The marriage is dead, she repeated, as the plane became airborne and the lights of England faded into the night. It died the day I discovered the truth.
In the eighteen months since she had fled he had made only one attempt to contact her, and that, she told herself, showed what he really felt for her. He had tracked her down through Samantha and made a brief phone call to ask her when she intended to return. She had repeated the gist of her farewell note, telling him marriage was a drag and she wanted to be free to be herself. It wasn't true, of course. Until that dreadful moment of truth marriage had been heaven. But it had been a fool's paradise, and pride had shown her the way out.
Since then the only news she had had from him had come via Samantha or, until recently, her mother. At best it had been sketchy and, she suspected, her mother's constant references to Marlow's desire to have her back owed more to Sybilla's own wishful thinking than to anything Marlow himself might have said.
Only two months ago she had told her mother, 'It's over, Mother, you must realise that by now. I have a new life in London, a good job, a nice flat. I don't need Marlow Hudson in my life ever again.' She had vowed never to return. But now she was being forced back.
The sign came on to fasten seatbelts as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. One or two worried glances flew between the passengers, but Flame closed her eyes with a sense of detachment. These days she was nothing if not a fatalist.
It was nearly an hour after that when she was roused by the announcement that they were approaching the Spanish coast. Soon a fairy-tale cluster of lights in the darkness below indicated the airport buildings, then the plane was racing between the avenue of landing lights and she knew with a sudden shock that she was once again on Marlow's territory.
Emilio was leaning on the barrier at the exit as she came bleary-eyed into the glare of the concourse. He seemed to pick out her slim, flame-coloured form at once, giving her a huge bear-hug in welcome as he took her bag. 'You've been missed, cara. This time you must stay for good.'
Flame kissed him on both cheeks. 'I've missed you all too. Whatever happened to your promised trip to England?' She knew how difficult it was for Emilio to leave his construction business. They chatted amiably as they walked back to the car. It was still dark, but by now there was a subtle glow of pearl on the eastern horizon, heralding a new day.
Throwing her bag into the back of the car, Emilio settled her into the passenger seat and began the drive through the sleeping suburbs of Malaga before taking the coast road to Santa Margarita.
'We'll stop at a bar when we're halfway,' he suggested, 'to give you chance to find your feet and time our arrival for breakfast!'
'A drink at six in the morning? Heavens, I've missed all that!' exclaimed Flame, remembering the summer holidays of old when they had all dined in the Spanish way at eleven, then danced till dawn, finishing with breakfast in cafés that never seemed to close.
Emilio must have been tipped off by Samantha, because he avoided mentioning Marlow altogether, and instead chatted amiably about his young family, proudly hinting at the likelihood of another baby.
By the time they drove in through the gates of Santa Margarita, the sky was a cloudless expanse of baby blue, as fragile as organza. The car climbed the steep driveway, with its border of royal palms, until at last the villa came in sight. Familiar though it was, Flame gave a small gasp. She would never get used to the natural beauty of its setting amid palms and cypresses and cascading vines, a setting enhanced by the perfection of the white-walled villa itself.
With its pleasing arrangement of arches and balconies and a roof terrace overlooking the bay, it was the result of her father's lovingly designed scheme to create a family home for his beloved wife and daughters. Everything about it was testimony to the lavish attention to their needs, from the spectacular gardens rising in a series of terraces on all sides, to the luxurious accommodation she knew lay within. Out of sight on the other side, within the privacy of the protective L of the building, was the main terrace and pool with breathtaking views of the Mediterranean as a backdrop.
Her gaze was drawn involuntarily to a smaller villa, half hidden among the trees. This had been her father's plan too—a gift for his eldest daughter, with further plans for an identical villa to be built lower down the headland when Flame came of age.
Samantha and Emilio had been the first occupants in the casita, as it was called, until Sybilla had persuaded them to move their growing brood into the far more spacious main house. It had stood empty for a while. Then, when Flame and Marlow married, they had moved into the casita themselves.
