CHAPTER ONE
CYNARA came to a startled halt as she stepped from the lift after her early morning swim in the hotel pool situated on the ground floor. The reception area was a hive of activity at only nine o’clock in the morning with people checking in and out of this busy London hotel. But one little boy stood out in that crowd as far as Cynara was concerned, quite a tall boy really at the ten he must be now, not far short of her own slender five foot frame. Michael Buchanan! It was five years since she had seen either him or his father, but he had changed little in that time, still incredibly like Zack, with that dark vibrant hair and cool green eyes. Michael had been remarkably self-possessed even at five, but now he looked even more so, tall and thin, with an air of confidence that sat strangely on such a young child.
He was looking at the billboard that stood outside the Sunset Lounge, staring at the photograph of Cynara that was prominent on the display, smiling into the camera, her chin resting on her hands, her long flame-red hair streaming down to her waist, her velvet brown eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief, her nose small and snub, her mouth wide and smiling. She hadn’t changed all that much in the last five years either; would Michael recognise her? Admittedly they had only met the once, but it had been a memorable meeting, one that should stand out even in a young child’s memory. Michael was frowning as he turned from the billboard, walking straight past her and into the waiting lift. Cynara didn’t move until she heard the doors close and the almost silent ascent of the lift, then the tension slowly left her. Whether Michael had recognised the woman in the photograph as the singer who had once been involved with his father she didn’t know, but he certainly hadn’t recognised the woman with the towel wrapped about her hair turban-style, the loose towelling dress she wore over her bikini making her look plumper than she really was. If Michael were staying at the hotel, and it seemed he was, then that meant either Zack or Joanne were here too. But which one, that was the question that demanded an answer. If it were Joanne then she had nothing to fear, knowing that, despite Zack’s father’s opposition to the idea, the couple had filed for divorce four years ago. Zack’s wife had been unaware of his relationship with the young singer Cynara, the two of them already separated when Cynara and Zack met. But if it were Zack with Michael ...! She hadn’t seen Zack since that last fiery scene when he had told her to get out of his life. And she didn’t want to see him again now either! Diane was one of the receptionists on the desk this morning, not one of the most helpful women when it came to the other staff at this exclusive hotel, but Cynara had always made it a policy to try and get on with the people she worked with. It made things easier in her profession, with her constantly changing venues. Diane looked at her insolently as she approached the desk, a beautiful blonde woman who cared little for the fact that Cynara was the contracted singer at the hotel for the month, and so entitled to a little more respect than she had so far been shown by this woman. ‘Was that Michael Buchanan I saw you talking to just now?’ She had learnt in the last week of working here that politely working up to a subject didn’t work with Diane James, that you had to be as plain-speaking to her as Diane was herself. But that was okay with Cynara, she preferred honesty and forthrightness herself. Glacial blue eyes met hers, Diane’s interest in the manager of the hotel well-known, her suspicion of all other women where he was concerned known too. ‘I’m not allowed to discuss the guests who stay here,’ she replied haughtily. ‘With anyone,’ she added pointedly. ‘Then Michael is a guest?’ she pursued in her naturally husky voice, a huskiness that had nevertheless become more pronounced the last few months after years of constantly working. The other woman flushed. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said unhelpfully, her mouth tight. ‘Then would you know if Zack Buchanan were a guest?’ Cynara asked with sweet sarcasm. ‘Could you just tell me if he’s registered here?’ she snapped impatiently as she saw the other woman was about to refuse a second time. Not his room number, just if he’s staying here.’ ‘I certainly wouldn’t give you the room number of any guest!’ Diane was indignant at the suggestion. ‘Although I don’t suppose it would hurt to tell you we
