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.I tried several times to tell you but.' He turned back to look her directly in the eyes.'I'm very sorry.'So was she.She was almost sorry for him, he sounded so wretched.She felt like crying.It was a need so strong in her, she had to close her eyes and turn her head away, willing herself to composure.Perhaps it was perverse in the circumstances, but beyond everything else she was protesting inwardly about the conclusions he must have reached about her.Only minutes before, she had responded to him with unmistakable desire.He would be certain she was easy now, certain that she was what he had thought her in the beginning, when in her unthinking resentment of him at Heathrow she had deliberately given him the wrong impression.It was not possible to tell him that it was his kiss, the feel of his body that had made her respond so eagerly.No, it was not possible, nor was it necessary.After all, what did it matter now?She walked away without another word and, this time, he made no attempt to stop her.In the privacy of her room she cried, making no effort to stop the flow of tears.She believed it was healthy to cry, to give vent to all the emotions which had raged inside her for the entire evening.With the tears, the last of her anger ebbed away until she was able, if not to sleep, then at least to think clearly.To be fair, Stirling had tried to tell her, she knew that.There had been several times when he'd begun to and had changed his mind—or been interrupted.But again, what did it matter now?She could only thank her lucky stars that she had found out he was married before she had become emotionally involved with him.CHAPTER SEVENRebecca woke with a start.She had been dreaming but the memory of it had already slipped away.A glance at her bedside clock told her it was almost eight—and what was she going to do with the long day ahead of her? What was she going to do about Stirling?She closed her eyes and stayed where she was for the moment, wishing pointlessly that she had never been on that plane from New York to London.If she had only stayed another day or two with Michael McCaffrey.But such a wish was indeed pointless.What had happened had happened, and if she hadn't met up again with Stirling on the plane she would have met him here at the villa.How odd, how strange life was at times! It was as if she had been destined to meet him again, ten years on.A groan escaped from her before a humourless smile tugged at her lips.What had she thought last night? That she could thank her lucky stars she had not become emotionally involved with Stirling? But that wasn't the case.Oh, she wasn't in love with him, as Ingrid insisted, but she was not exactly uninvolved, either.Not totally.Slowly, like one many years older, she got herself out of bed—only to spot immediately the folded sheet of notepaper on the floor behind her door.It was from Stirling, written boldly in black ink.Rebecca, I must talk to you.In private, obviously.I'm sure that neither of us would wish to involve our hosts with any of this.Please come out with me today, as we had intended.Stirling.While showering she planned what to wear, just jeans and a sweater; the day was not as fine as the previous ones had been, and there was still a hint of last night's rain hanging around.Somehow, that seemed appropriate.Whether Stirling had waited to hear the sound of her door opening, she didn't know, but there he was in the corridor when she emerged.She sighed inwardly, noticing that he looked as unrested as she felt.'Well?' That was all he said, no good morning, no preamble.Only fractionally did she hesitate.'Yes, I'll come out with you.'His relief was palpable, confirming to her that she was doing the right thing.It was important to him that they talk.As for her—well, her own curiosity was insisting on it.'Then let's go down to breakfast together.' He reached for her arm but she side-stepped him, saying she would be down after she had said hello to Ingrid.Nobody thought anything of it at breakfast, of course, when Stirling and Rebecca got up to leave! In front of everyone, he had asked her whether she would mind if he called in at his house first.'I'd been wondering about your house.' They were just pulling away from the villa.The roof of the car was up because it was still drizzling, and the atmosphere inside the vehicle was a little tense.'It's being decorated.''I know.I meant, I was wondering why you bought a house here.''Why not?' Stirling shrugged.'Like you, I love Lucerne, and you haven't seen the best of it.You should see it in the winter, be here when the snow's here, when there's skiing, festivals, music and lights adorning the streets.'To say it was an idea that appealed to her would be an understatement, but she made no comment.'Lucerne is also handy for commuting,' he went on.'Not just to Berne and Zurich but from Zurich to any part of the world.''So your house here is your home? I mean, I wondered whether you had several.''I have; I have an apartment in London and one in New York.But my house here is home.You see the difference?''Of course I see the difference.' And home, here, was not where his wife was.But he was clearly not ready to talk about that just yet.For Becky the day became strangely unreal as they continued to drive—in silence now.Stirling's house was just outside Stans, built in typically Swiss fashion; it was a chalet but it was huge and very handsome
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