by Sonia Icilyn
“Idle threats!” Antonio grew alarmed.
“You did raise your hand to her,” Avril reminded, hackneyed, “without telling any of us why.”
“I didn’t tell you because….” Antonio paused for reflection. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“As long as it doesn’t happen again,” she advised, sluggishly.
“It won’t,” Antonio promised. “From now on it’s me, my wife and our son. I can’t wait to see him.”
Avril caught his attention with a quizzical glance. “What’s his name? Did she tell you?”
Antonio shook his head. “We’re going to decide on Sunday. My little pantomime as you called it will be at Regent’s Park. We’re going to take a stroll with our son.”
Avril grimaced. “She hasn’t given him a name?” Her mind darted sharply to the image of Dale Lambert’s dismal expression then back to Antonio. “What’s Elonwy waiting for, the christening day?” She rubbed her sole in mild agony. “The least she could’ve done was give you some ideas or ask you for some of your own when she sent the picture.”
“I don’t want to say anything against her right now,” Antonio declared softly. “The upside is we’ve arranged a date and I’m keeping it.”
Fatigue crept over her. “Have you told mom and Lennie?”
“They’re thrilled,” Antonio enthused happily. “Mom suggests that I take a bouquet of flowers, you know, a token of romance to show her that I still want her. What do you think?”
Avril shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”
Antonio’s head turned, causing the ends of his dark curly hair to skim the top of his pyjama shirt. He didn’t care for Avril’s tone. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing,” Avril yawned. “Man trouble.”
“Not the Armstrongs again,” he sighed.
“Actually,” Avril corrected, “it’s that lawyer, Dale Lambert.”
Her breathing instantly grew ragged at the brief memory that flooded her mind. She remembered the involuntary reaction to his erotic onslaught that swept away her consciousness, his every anticipation of her movements and how she reveled in the sensual imprisonment of his arms. Body moistened. Nipples rigid. Her bones void of any substance.
Antonio’s brows rose. “Really?” He took a seat on the edge of the sofa and contemplated her. “What happened?”
“I ran into him at Media Plus tonight,” she began nervously. “Delphine Collins was there, too.”
“Rick’s fiancée?” he exclaimed.
“The one and the same,” Avril disclosed. “She told me that Maxwell’s baby is a boy. I got upset and left the club with Dale.”
“You didn’t—”
“No,” Avril interrupted, aware that her brother did not approve of fast, soulless love. And neither did she, even when the temptation was potent. “But we talked. I told him how I feel about Meyrick.”
“What did you tell him that for?” Antonio drawled in annoyance. He didn’t sound condemning. If anything, Tony seemed amused.
“I didn’t mean to,” Avril defended quickly. And she certainly didn’t mean for him to know about her little plot for revenge either. “It followed from a conversation about Maxwell’s wager with Reuben Meyer.”
Antonio schooled his eyes. “A bet?”
“It’s a long story,” she prevaricated wisely. “It’s just…after Dale kissed me—”
“He kissed you?” Antonio trilled.
Avril nodded and felt her body react at the memory. A long-forgotten warmth flowed through her. How odd, she thought, that she should be swayed so easily by a man she didn’t really know. “I made a blooper.”
“By kissing him?”
“No.”
“Rick Armstrong?” he surmised.
She nodded on a yawn.
“That ought to have stopped him dead in his tracks.”
“It did,” Avril accepted sadly. “He couldn’t even say goodnight when he pulled up outside the house.”
“You’ve lost him,” Antonio dismissed, rising to his feet. He rubbed his eyes momentarily. “If you take my advice, you’ll stay away from Rick.”
Avril felt her heart plummet in despair. “And Dale Lambert?” The mention of his name shook her sensitive core.
“That’s up to him,” he remarked heavily. “Sometimes a man takes a second shot at a woman because his soul can’t help it, but this lawyer guy, he’s going to pass.”
Avril was shocked. “Why?”
“You’ve told him you’re hung up on Rick Armstrong,” he proclaimed sharply.
