Tears of anger and frustration and something she knew was deep sorrow filled her eyes. But she was so tired now that when she finally undressed and climbed into bed, as soon as her head touched the pillow, sleep claimed her.
CHAPTER SIX
When Flame woke up next morning she lay cocooned in the warmth of a light duvet for a few minutes, a band of sunlight across her face. It was this that had woken her. For a moment she couldn't remember where she was, then memory flooded back. It was Spanish sunlight pushing its way through the slats of the carelessly closed blinds, not the watery March sunlight of England. She sat up. Something about the deep stillness of the morning told her it was late. She slid out of bed and opened the blinds with a smack. On the terrace was evidence that the children had been having elevenses, but there was no sign of anyone. The pool lay like a splinter of lapis lazuli, glinting in the sun.
She turned back and scrabbled in her travel bag for her tiny clock, then blinked. It was half-past eleven already. She wondered what time Marlow had returned. Or if he had returned at all.
Maybe he had gone straight to the down-town office after breakfasting with Victoria. She tried to push the thought away.
After hanging up her things—not that she'd bothered to bring much, having been under the impression that her visit was only going to be a short one—she showered and put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Hair still damp, she then made her way to her mother's room. But when she poked her head round the door the nurse silently shook her head. Sybilla was still asleep, her face slightly flushed, though whether this was a good or bad sign Flame couldn't tell. 'Would you like a cup of coffee?' she mouthed to the nurse. The nurse nodded, but got to her feet and came out into the corridor.
'I'll come down with you.'
Flame found her way around the once-familiar kitchen with a shock of recognition, like someone slipping on an old pair of slippers. It was good to be here because despite everything it was still home. 'Is there anything I can do to make myself useful?' she asked.
The nurse shook her head. 'There's so little to do. Your mother has a very well run household—Mr Hudson makes sure of that.'
Flame smiled faintly. Good for Mr Hudson! Even the temporary staff were apparently eating out of his hand.
'Where is everyone this morning?' she asked, refusing to let her mind dwell on unpleasantness on such a lovely morning.
'La senora is at the beach with the children.'
'Calahonda?' Flame referred to the public beach ten minutes' walk round the headland. But the nurse shook her head.
'At Santa Margarita.' This was the private cove at the bottom of the cliff path. It was reached by hundreds of tiny steps set in the cliff face, and Flame was surprised that Samantha had dragged all the way down there with the children when there was the far less difficult though longer walk to the nearby public beach.
'I'll join them later.' She pressed the plunger on the cafetikre and poured the steaming liquid into two wide cups. The nurse stayed chatting for a few minutes, then returned to her duties.
Flame realised again that she was at a loose end. There seemed nothing useful for her to do and she hadn't come round to the idea of simply being on holiday. Only two days ago she had been in the middle of organising an exhibition for a group of computer companies, run off her feet and relishing the challenge. Now she was idle, with no proper role. No wonder she felt restless, she told herself.
What would be the wifely duties expected of her, bar the obvious? she wondered grimly. Did Marlow expect her to busy herself with domestic matters? From what the nurse had said and judging by what she had seen herself they would amount to very little. She wouldn't even be allowed to do any cooking. After acquiring a suntan, what then?
Thinking about work made her think of Johnny. She really ought to ring him and let him know she wouldn't be coming back. He wouldn't be best pleased. In fact he had every right to be livid. She hoped and prayed the new temp was as good as the agency claimed.
She poured herself another cup of coffee, staving off the moment when she knew she would have to pick up the phone. It was just as she was telling herself that she couldn't delay any longer that the kitchen door opened and she sensed Marlow come in.
He walked noiselessly across the tiled floor, and only when she felt him standing over her did she raise her head. How had she known it was him? she wondered with a shiver as she met his glance. It was the old telepathy, as alive as ever, despite everything else that lay between them.
