Finally she chose a St Laurent pastel print dress, its subdued colouring enhancing the pearly gleam of her skin.
The journey to Nice took under two hours and while Tom talked to Lee Lloyd the photographer, Caroline spoke to his fiancée, Ann Webster. A slim brunette, she looked as if she would be more at home riding to hounds than lugging lighting around and loading cameras. She was an amusing girl and easy to talk to and had no illusions about Lee.
'He keeps putting off the final decision to get spliced,' she said. 'Sometimes I think he only promised to marry me in order to keep me working for him. You know Lee. It's work first, all the time with him.'
'You can always leave,' said Caroline.
'I love the guy.'
Caroline felt sorry for Ann. Lee, like most photographers she had worked with, was a bit of a lecher. Obviously he did not want to settle down yet, and who could blame him? He worked with so many beautiful girls that he would find it difficult to stay faithful.
'Have you modelled for Matt Bishop before?' Ann asked, interrupting her reverie.
'No, but I've been dating him.'
'Lucky girl! Is he as dishy as they say?'
'Dishier.'
Caroline was saved from further probing by the arrival of their lunch, and by the time they had finished Nice loomed ahead of them.
As they came out of the Customs, Caroline glanced round for Matt. To her disappointment she only saw his chauffeur, Frank.
'Mr Bishop sends his apologies,' he told her as he carried the luggage out to the gleaming white Mercedes, its black hood lowered in the warm sunshine, 'but he was called away to Milan on business and won't be back until this afternoon.'
Just the knowledge that Matt had wanted to meet her made Caroline feel happy, and she relaxed as they bowled along the highway through Cagnes-sur-Mer and then turned off the sea road into the country.
Their hotel, situated some ten minutes from Antibes, was a modern glass and concrete edifice set in extensive grounds, from which one could glimpse the sea. It was difficult to believe that only two and a half hours ago they had left a grey and cold spring day in London. Here it was like summer, and even the drabbest buildings seemed bright in the glare of the sun.
Standing at the desk while the clerk checked through their reservations, Caroline remarked on the decor.
'Mr Bishop will be happy you like it,' the clerk smiled. 'Although he has many other hotels, he always says this one is his favourite.'
She was taken aback. Matt had not mentioned that he owned the hotel. But then he very rarely spoke of his business interests. As the porter took her luggage up to her room, she reflected wistfully how little she knew about him.
Her bedroom on the third floor was tastefully furnished, with the bedcovers and curtains matching the print of the wallpaper, and the en-suite bathroom tiled in the same floral pattern. But the first thing that caught her eyes was the huge basket of red roses on a table in the centre of the room. Happily she reached out for the card. The message was short and to the point. 'Missed you! Counting the hours until tonight.' Her heartbeat quickened with excitement as she reread the note. So was she, she thought, twirling round the room and wondering if tonight was going to be the magic one when he proposed to her.
Frank was returning at seven-thirty to take them all to the yacht for dinner, and this gave her ample time to look around before getting ready. She unpacked quickly and asked Tom to join her, and together they strolled through the hotel. The four-storey building only contained fifty bedrooms, and each floor was decorated in the style of a different country: England, Italy, France and Spain. The dining-room was surrounded by a large terrace and they crossed it and went down the steps to the garden, where wrought-iron tables and chairs were waiting to be used.
The splendid swimming pool, Olympic in size, was set amidst perfectly manicured lawns, and was flanked by changing
The journey to Nice took under two hours and while Tom talked to Lee Lloyd the photographer, Caroline spoke to his fiancée, Ann Webster. A slim brunette, she looked as if she would be more at home riding to hounds than lugging lighting around and loading cameras. She was an amusing girl and easy to talk to and had no illusions about Lee.
'He keeps putting off the final decision to get spliced,' she said. 'Sometimes I think he only promised to marry me in order to keep me working for him. You know Lee. It's work first, all the time with him.'
'You can always leave,' said Caroline.
'I love the guy.'
Caroline felt sorry for Ann. Lee, like most photographers she had worked with, was a bit of a lecher. Obviously he did not want to settle down yet, and who could blame him? He worked with so many beautiful girls that he would find it difficult to stay faithful.
'Have you modelled for Matt Bishop before?' Ann asked, interrupting her reverie.
'No, but I've been dating him.'
'Lucky girl! Is he as dishy as they say?'
'Dishier.'
Caroline was saved from further probing by the arrival of their lunch, and by the time they had finished Nice loomed ahead of them.
As they came out of the Customs, Caroline glanced round for Matt. To her disappointment she only saw his chauffeur, Frank.
'Mr Bishop sends his apologies,' he told her as he carried the luggage out to the gleaming white Mercedes, its black hood lowered in the warm sunshine, 'but he was called away to Milan on business and won't be back until this afternoon.'
Just the knowledge that Matt had wanted to meet her made Caroline feel happy, and she relaxed as they bowled along the highway through Cagnes-sur-Mer and then turned off the sea road into the country.
Their hotel, situated some ten minutes from Antibes, was a modern glass and concrete edifice set in extensive grounds, from which one could glimpse the sea. It was difficult to believe that only two and a half hours ago they had left a grey and cold spring day in London. Here it was like summer, and even the drabbest buildings seemed bright in the glare of the sun.
Standing at the desk while the clerk checked through their reservations, Caroline remarked on the decor.
'Mr Bishop will be happy you like it,' the clerk smiled. 'Although he has many other hotels, he always says this one is his favourite.'
She was taken aback. Matt had not mentioned that he owned the hotel. But then he very rarely spoke of his business interests. As the porter took her luggage up to her room, she reflected wistfully how little she knew about him.
Her bedroom on the third floor was tastefully furnished, with the bedcovers and curtains matching the print of the wallpaper, and the en-suite bathroom tiled in the same floral pattern. But the first thing that caught her eyes was the huge basket of red roses on a table in the centre of the room. Happily she reached out for the card. The message was short and to the point. 'Missed you! Counting the hours until tonight.' Her heartbeat quickened with excitement as she reread the note. So was she, she thought, twirling round the room and wondering if tonight was going to be the magic one when he proposed to her.
Frank was returning at seven-thirty to take them all to the yacht for dinner, and this gave her ample time to look around before getting ready. She unpacked quickly and asked Tom to join her, and together they strolled through the hotel. The four-storey building only contained fifty bedrooms, and each floor was decorated in the style of a different country: England, Italy, France and Spain. The dining-room was surrounded by a large terrace and they crossed it and went down the steps to the garden, where wrought-iron tables and chairs were waiting to be used.
The splendid swimming pool, Olympic in size, was set amidst perfectly manicured lawns, and was flanked by changing
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