Thank you to everyone for your kind reviews. I'm glad this is still being well received after the horrible, evil way I treated you all.
Paris was sweltering in the heat of the summer, and as the night drew in, that heat had not yet dispersed. Over the Comtessa Da Silva's elegant Parisian home, the dense purple anvil shaped clouds that heralded thunder had gathered thickly, the air seemed heavy with low pressure, and seemed to settle hot and damply upon the bare skin of the party goers.
The house was situated in the centre of a lush park, once used as a palace for the fashionable Paris court. The starkly white walls presided regally over the equally fashionable set that gathered there that night. Through the many windows, lights flickered and shimmered, drawing the guests in like moths to a flame.
Stepping anxiously up the neatly gravelled drive, Ashleigh swallowed a flash of foreboding. Before her the house seemed as cold as ice, an image only emphasised by the huge ice sculptures that decorated the flagstones outside. A rearing swan fought for pride of place with a leaping dolphin, the guests gathered below them in delight, cooing and praising. To Ashleigh though they were cold, as cold as the ice they were sculpted from, lifeless and without soul, a false mimicry of animation. Other shapes loomed in the growing darkness, and inside she could see the cold sleekness of yet further statues.
Within the building she was met with chaos. A stark black and white marble chequerboard floor seemed to vibrate beneath her as what seemed like thousands of dancers lurched and swept round it to the sound of throaty evocative jazz. A thousand lights merely highlighted the starkness of the room, everything was white, even the sweeping grand staircases that led to a viewing level above the room, a level consisting mainly of hidden alcoves and shaded balconies. Two huge fountains dominated the room, the frosty water crashing not into a shimmering pool beneath, but over crushed ice that shone like diamonds in the brilliant light. The guests laughed and shrieked as they dipped their glasses into the fountains, scooping the ice up into the finest champagne, relishing the coldness after the suffocating heat of the day.
Ashleigh trembled as she stepped inside, assaulted by the vivid colours of the women's dresses as they swirled in the arms of dinner jacketed men. It had been too long since she had been to an event like this, and she could remember every minute of that night.
She had swept into the Mariinsky theatre that night, her toned body covered in the simplest coffee coloured satin, her skin flushed, her body lit from within with an inner glow, only two nights earlier she had discovered the pleasures of Alec Trevelyan's bed. Her skin had been heated by his touch; she had exuded the sexual confidence of a satisfied woman. Even her stubborn godfather hadn't been able to miss the heat that came from her, he had jerked away the moment he had touched her.
That night had ended in death, and she prayed that tonight would not follow the same path. A Russian minister had been shot as he had pawed Ashleigh's satin covered thigh, and Alec had swore that he hadn't been the finger behind the trigger. Ashleigh, lying in his bed that night, had believed him.
She had always believed him.
He had killed twice in her presence. Both in her defence, or at least she had convinced herself of that fact. Both had been brutes, both had caused her injury. Both had ended up dead.
Ashleigh trembled once more, remembering how easily Alec had fired those weapons, without a second of doubt. Death came easily to him, cold blooded murder equally so.
Now she was faced with the possibility that Alec would one day turn a gun on her.
The doubt had been growing in her mind for some time, as she had slipped from one country to the next, hiding behind false names, and a false sense of bravado. Her greatest fears were becoming reality; her daughter had been taken, her husband missing. Was James right? Were the two linked? Had Alec really orchestrated such a betrayal?
Her heart screamed no, but her head told her otherwise. Alec was no stranger to betrayal, yet she had never really considered the thought that he would betray her. She was his wife! He had married her, claimed her, she had his name, bore him his only child, his beautiful daughter, their beautiful Natasha.
The man at her side felt her tremble, and with a gentle gesture, slid his arm around her waist. Ashleigh glanced up, staring at the strong jaw, the generous mouth, the dark eyes, and felt protected.
Charles Robinson allowed the woman next to him to mould her shape against his, the top of her head barely brushing the side of his shoulder, she was so much smaller than him. Looking down at her, he found himself staring straight into enquiring blue eyes, so strange to see that vibrant colour there, and quickly looked away.
The moment their eyes met, Ashleigh experienced something she hadn't felt for any man other than Alec for some time. Deep within her, she felt a jolt, a sudden dart of desire fluttering just below her stomach. And judging by the way that Charles had looked away so suddenly, she felt damned sure he had felt it too. Colour flooded her cheeks, and a sense of confusion seemed to swamp her. Gently, but firmly she pulled away from Charles, her heels clicking on the marble floor beneath her.
It was time to mingle, Charles decided firmly. Time to explore, time to do anything, time to move away from the woman at his side. Somehow though, he couldn't quite pull away from her.
'Would you care to dance?' he found himself asking.
She shot him a puzzled glance, but slowly she nodded.
Anything to avoid having to talk to each other.
Who knew what secrets they might reveal?
It seemed like hours later when Charles finally allowed a breathless Ashleigh to rest. Leaning against a marble pillar, she gratefully accepted a glass of champagne, and let the cold liquid refresh her.
'Charles,' she murmured under her breath, and Charles leant in to her once more, a memory rushing to the surface of his consciousness as he remembered how she would gasp his name as he made love to her, his Ashleigh that he had almost fallen in love with. His blood seemed to race through his veins, her perfume was a veil that wrapped around him, and he could see nothing but her full pink lips, curving themselves around the syllables of his name.
Dancing with her had not been the most sensible idea, with her slim body pressed against his, his memories had broken loose, and reminded him over and over again of their brief, but passionate relationship.
Now as he looked down at her he realised how much time had passed. This was a new Ashleigh, one with blue eyes and black hair, there was so much that had changed about her, not only in her new, modified appearance, but in her very attitude, in her demeanour, and yet hidden underneath she was still there, and she was still tempting him. At the same time he was feeling something else towards her, a dawning sense of anger, and hurt as he waited for her to make her confession. How long would he have to wait before she would admit who the father of her child was, he thought she had trusted him once, and he wanted her to trust him now.
She was staring at him now, as she sipped her drink, a slightly puzzled frown on her features as if she could sense his discomfort. Forcibly he pushed away his emotions, refusing to think how easy it would be to lean down and kiss those lips, how easy it would be to take her in his arms. They had been lovers before, their lovemaking intensely passionate, but at the same time filled with laughter. He had been able to relax with Ashleigh in a way that had eluded him in other relationships. He had always presumed it had been because there had been no secrecy in their relationship, she had known his job, and he had known hers. They were both spies, tangled in the web of deceit that their chosen career caused, and yet when they were together they were free from it. He had loved her laugh, and seeing the usually sombre girl finally give into her mirth, beginning with the slight giggle, the gentle chuckle, and then finally that laugh that made her catch her breath, and tears spring to her eyes, completely uncontrollable and utterly real had been one of his favourite things about her.
He wanted to make her laugh now. He wanted to take her away from the pain she was feeling, and if he were honest with himself, which he was trying desperately not to be, he wanted to distract her in other ways too. The urge to kiss her was growing stronger again, and he was relieved when she pulled further away.
'Charles,' she murmured again, and this time he forced himself to listen, berating himself at the same time. The usually unflappable Charles Robinson was on the brink of losing control, and it was definitely an unfamiliar sensation for him. He focused on her words.
'Don't you think you had better explain to me why we're here?'
It was a fair question.
Unfortunately, he didn't quite know how to answer it without lying. So lying would have to do this time.
Or at least he would have to avoid the truth.
'This event is the reason I came to Paris in the first place,' Charles glanced around at the attendees in the room. 'Some of the most famous faces in the world are gathered here tonight, including some very well known politicians.'
'I had noticed,' Ashleigh followed Charles's gaze around the room. If anything, Charles's words had been an understatement. Ashleigh was recognising figures that held some of the greatest power in the world. In some strange way, seeing them up close reminded her of how isolated she had been in the last five years.
'MI6 received information that there was every possibility of a terrorist attack here tonight. Or an assassination. Hence the MI6 presence, not to mention the French Secret Service.'
Again, Ashleigh had noticed. A spy usually could tell one's kind, and Ashleigh had already spotted several guests that were, to the trained eye at least, acting in a slightly strange manner.
'Ashleigh…' catching her by the arm, Charles gently tugged her into a nearby alcove, so that they would be shielded from the mingling crowd. 'Ashleigh, somehow I think this is all connected. I think that the people who took your daughter are the ones that are presenting the threat here tonight…'
A cold look flashed into Ashleigh's eyes, only emphasised by their new colour. 'You think, Charles? Or do you know?'
Even on Charles' dark skin Ashleigh could see the colour rising. He had always been a poor liar when confronted head on.
'It's an educated guess, shall we say?'
'And what other guesswork have you been doing?'
This time it was Charles' eyes that were cold. 'Enough, Ashleigh. Enough to know I'm not the only one with secrets round here.'
