Sometimes, she felt that he, too, was carrying some heavy inner burden… a business pressure probably, but she didn't pry; when it was time, if he wanted her to know, he would tell her. Nevertheless, their sexual fiascos had added to her growing feeling of frustration, until she had reached this point of even being jealous over the likes of Ginny Novak. Lord, she had to get hold of herself. She was a woman of position now…

"What is your opinion, Cheri?" Uncle Gaston interrupted her train of thought, speaking in English for the benefit of the Minister from Ottawa.

Madeleine caught herself; she never liked to appear the fool. "I think my opinions are better left unsaid, Uncle," she replied smiling somewhat shyly, entirely unaware of the nature of their conversation.

"What's more, Madame Poirier is a diplomat, M'sieu'," Mallory returned, smiling broadly. "As if being beautiful is not enough."

"You flatter me, M'sieu' Mallory," said Madeleine into his pale, hawkish face. He was a tall man, lean and impressive of stature, with fine eyes and an unruly shock of white hair. "I fear if you gentlemen don't stop you'll turn my head."

"In my direction, I hope," the Minister teased.

Madeleine made an habitual gesture of tossing her head to right her shoulder-length, raven-black hair even as she continued to smile. The little movement caused her firm rounded breasts to quiver in the thin, invisible bra behind the low-cut, white mini-gown she wore and Uncle Gaston imagined that he heard male eyes click as they locked upon the voluptuous spectacle. He squeezed her hand and let his tongue wet his dry lips. It was time, he thought. Why the hell should he wait any longer? He'd been waiting all day. He stole a glance at Antoine and saw that Ginny was keeping him occupied… per instructions.

"You will pardon us, M'sieu' Mallory," Gaston Larreau excused them, "but we must argue with the other guests too."