At Sybilla's instigation Marlow planned to complete Eric Montrose's designs for a second villa for Flame, and after its completion planned to move the nerve-centre of his property empire into the casita. Work had started on the new villa straight away. But then Flame had walked out.
As far as she knew all Marlow's plans had been put on ice, for she knew he still lived at the casita. She could glimpse it now through the pine trees lower down the hillside.
It was quiet when Emilio cut the engine. He lifted out her bag and walked with it towards the house. Flame got out and stretched for a moment. Slats of light broke through the branches of the trees, striping the path with light and shade. Her senses were assailed by the rich scent of hibiscus opening to the dawn.
She took a deep breath and turned with the intention of following Emilio inside, but a movement between the pines surrounding the casita caught her eye. She swivelled. There was nothing there, only sunlight reclaiming its domain with every passing second. She turned towards the house. Then something made her glance back again.
With a shudder she saw a familiar white-clad figure moving between the trees. The sight made her freeze. Marlow! It was useless to pretend she hadn't seen him.
She waited, carved in ice, as he came out on the path and walked deliberately towards her.
He must have heard the car drive up the hill, she told herself, her thoughts revolving with inexorable slowness. Perhaps he'd been out on the town and was just returning. Perhaps he always started work at this time. There was no other explanation for his appearance.
When he was still a few feet away he came to a stop as if some invisible barrier separated them. Her heart was bumping at the sight of him. Tall and broad-shouldered, with his gypsy-dark hair, he brought back an almost forgotten memory of physical power. An image flashed unbidden into her mind of strong arms coming round her to pick her up. It was on one of those days when she had felt herself truly loved, and she remembered how he had run with her in his arms into the waves on their beach in the cove below. She had revelled then in his physical power, mistakenly believing it would be hers forever.
Now he was standing within touching distance, but he didn't reach out. Instead he spoke her name, an upward, mocking inflexion in the sound, as if her arrival was unexpected. Then his eyes swept her face and they were as blue and empty and soulless as the sea.
'So you found something to bring you back?' he went on when she didn't return his greeting. He spoke in the familiar drawl that had once so thrilled her. This time, though, she was ready to resist it. Its seductive huskiness set up barriers this time around and she was prepared to fight it. Even so she heard herself stammer before managing to force out a proper reply.
'As you see,' she stiffened under his cool blue stare, 'I'm back. For Mother's sake.'
His eyes were something she'd thought she had forgotten—blue, turquoise, indigo, as pacific or storm-racked as the oceans. They stared into hers, provoking in their intensity. She couldn't drag her glance away, but nor could she bear the brunt of their scrutiny either without a thrill of unbidden desire prickling over her skin.
She stepped back, matching his assessment with one of her own. There was no doubt about it, he was wildly good-looking. She had quite forgotten just how black and thick was the hair she used to run her fingers through. His harshly honed features were tanned to a deep tropical gold, and his
strong jaw and full, sensuous lips gave him a formidable air that could change at will into one of almost boyish charm. Oh, he had charm, she agreed coldly, but now she saw it as the deliberate ploy of a man who meant to get his own way at any price.
'Why didn't you warn me you were coming over?' he demanded.
'Did you need warning?' Flame raised a cool eyebrow.
'You know what I mean,' he said impatiently. 'Why no word?'
'It was all decided at the last minute,' she told him, as if it was no business of his. 'Surely Samantha told you?'
He nodded abruptly. 'I was away yesterday. She left a message on my answerphone last night.'
She was scarcely listening to what he said, her eyes raking over him with a sense of shock as all the old feelings sprang into life. His tan was enhanced by the stark white of his shirt. He had always worn white, she remembered. It had been his trademark. He told her it saved the bother of thinking what to put on because everything matched. Time, she remembered, had always been short. Marlow did everything at full pelt. At nineteen she had thought he looked glamorous in his white linen suit, like a film star.
