‘You said…she died in a skiing accident?’

‘Yes.’ His face was still calm. She was standing two feet back from him, gazing up into his eyes as if trying to read him. Trying to find some sort of comfort in his calmness.

‘H…how?’

‘They took out a bobsled.’ His face tightened for a minute, as if in anger. ‘They took it on a black run-a run for experienced skiers only. Bobsledding in those conditions is madness. I’m afraid…I’m afraid they’d been drinking.’

The knot of pain in Tammy’s stomach tightened. Oh, you fool, she thought bleakly. Lara, you fool. It took an almost overpowering effort of will to go on. ‘So…’ It was so hard to speak. It was as if her voice didn’t belong to her. ‘She…Lara was married to your cousin?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your cousin died, too?’

‘Jean-Paul died, yes.’

She couldn’t see what he was thinking. His face was still impassive. Was there pain there? She couldn’t tell.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I guess we’re both sorry.’

He had a nice voice, she thought dispassionately. Deep and rumbly. It was tinged with what sounded almost like a French accent, but it was very slight. He’d been well schooled in English.

She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this man’s voice. Or maybe she was still using thoughts to distract herself.

Lara was dead.

What else had he said? They had a baby?

‘I can’t believe that you don’t know about this.’ Marc’s voice was suddenly rough, tinged again with anger. ‘That your mother didn’t tell you.’

‘My mother knows?’

‘Of course your mother knows. I flew her to Broitenburg for the funeral. They were buried with a State funeral last month.’

Her mother would have enjoyed that, Tammy thought inconsequentially, going off on another tangent as her mind darted back and forth, trying to avoid pain. She thought of Isobelle Dexter de Bier as a grieving mother at a royal funeral. Isobelle would have done it brilliantly. She could almost guess what her mother would have worn. It would have been something lacy and black and extremely elegant. She’d have worn a veil, and there’d have been a wispy handkerchief dabbing at eyes that welled with tears that were never allowed to fall.