He was looking more handsome than he should in an old pair of white trousers and a plain white shirt that could have done with an iron. On his feet was a pair of scruffy-looking espadrilles that she was sure he had been wearing eighteen months ago. His dark hair was tousled as if his hands had been raked through it many times, and his expression became severe when their eyes met.
'I hope you're thoroughly rested,' he growled, sounding as if she were committing some felony merely by sitting in the kitchen at mid-morning. 'I could do with a cup of coffee if you've time.' His blue eyes challenged hers as if expecting some bitter riposte, and when she rose to her feet she felt a twinge of satisfaction to note the surprise in them.
So that he didn't imagine she was being merely compliant she said, 'I was wondering how I could make myself useful. I'll make a fresh pot.'
Marlow was silent while she put the kettle back on and got out another cup and saucer, but when she leaned against the counter to wait for the water to boil he said, 'What are you doing the rest of the day?'
She shrugged. 'What do the wives of wealthy men do? Sunbathe, I suppose.'
'That's not all they do.' He didn't go on, but she knew instantly what was in his mind. She flushed, and flushed even more when he added, 'Luckily Rafael's work schedule is almost as heavy as mine and when he's free I'm free. I think even you might find the logistics of an affair with a man like that too intricate to handle.'
'I'm not looking for extra-marital affairs, Marlow.' Her tone was coated with ice. 'Besides,' she added sweetly, 'I only met him for the first time last night. I like to know a man properly before I --' She bit her lip, her nerve failing her as she caught his glance.
'You do, do you?' His eyes gave ice for ice. 'Well, don't count on getting to know him any better, will you?' His movements became savage as he abruptly crossed to the window, then he turned and flung himself into a wooden chair at the table, with a fierce, 'What the hell's wrong with that kettle?'
They both looked at it. 'It seems perfectly all right to me,' murmured Flame, wondering just why he was pretending to be so jealous when they both knew his reasons for wanting the marriage to go on had nothing to do with feelings and simply everything to do with money.
'You did a lot of running around in London, did you?' His eyes were storm-blue. 'Somehow I never thought you were the casual type.'
'You thought I was the stay-at-home type, I suppose. Willing to put up with anything.' She gave a bitter laugh. What he was suggesting was almost true—she had dated one or two men in London before Johnny, but they had always been kept at arm's length. Her feelings had been buried under a solid layer of permafrost. What Marlow had managed to make her feel again had shocked her with its violence, and she was still numbed by the volcanic disturbance to her equilibrium.
He was unwilling to leave the subject alone, however. 'I suppose you had plenty of opportunity working for— what was it?' He gave a bad impression of a man acting puzzled, and she almost smiled. 'Public relations? Is that what you called it?'
'You know full well it is. I did a course as soon as I reached London. You surely didn't expect me to do nothing, did you?' Flame frowned, remembering what he had told her earlier. 'I didn't guess that allowance was from you. I thought it came from Mother. I wouldn't have touched a penny of it if I'd known.'
'That's what I suspected,' he said drily. 'You'd have been happy running around London in rags, I suppose. I'm crazy, I suppose, to care whether my wife can make ends meet.'
&nb
sp; He was being sarcastic, but she rose to the bait. 'What you mean is you just loved the idea of still being in control!'
Marlow gave a mocking laugh. 'If you say so. But I'd have stopped it pretty damn quick if I'd known you were sleeping around.'
'I did not sleep around!' she burst out, then turned, abruptly, angry with herself for being so transparent.
He gave a disbelieving smile. 'If you say so, darling.'
'You don't believe me, do you?'
'I don't see why I should believe one single word you say—even if you do shout,' he came back easily.
Her voice had hardly risen. 'I am not shouting,' she argued, deliberately softening her voice even more. 'Poor Marlow,' she went on sweetly, 'it must be hellish to suspect everybody else is as devious and double-dealing as you are yourself. You must feel you can't trust anybody.'
His lips twisted. 'I hope I'm nobody's fool,' he clipped. 'I trust when and where I've proof I can trust.
If I've been let down at all,' he went on unexpectedly, 'that's just life, isn't it?' His smile was more cynical than ever. 'Nobody's going to have me in tears just because they prove they're only human... I've come a long way since the days when I thought the world was painted either black or white.'
'There must be a lot of grey areas in your life!' Flame said smugly.
He gave her a sudden piercing glance. 'You never actually told me you wanted a career, Flame. Why didn't you say so? We could have discussed it properly.'
She looked away. A career had actually been something she hadn't thought about from the minute she set eyes on Marlow. It was crazy, the things a nineteen-year-old girl could feel, she thought now, snapping the lid off the coffee container. So far gone in the enchantment Marlow had seemed to weave, she had been willing to give up everything for him. 'Maybe it's all been for the best,' she said out loud. 'You would have turned me into a Hausfrau with nothing more important on my mind than how to arrange the flowers.'
'Don't you believe it,' he rasped. 'You know me better than that. I don't like helpless women.'
'No,' she stabbed, 'I suppose that's true. You prefer hard-boiled career women, don't you?'
'I do? How in hell do you know that, Flame?' His voice glowered suggestively. 'I suppose you know what else I like?'
'Sex,' she replied crisply. 'Plenty of it. So what? What's new? Aren't all men the same?'
'You tell me.' His voice held a note of quiet menace.
Flame bent her head, allowing a trail of amber hair to obscure her features. Why was he provoking her like this? Was he testing her? He must know she was as inexperienced now as when she had run out on him. Everything she knew she had been taught by him.
Careful with the cup she had accidentally over-filled, she placed it before him without looking at him. She could feel his eyes on her. But as she turned and made some sort of pretence at clearing up the mess on the work-top, she heard him give a sardonic laugh.
'What's all this? Am I supposed to be impressed? I certainly hadn't seen you as the domestic type.'
'What did you see me as, Marlow?' She turned suddenly angered by the cynical overtone of everything he had so far said. 'Don't answer that,' she bit out before he could reply. 'You saw me as a push-over—right? A stupid, naive little child who couldn't tell when she was being made use of. You thought if you sweet-talked me into marriage you could get your hands on what you wanted. You thought I would never know. And you're right. I'm ashamed to admit it, but you were right. If I hadn't discovered you were capable of deceiving me --' She bit her lip. 'It was then, when I discovered what you were really like as a person, that I guessed your real reason for marrying me.'
'Real reason?' Marlow lifted his dark head.
But she didn't hear him. Her heart felt swollen as if full of a poison threatening to swamp her. She hated him. She loved him. And she wanted to be free of him to love a man she could respect, a man she could trust and care for, a man who would want her to bear his children and who would respect her and look after her in the way a husband was supposed to.
But Marlow and her own wayward heart had snatched all that away. She raised bitter green eyes to his. 'Why me, Marlow? Oh,' she gave a narrow laugh, 'don't answer that! Why not me? I was the one with the key to Cabo Santa Margarita, the richest jewel in your empire!'
He rose to his feet, the chair scraping harshly on the tiles, rage and desire vying in his face as he snatched up her slim body, dragging it hard against his own. 'You must have had thoughts like this before you married me,' he ground out. 'What corruption of the soul made you say you'd do it? What did you hope to get out of it?'
The hand that had clamped itself to her shoulder tightened and she tried to squirm away, but his body followed hers, forcing her back against the side of the kitchen table so that she could feel the hard edge of it grinding into the back of her thighs.
'Well?' he demanded ruthlessly. 'Are you going to answer me?'
Flame shook her head vigorously. 'I don't have to answer you. I don't have to do a thing you say. But I will answer this time.' She dropped her glance. 'I couldn't believe it. It had never entered my head that anybody would marry me to get their hands on Montrose property. It was totally outside my experience. It wasn't exactly as if I was an heiress, I'd hardly allowed Cabo Santa Margarita into my thoughts. It was simply a place where we lived, a lovely place built by Father for the family. It was simply my family home. I couldn't imagine anybody would need it, not until Mother suggested the idea.'
