'Tell them the truth. But I still want you to go away in a week's time.'
'Why?'
'You know I won't tell you,' he smiled. 'Just do as I ask and get out of the country.'
She struggled with the ring on her finger. 'There's no point going on with this pretence any-longer.'
'Please,' he said, and put his hand over hers. Anthea could feel his fingers trembling. 'I have my reasons. For heavens sake, don't argue with me. Pack a bag and go. We'll talk about breaking our engagement when you come back. It won't matter by then anyway.'
'What do you mean?'
'I'll book a ticket for you to Lisbon,' was his only reply. 'I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, but…'
He walked away from her and, puzzled at his demand, she went upstairs. Though she longed to disobey him, or at least to question him further, there had been something in his manner that told her she would get nothing out of him until he was ready to disclose it. He had made a request, and he expected her to obey it. If she were really his fiancée, if he truly loved her, she might have had the right to insist on knowing what was going on. But she meant nothing to him except a cover for an ugly truth. If he asked her to go away, she had no choice but to do as he wished.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
At six o'clock in the afternoon of the next day, Anthea was being hugged by her father at Lisbon airport. The urge to burst into tears and tell him the true story of her engagement was so strong that only Maude's garrulously happy congratulations prevented her from doing so.
Her father had rented a small villa outside Estoril which, though less picturesque than Algarve, had the benefit of being considerably nearer Lisbon. Anthea was given a bedroom facing the sea, whose great Atlantic rollers crashed noisily on to the beach some hundred yards from her window.
'You'll find the water too cold for swimming in,' her father said as she came out to join him on the balcony that led from the living-room.
'In June?' Anthea commented, surprised.
'Even in August. According to the locals, the water never gets warm. Most of the tourists use a swimming pool.'
'I'll still give the sea a try. It's so much more refreshing.'
'You look as if you could do with a tone-up. Been gadding around since your engagement?'
'Not really. A few parties—nothing more.'
'It was all rather sudden, wasn't it?' Professor Wilmot remarked.
'I've been in love with him for a long time.' Anthea was glad she could at least be truthful on one point.
'I guessed you were. I felt there was something between you that day we came over to the manor.'
'Mark never loved me then.'
'I'm not sure about that,' her father continued. 'You looked a bit strange in that get-up you were going around in, but he was still extremely conscious of you as a person. He's a nice man, Anthea. If you can forget who he is, you should be very happy with him.'
'Forget who he is?'
'Forget his wealth, I mean. Don't let who he is make you forget what he is.'
Maude came out on to the balcony. 'A pity Mark didn't come with you,' she said. 'Too busy, I suppose. It must be difficult for him to get away from his commitments.' She chattered on about Mark, needing little encouragement beyond an occasional comment from her husband.
Anthea only half listened, her mind still busy with Mark's reasons for wanting her out of England. Again she was certain it had something to do with the two men who, in the past ten days, had been frequent visitors to the house. Mark often saw business people at home, but it was rare for him to do so continuously, and she suspected it stemmed from a desire for secrecy; that he did not wish anyone to know he was having discussions with a police inspector and another official. Away from him, she was able to think more clearly, and she was convinced he wanted her absence in order to save her from something unpleasant.
The knowledge kept her on tenterhooks, and for the next few days she anxiously awaited a letter from him. None came and she chided herself for having expected one. After all, there was no reason for him to contact her, not even for the sake of pretence. But on the third day she was so restless that she almost put in a call to him, and was only prevented from doing so by the knowledge that in such a small villa any conversation she had with him would be overheard.
On the morning of the fourth day she was able to relax, and for the first time enjoyed the heat and the cooling breeze blowing in from the sea. It was still too early for many tourists, but there were sufficient people around to prevent the little town from being isolated, and she went for a stroll along the promenade and then took a detour back to the villa via the shops.
