'I mean, you might feel you haven't had enough of discos and beach parties and all the razzmatazz of being crazy and irresponsible. I mean—hell, you're still only twenty, and here I am expecting you to talk to me about soft furnishings! Maybe you'd rather be chatting about pop groups or something?' His eyes were very still as if he didn't want to miss a millisecond of her reaction.
'I don't think I've ever been more than averagely mad about that sort of thing,' she told him. 'Discos?' She shrugged. 'I don't rule them out, they're fun. But they're hardly the centre of my existence.'
'What is the centre?' He frowned. 'Was it your job? Do you resent me for dragging you away from that?'
'I don't think that was central to my life. Not entirely,' she hedged.
She felt a lump in her throat and her eyes began to smart. Desperate to conceal the fact of tears, she dashed his hand away, spinning abruptly, and without a word, for words wouldn't come just then, she began to run along the path towards the house. Her action must have taken him by surprise, for she had time to reach the front and run round to the little flower-filled terrace at the back before he came out of the wood.
When he found her she was sitting on a bench and the face lifted to the sun was carefully schooled. It looked as smooth and untouched by emotion as a terracotta statue.
'You look like a sun goddess.' He hesitated, then sat down beside her. His tone was careful and conversational as if he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. 'Do you want to stay out here for a while?' He paused. 'There's no urgency about the furnishings. I take this weather for granted, but you must be feeling sun-starved after all that time in England.'
She felt his eyes on her but didn't open her own, 'What are you going to do this afternoon?' she asked.
'I take it that means you'd rather I disappeared?'
When she didn't answer he got up. 'I'll fix a drink.'
Flame heard him go inside. It was difficult after he'd gone not to ponder on his words in the pinewood, though she would rather not have had to face the further confusion they brought.
She looked down at her feet in their white sandals. They were half covered in pine needles. A thick carpet covered the path. It was soft and where her feet sank in she could feel more softness beneath. She considered her answer carefully.
If she blurted out what her centre was, she would have nowhere left to hide. Her humiliation would be complete. Marlow would know he had won more than just Cabo Santa Margarita.
She felt something warm on her neck. It slid beneath her chin and lifted her face. The tingling in her too sensitive skin told her it was his touch, feather-light, before her mind registered the fact of his fingers lifting her face to study it. She closed her eyes in order to shut out the blaze of blue that lasered over her face. How could he not see that she loved him? Why could he not love her in the same way? Why did everything have to be the way it was?
As if he could read something of her thoughts he said softly, 'It doesn't have to be a game of hurting, you know. I want you to be happy.'
'Happy?' Her voice cracked. How could she be happy when he had only married her to get his hands on their land...and when he loved another woman? She wondered if he realised how close to the edge of hysteria he was pushing her. This teasing, taunting softness was worse than indifference, because it gave her hope when common sense told her there was none.
Why had he tried to make her believe he thought the problem between them was to do with discos and pop singers? It was as if he was trying to make her think she was the one who had broken things up between them. Then she had another thought. Maybe what he had said was a backhanded way of telling her she bored him. And that was why he had sought consolation elsewhere. Certainly Victoria was older and presumably more mature than she was, and somehow she couldn't imagine her giving two hoots about discos.
Maybe that was what he had meant. Maybe she was simply too gauche for him? That was why he'd gone astray in the first place: he had been trying to explain in as tactful a way as possible why he preferred Victoria. That must be it. Flame wondered what she could do about that. If she had wanted him back, of course, she would now show how sophisticated she could be. But she didn't want him, not even in this guise of gentle concern, because she knew it was fake.
Her misery made her rub a sticky hand over her sun-goddess face. Damn him, she thought, why did he switch on the charm just when she was beginning to gain some control? If he behaved like a first-rate louse all the time it would be easy to train herself to hate him as he deserved. But when he turned vulnerable, as he had done this morning in the kitchen, and started to talk as if he cared for her happiness, what was she supposed to do? She was only human, and it made her squirm to feel that her emotions could be used against her like this.
