The Ultimate Surrender

by Penny Jordan

  Suzi was with Phil! There was really no reason why she should feel so surprised, Polly told herself. After all, Suzi was still working for Phil. But if she was honest she was rather bemused that Marcus, who had made all manner of unfounded accusations about her relationship with Phil, should react so calmly to the fact that Suzi, whom he loved, whom he was going to marry, who was having his child, was with Phil in such an undeniably romantic location.

  ‘Phil’s secretary told me that he’s due back soon,’ Polly informed Marcus.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed coolly. As she swung the car off the road and into the drive that led to the hotel, he said, ‘You can wait in the car, Polly, to save putting any extra pressure on your ankle. I’ll go in and get your stuff.’

  Immediately Polly opened her mouth to object, pointing out crossly, ‘I’m not an invalid, Marcus. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own stuff, thank you very much.’

  A little to her surprise he gave in, but still insisted that she lean on him whilst he helped her into the foyer.

  Although she was loath to admit it, Polly acknowledged to herself that the pain in her ankle was such that walking was extremely uncomfortable, and she knew too that, if she were to stay in the hotel, without meaning to her staff would probably forget her incapacity and within a very short space of time she would find herself doing exactly what her doctor had told her she must not do.

  ‘There’s no need to come with me,’ she informed Marcus determinedly as she headed for the lift.

  In her room she hobbled from her wardrobe to her dressing table, packing what she thought she would need, reminding herself that it was only going to be for the one night. Tomorrow morning she would be back at her desk. She would soon find a way of convincing Marcus that she could manage perfectly well on her own.

  When she walked back into the foyer Marcus was talking to her secretary-cum-assistant, Pat Chorlton.

  ‘Marcus was just telling me about your ankle,’ Pat sympathised as Polly hobbled over to them. A kind, motherly woman in her early sixties, Pat was excellent at her job—so excellent in fact that Polly had persuaded her to stay on to work part-time after she had passed her official retirement birthday at sixty.

  ‘Poor you, especially now we’re going to have this wedding to organise.’

  So Marcus had told Pat about the wedding. Well, she shouldn’t be surprised. Like any man in love, he no doubt wanted to sing the praises of his beloved. Trying to ignore the searing pain of her jealousy, Polly assured her assistant, ‘Don’t worry; I’ll be here in the morning.’

  ‘You might be here in the morning, provided you are well enough,’ Marcus corrected her firmly.

  ‘Marcus…’ Polly began fiercely, but he was already picking up the overnight bag she had arranged to have brought from her room, grimacing as he felt the weight of it.

  ‘What the devil…?’ he began.

  But Polly forestalled him, telling him quickly, ‘It’s the books. This is my evening for working on the month’s accounts and—’

  ‘Marcus, what do you think you’re doing?’ Polly protested with a small shriek as he put down her bag, unzipped it and removed the heavy account books she had packed into it.

  ‘The doctor said you had to rest…remember?’

  ‘He said I had to rest my ankle, not my brain,’ Polly told him trenchantly, adding sweetly, ‘You were the one who brought in the systems police, Marcus, and I don’t think they’re going to be very impressed if the accounts aren’t done in time.’

  ‘No—well, if they aren’t then they can take it up with me,’ Marcus responded equally grittily, while Pat, who was listening, laughed and shook her head.

  She said teasingly, ‘You two sound just like a longtime married couple.’

  Her teasing remark shocked Polly into white-faced silence. Surely Pat, who had always been so tactful and discreet, must know how inappropriate her comment was in the circumstances, with Marcus having so recently made public his relationship with Suzi?

  ‘A marriage made in hell,’ Marcus murmured sardonically in her ear as he zipped up her bag and picked it up, but for once Polly felt no impulse to fight back.

  Just as soon as she felt strong enough she intended to tackle Marcus again about releasing her from her notice. He couldn’t possibly want her either living or working in such close proximity now.

  The drive back to Marcus’s house was completed in silence. Once or twice Polly snatched a brief look at his set profile, wondering if he was thinking about Suzi and no doubt wishing that she were the one he was taking home with him.