She had not read an English newspaper since she had left London, and passing a newsagent she went into see if she could buy one. There were none available and she was turning to walk out when she saw a picture of Mark and Jasper on the front page of a Portuguese paper. She bent to look at it, trying to make out the half-inch caption above it. But her knowledge of Portuguese was practically nil and she could make no sense of it.
'Please,' she asked the woman behind the counter, 'can you tell me what it says?'
The woman looked at her uncomprehendingly and Anthea picked up the paper and pointed to the photograph. Instantly she received a toothy smile and the paper was taken from her and carefully read.
'A beeg business has gone collapsed,' the woman said in fractured English. 'In—how you say—fraud scandal.' The head bent to the paper again. 'The police say he stand trial. It was discovered by—' the woman pursed her lips, having difficulty with the name—'by Jasper Goderick. He uncover truth. This one, he beeg crook.' A plump finger pointed at Mark's face. 'He crook and Senhor Goderick find out. Is terrible, no?'
Without replying Anthea fled. She had no conscious knowledge of returning to the villa, but she must have done so, for she found herself in her bedroom packing the case she had only unpacked a few days before. At last she knew why Mark had wanted her out of the country. At last she knew the reason for the police inspector's visits; for the long hours in the Library and the strain on Mark's face. She knew too why Mark had been so anxious for Jasper not to learn he was in love with Claudine. Perhaps even as little as two weeks ago he had still hoped to avert disaster by merging with Jasper's company.
Somehow it all began to make horrifying sense. Mannerisms and phrases floated into her mind: Mark's tenseness; his irritability; his talk of building on shifting sand and of the dangers inherent in doing so. It was the knowledge that his business was crumbling that had no doubt prompted him to try and merge with Jasper Goderick. Had he been successful it would have saved him. But unfortunately he had not reckoned on Jasper's discovery of the truth. Could Jasper—jealous of Claudine's interest in Mark—have gone into Mark's affairs with more caution than he might otherwise have done? Whatever die reason, the truth had been discovered and Mark, knowing he could not avert disaster, had wanted her out of the way when the crash officially came.
Snapping her suitcase shut, she carried it down to the hall, and had set it on the floor when her father came in from the garden.
'I'm going back to London,' she said. 'Something has happened to Mark.'
'Have you heard from him? Is he ill?'
'Not ill. It's to do with his business. I have to be with him.'
'What is it? You look like a ghost, Anthea. Would you like me to come back with you?'
Tears filled her eyes at the offer, but she shook her head. 'It's sweet of you to suggest it, darling, but I don't think Mark would want to see anyone. It's better if I go alone.'
'But you aren't booked on a plane.'
'I'll go to the airport and get on the first available flight. If you could arrange a taxi for me…?'
'I'll take you there myself.' He saw her expression and said: 'Don't worry, my dear. I won't pester you with questions. You've already made it clear you don't want to talk about it.'
This time her tears overflowed. 'You're more understanding than I deserve,' she cried, and flung
herself into his arms.
'No more crying,' he said gruffly. 'All this dampness is bad for my rheumatism!'
She gave a shaky smile, and stepping out of his hold, wiped her eyes.
It was a quiet, composed Anthea who, some two hours later, boarded a Portuguese airliner bound for London.
'Telephone me as soon as you have any news,' her father said as she kissed him goodbye. 'And if you want to have me with you, just say the word and I'll fly home.'
She remembered his offer as the plane slowly taxied along the apron to its take-off position. Kind though it was, she could never avail herself of it; there would be too many explanations to give him—the truth about her engagement to Mark being the most difficult one of all.
The flight to London was a bumpy one but no more uncomfortable than her own thoughts, and she arrived nauseated and shaken at Heathrow. There had been no English papers on the aircraft, and once through Customs she made her way to the news-stand, intent on finding out the latest news.
