Finding Elizabeth Read Free

frowned, staring at the handwriting. “Eric! What a complete arse.” She ripped the card up. “Give these flowers to anyone you like, but please don’t tell them who they’re from, it’ll only put them off.”
    “Eric is still a problem?” Pierre puffed out his chest. “He and his mother are wonderful patrons, but his behaviour has gone
too
far. Want
moi
to sort him out?”
    Katherine pulled a face. “Sure, I can just see you having a tussle with Eric. He’d cry foul or do something equally stupid and sue you. I don’t want family or friends to get involved in this mess.”
    “But that’s what family does—look out for each other,” Pierre frowned.
    “Yes, and we do. But I think the best approach is to ignore Eric. He’ll get bored and find someone who’ll fawn all over him.” She sniffed the boutonnière of apricot roses and, thanks to the sweet musky scent, her temper vanished. “I’ll keep these. They make me smile.” She lay them on the dressing table, dug her fingers into a pot of cleanser and slapped a glob onto her cheeks. She smeared it over her face, effectively putting an end to conversation about quitting ballet, parents and an obsessed, irrational fool.
    Pierre put his arm around her shoulder, and kissed the top of her head. “I’d better go talk to the press.” He straightened and slowly turned. “How do I look?”
    “Gorgeous. How can anyone resist such a handsome man?”
    Pierre waved his hand theatrically and minced. “Well, you do have to wonder,” he said with wry humour. “But love still eludes me.”
    “You’re such a drama queen, Uncle,” she laughed.
    He gave her a wink, smiled and left the room.
    Katherine wiped away the layers of stage make-up with a handful of tissues. Her thoughts turned to her last performance at the Spruce Valley town hall and the very end of her career. She longed for it, yet the thought of leaving was scary. Her ballet routine of practice, rehearsals and proper diet had been her life. At least she didn’t feel utterly adrift; she had plans. Passing her physiotherapist’s and care for the elderly exams had made it possible.
    Five flights of stairs to her loft apartment in Calgary had never been an issue for Katherine until tonight. Hand on the newel post she looked up, and the Calgary Tower came to mind. After a long night celebrating Christmas holidays, she believed the best way to tackle these stairs was to think of something else and go for it. She hurried up the first flight, daydreaming about sex with a passing stranger on a hot beach. Stranger? No way. Sex with Gerard Butler on a hot beach, in the surf and under a tropical downpour. She giggled quietly. Daydreaming was safe and, she decided, a delicious pastime.
    Okay
, she smiled to herself,
I didn’t collapse of exhaustion and I’m on the landing
.
    A strip of light glowed from under the door. That was odd. She never forgot to turn off her lights. Once inside, she hung her hat and coat on a brass hook in the entry hall, and kicked off her shoes. Clutching the boutonnière and her purse, she padded across the parquetry floor to her living room.
    “Hello, Katarina.” An arrogant voice shattered her tropical daydreams.
    “Eric!” Katherine exclaimed angrily. “What the hell are you doing in here? And how the hell did you get in?! Are you insane? Get out! Right now!” She thrust her arm out, pointing at the door.
    “That’s not very civil,” Eric smirked, head to one side, lounging on her leather sofa as if he owned it—owned her. The thought made her shudder. The lamp on a side table nearest him was on. Its warm glow cast sharp shadows across his angular features. His deep-set, weasel eyes glinted with bravado, but this display was a sham. Surely others saw that too.
    His whiney voice grated on her nerves as he said, “Mother is so pleased I’m seeing a principal ballet dancer. I’ve told our friends all about our plans. Gosh, they were so surprised—why hadn’t you told