by Margaret Way
Brooke couldn't understand why she was so shocked. And she was, far more than she had ever been in her life. After all, Paul had been frank with her. He had a child. There had been many women in his life; Probably they threw themselves at him for the most part, but now it seemed to her he was exploiting another human being. Her! Heat burned through her body like a flame and the heat of humiliation threatened to engulf her. She had bowed to everyone's persuasion: Mamma's, Louise's, Maggie's, while he was playing the age-old game of two-timing. Whatever it was, fate, or the Guiding Hand of the Good Lord Himself had brought her along this road. She was forced to recognise what manner of man he was; a fascinating and ruthless philanderer.
The Volvo took off smoothly and. he was walking back towards the white building, his dark head bent in thought, Even from a distance his dark good looks and lithe grace were striking. He was casually dressed in a blue body shirt and cream slacks and she caught the gold glint of his wristwatch. It was important sire move off, yet the most bitter disillusionment sapped her strength. It was no time now to wonder why this seemed like a major disaster. She didn't love him, yet she could scarcely be racked with more all-engulfing emotions. She had said all along that Paul Corelli was trouble, a magnificent trap for a woman. Probably he had abandoned the mother of his child. Probably she was still alive but unable to avenge herself. Caution was a virtue, and she had almost thrown caution to the winds.
A beautiful golden labrador wandered down the drive of the villa, saw Brooke in the parked car and gave her owners a few warning barks. 'Good girl! Look, I'm going !' Brooke give a little self-deprecating laugh and the labrador, satisfied, turned away. By now, Paul Corelli would be safely inside his very cosy retreat. Brooke switched on the ignition and put the car in motion, feeling the sudden anger rising up in her.
What a fool he must take her for ! What a ninny! Her mouth moved in silent pain. What price fidelity? she thought. A marriage to break down before it had ever begun. A car was moving fairly rapidly behind her and instead of turning she drove straight ahead, her trembling hands exposing her inner turmoil. Why didn't he settle for Cathy Benton and be done with it? She would suit beautifully, though she would be threatened with other women all her life.
Despite herself she couldn't control the quick glance she threw at the front of the apartments. To her further dread Paul Corelli was standing in conversation with another man and they were looking her way. Her heart contracted and she turned her head swiftly, hoping against hope that he failed to recognise her or the car. It was absolutely frightful sometimes to have red hair. Such a colour could never be overlooked, and the paintwork of the Triumph was a bright mustard yellow.
She didn't turn her head and she didn't slow down. She didn't know exactly which way she was going and she didn't really care. Her passionate resentment was an actual pain and she felt immensely ashamed of herself. She should never have allowed herself to come this far. She should never have allowed him a single minute of her time. She had always considered herself a resolute sort of girl with high principles, but like everyone else she too could make a terrible mistake. Nothing would wipe out the sight of Paul Corelli coming out of the building with Cathy Benton by his side. Their names had been linked for quite a while, even while everyone thought he would probably marry Louise. Paul Corelli didn't belong to anyone but himself.
At the intersection she took the turn to the right leading down to a picturesque marina. The sun on the blue water was dazzling and her own eyes green as the sea began to sparkle. She could never belong to a man who could so easily betray her love. But of course she didn't love him, nor he her. But there was honour. It was an enchanting scene, the boats bobbing in the water; a small grove of yacht masts and little rowboats clustering like butterflies. Half a dozen youngsters were standing outside the clubhouse and a young mother was rocking her baby in the green shade.
The road dipped suddenly before the approach to the bridge and in her rear vision Brooke caught sight of the Lamborghini's incredibly elegant bonnet. It seemed to be flowing relentlessly for her, a big powerful car with the driver afire with likely lies and excuses. She put down her foot, just keeping to the speed limit. He could easily overtake her and she only hoped there would be a policeman around to give him a fine.
From out of nowhere an Afghan bounced eagerly out on to the road while its stricken owner gave a high-pitched scream. It had slipped its collar and on this warm beautiful afternoon it was determined on a little fun and a plunge in the blue water. Instinctively Brooke swerved, all thoughts of Paul Corelli fading from her head. Her young mouth was drawn in in panic, but everything was happening too quickly. She must right the car while it was skidding out of control. It was never good sense to swerve dangerously for a dog, but she couldn't have done otherwise. The beautiful foolish creature was already at the boat shed while the car was rushing towards the water. Her eyes froze and her young body stiffened, nerves screaming; this was the moment of tragedy and she didn't know she screamed …
'Thank God, she's coming out of it! '
The voice was a woman's, low and anxious. Brooke gave a choking cough, consciousness coming back to her in a blinding flash. Her heart was pounding and she was lying face down on the grass with two strong hands hard at her back, just above the waist. There was no more water in her lungs, but she was sick and sore from those pumping hands.
She turned her head weakly, waiting until her vision cleared. 'There how, dear !' A woman on her knees smiled at her and gently pushed the wet strands of hair away from her face.
