Then she comforted herself with the perverse hope that it might turn out to be the best method of slaking herself of her crazy, mindless obsession for him, for surely, when she lived with him at close quarters, desire would exhaust itself, leaving her heart-free at last?
'You'll have to give me a day or so to get—to get used to the idea,' she faltered.
He nodded. 'We have plenty of time ahead of us.' He began to go through the cupboards and seemed to know exactly where everything was. It told her how firmly he had got himself wedged into the household. But he was, as Samantha had said, she recalled bitterly, one of the family.
'Salad,' he announced, emerging from the walk-in cool-room, 'and cheese, sardines, bread, olives --'
'Anything for me—I don't care. It'll all taste like sawdust.'
He looked at her over his shoulder with raised eyebrows as he placed everything on the table.
In order to quench the unbearable silence that hung over them she said, 'I can't quite understand why I wasn't told Mother was ill when it first happened.'
'I advised Sam not to tell you. I didn't want you——' Marlow seemed to hesitate.
'What?' she prompted, wondering what he was about to admit.
'I was going to say I didn't want you worried, but in view of what you said to me just now I wonder if you would regard that as another sign of hypocrisy?' He turned to look at her, his face bleak, the blue eyes empty.
Flame bit her lip. 'it would be, wouldn't it? I can't see you caring a damn whether I was worried or not.'
He shrugged, and his lips set in a hard line. 'Perhaps you're right,' he agreed with a sarcastic edge. 'Who knows?' He looked down at the things spread out on the kitchen table. 'If you want a villain, Flame, say so.' He turned and his eyes swept hers soullessly. 'I'll oblige you any time.'
'Of course you will,' she said, trying not to feel chilled by that look. 'You'll do anything to get your hands on what you want.'
He jerked round to face her. 'Is it my success that rankles with you? I learned the hard way to fight for what I want. Those who don't fight, don't want. Of course,' he gave a mirthless smile, 'what we believe worth fighting for can often turn out to be worthless once we've got it. But that's another matter.'
Still trying to fathom the enigma of this reply, she watched as he deftly split a flat loaf, spread it with butter and stacked it with salad and cheese. He repeated the exercise, then picked one of them up and walked rapidly towards the kitchen door with it.
'There's your lunch. Forgive me if I don't join you,' he said. He went out, closing the door quietly between them.
Half afraid he had been going to demand his conjugal rights straight away despite what she had said about needing a few days to get used to the idea, Flame felt deflated as soon as he left. Picking at what passed for lunch, she wondered why she hadn't told him more clearly that she knew the true reason why he wanted to prolong their marriage. She wondered how long it would take for the question of the will to be sorted out. Perhaps when it was all made watertight he would then think fit to release her from their diabolical alliance.
Wearing a strapless voile dress with a boned bodice, its shades of amber subtly toned to the colour of her hair, Flame said goodnight to her mother, then went outside. Emilio gave her an appreciative glance as she came out on to the terrace. 'So you've decided to come with us this evening?'
Samantha beamed at her. 'It'll do us all good to let our hair down a little. I haven't liked to leave Mother too often. It'll be nice to get out, won't it, darling?' She and Emilio were looped in each other's arms like newly-weds. Flame shivered at the thought. Fortunately, Marlow was nowhere to be seen.
'Is it far?' she asked, deliberately not mentioning his whereabouts as they went towards the car parked at the front.
'No, but we'll take the scenic route, then you can see the beginnings of Playa del Rey.' And to Flame's unspoken question Samantha went on, 'That's the name we chose for Marlow's new beach village. It's going to look absolutely wonderful when it's finished—all Andalusian arches and courtyards and fountains. I wouldn't mind living there myself!'
Emilio shepherded the two women into the car, making a great deal of fuss over Samantha as if her pregnancy was further on than it was, and then the white convertible was whispering down the drive to the main road.
All Flame could think was that it was a relief that Marlow had obviously decided not to come. She hadn't seen him since he'd stalked out of the kitchen, presumably to eat his lunch and then, she assumed, to go to his down-town office.