The trouble was he was too expert for her, too cynical, too sophisticated. And this he obviously knew. He'd done too much and knew too much, especially how to handle the opposite sex. He still knew the exact chord to strike, now hard, now soft, to get her falling head over heels for him.
He brought out two long drinks with plenty of ice chiming sharply against the sides of the glasses. He'd even iced and sugared the rims.
'Like a professional barman,' Flame observed, lifting the glass to her lips.
'I was a barman,' he smiled, and because she seemed to have given him an opening he sat down again beside her and said, 'Did you know I started to work my way around the world when I was seventeen?'
She recalled what Samantha had told her, but let him go on. 'Barman was just one of the jobs I had.' He looked down at bar and thoughtfully wiped away a smear from her nose. 'You know very little about me really, Flame. When I was your age I'd already done a hell of a lot. By comparison you've led a very sheltered life— I forget that sometimes.' He gazed into the distance. When he looked down at her he gave a quick smile. 'I've got a lot of stories I could tell you. Bedtime stories, maybe?' He laughed, his eyes somehow shadowed. 'We never seemed to have time for that sort of thing before, did we? Just sitting talking.'
'With a six-week courtship? Plus the big fact that you're a workaholic? You scarcely had time for a honeymoon.' His touch had made her tremble, but she could still sound unmoved.
'Is that what you used to feel?' He seemed to ponder for a moment, then said, 'I guess I may have taken you a little bit for granted.'
'I --' she shrugged, surprised that such a thing wasn't beneath his consideration. He sounded as if he'd actually considered her! She wished he wasn't such a convincing actor. 'I actually had no expectations of any sort,' she told him, trying not to let him see her confusion. 'I'd never been married before and never given the matter much thought. It just seemed to happen. So I've no opinion about whether you took me for granted or not.'
'I should have given you more time.'
'Marlow,' she turned to him, her eyes luminous with the struggle taking place inside, 'you're not keeping your side of the bargain, are you?' And when he raised his eyebrows she explained, 'I said I'd stay with you for six months on the understanding that you were honest with me. I know why you married me—it's no use your trying to pretend otherwise. I know a lot of things you no doubt wished I didn't. So, although I appreciate your charm and the fact that you're taking time out to talk to me like a human being, I really do wish you'd stop treating me like an idiot. I know you don't care about me, not deeply, in the way --' She hesitated, about to say, in the way she wished, but corrected herself in time and went on, 'You don't care deeply in the way husbands do. Luckily,' she paused, 'it shouldn't matter much, should it?'
She glanced away, then pivoted back, determined to make him understand. 'What matters,' she said, 'is that you don't expect me to swallow a lot of gooey nonsense about love. We don't have to pretend with each other. There's no one to overhear us. We can be ourselves.'
Marlow was silent for so long she wondered if he had understood what she was saying after all. His face wore that blank look, like a mask, with only the bright, alive look in his eye
s showing he was doing a lot of thinking. They were rather shadowed now, as if he didn't like what he was hearing.
He turned to her, a frown beginning to appear on his forehead. 'You'd like it straight, would you? Sex without love? I know we're agreed that the desire, or should I say the lust, is still there. But are you sure that's what you want?'
For some reason Flame felt herself go very still.
'All right,' he went on without changing his tone, 'take your dress off.'
'What?' Before she could move he reached out with one hand, his fingers groping into the top of her sun-bodice, and with an exclamation he yanked it open. Then his dark head bent to taste the honey beneath. Her hands came up involuntarily to push his head away, but the moment her fingers sank into the gypsy-black hair and she felt the thick strength of it running beneath her fingertips she felt them tighten, holding him against her for a moment, desiring nothing more than to bury her face in the darkness.