  ‘Wait here,’ Marcus commanded Polly as he let her into the hallway of the house. ‘I’ll take your bag up and then come back for you.’

  ‘Marcus, I’m perfectly capable of walking up a flight of stairs,’ Polly protested.

  The house had been painted since she had last seen it, and she had to admit that the warm Mediterranean colour scheme Marcus had chosen for the hallway looked very effective and welcoming, as did the heavy plain cream curtains that cloaked the windows and the hand-made light fittings Marcus had commissioned from a local designer. The sitting room she could see through the open doorway off the hall was decorated and furnished with a harmonious mixture of antique and modern, warm rich colours teamed with restful creams and heavy antique country furniture made sturdily of oak married with modern fabrics and designs.

  It was easy to imagine Marcus living in this house, but for some reason Polly found it difficult to imagine Suzi here. She would want crystal light fittings, silk fabrics, delicate pieces of porcelain and Regency furniture. This was the kind of home that a child could play comfortably in, the kind of home where friends would feel welcome and formal dinner parties would be abandoned in favour of chatty suppers round the kitchen table.

  Heart-achingly conscious of the yawning gap of loneliness there was in her own life, the emptiness she had filled with the make-believe fantasy that they were a family while Briony had been growing up and Marcus had been there on hand to father her, Polly took a hesitant step towards the stairs. When Marcus gave an impatient sigh and came forward to help her she said sharply,

  ‘No. I can manage by myself.’

  How symbolic those words were. From now on she would have to manage by herself, without Briony to keep her thoughts busy and occupied, without Marcus to focus her fantasies and yearnings on.

  ‘It’s this room,’ Marcus informed her curtly, deliberately keeping his distance from her as Polly followed him across the landing. He threw open a bedroom door, flattening himself against the wall almost so that she could precede him into the room, making it plain to her that he had as little desire to touch her as she had to be touched by him. Although, of course, for very different reasons. She dared not allow him to come near her in case she betrayed herself and her love for him, but Marcus was keeping his distance from her to reinforce the fact that he was committed to someone else and that there was no room now in his life for her.

  As she stepped into the bedroom Polly came to an abrupt halt, turning to face him as she exclaimed uncomfortably, ‘But this is your room!’

  Even if she hadn’t suddenly recognised the room as being the master bedroom from the plan she had seen, the small, intimate details of Marcus’s occupation of it would have told her. His brushes were on the tallboy—the ones that had belonged to his grandfather. A towelling robe lay across the huge bed and there were more of his belongings scattered about.

  ‘I can’t sleep in here,’ Polly protested.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Marcus assured her laconically, ‘I’m not planning to share the room with you. It just so happens that the others aren’t quite ready for occupation yet. The painters only left the other day and the carpets aren’t being laid until later in the week.’

  ‘But where will you sleep?’ Polly asked him in confusion.

  ‘Downstairs. There’s a very comfortable sofa in the sitting room. I shall be able to manage in there.’

  ‘Marcus, you’r
e over six feet tall. I’m only just over five feet,’ Polly protested. ‘If anyone should be sleeping on a sofa it should be me. This is ridiculous,’ she added. ‘I could have managed perfectly well at the hotel. If I’d known that my being here was going to deprive you of your own bedroom…’

  ‘What is this, Polly—an offer to share the bed with me?’ Marcus taunted her.

  Immediately Polly went quiet, her face becoming pinched and her eyes haunted.

  ‘There was no need for that,’ she told him huskily. ‘I can’t stay here, Marcus; I—’

  ‘You don’t have any other option,’ he told her briskly. ‘You can’t drive and there’s certainly no way I intend to drive you.’

  ‘I don’t want to deprive you of your bed,’ she insisted stubbornly.

  How could she sleep in it knowing that soon Marcus would be sharing it with Suzi; that a year from now their baby would be curled up in it with them? No, that kind of pain just couldn’t be borne. Not by her. Not right now, when the realisation of just how lost to her Marcus was was still hurting her so very, very much.