The development at Playa del Rey—Beach of the King, Flame translated with an ironic inward smile—was mainly just building site—heavy plant and mounds of raw orange earth, with here and there bright yellow plastic piping coiled like enormous sleeping snakes—but under Samantha's enthusiastic guidance she saw the possibilities. Most of the villas would be built on the steep sides of a ravine, leaving a jungle of palms intact further up to shelter the village from the main coast road. It would be secluded and, if Samantha was to be believed, very beautiful.
'We still own the land, Mother tells me,' remarked Flame as they made their way back over the dusty track to where the car was parked. 'But Marlow owns the buildings.'
'Yes, why?' Samantha frowned.
'Nothing,' replied Flame. 'I just wondered if you knew.'
'Naturally. Marlow has discussed everything with us. When the money starts coming in from the villa rentals and so forth, we two, as directors of Montrose Holdings and leasors of the land to one of Marlow's companies, will get a share of the profits. Because your attitude has been so uncertain with regard to Marlow, Mother wanted to make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid, like trying to block Marlow's freedom to develop the land the way he wants. Personally I'm more than willing to leave it to him as I'm convinced he knows best.' Samantha paused when Flame slowed down to have one final look at the site and Emilio, back first, honked the car horn to tell them to hurry up.
Flame didn't say anything else. No doubt the matter would be thoroughly discussed later, especially if the uncomfortable matter of the will was going to be brought up.
When they arrived at a large villa in one of the outlying districts of the town, Samantha and Emilio seemed to know everyone.
'I'll tell you who they all are as we go along,' whispered Samantha as they went out on to a terrace strung with lights. 'A lot of ex-pats, and business contacts, of course,' she pulled a face, 'but Rosa and Marcos are old friends of ours. Marcos is a lawyer specialising in property law and works for the consortium.'
Flame raised her eyebrows, but just then someone came up with a tray of drinks and they were plunged into a whirl of introductions. Feeling a little numbed by it all as her missing night's sleep began to catch up with her, Flame merely coasted from one group to the next, eventually finding herself standing beside the large pool with a tall, rather handsome Spaniard named Rafael. After he had introduced himself he told her he was Marcos's junior partner.
Together they admired the last streaks of the setting sun as it slid behind the foothills of the sierra. It was a romantic scene. Rafael went away to refill Flame's glass and when he returned to find a group of new arrivals surging over to join them he took her by the elbow.
'I hope you'll sit beside me at dinner,' he asked, his eyes luminous with something more than just that simple request.
'Actually,' blurted Flame, carefully disengaging her arm, 'I don't know whether you know I'm married.' She bit her lip at the thought, and when Rafael raised his eyebrows and asked, 'But where is this negligent husband of yours?' she blushed and was just about to shrug off her ignorance when a pair of dazzling blue eyes found and caught her own.
Her mouth sagged, then collecting her wits she managed to croak, 'Actually he's just arrived...' then her voice trailed away. Marlow had indeed arrived. But he was not alone.
Rafael turned and took in the situation at once. Marlow was accompanied by an attractive blonde, and it was obvious h
e was as surprised to see Flame as she was to see him.
She felt Rafael take her arm again in a casually friendly gesture. 'Perhaps you will still sit next to me at dinner?' he murmured in her ear.
But Flame's eyes were now firmly riveted on the woman standing beside Marlow. Her face was not unfamiliar.
Last time she had seen her she had worn all the hallmarks of outraged surprise. It wasn't surprising—she had been in Marlow's bed at the time.
Flame felt the blood slowly drain from her face. Her limbs became strangely heavy. Then to her mystification the scene before her seemed to ebb. She put out a hand to draw it back, and somewhere a glass fell to the marble tiles, shattering with an endless scatter of sound that caused a momentary lull in the conversation of those standing nearest. Then she felt a strong arm take hold of her round the waist. Someone said something in Spanish and then she felt the crowd open and close behind her as she was half carried, ebbing in and out of darkness, to a seat in a quiet corner of the terrace.