'I remember when she put it to me. I thought it was going to be a white elephant. I had more than enough land on my books. But she was very persuasive.' Marlow gave a bitter laugh. 'Then you appeared, like a princess in a fairy-tale. The Princess of Santa Margarita, no less.' He gazed long and silently into her face. 'Why did you do it? You still haven't told me. Why marry me?'
Her anger rose up, bringing emerald sparks to her eyes, and her voice was hoarse as she whispered, 'Did I have, a choice?' And when he didn't reply straight away she said, 'You yourself decided you were going to marry me, come what may, and everybody else aided and abetted you. You deliberately set out to get me. It was nothing less than emotional rape.'
With a reluctance like the rallentando at the end of a symphony she felt his grip slacken finger by finger. She felt the heat of his body against hers begin to cool, to release her. Eventually he moved away, severing the contact.
His voice was strangely flat when he spoke. 'Many times I've thought it was a mistake, to meet you, marry you, all in the space of a few weeks. You were young then—young for your age, too, maybe. But I was impatient. I'm an impatient man, Flame, always have been. I'd done my living, knew what I wanted. And yes, there you were, the jewel in the crown.'
It wasn't quite what she had meant. It was Santa Margarita she saw as the jewel Marlow lusted for, but she let it pass as he want on, 'They do say, don't they, marry in haste, repent at leisure? I've had enough leisure, so-called, in the last eighteen months to repent a million times. I guess that goes for you too.' Then, surprisingly, he said, 'Forgive me, Flame. I shouldn't have done it...'
His face wore a look she had never seen before—vulnerable, uncertain, full of regrets. But before she could ponder over the unexpectedness of this it had changed again. He became his familiar brisk self, the man in control. 'I'm not going to let you go just yet. Call me a fool. Say I'm blind. But I can't let you go --' His eyes were full of horizons like the ocean they resembled. 'Maybe I don't know when I'm beaten, but I don't give in easily. And somehow I can't let things go just yet. I can't let you go. Hell, why should I?' She saw what she thought was pride etch his features, hardening them. 'You promised me six months and I'm going to keep you to it. But I give you my word, if you want to go after that I won't make things difficult.'
Flame held her breath, unsure whether this new act— Marlow looking unsure of himself, for goodness' sake!— was merely some new ploy, another trap into which she would walk in all innocence, for she didn't doubt he could ma
ke things very difficult should he choose. But then she looked at his expression and with a small shrug she gave her assent.
'There's no need for this. We've already agreed I'll stay and keep the facade intact, for Mother's sake,' she mumbled, shaken by the suspicion that she was not reading him properly. He seemed so unlike the autocratic savage she knew from the past. There were layers of uncertainty beneath the surface authority that were wholly new.
'I'll try not to pressure you,' he said. 'But we must have basic ground rules, don't you agree?'
Flame raised her head.
'Like respecting each other's dignity,' he went on.
Her eyes widened.
'I mean, of course, as' far as other liaisons are concerned. Discretion, Flame. Give me that at least.'
He went on before she could bring any retort to her lips, angry or otherwise. 'I promise you the same.' His blue eyes probed, without guile. 'I'll keep you and care for you as my wife,' he continued. 'Be by my side when I need you. Give me loyalty. If it helps, remember that my empire, as you call it, belongs to us all. What's good for it is good for the family.'
'Except that you own the buildings and that's where the income comes from,' she bit out before Samantha's words came back to her. 'Oh, honestly!' she smoothed her hair impatiently. 'Do you really care about the family when it comes down to it?' Despite her air of certainty she searched his face for something, but it was carefully blank. 'Sam assures me that she and Emilio understand what's happening as far as the development is concerned,' she went on hurriedly. 'I hope it's true. I don't want you to go making fools of them as well.'
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