Brooke tried to speak, but there didn't seem to be any air in her body. Somewhere just beyond her the Afghan stood quietly with its young master, a boy of ten, who barely bothered to brush the frightened tears from his cheeks. Several wary children brightened visibly when Brooke stirred and gave a small moaning sound and on her other side, a police officer in his summer uniform held a subdued conversation with the hurting hands.
'… as well for the young lady you were on hand. Otherwise this could have been a tragedy!'
She heard the answering voice and she gasped in air, choking again, but too weak to resist. A few more breaths, just a few more. She had to keep trying. There was no colour in her face or the mouth that had received the kiss of life. She was exhausted but alive, and directly above her was the man who had dived twice to free her from the submerged car. Strangely she wasn't surprised it was Paul Corelli. He was capable of all kinds of things and he had a strength not given to women.
She felt herself turned and lifted high in his arms and the carven face above her had a pallor that shocked her, though she wanted to scream at him to let her go. The small circle of people had drawn closer, some speaking gently, trying to soothe and reassure her like the young mother, but she couldn't really hear anything they said; her head rested weakly against Corelli's hard shoulder, as he stood still for a' moment while the police officer devoted his attention to getting all the information he required.
'Leave it to me now, sir.' he said quietly. 'You'll want to get your fiancee to a doctor, no doubt, though I'm certain you saved her life. Perhaps you could ring me later on at this number?' He wrote a name and a telephone number on a page of his notebook and pulled it out, folding it neatly and slipping it inside Paul Corelli's shirt pocket. 'I've observed many accidents swerving to avoid animals. Few people do anything else, even though they put their own lives in danger.'
Brooke heard Corelli's deep accented voice thanking the man, then his helpers beyond the police -officer's tall, burly figure. His voice sounded harsh yet gentle, its velvety quality scarcely in evidence. Brooke buried her head against him, lost in shock and exhaustion. If Paul had a claim to her now, there was nothing she could do about it. He had succeeded in saving her life, but she could feel nothing, least of all gratitude.
'Poverina!' he murmured, as he put her very gently into his car. 'Mia cam, poor little one!' His voice sounded infinitely tender, as though he held the woman he most desired in his arms.
'What am I to do with you?'
For once she didn't answer but lay completely still, her beautiful skin robbed of all colour, her golden-green eyes darkened to emerald. He went to stroke her cheek and she shrank away from him visibly, sick and a bundle of nerves. All the way back to his apartment there was no other sound but the wind through the window, the dry rustle of leaves; When he lifted her again, she went with him, defeated, overpowered. She was aching .and her own heartbeat sounds were like thunder in her ears.
When Gianni opened the door he broke into a stream of Italian that Paul Corelli answered while carrying Brooke easily into the/main bedroom. Altered, Gianni dashed ahead to remove the softest, most beautiful velvet spread, but Paul seemed utterly uncaring. He bent over Brooke and she made a soundless little exclamation, her limbs trembling in a spasm. There was a perplexing wilderness to her thoughts and her head was almost cracking.
Paul Corelli stood by the bed stroking her hair back, speaking to her now in a soft yet commanding tone of voice. His large, lustrous eyes were blacker than night, blacker than the deeps of the water. 'Gianni has gone for the doctor,' he said soothingly. 'She lives in this very building. She and her husband are good friends of mine, both of them doctors. I feel you need something to settle those nerves―a sedative, then complete privacy to sleep, I will ring your mother, of course. I have no wish to frighten her, but she must be told.'
'I want to go home,' Brooke said worriedly.
'No!' His voice sounded vibrant with sudden tension. 'That was a very close brush with tragedy. You must stay here. Adriana is on hand and she will know how to treat you. Afterwards I will certainly take you home to your mother. Have no fear, little one. I do not wish to add to your unease!
He had locked her green gaze and Brooke shut her eyes to block the sight of him out. Still he remained there, standing over her, holding one of her trembling hands firmly, until the woman he called Adriana arrived.
'Paul, caro, what is this I hear?'
The voice was a melodious contralto and Brooke opened her eyes with an effort and tried to sit up. There was no clarity to her thoughts or her vision and the liquid Italian voices passing to and fro became harder and harder to concentrate on. The woman was handsome, but not young, and it soon became. evident she knew what she was about. Paul and the agitated Gianni were shepherded from the room, then Doctor Adriana Bonetto turned back to her patient, her dark eyes full of a sympathetic concern.
'Poor child, what an experience! You must be III a nervous state, yet ,what a miracle Paul was on hand. He is like an eel in the water and he has never lacked courage!' She came over to the bed and cast an intent, professional glance over Brooke's near-ashen face. 'I am here to help you, my dear. Paul has spoken to me often of you. First, I will give you something to settle the nerves, then we will get you out of those wet clothes.'
'Thank you!' Brooke whispered, and the woman, Adriana, gave her a beautiful, understanding smile.
When Brooke awoke, she jerked upright in alarm, her heart pounding. Her hands came up to shield her face and her near-brush with death took on new, terrifying proportions. Dimly she heard her own voice crying out something unintelligible and she put her head down further into her hands, her breath coming sobbingly.