For a moment Ashleigh stood confused, but then suddenly a chill crept through her blood. Her eyes widened. 'What do you know?' she whispered.
But Charles wasn't listening. Deliberately he had turned away from his ex lover, and walked away, leaving her standing alone amongst the swirling dancers.
High above, hidden in the shadows of a private balcony, a figure knelt and waited. He peered around the marble pillar, watching the people below, and scouting around. His eyes fell on an arguing couple. The man was tall, black, and well dressed, his height shielding his companion from view.
'Charles Robinson,' he murmured. 'M's faithful lapdog.'
The observation was an unnecessarily cruel one, but he didn't have time to think about that because suddenly Charles turned and walked away into the crowd. His heart seemed to stop beating as he glanced down at the woman Charles had left alone.
She was here.
Ashleigh.
He had suspected that she had been in the city, but only as he had crept into her hotel room earlier that day had they been confirmed.
His wife's belongings had been strewn across the room, unable to resist it, Alec had picked up the perfume she had left in the bathroom, spraying it across the cuff of his shirt, letting the familiar scent remind him of the warmth of her body, the feel of her skin against his, all the sensations he had missed in their time apart.
He didn't want her here, he didn't want her to witness what he was about to do.
But he couldn't take his eyes off her.
'Charles…' Ashleigh called to him as he stalked away, 'Charles, please, don't be like this…'
Frustrated, she plucked at his sleeve, trying to attract his attention.
'Charles, please… peace, truce, anything.'
He continued to ignore her, but at least he was beginning to slow down. Ashleigh had always found trying to run in heels, even low kitten heels desperately difficult. Heartened by this, she tried again.
'Look, I didn't even say thank you, did I…'
'For what?' Charles muttered over his shoulder.
'What do you mean for what?' Ashleigh laughed gently. 'For the dress of course.'
'Ashleigh, what are you talking about?' The question formed readily enough, but Charles seemed distracted.
'For leaving this dress for me. In my room…' Ashleigh's voice trailed off. Charles wasn't listening to her, instead he was glancing above her head.
She had a horrible feeling that Charles wouldn't have a clue what she was talking about even if he was listening to her.
Roughly Charles grabbed her arm. 'There.'
He was pointing away from them, at a man who stood surrounded by bulked up men in dark suits. The man was of average height, with a non descript face, small rimless glasses, and a receding hair line. His dinner jacket was simple, nothing, apart from the presence of so many bodyguards, made him at all remarkable. Yet Ashleigh still caught her breath.
'Jacques Le Frenicet,' she whispered.
'That's him,' Charles confirmed with a subtle nod.
Jacques Le Frenicet may have looked unremarkable, yet his achievements made him legendry. His works within the United Nations as a diplomat had led him to be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.
In other words a man who had lived for peace and peace alone.
With a detached eye, Ashleigh watched the non descript man as he sipped at the flute of champagne he had just taken from a pretty dark haired waitress. A UN diplomat. High profile, popular with the media. Now officially designated a target.
'And how exactly do you plan to save his life?' she asked coldly.
Anger flashed across Charles's face. 'In any way I can, Ashleigh.'
'Really?' realisation was beginning to sink in rapidly. 'Are you sure those were your orders?'
'What the hell are you talking about?'
'This is all too neat, Charles. What you have to remember is that I have been M's pawn before in the past, and now she's attempting to use me again. You're using me!' Ashleigh's temper was beginning to fray, her tone becoming more accusing with every word. 'I don't believe that you would do this to me Charles, I thought that you might have some sort of … of… loyalty to me, but apparently not!'
She was struggling to vocalise her suspicions, trying to relay her fears to her so called friend. 'You brought me here. You brought me here on her orders. You know that it'll draw him out, your using me as bait for my own hus…'
She had said too much, her eyes widened, and she had to stop herself from clamping her hand over her mouth. Her temper had always been one of her weak points, and now it had led her headfirst into her own blunder.
'You were saying?' Charles crossed his arms across his chest.
'It doesn't matter,' she said, looking away, her cheeks flushed.
'When were you going to tell me, Ashleigh?'
'Tell you what?' she said, faking ignorance.
'The truth!' He almost shouted the words, and he physically had to restrain himself from reaching out and shaking her by the shoulders. 'When were you going to tell me that Alec Trevelyan was your husband? When were you going to tell me he was the father of your child? When were you going to tell me that you had married that traitor?'
She staggered backwards, away from Charles's anger.
That action saved her life.
Three shots rang out.
Cries filled the room.
And Charles was lying on the floor bleeding.