“That’s it?” she gulped. Her eyes drooped. “Dale Lambert’s never going to kiss me again?”
“He’s a man,” Antonio declared, making his way toward the sitting room door. “He’s not going to make a sucker of himself twice.” He shrugged before departing. “Goodnight.”
Avril was weakened by her brother’s clipped approach. “Goodnight,” she breathed quietly.
As he left, she dropped her head into the palm of her hands. What had she done? Everything was going wrong. So horribly wrong. There was no future but frustration in kissing Dale Lambert. And the risk of facing him again at the Amateur Tennis Awards dinner was already weighing on her senses.
For self-preservation, she tried to anticipate everything that might happen there. Instead, Avril kept reliving the kiss she’d shared with Dale. His tentative touch and silky caresses. She made herself take one calming breath and then another. If only she could think, but she was too tired. Moments later, she drifted to sleep.
Chapter 8
It was exactly three weeks since her wedding day and Avril awoke, for a second time, on the sofa. Her back felt stiff and her neck rigid. She had slept uncomfortably for much of the night.
She spent the morning dodging her family by going into central London where she picked up a pair of new shoes and a handbag from a small Italian store on Baker Street. She lunched alone at a sandwich shop, ordering cheese and tomato on French bread, then made a visit to the dry cleaner where she picked up her dress for the evening.
When Avril returned home, she heard her mother’s voice echo loudly behind the sitting room door. Avril ventured to her bedroom. There was no energy harbored to deal with Bertha’s delight on hearing Antonio’s latest news. Besides, Avril told herself, she would need all her reserves to face the Armstrongs later.
She flung the newly purchased loot on the bed and laid out the dress in its plastic wrapping. A quick glance at her watch and Avril realized she had three hours to debate her conduct for the night ahead.
Meyrick’s refined discourse still troubled her. We will just have to be civil with each other, he’d said, as though she would find it easy to parley. But being frozen out of his friendship had hardened her emotional arteries.
And then there was Dale Lambert. Avril realized now that she liked him too much to incur his disfavor. Perhaps the wisest thing would be not to confide in him again. She’d told him everything because he made it easy for her to do so. From receiving the anonymous letter to Maxwell Armstrong’s bet. There was nothing Dale Lambert did not know.
Her mind briefly pondered on that letter. Where is it? Avril mused, walking over to her dresser where she instantly began to ruffle through her top drawer. Seconds later, beneath the half empty bottles of perfume, lipsticks, broken eye pencils and a plunder of used makeup, she found what she was looking for.
The envelope was pink and small. On receiving it, she had thought it was a wedding card of congratulations with sentiments of a long life of happiness. The note card inside was an insipid color of mustard yellow. She did not recognize the handwriting, though it was clear the words were penned without difficulty.
Don’t get married today. Maxwell Armstrong is the father of my baby.
It was short and simple. No drowning in clichés. No date or signature present and the postmark was dated the day before. As evidence, it proved she had been unceremoniously betrayed. Even now, Avril felt bruised. It was emotional fraud. No one cou
ld possibly have expected her to go through with the marriage ceremony, least of all Meyrick Armstrong.
Now that the truth was out, she wondered whether he would continue to bear a grudge. To the contrary, she might actually receive an apology. The idea appealed to her. The task would be made much easier to contrive a plot to win Meyrick over. Once on her side, she could work him. Slowly. Progressively. Soon he would ditch Delphine and she could parade their love to Maxwell.
Revenge would be hers.
It would be a scandal bigger than when she had left him at the church altar. Though that particular story had not reached the papers, much to her mother’s relief, Avril knew any union with the groom’s brother would be considered a potential scoop.
Being the center of a love scandal gave her a thrilling sensation. There was, she discovered, a certain satisfaction in plotting the demise of Maxwell Armstrong. Of imagining his picture in the papers, a desolate and broken man. The reading public would brand him a philandering bachelor whose bride found love in his consoling brother.
