But there was another side of the coin, as he had warned. When she was on the verge of begging him to take her, her fingers raking helplessly up and down the broad, curving muscles of his back, Marlow shifted his weight, and when she opened her eyes he had propped himself over her with a hand on each side of her head, gazing down at her with the shuttered look she had seen before.
As she watched he moved back, slowly dragging himself to one side, then, while she was still trying to fathom what he was doing, he rose athletically to his feet in one sudden movement. 'Is it luck or what that I have a phone call to take in five minutes?' His lips twisted into a derisive smile. 'Do you still imagine you're calling the shots? I told you you'd have to wait, Flame. I'll decide when,' he informed her disparagingly. 'But don't worry, it won't be long.'
He seemed to expect her to argue with him, but she felt too shocked, too bleared by his abrupt withdrawal to think straight. In a daze she hatched him begin to walk away. It was in her mind to call after him, but she fought back the impulse, suddenly aware of her surroundings, of what had been about to happen, of her own shameless, helpless part in the proceedings. My God, what am I doing? she thought frantically, pulling her top down over her midriff. Marlow was already at the steps leading round the side of the villa. Let him go, Flame admonished herself breathlessly. It was agony to force back the cry of longing that welled up in her throat.
Tears released by the depth of her frustration and despair sprang into her eyes. Why was he taunting her like this?
When he had gone, without, she noticed with a twinge, a single backward glance, she sat up and tried to steady herself. It was a bleak fact that she would never survive life with Marlow. He wanted too much and he would give nothing that really mattered. Only a fool would have contemplated opening themselves to the degree of pain he could inflict.
She got up and went towards the villa, not entirely sure what she was doing. Her mind was in turmoil, unsatisfied desire like a tornado of flame deep within. She stood on the steps for an extended moment, gazing unseeingly at the bright disc of the swimming-pool.
At last she turned towards the house again. There was a movement on her mother's balcony, then the nurse came out. She leaned down. 'Would you like to come up?' she called.
Wordlessly Flame made her way inside. She felt like a zombie with the strain of trying to wipe all signs of emotional turmoil from off her features. A pause and a deep breath before she entered the sick-room gave her a semblance of control.
But she was even more disturbed when she went inside and saw how ill her mother looked. The fine skin stretched across her cheekbones seemed almost transparent. 'Is there anything I can get you, Mum?' she asked gently, managing to shelve her own problems for the time being.
'Nurse Gomez is taking her break. I hoped we might have a little chat.' Sybilla smiled weakly. Lifting a hand, she indicated the photographs on the table beside her bed. 'Aren't they beautiful children?' she breathed. 'I'm so lucky.'
Flame picked up the photographs of her little nieces and nephew. 'I couldn't believe they'd grown so much when I saw them,' she said rather pensively. 'They were only babies eighteen months ago.' A twinge of regret crept into her voice, as she contemplated the three cute little faces, all smiles and dancing eyes and baby chubbiness.
'I love listening to them playing on the terrace,' her mother went on. 'They're like little larks, as happy as the day is long.' She gave a scarcely perceptible sigh, then said something that sent a stab of pain straight through Flame's heart. 'If only you and Marlow had a baby,' she said, 'I'm sure things would sort themselves out. And just think, they'd all be of an age. It would be such fun for them, growing up together.' Her faded blue eyes brightened at the thought.
'Mother, I don't think --'
'I know Marlow wants a family. Someone to hand it all on to --'
'Mother, is this what you wanted to chat about, because if so --?'
'Of course it is, my darling,' Sybilla went on in a voice that was no more than a whisper. 'What else is more important than my own daughter's happiness? I hate to see you waste your life being miserable --'
'Who's miserable?' Flame tried to laugh it off, but something in the remark struck home, making her eyes mist over. She averted her head, pretending to put the photographs back in place. There was silence from her mother and when she turned Sybilla had struggled up on to her pillows, not hiding the depth of her concern.
'I've grown very fond of Marlow over this last year,' she admitted, her voice wavering. 'He's been absolutely staunch. You've got a good man there, Flame, and I really wonder if you know what you're doing to him.'