She was in no pain, her dizziness had vanished, but she was still a little close to hysteria. The bronze and crystal lamp on the table beside her was aglow and there was soft, muted light coming from pinlights recessed in the panelled ceiling. She could not have borne the dark just then. Anything was better than the appalling black mantle of darkness upon her.
Some instinct made her lift her head a fraction of a second before the door opened. She sat up straighter, her whole body as taut as a bowstring, one lacy strap of the nightgown she was wearing falling off her sloping shoulder. Nervously she adjusted it while Paul Corelli walked towards her, the lights flickering oddly over the dark, aquiline mask of his face.
'You woke and you were frightened?' He looked down at her, his voice almost taut.
'I'm all right now,' she said faintly, looking so fragile and distressed he came right to the side of the bed; towering above her.
'Shall I call Adriana? She won't mind in the least coming.'
'No.' Her eyes were clinging to his as though hypnotised.
He was fully dressed, his ivory silk shirt a sheened contrast to his darkly olive skin, and she wondered in agitation what time it was. Her enormous green eyes flew around the room searching for a clock. The colours were sombre, cream, black and gold, but the furnishings were rich with two exquisite oriental panels decorating the wall on either side of the great antique armoire. There was a wonderful gilded bronze sculpture of a horse, but no clock.
'What time is it?' she asked fretfully. 'I must go home.'
Her wide eyes held shimmering reflections of the light and more than ever she reminded him of a small trapped creature of the wilds. 'It's almost three o'clock in the morning,' he said with a faint, brittle edge to his beautiful voice.
'It can't be!' She sounded utterly' disoriented, disbelieving, and for answer he turned his wrist abruptly for her inspection, the gold face of the watch gleaming in the lamplight. 'I can't see!' she didn't even glance at it and for the first time colour flared into her creamy petalled skin. 'It doesn't matter anyway. I want to go home.'
Her titian hair sprang away from her face like fire and fanned out over her bare shoulders and her tender young breasts thrust against the silky covering nightgown. She was trembling uncontrollably and what he was afraid of was happening. The tears came to her eyes and ran down her cheeks.
'Please don't cry! ' he said, his lithe body tensing.
'I'm sorry. I'm sorry!' She folded her arms across her) and began to rock herself. She didn't hear him move away, neither did she hear him return with his, big-catlike tread.
'Drink this.'
'I don't want it! '
'Drink it!' he repeated, and guided the glass to her mouth. Her hand was trembling so much his own hand closed over her wrist and she drank down the fiery liquid if only to be free of his grasp.
He appeared to sense it, for he stood up and away from her instantly. 'That should help you sleep, and when you wake again you will feel better.'
Brooke bit her softly rounded lower lip, her eyes very green in her creamy face. 'I'm afraid of you.'
'I know that.'
'I want to leave right away.'
'You don't look nearly well enough!' he said crisply as though that resolved the matter.
'Why didn't my mother come for me?' she demanded, the, effect of the brandy serving to relax her as well as bring back a shadow of her former spirit.
'She did come, piccola, he said dryly, 'only you were fast asleep. Adriana was able to set her mind at rest and she was quite satisfied to leave you until morning. Apparently she trusts me where you do not! '
With his eyes lingering on her she tensed, for the first time conscious of the delicate fragility of her nightdress. Adriana had found, it for her without bothering to tell her it had been intended as a present forˇ her married daughter. There was a matching robe somewhere and her eye sought for it.
'Lie still, little one. Just lie still and go back to sleep. I promise I'll return you to your mamma first thing in the morning.'
'I'm awake now! ' she said with faint hauteur.
Unexpectedly he smiled at her tone, and a deep physical pain began to blur all her other impressions. Paul had the beautiful white teeth of his race, the flashing smile that lit his dark features. Knowing what she knew about him he couldn't force her to stay. Probably if Adriana had opened that armoire she would have found some exquisite froth of lace and chiffon hanging beside his robe.
'Why did you ever ask me to marry you?' she burst out with the pain.
'Because I want you I' he said so demandingly she felt the blood course through every inch of her body.
'I don't think that's good enough!' she said bitterly. 'I know I suit your plans, but I have plans of
my own. They don't include you, who appear to want every woman you see!'
'Little fool!' he said urgently. 'Nothing could be further from the truth. I am going to leave you now as I seem to be upsetting you. Let yourself relax and you will sleep.'
'I'm going now!' she said stubbornly, remembering every tortured minute of the afternoon. She could see the robe now draped over a carved corner chair and in a moment of recklessness she slid out of the huge bed, intending to make a rush for it. There was a moment of such weakness she almost fainted, then Paul swept her up into his arms, his black eyes narrowing over her, rejecting her defiance. Her heart was beating fast and she was burningly aware of his strong arms and body and the arrogant dark face above her. He was the hunter, the thrill for him was in seduction and her emotions and her jealousy made her struggle in his arms, though she was very dizzy.
'If you persist in doing that you will feel even more terrible!' he said abruptly. 'