?’

  ‘There was a big commotion recently. Have you ever heard of—?’ She named a journalist so notorious that his name was known over many countries.

  ‘Yes, wasn’t he the one who tricked that woman into talking to him, and it all ended in tragedy?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But surely it had nothing to do with you?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t involved in any way. But I met him once a few years back, and vaguely admired his tricksy methods. Not now, though. Let’s say I’ve grown up a bit, and it made me think about the road I was travelling.’

  ‘Does that mean strait-laced Erica has taken over completely, and cheeky Perdita no longer exists?’

  ‘Not at all. Perdita’s still there, still maddening, still taking chances. But these days she’s a bit more careful about how she might affect other people.’

  Hortense chuckled. ‘Serve you right if you met the man of your dreams and had to choose between your two selves. That would teach you a lesson.’

  ‘I don’t have any dreams,’ Perdita said cheekily. ‘My heart’s never been broken and it’s never going to be. I’ve got too many other things to do.’

  ‘Have you no sense of romance?’ Hortense demanded indignantly. ‘Here you are in Paris, the most romantic city in the world, and you’re not entranced the way any other woman would be.’

  ‘When I get my scoop I’ll be entranced.’

  ‘I know better than to argue with that. I’ll be off to my own room, we have a busy day tomorrow. Goodnight. See you at breakfast.’

  When she was alone Perdita went to the window, looking out to where the Eiffel Tower glowed in the distance. Everything in her surroundings was glamorous, and that was just how she liked it. It emphasised the life she wanted and the way she liked to see herself.

  She’d told Hortense that her heart had never been broken and it was almost true.

  After the riotous success that had made Thomas run from her she’d gone from strength to strength. The life of a freelancer suited her perfectly because it made her the one in charge, choosing her own targets.

  Then she’d met Frank, a photographer. They’d worked as a team and she’d fallen in love with him, although these days she denied, it even to herself. But he’d betrayed her, using her talents to get close to a notorious story, then selling his pictures to another journalist who could do more for his career.

  After that she’d decided to work alone, taking her own pictures. She’d learned a lot of technique from Frank, so who needed photographers? If it came to that, who needed men?

  ‘Maybe there’s something wrong with me, always pu
tting the job first,’ she mused. ‘But that’s the way I am. It’s not my fault if I like fun. And fun likes me. Ah well! Time for bed.’

  *

  Next morning Hortense dropped in to Perdita’s room just as she was getting up.

  ‘Sorry to arrive so early,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got a busy day ahead preparing for this wedding.’

  ‘No problem.’ Perdita lifted the phone. ‘Let’s have some breakfast.’

  While they waited for the food to arrive she took a shower, then sat in a bathrobe to eat, seizing the chance to ask more about the Falcon family.

  ‘I don’t really know anything about Leonid,’ she said. ‘He isn’t as easy to research as the others.’

  ‘True. His real name isn’t even Falcon. He’s actually Leonid Tsarev. It’s only when he’s over here with his brothers that he’s called Falcon as a courtesy. All anyone really knows about him is that he’s an incredibly successful business magnate—they call them oligarchs in Russia, don’t they? I’ve got friends in Moscow who say he doesn’t seem to have a very interesting private life. All work and money, no time for pleasure. At least, not the kind of pleasure the world hears about, if you know what I mean. Grim and gruff.’

  ‘They can be interesting too,’ Perdita mused. ‘Now, what am I going to wear today?’

  ‘Let’s look,’ Hortense said, opening the wardrobe. ‘Hey, what lovely clothes you’ve got. You must have a very rich boyfriend.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. I pay for my own clothes.’

  ‘You must be making a fortune.’

  ‘I do all right, but I don’t usually buy such expensive things. I splashed out a bit to come to this hotel. I wanted to look as if I fit in with the millionaires.’

  ‘You’ll do that all right.’ She pulled down pair of luxurious stretch jeans. ‘You can actually get into these?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Hortense held them up against her plump figure, and sighed. ‘You know, I could murder you for being slim enough for these. Hey ho!’ She tossed them onto the bed. ‘Put them on.’

  ‘But do I want to wear them right now?’ Perdita mused. ‘I’d like to give a first impression of severe, virtuous modesty. Maybe even a bit dull.’

  ‘In your dreams! Listen, if a kindly fate has made you slim enough to wear these, count your blessings. Who knows how long those blessings will last? Right, now I’ve got to be going. And remember, if we happen to bump into each other—’

  ‘We’ve never met before,’ Perdita vowed.

  ‘Thanks. If they knew I’d been in touch with a journalist I’d be in trouble. They’re very sniffy about that. Bye.’

  When she was alone Perdita eyed several garments, before deciding that she would, after all, wear the snug-fitting jeans. In contrast with their provocation she chose a loose blouse of white silk, that came modestly halfway down her thighs. It was good to be elegant and expensive, but nobody could accuse her of flaunting herself.

  She headed out and began wandering around the hotel, studying, listening, taking photographs with her discreet camera, whose tiny size belied its power. Gradually she saw members of the Falcon family, but as yet no sign of the one she wanted.

  Then, as she came to the top of a grand staircase, she paused and drew back, wondering if she could really see what she thought she could. At the foot of the stairs was a man whose height, dark hair and handsome features suggested that her search was over. Travis Falcon. This must be him. She was too far away to make out details, but what she could see was surely Travis.

  There was no sign of the woman he was supposed to be bringing with him. That could be helpful, if only she could get him alone for a while.

  But how to make him notice her, chat for a moment? It wouldn’t be easy.

  ‘But I think I see a way,’ she murmured.

  She had perfected a technique for this kind of occasion. Moving carefully, she could appear to slip on the stairs, creating just enough commotion to attract attention. Quietly she crept down the stairs, not to alert him. Only when she was three steps up did she seem to collapse, rolling down to the bottom.

  At once she knew that she’d done something wrong. Instead of the easy landing she’d planned, she felt a sharp pain go through her ankle as her foot twisted beneath her. Wildly she grabbed at the banister and came to a sudden halt at his feet, so that he nearly tripped over her.

  He made an explosive sound and dropped to his knees, reaching out both hands to support her, making an explosive sound, then demanding in French, ‘Que le diable? Êtes-vous blessé?’

  ‘I don’t understand—’ she gasped.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he repeated in English.

  ‘I…I’m not sure,’ she gasped, wincing from the pain. ‘My ankle—’

  ‘Have you twisted it?’

  ‘I think so—aaah!’

  Still holding one of her hands, he put his other arm about her and drew her to her feet.

  ‘Try to put your weight on it,’ he said. ‘Just very gently.’

  She tried but gave up at once. She would have fallen but for the strength of his arm about her waist, keeping her safe. She raised her eyes to his face.

  It was the wrong face.

  This man looked enough like Travis Falcon to be mistaken for him at a distance, but up close there was no chance.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped before she could stop herself.

  ‘I think you need a doctor,’ he said in an accented voice that confirmed her fears. Travis was American. This man came from Eastern Europe.

  ‘No, I can manage,’ she said hastily.

  ‘I don’t think you can. Let’s collect your things before you lose them.’

  She supported herself by clinging to the banister while he scooped up her purse and several papers that had fallen onto the floor from her bag.

  ‘One of them’s your passport,’ he said. ‘You should take better care of it. What room are you in?’ She gave him the number. ‘Right, put your arms around my neck.’

  She did so and he reached down to lift her very slowly and carefully.

  ‘Is that all right?’ he asked. ‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  Turning, he climbed the stairs to the top, then headed down the corridor to her room. She reached into her bag for the key and he carried her inside, laying her down gently on the bed.

  ‘All right?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes, I’m not really hurt.’

  ‘We’ll see what the doctor says about that.’ Without seeking her consent, he took up the phone and called the management.

  ‘I need a doctor here at once to look after a woman who tripped on the stairs.’ He gave the room number and hung up. ‘They’re sending someone at once.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m really trying to ease my own mind. When I heard you behind me I turned sharply, and I hate to think I caused you to trip.’

  She knew a moment’s self-reproach that he should blame himself for the fall she had contrived. But there was something pleasant and comforting about his determination to care for her. She’d always prided herself on being self-sufficient, independent. In her job these were necessary virtues. But it was nice to be looked after, just for a few minutes.

  ‘While we wait for the doctor I will order you a hot drink,’ he said. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Tea, thank you.’

  When he’d telephoned the order he turned back to Perdita and studied her closely, frowning, almost scowling. Now she saw that he was mopping the front of his suit where something had been spilled.

  ‘Did I do that?’ she asked.

  ‘Unfortunately I happened to be carrying a small glass of wine. Don’t worry. Accidents happen. It’s not as if you fell on purpose.’

  ‘No,’ she said with a twinge of guilt. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you.’

  ‘It seems to be me who troubled you. Why did the sight of me give you such a nast
y shock?’ He gave her a flinty stare. ‘Let me guess. You thought I was Travis, didn’t you?’

  ‘I…no, I…it wasn’t…I don’t understand. Travis?’

  ‘Travis Falcon.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said vaguely. ‘He’s on television, isn’t he?’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly. Apparently we look very much alike. People often think they’re meeting him and are disappointed when it’s only me.’

  ‘How rude of them! Are you related?’

  ‘He’s my half-brother. My name is Leonid Tsarev.’

  He extended his hand and she shook it, trying to control her whirling thoughts. She was shocked at herself. She, who prided herself on being in command of every situation, was suddenly reduced to stammering confusion.

  ‘How…how do you do?’ she murmured.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘I COULD ASK you the same,’ he said wryly, ‘but it’s a silly question. Neither of us seems to be doing very well since meeting the other.’

  ‘I guess you’re right. Ouch!’ She reached down to her ankle, which had hurt as she moved it.

  ‘The doctor will be here soon,’ he said. ‘He can make a full assessment.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she said, rubbing the spot, but making little impact because the material of the jeans was in the way.

  ‘You’ll need to take them off so that the doctor can get to it,’ Leonid said. ‘Ah, there’s someone at the door.’

  While he went to the door she started to undress, meaning to pull the sheets over her, to preserve modesty. First she removed her right shoe, then tried to remove her left, but this was the injured foot and pulling at the shoe was intensely painful. She was still floundering when he turned back into the room, carrying a tray of tea.

  ‘Are you having trouble?’ he asked, quickly setting down the tray.

  ‘Yes, this shoe won’t move—ow!’

  He set down the tray. ‘Let me help you. Just lie there and I’ll do the work.’

  He eased the shoe off as gently as possible. It hurt, but not unbearably, and at last both feet were free.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, lying back.

  He tried to study the damaged foot, frowning. ‘It’s hard to see while your jeans are covering it.’