Now she continued to give him an up-and-down look, one deliberately designed to show she was older now and unimpressed by such things. 'No doubt I'll see you around,' she clipped, backing away.
'Inevitably,' he remarked in a dry mocking tone as she turned to go.
Flame averted her head as she noticed his glance fall to her breasts, angry with herself for the blood that suddenly rushed to her cheeks as she read what that look meant. She forced herself to turn and walk steadily towards the steps, and when she paused at the top to look back she saw he was standing on the path, gazing after her—a motionless, enigmatic figure in white outlined against the growing crimson of the dawn sky. Despite how she felt about him there was a split second when something else overrode all other feelings, and she simply wanted to run to him, to plunge into the heart of the glowing scarlet .sunrise, to be in his arms with the rough strength of him crushing her to him. But she knew it could never be, and the impulse was over almost at once. She slipped inside the house, closing the door firmly against such folly.
It was cool and dark inside, seeming more so because of the violent glow as the dawn sky filled with red. The old saying bit into her mind: red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning. Red was a danger warning even a child could understand. She was older now and not likely to forget it and make the same mistake twice.
CHAPTER TWO
For Flame the day had already begun, and it seemed pointless to go to bed now, so, after a peep into her mother's room which found her still sleeping, she breakfasted with Samantha and Emilio and their tiny trio in the large white and grey kitchen.
After Emilio had left for work the two women went out on to the terrace with the children. 'Mother sleeps late at the moment. She's very weak. Don't expect her to be her old self,' warned Samantha.
Then she introduced her sister to the live-in nanny, a capable-looking Swedish girl in her mid-twenties, and Flame greeted her warmly. Explained Samantha, 'Britt helps keep me sane in the face of the little monsters and their antics!'
'They are angels all three,' broke in Britt with a friendly smile.
'Did Emilio tell you about number four?' asked Samantha, turning to Flame.
She nodded, and something in her expression made Samantha take her by the arm and sit her down in one of the loungers by the poolside. 'Your face, love! It could be you, couldn't it, with a baby of your own? You should never have walked out on him.'
'I had no choice. Exit with dignity—that's what I did. And I'm glad. It was the right decision,' Flame said tightly.
'You seem so sure...'
'I am. One hundred per cent.' Yet she frowned.
'So what's worrying you?'
'Mother, of course,' she replied defensively. 'What else?'
Samantha regarded her younger sister closely. 'Can't you two kiss and make up after all this time? Surely it's not too late?'
'You must be mad, Sammy! After what he did?'
'What did he do, exactly? You weren't very forthcoming at the time.'
'You know damn well he couldn't be trusted!' It was true Flame had never gone into details. It had simply been too heart-wrenching at the time, and in the turmoil of pain that followed she assumed everyone knew the truth, for didn't they always say the wife was the last to know?
'I'm sure he was no worse than anyone else. After all, men will be men,' replied Samantha easily. 'What do you expect from somebody so outrageously attractive?'
'I expect the fidelity he expected of me,' replied Flame tartly. 'I don't accept double standards. Why should I?' Her stomach churned again at the memory of that terrible day when her heart had broken in two...
'Double standards. I suppose that's a dig at me?' Samantha raised luminous blue eyes to Flame's green ones.
'With you it was more than a double standard. From what I can make out you were both as bad as each other!' Flame tried to speak lightly and Samantha threw her head back in a throaty laugh.
'There was never anyone serious for either of us. It was just that we both liked to flirt and then we'd get horribly jealous and start shouting. I can tell you, we're both definitely reformed characters now!'
'So you don't accept a double standard either.'
Samantha smiled softly. 'I must admit I'd find it hard to go on if I thought Emilio preferred the company of other women.'
'Luckily you know he's crazy about you. It's obvious from everything he says and does.' The way Emilio had looked at his wife over the breakfast table showed plainly to Flame that his wild oats, if any, were firmly in the past.
'And what about Marlow?' remarked Samantha. 'Isn't he crazy about you?'
'Is he?' Flame felt her fists clench. 'If it had simply been a question of flirting with another woman I might have been able to forgive him, but it was more, much more than that—— Look, Sammy,' she broke off, 'I don't want to quarrel with you. Let's agree to differ on the topic of Marlow Hudson. You're like everyone else, thoroughly taken in by the superficial charm. Well, I for one have had my eyes opened, and nothing is going to make me shut them now. I know what he's really like underneath the charm, and it would make a shark look like a family pet. How do you imagine he's been so successful in business? By means of simple charm? No, he's been ruthlessly self-seeking, and you can't deny it. But that's hot all.' She leaned forward. 'Even you wouldn't try to tell me he hasn't been out with any other women while I've been away.'
'If he has he's been remarkably discreet about it.' Samantha eyed her sister levelly. Then she bit her lip and glanced away.
Flame jerked back, her breath constricted cruelly in her chest at what she suspected had flashed through Samantha's mind.
'Can you imagine what he went through after you walked out?' Samantha pointed out gently. 'He's the type who'll always be knee-deep in admirers, and you can't expect a mere man to be superhuman.'
'I can,' clipped Flame, rising to her feet to put an end to a conversation that was becoming intolerable. She tried to change the subject. 'Is the pool warm enough for a swim yet?' It was only March, but the sun was already hot.
'Just about,' judged Samantha, 'if you keep on the move.'
'I'll have a quick dip, then, before Mother wakes up.'
Flame went back inside and in the privacy of her room spent a moment or two looking at her reflection in the mirror. What had Marlow seen in her face that had made him gaze at her with such intensity when she arrived? Perhaps he saw a woman now, not the girl he had seduced and betrayed. A woman who could handle her emotions—and, this time, one who could handle him.
Wearing a bright pink and black bikini, she strode long-limbed and still golden-skinned from a recent winter holiday into the corridor leading to the pool, but as she passed the door into the living-room it opened with a suddenness that made her jerk to a halt. Marlow himself stood in the doorway. The shock-wave that passed between them was almost tangib
le.
He leaned against the door-jamb, a thin smile on his handsome face. 'That was a quick change,' he ground out. 'You were on the terrace last time I looked out.'
'Shouldn't you be working instead of looking out of windows?' replied Flame, backing away as he seemed to loom over her with a distinct air of menace.
'With you around?' His voice dropped suggestively. Then his glance began to travel slowly over her near-naked body and she felt the blush that rose so easily to her flame-haired colouring rise bit by bit over her curves in a tell-tale flood.
'Damn you, Marlow,' she said through the constriction in her throat. 'Don't try your phoney charm on me any more! I had enough of it when we were married.'
'We still are married. Surely you can't have forgotten?' he husked, not moving, but riveting her attention with the sheer power of his personality. One hand snaked out and grasped her possessively by the wrist. 'I can be a patient man when necessary, Flame. And I've been patient with you.' His voice dropped. 'I've been waiting a long time.' The way he said it was full of threat and she felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand up.
'Take your hand from around my wrist, Marlow!' she clipped, refusing to struggle. She drew herself up, but couldn't help glancing down at where his fingers curled over her flesh with such an indisputable air of ownership.
'Icy—very. Definitely not one of your former attributes!'
'You'll no doubt find a lot of my so-called former attributes changed,' she told him, relief flooding through her as he slowly released her wrist and she could step back out of the danger zone. The familiar warmth of his skin showered her with sparks of memory. 'Get this straight: I'm not the naive little girl I once was. I have a lot to thank you for, Marlow, and growing up is one of them.'
'I don't think I want to be thanked for having a hand in the way you've turned out if this is it.' His tone was hard. 'We're going to have a talk, Flame, and the sooner the better.'
Simply Forever Page 2