'What I'm doing to him?' Flame gazed in open-mouthed astonishment. Then, seeing the look of pain on her mother's face, she clamped her lips over the angry words that were about to come pouring out. Her mother's face seemed almost waxen now against the lace pillows, and not for the first time Flame got an inkling of just how ill she was. The hand on the coverlet was so fragile it wrenched her heart.
She said, 'We had a bit of a talk before he went out...' It was said in a way meant to allay her mother's acute anxiety, but Sybilla Montrose read more into it than Flame intended.
'There now,' she sighed, 'that's a beginning! I knew you only needed to meet again. I'm not expecting miracles—I know you're both stubborn. But I can't forget your faces as you stood side by side at the altar. You were two people in love if ever there were.' She smiled. 'I would never have agreed to such a whirlwind marriage if I hadn't felt convinced you were both so absolutely right for each other. And I don't just mean the money side,' she said, with a flash of her old shrewdness before Flame could interrupt. 'Love should transcend all that.'
'And you believe it did?' mumbled Flame, letting her hair fall forward to hide the expression on her face.
'I know it did,' came the reply. Still wan-faced, Sybilla stretched out an arm. 'Darling, would you do something for me? Open that drawer in my dressing-table—the one on the left. Yes, that's right,' she added as Flame rose to do her bidding.
As she pulled the drawer open Flame understood what was expected of her. Inside lay a photograph in a silver frame. It was the one taken outside the church on that distant summer's day when she had stood beside Marlow, her hand tucked trustingly in his. Her own face was radiant with innocent happiness, and Marlow looked straight out at the camera with what Flame now read as smug satisfaction.
The memory seared her when she recalled how, after the photograph had been taken, Marlow had bent to kiss her as little paper hearts and flowers whirled enchantingly about their heads.
'You're mine now,' he had whispered, 'forever, my lovely.' At the time it had made her feel safe, protected. Now it seemed like a sentence in hell.
Her fingers closed over the edge of the frame and she handed it silently to her mother, then watched as it was placed carefully beside the rest of the photographs on the bedside table. Her mother's next words confirmed her fears. 'That's where it has always belonged,' she smiled. 'Just as you will always belong to Marlow, my darling.'
Flame knew that now was not the time to tell her the marriage was truly over. If a separation of eighteen months hadn't convinced her, nothing she said at this point would make any difference. Besides, how could she shatter the optimism of a sick woman? She made up her mind that she would have to break it to her gently over a period of time. Once Sybilla saw the truth of it she would come to accept that some things could never be, no matter how hard we wanted them.
Sybilla's eyes were closing now. 'They tell me I should sleep as much as I can, but it seems such a waste when you've only just arrived. I want to hear all about London, and there's so much to tell you too—about the garden, about Marlow's wonderful plans—though I'm sure he'll want to tell you about those himself—and Flame, most of all...' she paused as if suddenly lacking the strength to go on '... most of all,' she forced herself to continue, 'I want to tell you what a relief it is to have you home. All the details of my will have to be d
iscussed, and I so want you here for that.'
Flame's heart gave a lurch. 'Mother, I won't hear this sort of talk! Who cares about wills, for heaven's sake? You're getting better—I know you are!' She felt her senses swim with the premonition of sudden loss. It was something she had never really considered before.
'It's important to make sure everyone gets what they want,' Sybilla continued, with an obvious effort to rally her strength. 'Marlow may own the hotels on the headland and the holiday village he's building beside the beach, but we still own the land on which they're being built. I want to see things settled properly in case anything happens... If you'd gone ahead with a divorce it could have been a tricky situation for him. Luckily, now --'
'Luckily now Marlow has nothing to worry about?'
Sybilla smiled contentedly. 'Just so, darling. It's a great load off my mind.'
