Love and Devotion by Erica James Page A

borrowing a car she had absolutely no right to touch.
    Paris had been Steve’s idea. He’d wanted to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary by doing something special, and when Gemma had come home from school with the letter about the lower-sixth French student exchange system, he had suddenly fancied France for himself, particularly Paris. ‘We could treat ourselves to a decent hotel and really take our time exploring,’ he said. ‘It could be a second honeymoon for us.’
    ‘But I’ve already had a second one,’ she’d said, ‘when I married you.’
    ‘Yes, but did the first one really count?’
    Steve didn’t often badmouth Will - that was her job, especially if Will had been irritatingly stubborn over something - but she supposed that occasionally it was natural that Husband Number Two would feel the need to check his stock against that of Husband Number One. Not that he needed to worry. Will didn’t compare at all. Steve was everything Will could never be. He was dependable, solid, hardworking, ambitious, organised and most importantly, all grown up. When Steve said he’d organise something he did it by the book and you could be sure it would happen. There were no embarrassing surprises or disappointments. If Will had suggested a trip to Paris it would probably turn out to be a long weekend to EuroDisney with Big Macs thrown in. Her idea of hell.
    It transpired that the only week she and Steve could both get away coincided with Gemma’s trip to Paris. ‘I might know you’d find some way to keep an eye on me,’ Gemma had said.
    ‘Paris is a big city,’ Maxine had mollified her, ‘quite large enough for us to avoid bumping into each other.’
    ‘I certainly hope so.’
    As tempting as it was to look up Monsieur and Madame Leon in Paris and introduce themselves, they stuck to the arrangement that they would meet at Charles de Gaulle airport at the agreed time. It was then, when they discovered there was a strike on, that all the pleasure of the holiday started to fade away.
    Maxine sighed, and deciding on chicken Kiev for supper, she closed the freezer door. After putting the unappetising lumps of breaded chicken into a dish and shoving them into the oven, she went over to the wine rack. A very large glass of wine was just what was needed. She had the cork almost out when the doorbell rang. If it was one of the girls’ friends, a Jehovah’s Witness or a double-glazing man, they were in for short shrift. She flung the door back in a way guaranteed to see them off.
    ‘Oh, it’s you.’
    ‘Bonjour, ma cherie! Is that the pungent smell of a ripe Brie fresh from its travels across the channel? Or is it the smell of a daughter being roasted on the spit?’
    Maxine frowned. ‘It’s really not a good time for one of your tiresome, not to say cryptic, stand-up routines, Will. I’m tired and likely to attack at the slightest provocation.’
    From behind Maxine came the thundering of feet. ‘Hey Dad, good to see you!’
    ‘Wow! Look at you, Gemma, you’re positively glowing. France obviously suited you.’
    Maxine’s head was beginning to ache. ‘Okay, Will,’ she conceded, stepping back to let him in. ‘You’ve got twenty minutes, then our supper’s ready.’

Chapter Ten
     
     
     
     
    Will followed Maxine and Gemma through to the kitchen, glancing left and right, an imaginary rifle cocked and ready to go. Come on you bastard! Where’re you hiding? Come out and show yourself, you snivelling excuse of a man. I’ll teach you to pick on one of my daughters!
    ‘Hello, Will, what are you doing here?’
    Will spun round. He fired and blew a hole clean through Steve’s head. Boom! Job done.
    What Maxine saw in Steve was another of life’s great mysteries. Okay, the man was seriously good for a few quid, but surely looks and personality had to count for something? As far as Will was concerned, Steve was too short, too ugly, too old, too hairy and much too successful. Five years ago, Steve had