She let her eyes close, drinking in his presence, before she was able to assert her will. 'I don't want it to be like this --' she croaked.
Marlow's answer was to slide a hand beneath the hem of her skirt and let his mouth take her lips in a searing kiss that robbed her of breath. Twisting in his arms, she tried to protest as he lifted her up and began to carry her inside. The more she struggled, the tighter he held her.
When he had hauled her as far as one of the doors and paused to open it, she tried to slither away, but he was too strong for her, and she found herself in his arms again before landing in a confusion of limbs and amber hair on something soft.
It was the bedroom, she registered, Marlow's big double bed. He noted the widening of her eyes with a smile of savage humour. There was a ripping sound as he tore her skirt from waist to hem, and as she tried to wriggle away he caught her long hair and coiled it round one of his hands, forcing her head back with taunting gradualness until she was spread-eagled across the bed beneath him.
'You prefer it like this, darling Flame? Why ever didn't you say so?' he rasped as she vainly fluttered like a winged creature under the movements of his hands.
He was just about to unbuckle his belt when the extension phone beside the bed gave a bleep. The look on his face showed that he was going to ignore it, but as it continued he gave a gesture of irritation and reached out a hand. Flame should have been able to take the opportunity to escape, but he foresaw what was in her mind and increased his hold on the long loops of hair, wedging one knee across one of her thighs so that she was effectively trapped.
'Yes?' he barked into the mouthpiece. 'Oh, Victoria,' she heard his voice warm.
Only his own side of the conversation was audible, a series of yeses and nos, and then, 'Do you want me to come over?'
The answer was obviously affirmative and he replaced the receiver with a crash. 'You've got a temporary reprieve, darling,' he intoned. 'Make the most of it!'
He got up and went out. Flame stayed where she was for a moment, too numbed by the events of the last few minutes to do anything else. Then she sprang off the bed and pulled her torn clothing together as best she could.
Marlow was already shrugging into a bleached linen jacket, a briefcase lying open on his desk, as she walked past the door into the garden. She wanted to leave and never set eyes on him again, but something forced her to stop when she reached the path. Instead of walking out she went over to the low wall on the edge of the terrace, and when he was ready to go he found her there.
'I'm having to go down to town,' he called.
Flame pretended to be interested in the little blossoms of hibiscus scattered on top of the wall.
'Flame?'
'Yes, I heard.' She didn't look at him. He came to the edge of the terrace.
'Flame?' He waited until she looked up. 'I have to go.'
'Go to hell for all I care!'
'I don't think I'm going to do that. What I shall do is come straight back here where you'll be waiting for me.' He gave a confident smile and, looking handsome and sure of himself, moved to the edge of the terrace. 'I'll see you soon.'
'No doubt,' she replied easily, as if it didn't matter in the least.
With a growl of impatience Marlow strode quickly down the steps towards her and was by her side in a moment, sweeping her powerfully into his arms, hands feverishly searching out the familiar intimate places and, despite her feelings, thrilling her to feel him take possession of her. For one ecstatic moment time seemed to be stilled as they swayed in each other's arms. His mouth was hot as it covered her own, then he was disentangling himself from her arms. 'Mustn't get too carried away,' he crisped. 'It's only lust. And besides,' he offered a cynical smile, 'I don't want to keep Victoria waiting—she can be so impatient!' Then, with a world-weary lift of the hand, he was gone.
When she had seen him disappear round the side of the house Flame went back to studying the torn petals between her fingers. So much for his fine words about body and soul! she thought viciously. Straight sex. was all he wanted every time. This was the truest thing he'd ever told her—and even that was presumably because even he couldn't conceal the physical evidence of his arousal! Now she imagined him speeding heatedly towards the willing lips of his mistress.
As soon as she heard the sound of the car fade into the distance she threw away the flower-heads she had been tearing into little pieces and gave full vent to her true feelings in the solitude of the garden.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marlow hadn't returned by the time Flame went to change for dinner. She knew he expected her to move her things to the casita, but the thought of being alone with him through the long hours of the night made her hesitate. She dared not think what might have happened if he hadn't received an urgent call.