And if she were to add to the fund of information, his wager with Reuben Meyer, not only would she enjoy the fresh light of womanhood celebrity, but the direct impact on his management status at Armstrong Caribbean Foods Limited could be called into question. Avril smiled when she pondered the numerous ways in which she could ruin this man.
Two hours later, she was ready for her taxi ride to the Victoria Park Plaza Hotel where she would confront Maxwell Armstrong and his family.
“Mom, what do you think?” Avril asked as she twirled around to display the full effect of the black sequined cocktail dress she was wearing. Her arms, chest and shoulders were exposed beneath the elaborate high rise of her hair with each curly twist carefully pinned into place.
“You can have my opinion,” Lennie countered as she straightened her shoulders and paraded another full circle in front of him in her three inch stiletto heels. Her stepfather shook his head in awe. “Beautiful.”
Bertha stared at her daughter with heightened respect and fully agreed. “My dear, you’re simply stunning.”
“I’ll be presenting three prizes tonight and several cameras will be flashing at me,” Avril related, “so I’ve made a particular effort to look nice.” Secretly, it was all about hooking Meyrick’s attention.
“By the way, Kesse called,” Bertha breathed restlessly. “She’s not going tonight, but said to tell you that she can meet on Tuesday at 7:00 p.m. She’s reserved a table at Nobu Berkeley so you’ll be on your own.”
Avril felt on the verge of panic. Without Kesse to offer support, how was she to take on the Armstrongs? “Did she say why she wasn’t coming?” she asked.
“No,” Bertha replied, concerned. “Will you be all right?”
“She’ll be fine,” Lennie enthused, offering his wife a hearty hug. “Dale Lambert and his sister will be there, so Avril has company.”
Bertha’s brows rose speculatively. “Are you dining with them at their table?” she questioned.
“No,” Avril replied, surprised by the frizzles of delight in her stomach at the mention of Dale Lambert’s name. She had successfully managed to keep his image at bay all day, not once giving into the urges that threatened every ten minutes to flood her brain with pictures of him. “I’ll be at the Cultural Development Committee’s table.”
“Well if you see Dale tonight,” Lennie began quickly. “Please pass on my regards. I didn’t expect him to return my check for his services, so I owe him a big ‘thank you’ for helping you out.”
“He didn’t want paying?” Avril inquired weakly.
“Guess he thought he was doing me a favor,” Lennie remarked evenly. “Make sure you have a great evening.”
Avril smiled faintly. “I’ll try.”
In the spacious lobby a jazz string quartet played cultural music above the tinkle of champagne glasses.
Avril looked around, expectant of seeing at least one face she recognized. But she saw none. These were people from the sporting fraternity, with a few businessmen, public officials, a healthy sprinkling of foreigners—international tennis players no doubt and media journalists in the mix. A shy waiter offered her a full flute glass as he ambled on by. As the lobby began to fill and a sea of chattering noise cascaded around her, Avril felt a thrill of anticipation.
She was alone. The Victoria Park Plaza Hotel seemed grand and conjured in her mind a magical castle from a fairytale. But she was not living a fairytale’s dream. There was no prince on the horizon or black knight galloping to her rescue. The male heads bopping above the sea of people belonged to men that were undoubtedly married, impotent with receding hairlines or just plain ugly.
“This should be a hoot,” Avril whispered to herself before plying her body with a large gulp of champagne.
“Bored?” a voice questioned from behind.
Avril swung round and blinked at the diamond stud earring. One look and she felt her body go into meltdown. “Mr. Lambert!” she gasped. She peered at him hesitantly, uneasiness sending pulsing jitters through her chest. “Are we early?”
“It’s the champagne reception before they announce dinner,” he explained while throwing her a cursory gaze.
Avril realized that he liked what he saw. The telling was in the way he slowly raked her with his eyes. She was obviously making an indelible impression. But recalling what her brother had said, she told herself to remain objective. “I wasn’t sure,” she said, continuing to invent a plausible excuse for conversation. “Have you just arrived?”