'It's all right,' came a harsh voice almost at once, 'I'll take over.'
A hand pushed her head down below her knees, then suddenly everything came flooding back in full colour and the sound was switched up, causing her to lift her head to find out who had taken charge. Marlow was scowling down at her. It was his hand on the back of her neck. She pushed it off, then smiled up at the still hovering Rafael.
'Meet my husband,' she said weakly, 'or have you already met? And yes,' she went on as her voice became stronger, 'I accept your invitation, Rafael, thank you.' She rose to her feet, disguising the fact that she still felt wobbly by shaking out her long flame-coloured hair where Marlow's handling had flattened it. There was an uncontrollable trembling in her knees and she stumbled before she could stop herself.
Marlow's hand came out to steady her at the same moment as Rafael's, and the two men glowered at one another. 'I said,' gritted Marlow, 'I'll take over. Would you get her a glass of water, perhaps, if you want to be helpful?'
Rafael's dark eyes smouldered, but with a glance at Flame's pale face and another hurried glance at the jut of Marlow's chin he moved towards the house.
'I thought he was never going to go,' gritted-Marlow when he turned to Flame. 'What the hell's wrong? You're not pregnant, are you?'
'Don't be so ridiculous!' she spat. For a moment Marlow's eyes had burned like blue flame, only resuming the familiar soullessness at her spontaneous denial. She tossed her head. 'What do you think I am?'
'I can only imagine what you got up to in London. Running wild. That's why you went, isn't it? And this lover of yours may not be as careful as he could be --'
'How dare you?'
'What?' he broke in swiftly. 'Malign the devil in his absence? Bring him over. Let's have it out face to face— I'm ready.'
'Anybody would think you were jealous!' she hissed.
'Just playing the part to the hilt,' he murmured as Rafael returned. 'Don't forget I am your loving husband, darling.' He deliberately let Rafael overhear this last endearment and crowned it by pressing a husbandly kiss on the side of her face. With a silent glance Rafael handed Flame the glass of water, then melted back into the crowd. 'Wise man,' observed Marlow, with a smug smile.
'Maybe he'll keep your friend occupied?' she said sweetly.
'Friend?' Marlow must have known who she meant, but he quirked an eyebrow in feigned ignorance.
'Mistress, should I say?' Flame gripped the glass with such force she was surprised it didn't shatter between her fingers. But Marlow showed neither anger nor surprise at her accusation, and she could only marvel at his self-control. To look at that harsh, blank face you would have thought she hadn't said a thing!
She made herself force the tension from her body, but inside she was still reeling from the shock of seeing Marlow's mistress again. In her imagination the woman had grown into a nightmare figure, larger than life, an artful Jezebel, practising her seductive charms on a far too willing victim. But Flame had always pictured her as someone belonging to the past, not as current news and obviously still enjoying an intimate relationship with Marlow.
The shock made her feel choky. But there was no point in having a slanging match with Marlow in front of a crowd of strangers. Or anywhere, come to that. He obviously had his own life. A mere marriage of convenience such as theirs was wasn't going to have any effect on his behaviour.
Marlow was leading her by the arm now and when she focused properly she saw he was making straight back to where his mistress was chatting vivaciously to a group of people by the pool. 'I want you to meet my wife,' he said to the group at large, but it was on the blonde that his glance rested. Warning her, thought Flame through a cloud of misery.
The woman held out a hand heavy with rings. 'Hi,' she said huskily, 'I'm Victoria, Marlow's dogsbody.'
Dazedly Flame stared at her. It seemed a strange way to refer to the services she no doubt still performed for Marlow. Her derision must have shown on her face, for the woman added, 'His personal assistant, that is.'
Very personal, thought Flame in silent jealousy. She felt Marlow move impatiently beside her. 'She fainted just now,' she heard him say. 'I think she's still a little dazed. It must have been the sleepless night she's just had.' He turned to her. 'I expected you to be catching up on your sleep this evening.'
'Obviously,' she managed to say. Victoria was still staring at her, one hand outstretched, but realising that Flame wasn't going td take it she shrugged and gave her a puzzled smile.
'That night flight from Gatwick? I know it well.' Her lustrous brown eyes exchanged a glance with Marlow. Then she turned back to Flame. 'I'm sure we haven't met, but your face seems somehow familiar --'
'No! That's right, we haven't. I've—I've been living in London for some time,' agreed Flame in confusion. She was too shaken to face all the ramifications of blurting out the truth right now.
'Pursuing an independent career,' appended Marlow in a mocking tone.' He noticed then that Victoria's glass was nearly empty and, taking it familiarly from her fingers, went off in pursuit of a refill, leaving the two women together. How confident he must be feeling, thought Flame watching him go. She turned to Victoria.
'How long have you—have you worked for him?' she managed to get out. Some desperation goaded her to discover what she could, but Victoria's answer plunged her into deeper despair.
'Oh, we go back a long way, Marlow and I,' she replied airily. 'Over six years. But,' she went on, 'I was based with his subsidiary on Ibiza most of that time. It wasn't until a few months ago that Marlow insisted I move over here and work directly from his main office. I liked the island,' she went on chattily, 'but after so long I felt I'd had enough. I feel much closer to the action over here.'
'Six years is a long time,' offered Flame weakly. She tortured herself with the supposition; that Victoria had been Marlow's mistress all that time—all the time he was courting her, telling her all those lies about loving her. But how had he talked away his wedding day? Or had Victoria been so far from the action, as she had put it, that she hadn't known about it? Had he deceived them both for a time?
'If you've been around all that time,' said Flame, conscious that the remark sounded vaguely catty, 'you must have been at our wedding. It was eighteen months ago.'
'Yes,' Victoria frowned. 'I remember organising the flowers. It was a special order from a horticulturist near San Antonio. But I couldn't make the actual reception.' She offered no explanation, but Flame saw at once that Marlow had managed things very well. How he'd got his mistress to organise flowers for his marriage to someone else made her mind boggle. Unless, she thought, there had been a pretty powerful incentive of some sort.
She wondered what it might be. Love, lust or money, she judged. But did it matter?
Just then Marlow returned with Victoria's refill. He gave a cursory glance at the glass of water Flame still clutched between her fingers. 'Maybe you'd better stay with that,' he suggested. 'I'll run you home in a few minutes
.'
'Don't bother.' She drew herself up. 'I'm fine. I wouldn't dream of upsetting your evening.' Bristling at the idea that he was trying to get her out of the way, Flame swept across the terrace, blindly walking past the chattering groups that were just beginning to go in to supper until Samantha and Emilio caught up with her and guided her towards the open sliding doors leading into the dining-room.
'Lovely party, isn't it?' exclaimed her sister at once. 'Come and sit next to us.' Obviously she hadn't observed Flame's faint, but as they moved into the dining-room Rafael appeared beside her.
'Feeling better?' he asked, bending his dark head when he saw she was minus Marlow.
'Much, thank you.'
'Are you unwell?'
Flame shook her head. 'Tired. And,' she couldn't help adding, 'a little bit surprised to meet my husband too.' Marlow had treated Rafael abominably—after all, he had only been trying to help. Now he took her arm.
'So I get my wish after all?' He had already taken in the fact that Marlow was lingering on the terrace with the same woman with whom he had arrived. It occurred to Flame then that he probably knew about their affair and was trying to make it clear to her that he knew without actually saying so. It was a small community; probably everyone knew about it. The thought made her tingle with humiliation. It would account for everyone's kindness this evening. She wondered if it also explained Samantha's sudden start of guilt when she had asked her that question earlier about Marlow's girlfriends. She resolved to have it out with her later.
Senses tuned to pick up any undercurrent in the conversations around her, Flame allowed herself to be escorted in to supper. She hadn't imagined any misery to match the depths into which she was now plunged.
CHAPTER FIVE
Simply Forever Page 7