A man knocked against her, apologising as he stepped back. He was holding a professional-looking camera, and glancing past him Anthea saw several other photographers in the vicinity. Hastily she hurried on, wondering if they could be looking out for her. Had they discovered she had gone to Portugal and was on her way back? Mark had continually told her that the newspapers hounded him, and she remembered his warning to her never to make any comments to them. Two more photographers came sidling in her direction, and she nervously backtracked. It was foolish to go to the news-stand. There might already be photographs of herself in the latest edition, and if someone recognised her from it… Donning a pair of dark glasses, she picked up her suitcase and ran, only breathing a sigh of relief as she settled into the back of a hired car that had been waiting to pick up a fare outside the terminal building.
Unwilling to give the driver her real address, she told him merely to take her to the north side of Eaton Square, explaining that she lived down a mews and it was quicker for her to walk than involve him in a detour. He accepted this without comment, and three-quarters of an hour later deposited her at the intersection she had requested. Anthea paid him off and waited for him to drive away before heading towards the house. She was some fifteen yards away from it when she saw a group of men clustered at the bottom of the steps. Her first instinct was to turn tail and run, but afraid this might attract notice she set her teeth and walked on, keeping her eyes lowered as she came abreast of them and maintaining an even pace until she reached the next corner, when she broke into a run and headed for the mews which would bring her to the back entrance of the house. Desperately she hoped Dickson had left the door unbolted. She reached the garage and then came to the green wooden door that led into the patio, breathing a sigh of relief as it moved inwards at her touch. She stepped through and closed it behind her, then ran the few yards to the kitchen door. This was locked and she rang the bell, shaking with nerves and trying not to cry. The door opened and Monsieur Marcel stood there.
'Mademoiselle 1' He was astonished. 'I thought you were in Portugal.'
'I came back to see Mr. Allen.'
'Grace a Dieu! He will need you. It is always bad when a friend is involved.'
'Mr. Goderick was never a friend of Mr. Allen's,' she cried, and then stopped, knowing it was dangerous to say more.
'Maybe not a close friend,' the Frenchman said, 'but still close enough. And to do such a terrible thing….. There are so many people involved, mademoiselle. Thousands of investors have lost everything. Their entire savings!'
Anthea dropped her case and pushed past him, intent only on reaching Mark. In the main hall she stopped, not sure where he would be. She had gone through such turmoil in the last few hours that the tranquillity of the hall struck her as incongruous. A vase of flowers stood on the side table; a long Persian runner glowed like a dark jewel on the polished parquet floor and a dark green palm tree stood in a mahogany tub in one corner. Everything looked exactly the same as when she had left here; it was hard to believe that the world of its owner had come crashing down upon his head.
'Mark!' she called, and ran into the library. It was empty and she sped across to the drawing-room. This was empty too, and as she returned to the hall Dickson came out of the lift.
He was too well trained to show his surprise at the sight of her, and merely said: 'Mr. Allen is in his bedroom, if you are looking for him.'
Murmuring her thanks, Anthea raced up the stairs, too impatient to use the lift, and was breathless by the time she reached the second floor. Mark's room was at the far end and only as she came to it was she overcome by nerves. Before they could take a hold of her she rapped on the door and went in.
He was lying on the bed in a dressing gown, his face unshaven and flushed, though she was not sure if it was from excitement or tiredness. Speechlessly he stared at her, and she took advantage of his surprise and came boldly over to him.
'There didn't seem much point in staying in Portugal any longer. I thought I might… that I might be of more use to you here.'
'How? By trying to appease my conscience?' he asked bitterly. 'Do you have any idea how I feel? Of what I've gone through in the last couple of months?'
'I know it hasn't been easy for you. I wish you'd told me… given me the chance of helping you.'
'How?' he asked again. 'By telling me not to blame myself? By saying J did the only thing possible?'
'I don't know what I would have said,' she replied truthfully. 'I don't know enough about the circumstances to form an opinion.'
'That's never stopped you from judging me before! Are you sure you haven't come back to tell me what a swine I was to pretend friendship with a man and then put a knife in his back?' He half sat up. 'Or do you feel more sympathy for Claudine?'