Dale glanced at his Omega, then tilted his head as though trying to figure her out. “We’ve been here ten minutes.”
“I’ve been here five,” Avril piped in. She took the opportunity to make a quick inventory. Black tuxedo and red dickie-bow tie. Dale also wore a red cummerbund around his waist and shiny polished black shoes on his feet. “Where’s your sister?”
He pointed across the lobby. “Over there.”
Elyse was heavily engrossed with friends. “When is she leaving for Florida?”
“In two days,” he replied. His throat had gone dry. “I then hope to visit at Christmas.”
Avril nodded, her mind drawing a blank.
“So, where’s the enemy?” Dale blurted suddenly.
Avril was not prepared for the attack. “Excuse me?”
“The Armstrongs,” he elaborated on hooked brows. Her mascara-thick lashes were so dark in color that it contrasted severely with the nut-brown eyes that stared, startled at him. It was too much, this maddening insanity she had against the Armstrong family when her very existence should be trained on him, Dale thought. “Have they been picked ready for a massacre?”
She disliked Dale’s tone. “I thought I explained why—”
“Avril!” A male voice was timely and intrusive. “Can I talk to you?”
It was Maxwell. In a tuxedo, yellow dickie-bow and cummerbund, he was a close contender to Dale Lambert’s striking looks. But Avril’s heart felt weighted at the mere sight of him. “No,” she admonished firmly. “You can’t.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Maxwell insisted, slicing an apologetic glance at Dale.
Avril sensed Dale’s irritation at the interruption before she excused herself and took Maxwell to one side. “What are you doing?” she chided.
Maxwell searched her eyes. His face fell when he saw her frustration. “You don’t miss me, do you?”
Avril shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
His shoulders pulled back as though the words struck. “I miss you.”
“Isn’t that a line you should be saving to tell your son,” she quipped, annoyed.
“I’m telling you,” Maxwell breathed softly.
“And what did you say to your baby-momma on our honeymoon in the Mascarene Islands?” she stated tersely.
“Avril….” His sorrowful eyes fell with sadness. “It’s not what you think.”
“You used our flight tickets.”
�
�I was trying to make the best of a bad situation.”
“By introducing her to your family?” Avril bristled, conscious of their prying audience. “Why? Why did you do this to me?”
“Because…” Words failed to emerge. Maxwell glanced across the room, vexed at his own inertia to explain. He saw the man Avril had been talking to, caught the miffed expression on his face and girded himself to account for his actions. “A man doesn’t plan for a wife until he finds a woman, but a woman plans for a husband before she finds a man,” he said, hopeful that he could fight off the competition.
Avril was galled. “That’s it?” she croaked like a swooping bird ready to attack. “Aren’t you forgetting that you planned for a wife the moment you made your wager with Reuben Meyer?”
Maxwell was dumbstruck. “Who…who told you that?”
“Reuben Meyer,” she retorted, aware that her heart was slowly beating strokes of anger against her chest. “Your minute’s up.” She walked away.
“Wait!” Maxwell ran after her. “The only person I want to marry is you,” he proclaimed in earnest. “What happened…it happened before I met you, I mean about the baby. That was a mistake.”
“And the bet?” Avril choked, noting the few faces that had begun to stare in undisguised fascination at them both. “Was that a mistake?”
“I wanted you,” he confessed. “I still do.”
“The whole time we were together, you were holding back,” Avril seethed. “That’s why there wasn’t much action in the bedroom because I knew something wasn’t right. I thought I was doing something wrong and asked you to be straight with me.”
He blinked and a pulse in his temple began to throb. “I tried to tell you,” Maxwell pleaded.
“You didn’t try,” Avril overrode him. “You were hoping to get away with it and I’m going to make sure you don’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maxwell demanded. “Some sort of vendetta?”
“I spent more hours talking to Meyrick when we stayed at Greencorn Manor than I ever did with you,” she told him. “Maybe I should’ve been marrying your brother because with you it felt like half my heart was missing.”