  ‘You’re wasting your breath, Polly,’ Marcus told her dryly, glancing at his watch before adding, ‘I’m going downstairs to make us both something to eat. If when I come back you aren’t undressed and in that bed I’ll…’

  ‘You’ll what?’ Polly challenged him tiredly.

  ‘I’ll undress you and put you there myself,’ Marcus told her softly, adding, when she changed colour betrayingly, ‘Yes, I thought that might be the right kind of incentive. Odd, though, really, isn’t it? The last time I removed your clothes you seemed more than eager for me to do so; in fact—’

  ‘Stop it. Stop it,’ Polly protested, covering her ears with her hands and turning, hot-faced, away from him.

  How could he do this to her? How could he remind her of that now, when they were both standing in the room he was going to be sharing with another woman…with his wife? Polly would have thought that what had happened between them would be the last thing he wanted to refer to; that he would feel, if not ashamed of his betrayal of Suzi, then at least anxious to ignore it. In his shoes…But in his shoes she would never have done what he had done in the first place. She would never have been able to share such intimacy with someone she didn’t love.

  ‘You’ve got fifteen minutes, Polly,’ Marcus told her firmly as he turned towards the door.

  Fifteen minutes. Not an awful lot of time, Polly decided a little breathlessly as she pulled on her nightshirt and emerged cautiously from the en suite bathroom into the mercifully still empty bedroom. She had just managed to scramble beneath the bedclothes when Marcus came in carrying a tray.

  ‘Supper,’ he told her unnecessarily as he put it down on the bed beside her. Polly’s mouth watered as she saw what he had cooked for her: scrambled eggs and smoked salmon…her favourite light meal and one which she normally only managed to enjoy on Christmas Day morning, along with a glass of champagne, whilst she and Marcus watched Briony opening her presents.

  ‘Thank you,’ she told him chokily. Had he remembered that it was her favourite, her special comfort food, or had he simply made it because he had the ingredients there? There was no point in asking him, of course.

  ‘Don’t forget to take your tablets,’ he instructed her as he turned back towards the door.

  He was leaving her to eat on her own. Just in time Polly managed to bite back her protest. Of course he was, and she was glad…yes, glad. The last thing she wanted was to have him there with her, extolling Suzi’s virtues to her and enthusing about their plans.

  After he had gone she started to eat, but, unexpectedly, despite the fact that the food smelled so appetising, she discovered that she simply didn’t want it. There was a hot, hard lump in her throat which was preventing her from eating, and an even more intense pain around her heart. Miserably she took two of her tablets and sipped the water Marcus had brought for her.

  Her ankle ached and she felt lethargic and drowsy. After putting the tray onto the floor, she sank back against the pillows. The bed had obviously been freshly made and she didn’t even have the secret pleasure of having Marcus’s scent around her whilst she slept. No, that privilege was reserved for Suzi. Tears welled behind her closed eyelids and Polly sniffed defensively. She was not going to cry. She was not.

  The light was still on when Marcus went into the bedroom later to collect Polly’s supper tray but Polly herself was fast asleep, one arm up to protect her eyes from the light. Marcus frowned as he looked down and saw the supper tray on the floor, her meal barely touched.

  He had made it especially for her, knowing it was her favourite—had even had to raid the freezer for the smoked salmon.

  It was obvious how devastated she was by the news. He had tried to warn her. Suzi had made it plain to him just what her plans were and now that she was pregnant, of course, the baby’s future had to come first.

  ‘It will be a boy,’ Suzi had told him triumphantly. Marcus hoped she was right, although privately he thought it was still early days for her to be absolutely sure.

  Quietly he picked up the tray and headed for the door, closing it gently behind him.

  Polly closed her eyes and put her hands to her aching temples. She was having a particularly trying morning. Her sore ankle still hurt if she misguidedly put weight on it, but it had also recovered enough for her to forget this, with the result that every now and again she did so, causing herself to lurch and wince with pain whilst at the same time cursing because she was hampered in her movements. Add to that the fact that Marcus’s team of management consultants were bombarding her with questions and that, despite the fact that he had returned from the Caribbean two days earlier, Phil was too busy to return her telephone calls, and it was no wonder that her head ached, she acknowledged wearily.