'Don't 1' Anthea cried. 'I've no pity for Claudine. Forget her.'
'I wish I could. Her behaviour sickened me.'
Anthea moistened her lips. So Claudine had already turned away from him. 'M-Mark,' she stammered, 'I'm so sorry. But surely you must have realised she wouldn't want you once you… You can't have been so blind not to know the sort of woman she is?'
'I know exactly what she is.'
'But it didn't stop you…'
'No,' he said heavily, 'it didn't stop me from using her.'
It seemed a strange word, but she did not dwell on it, intent only on making him see that she was here instead to stand by him, to give him any help she could, no matter how paltry it was.
'Let me help you, Mark. I won't pretend I can forget the thousands of people who've lost their savings because of you—but I'm positive you didn't deliberately set out to swindle them. You were ambitious and you wanted to succeed too quickly. But you're not a crook—I'll never believe that—and even if they put you in prison, I'll still wait for you.'
'You'll what?' He jumped up from the bed, tall and menacing. The flush on his skin had deepened to red and his eyes—without their glasses—blazed at her. 'You will wait for me?’ he repeated.
She knew she had given herself away, but she did not care. If he could gain the smallest comfort from her love, it would be worth her loss of pride. 'Yes, Mark, I'll wait for you.'
'Until I come out of prison?'
'Yes.' She clasped her hands tightly. 'Do you think they will? I mean, if you sold everything you had, if you tried to pay back as much as you could? Or will they take everything anyway? I'm not sure what happens in a case like this,' she finished.
'You certainly aren't,' he said dryly, 'but you've obviously made up your mind I'll be left destitute.'
'What does it matter? You can begin again. We can even emigrate. You can make a new life for yourself in another country. The most important thing is not to give up.' She came close to him. 'I suppose you sent me away because you knew you were going to be discovered. But it was wrong of you. I want to be with you; to help you.'
'Why do you keep on about my being arrested?'
'I read it in the paper. At least,
I didn't read it myself— the paper was Portuguese and the woman in the newsagent's translated it for me.'
'Translated it?' Mark echoed jerkily, and sank down on the bed. 'Please, Anthea, begin at the beginning and tell me how you found out about my downfall.'
'I saw a photograph of you and Jasper Goderick,' she said, and taking a deep breath, went on to tell him all she had learned. 'That's why I came back. I was sure Claudine wouldn't stand by you.' Her hands clenched. 'I could kill Jasper for what he did to you!'
'I think it's more on the cards that Jasper would like to kill me because of what I did to him.'' There was an odd note in Mark's voice, a jubilance behind the weariness that made her look at him suspiciously. Was he becoming lightheaded? Could it be a sign of shock? As though aware of what was going through her mind, he reached out and pulled her down beside him.
'Tell me again why you came back?' he said in a tight voice.
'To be with you. To let you know I'll… I'll wait for you.'
'And if I'm left with nothing—what will you do then?'
'I'll get my degree and teach. I'm a good housekeeper too.'
'Perhaps I could become a butler when I come out of prison.'
'Don't joke!' she cried, and turning her face into his shoulder burst into tears.
Mark put his arms around her and cradled her close, stroking her hair with a trembling hand. 'You fool,' he said tenderly. 'You silly little fool!'
'I know,' she gulped, 'but I can't help it. I know you don't love me, but I'll——-'
'I do love you,' he interrupted. 'I love you so much that I've often felt like strangling you because you didn't know it.'
Her sobs stopped as if by magic, and she stared at him through tear-drenched eyes. 'You're making it up!'
'So you think me a liar as well as a crook?'
Her tears flowed again and he gave her a little shake. 'Anthea, don't,' he said fiercely. 'Don't you know when you're being teased?'
'How can you tease me at a time like this?'
'Because the time is right,' he said huskily. 'Here I was full of guilt and hating myself, then you walked in and made me feel it was good to be alive.'
Rachel Lindsay - Love in Disguise Page 17
