Though Emilie was no fool. She had grown up with R'emy.

That set Shari worrying again, so as an added decoy she drew a frog on her right cheekbone.

Now what to wear to Neil’s fortieth? If a woman was forced to go to a party wearing a stripe, it might be best to look gorgeous. A little shopping might be called for. Her smile broke through. With her camouflage in place, the frump could go out.

She’d cried her last tear over the man who couldn’t love. Cried and cried till she was empty.

It was time to get back on the horse.

LUC was made to feel abundantly welcome in Emilie and Neil’s pretty harbourside home. Luc, and at least a hundred of their friends. The place was crowded, its family atmosphere so warm it was palpable.

Too warm. A reminder of all that had departed from his world.

And, quelle surprise, Emilie was pregnant.

It seemed to Luc everyone was. Everywhere he looked from Paris to Saigon to Sydney women were swollen, their husbands strutting about like smug cockerels. The epidemic had spread across the equator.

He doubted he’d have noticed if he hadn’t looked, really looked that day, at the boulanger in the Rue Montorgeuil strolling with his pregnant wife, a brawny tender arm around her waist. The guy had been so proud, so cock-a-hoop, so in love with life and the world, Luc had carried the image home with him.

Worst mistake in history.

Apparently, when lovers ran out of things to say to each other, the last remedy to propose was marriage. Manon’s response to the suggestion of a child had been as swift as it was ferocious.

‘What has happened to you, darling? Do you suddenly want to tie me in chains? I am not the brood mare type. If you want that, find another woman.’ Her smile hadn’t diminished the anger in her lovely eyes.

Once he’d recovered from the shock, he’d realised the enormity of what he’d suggested. The fact that some women did agree to sacrificing their freedom and autonomy to reproduce was nothing short of a miracle.

Inclining his head, he accepted another canap'e, wondering how long he would have to wait here in this hothouse of domestic fecundity before R'emy put in an appearance. He was beginning to have his doubts it would even happen. Could his cousin have got wind of his arrival? He’d hardly known himself until the last minute, when he was due to leave Saigon and thought of his pleasant Paris apartment waiting for him.

That empty wasteland. Traces of Manon in every corner.

Otherwise he doubted he would ever have dreamed of travelling so far. But from Saigon a few extra hours’ hop to Sydney had had its appeal. Deal with the R'emy problem, enjoy a few days of sunshine, blue seas and skies. Postpone work, Paris, his life. What was not to enjoy?

He should have realised. Wherever he went in the world, he was there.

At least Emi hadn’t changed. Like the sweetheart she was, every so often she darted back to the corner he was lurking in to ensure he wasn’t neglected.

Smiling, she offered him wine, her blue eyes so reminiscent of her twin’s. Or would have been if R'emy’s had ever possessed any kindness, humanity or the tiniest hint of the existence of a soul.

‘So tell me, Luc … is it true? Manon is pregnant?’

A familiar pincer clenched Luc’s entrails, though he maintained his smile. ‘How would I know? I don’t keep up.’

Emilie flushed. ‘Pardon, mon cousin. I don’t mean to intrude. I was just so surprised when Tante Marise mentioned it. I wouldn’t have thought … Manon never seemed the—the type to want babies.’

No, Luc acknowledged behind his poker face. She hadn’t been the type when she was with him. But there were only so many forms of betrayal a man cared to discuss.

He steered Emilie away from the blood-soaked arena of his personal life and onto the subject of burning interest to Head Office.

‘Do you see R'emy often?’

Emilie shook her head. ‘Mais non. Not so often since he was engaged.’ She smiled fondly. ‘He is in love at last. I think he has no need of his sister any more.’

Her hopeful gaze invited Luc to think the best of her beloved brother. Fat chance. The notion of R'emy in love with anyone but himself was about as easy to gulp down as this over-oaked blend.

‘Maybe he has gone to the outback to see a client,’ Emi said eagerly. ‘You know he needs to fly to the clients sometimes.’

Luc frowned. ‘Without informing his staff?’

Emilie coloured and cast a glance at her husband, who’d just joined them. ‘Well, R'emy’s always been—private.’

‘Secretive,’ Neil put in.