Samantha popped her head round her bedroom door just as Flame was hanging everything back in her wardrobe and asked if she wanted any help.
'I'll wait awhile,' blurted Flame. 'It's cosier over here with you and the children. And if Marlow is going to be in the town all the time I'd rather be across here.'
Her sister covered her surprise. 'It's early days, I suppose.' She gave her an understanding smile, and Flame felt she ought to explain how he had been called out even though it was supposed to be his day off.
'Supper in an hour, then. We don't wait for Marlow if he's working in town, but he has all his meals over here when he's working in the casita.'
'Very convenient for him,' murmured Flame.
'You should understand one thing, Flame,' Samantha came in and held the door half closed, 'he's more than generous about household matters. At least give him credit for taking such good care of Mother.'
'But she doesn't need the sort of help you're referring to,' objected Flame. 'I'm sick of hearing from everyone how good Marlow is! To me it sounds like charity, and I would have thought none of us had need of that.'
'You have a very bitter way of looking at things these days. You never used to be like this. It's London that's changed you, isn't it?'
'Of course not. And you should know the right answer. It was Marlow—he made me grow up.'
Samantha gave an exasperated sigh. 'Maybe you'll sort it all out in your head one of these days.' She went over to the bed. 'Is this the dress you're going to wear tonight?'
'No, I was just putting it away.'
Samantha fingered the pale cream silk. 'Wear it— you'll look gorgeous! I'll get changed too. Let's make a real occasion of it. We haven't really given you a proper welcome home.'
Flame tried to smile. 'All right. Dressing-up time!'
She knew she looked sophisticated in the cream silk— older, more assured—but she refused to dwell on why it mattered.
It was less than twenty minutes later when Flame emerged on to the terrace. Emilio, looking smart in a grey suit, had obviously been tipped off by his wife to don something vaguely dressy. Despite this he was wrestling with the barbecue, sleeves slightly rolled to avoid spoiling. He wasn't alone, however. Flame's glance was drawn to the tal
l, dark-haired figure helping him. It was Rafael.
He turned as soon as he heard her and came towards her with one hand outstretched. There was a large file lying open on the table, she noticed. He took one of her hands in his, planting a very Spanish kiss on the back of it before letting it go.
'You look quite dazzling, Flame. I trust things were all right with you last night after I left? Samantha warned me that I was being tactless.' His bright brown eyes searched hers for hidden meanings, but she averted her glance, Marlow's warning making her feel uncomfortable.
'You know how it is. I've only just come home --' she said feebly.
'And the relationship is still a little shaky?' He smiled.
'I'm sure we can solve our problems,' she blurted, rather irritated that he should imagine he knew all about her and Marlow's difficulties.
'I'm sure you can.' Rafael befit his suave head and she caught a tantalising whiff of cologne. At that moment Emilio went inside for something and Rafael took the opportunity to move closer, but it was only to tell her his reason for coming over this evening. He indicated the file for Emilio, adding inconsequentially, 'But I understand I've been invited to dinner. A rather special occasion, no?'
Flame opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Emilio must have invited him, being quite oblivious, no doubt, to the drama that had gone on underneath the surface last night. She gave him a polite smile.
'That'll be nice. Perhaps if you're staying I can get you a drink?' It would send her indoors so she could ask Samantha what was going on.
She found her sister in the sitting-room, already pouring gin and tonics. 'Marlow's going to be delighted when he finds us dining in a cosy Foursome. What on earth made Emilio invite him to stay?'
'He didn't realise.' Samantha grinned. 'The silly love has just told me—that's husbands for you! Still, I can ring round and ask one or two more people over. Here,' she thrust two glasses into Flame's hands, 'I'll do it now before it's too late.'
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