situation. “No.”
“Right. Good night.” He walked over to the stand and started to get into a taxi, turned
around and saw that she was standing there, rooted, staring after him. In the doorway of
the hotel was the detective watching. The stranger hesitated, then walked back to Noelle.
“You’d better get out of here,” he advised. “Our friend’s still interested in you.”
“I have nowhere to go,” she replied.
He nodded and reached into his pocket.
“I d on’t want your money,” she said quickly.
He looked at her in surprise. “What do you want?” he asked.
“To have dinner with you.”
He smiled and said, “Sorry. I have a date, and I’m late already.”
“Then go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
He shoved the bills back into his pocket. “Suit yourself, honey,” he said. “Au ‘voir.”
He turned and began walking toward the taxi again. Noelle looked after him, wondering
what was wrong with her. She knew she had behaved stupidly, but she also knew that she
could not have done anything else. From the first moment she had looked at him she had
experienced a reaction that she had never felt before, a wave of emotion so strong that she
could almost reach out and touch it. She did not even know his name, and would probably
never see him again. Noelle glanced toward the hotel and saw the detective moving
purposefully toward her. It was her own fault. This time she would not be able to talk her
way out of it. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and as she turned to see who it was, the
stranger took her arm and propelled her toward the taxi, quickly opened the door and
climbed in beside her. He gave the driver an address. The taxi pulled away, leaving the
detective at the curb, staring after them. “What about your date?” Noelle asked.
“It’s a party,” he shrugged. “One more won’t make any difference. I’m Larry
Douglas. What’s your name?”
“Noelle Page.”
“Where are you from, Noelle?”
She turned and looked into his brilliant dark eyes and said, “Antibes. I am the
daughter of a Prince.”
He laughed, showing even, white teeth.
“Good for you, Princess,” he said.
“Are you English?”
“American.”
She looked at his uniform. “America is not at war.”
“I’m in the British RAF,” he explained. “They’ve just formed a group of American