Flame couldn't think of anything to say that could adequately express her feelings. Aware that her mother had already taxed her strength, she remained silent as she helped her settle down to sleep. Nurse Gomez nodded approvingly when she came in a few minutes later. 'Your arrival has been a great tonic for her,' she confided at the door, 'but we mustn't overdo things. It's still early days.'
Flame went outside when she saw she could be of no further help. Underneath her calm exterior her mind was a seething mass of fury. Hadn't she known Marlow was up to something? She gave a hollow laugh. To think she had almost surrendered yet again!
What a fool she was to think it didn't matter that Marlow was still the same self-seeking snake as ever! Still up to his old tricks—building up his empire by fair means or foul. Worming his way into the confidence of a sick woman, and now, dragging Flame herself back into the labyrinth of his ambitions when it suited him best, filling her ears with a load of lies, making everything follow the same pattern as before. What he really wanted, all along, was not a wife but the land she brought with her.
So nothing changes, nothing changes, she told herself furiously. 'I want what's mine,' he had had the gall to tell her, leading her to believe he meant her, his wife. That was bad enough, but what he had really meant was that he wanted to bed her in order to set the seal on his possession of Cabo Santa Margarita!
How could she fall for it again? How could she?
Rage surged in every fibre. To think she had secretly begun to harbour the hope that his desire might be the beginning of something else!
Eighteen months ago—she reminded herself—then, when she had been too young to know any better, she had believed what they felt for each other was true love. Now, surely, there was no excuse for succumbing to the same puerile delusion? This time around she hadn't even got the excuse that he'd given her that line. He'd been brutally honest about his finer feelings—or lack of them.
She shuddered at the thought of how easy it had been to persuade her to begin to weaken. He hadn't even had to say the little words of endearment any woman might expect. There had been no pretence at loving her this time. No gentleness. No sign of caring. Just the crude expression of primitive male desire. She blushed to think how she herself had responded to that!
She had made his job of deception so easy for him. He hadn't even had to try. Her reaction to his blatant attempt at seduction had proved how easily he could arouse her! All he'd had to do was demonstrate that she couldn't say no!
Blushing with the humiliating knowledge that she'd allowed herself to be duped again, Flame paced angrily up and down the terrace. Minus Samantha and the children the place seemed unnaturally empty. It seemed to reflect her own inner desolation as she contemplated the long days stretching ahead—for, no matter how she looked at it, one thing was clear: she couldn't walk out again. Not just yet. Not with her mother in her present state of health. She would have to shelve her own feelings and stay on until she was out of danger. She could hardly bear to imagine what it was going to be like. But she would have to do it, for her mother's sake.
But how would Sybilla take the obvious signs that the marriage was over? She shuddered to think. Then she forced herself to consider all the implications of remaining at Santa Margarita—trying to pretend that everything was fine... It was impossible to imagine. It would be hell on earth.
The arrival of Samantha's car in the drive put an end to such speculations. Flame went to the front to greet her.
'Ready for lunch, Flame?' Samantha emerged from the car behind an enormous bunch of flowers, adding, 'I expected to find you asleep after your flight.'
'Asleep?' Flame gave a derisive laugh. 'I should be so lucky!'
'It must be disturbing—the worry over Mother, and then Marlow.' Samantha gave her a searching glance. 'If you're still wide-eyed this evening you must have dinner with Emilio and me in town. It'll do you good to get back into the swing of things. Some friends are having a bit of a party—nothing special, though.'
'Special enough to have your hair done.' Flame walked back into the house with her.
'No, this is just my weekly do. If you want a good man I thoroughly recommend him.'
'A good man?' Flame couldn't help giving a scathing laugh. 'Hard to find, aren't they?'
Samantha chuckled, not detecting the stratum of pain that lay beneath Flame's flippant mood. 'I'll just pop into Mother's with these flowers if she's awake.'
Flame let her go and went to change for lunch. She wondered if Marlow would be joining them. He had a meeting, but business usually finished in time for lunch at two, followed by a siesta. That had been the pattern in the short period of bliss after the honeymoon. She refused to imagine what the word siesta had taught her to expect.
* * *
When Samantha emerged from the sick-room Flame was on the patio sipping a pre-lunch sherry and trying to talk herself down to normal again, but her attempt was short-lived. Samantha's face was one big, happy smile.
'Darling, I'm so pleased you're being sensible. And it seems to have done her a world of good already. She's looking better than she has for weeks!'
'Sorry?' Flame paused with the glass halfway to her lips.
Just then Emilio came roaring outside with two of the toddlers draped over his shoulders and Samantha's attention was distracted for a moment. Flame puzzled over her words, but with a distinct lowering of her spirits. What had Samantha been getting at? Patently it was to do with Marlow and her mother's expectations.
'Sammy, please --' She pulled at her sister's arm when she briefly took her eyes off her beloved offspring. 'What has Mother been saying?'
'Why, about you and Marlow, of course!' Samantha replied, confirming Flame's suspicions. 'I must say I was rather surprised after what you'd been saying earlier, but I suppose your talk with him has helped begin to clear the air a little.' She gave a wicked laugh. 'Trust you two to get on with things while we're all still dreaming and hoping! It's your courtship all over again! Talk about whirlwinds! Oh, and here he is, dynamo man himself, right on cue!'
Whether he was on cue or not, Flame couldn't be certain, but it was certainly Marlow in the flesh. She dragged her glance away before he could notice her betraying appraisal.
Blazingly conscious of his proximity, she waited until they were all seated at the table, then, taking a deep breath, she announced in a voice loud enough to penetrate even Samantha's well-meaning but rather premature assumption, 'Everybody's under the misapprehension that we're getting together again, Marlow --'
'And aren't we?' he broke in at once. 'Surely that's what we agreed just now?' He looked at her with faked good humour, his eyes when they met hers like shards of ice, daring her to deny it.
Samantha obviously missed this silent exchange and gave a light laugh. 'You do tease, Flame! You had me worried for a minute. But I knew Mother couldn't be mistaken. She was simply too sure of herself. It would kill her if it was all a false alarm.'
Flame clutched the edge of her chair. 'I hope you don't mean that literally.'
'Whether she did or not, she's probably right,' broke in Marlow. 'It's clear how m
uch this marriage means to her.' He gave Flame a piercing glance from beneath jet-dark brows.
She shivered involuntarily. It seemed as if her fate was being decided for her again. She felt like the helpless baby of the family once more. There were too many people in charge. But Marlow was already going on before she could bring any sort of protest to her lips.
'We thought we'd give it one more try, Samantha. We both admit we made mistakes,' he was saying with mind-boggling aplomb.
Flame's sharp intake of breath was audible. 'Wait a minute --'
'And Flame has decided to shelve her objections in deference to her mother's wishes,' he went on, ignoring her. 'She's going to come back for six months and give it a try. If by that time it isn't working, we'll call it a day.'
'But --' Flame's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
'That's an excellent idea,' Emilio, silent until now, voiced his opinion too, and Samantha chimed in in agreement. Flame could only stare stony-faced at them all.
'I'm being set up again,' she said hoarsely when she eventually found her voice. Tongues of fire seemed to run up and down her spine.
'What did you say?' It was Samantha.
'He knows!' Flame shot back, glaring straight at Marlow. Suddenly unable to bear the pressure of their stares, she scrambled to her feet. 'I can't eat!' she exclaimed. 'And if you want to know the reason why --' she glared at her sister '—ask my so-called husband. He has all the answers!'
She plunged off down the garden, a red tide of anger blinding her to where she was going. All she registered were Marlow's enigmatic expression and Samantha's astonished cry following after.
By the time she reached the cliff path she was safely out of sight of the house. But she kept on walking, anxious only to put as much distance as possible between herself and Marlow's smug satisfaction at the fait accompli he had somehow engineered.
Reaching the top, she was breathless and flung herself down on an outcrop of rock to gaze unseeingly out to sea. It was while she was sitting there that she heard a sound on the path. Turning, she saw Marlow himself, a glass of wine in each hand, making his way purposefully towards her.
Simply Forever Page 5