  But the ache in her head nowhere near compared to that in her heart. Now that was pain—pain that could not be cured with a pill that could be swallowed. If only…

  ‘Polly? Suzi’s here,’ Pat hurried into her office to inform her. ‘She wants to talk to you about the reception.’

  Suzi…Of course Polly had been expecting this, she had been expecting it and dreading it.

  ‘Is Marcus with her?’ she asked Pat as casually as she could.

  ‘Yes,’ Pat confirmed.

  ‘I’ll be right with them,’ Polly told her secretary, waiting until she had gone before taking a deep breath and pinning a fragile brittle smile to her lips.

  ‘Suzi…Marcus…’ She greeted them both with false pleasure.

  ‘Marcus, I don’t know why I need to see her,’ Suzi told Marcus rudely. ‘You haven’t forgotten what I said, have you, about having the marquee opening into the walled garden? I want to have my photographs done in there. The wedding consultant says they can erect a gazebo around the fishpond and, of course, the hotel will have to be closed to any other guests.

  ‘I want to receive my guests in the main hall. The florists will decorate it, of course. I shall be using a top London firm and…’

  As she listened to her Polly could feel herself getting angrier and angrier. The walled garden was her domain, a private garden, not available to the hotel guests and for Marcus to have given his agreement that Suzi could have access to it without first consulting her felt like a burning brand applied to her bare skin. Such pain should have been cauterising, she recognised, burning away the disease of her unwanted love, but…

  ‘We’ll be bringing in our own chef, of course; Phil is flying him in from the Caribbean. Everything in the marquee is going to be colour-themed to tie in with my dress, all the guests must wear black or white, and…Oh, have you told her yet?’ she demanded sharply of Marcus as she looked at Polly for the first time.

  And then, without waiting for Marcus to reply, she told Polly, ‘We’ll be taking over the hotel completely for the wedding so it won’t be necessary for you to be here. Phil seemed to think you might have some holiday allocation you could use up. We could offer y
ou a room at the Cay but I don’t think it would be your style,’ she told Polly disdainfully.

  She wrinkled her nose as she turned to Marcus, her hand resting possessively on his arm as she said sweetly, ‘I did suggest to Phil that we should perhaps think of hiring Richard Branson’s island, but he put his foot down…because of my…condition…’ She removed her hand from Marcus’s arm to pat her stomach complacently. ‘He’s beside himself at the thought of having a son. Have you seen the earrings he’s just bought me?’ As she moved her head the large diamond studs in her ears caught the light, sending dazzling soft lights dancing around the room, but it wasn’t that that was making Polly feel so giddy and light-headed.

  ‘You’re…you’re marrying Phil,’ she interrupted Suzi’s self-congratulatory monologue huskily. ‘It’s you and Phil…’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry, I did warn you that he was mine, didn’t I?’ she told Polly, giving her a sharp-toothed little smile. ‘Phil and I go back a long way, even if we have both let our pride keep us apart for far too long. He admits that he’s glad now that my contract meant he couldn’t fire me and that having to work alongside me meant that he could never really get me out of his system.

  ‘We’re both sorry for any disappointment you’ve had, but I know you’ll understand that naturally Phil wants me to take over the running of the London hotel now. He’s going to base himself in London for the next few years. It makes sense, of course, especially if we want to get little Philip into one of the top nursery schools. I think the right kind of schooling is so important for a boy, don’t you?’ she asked Marcus, giving him a flirtatious smile.

  ‘I think the most vital ingredient to any child’s wellbeing is knowing he or she is loved,’ Marcus replied quietly, whilst Polly struggled to take on board what she had just learned.

  Suzi was marrying Phil and not Marcus; Suzi was having Phil’s child and not Marcus’s…So why had Suzi made that extraordinary verbal attack on her that time in London when she had accosted her as she’d left Phil’s hotel?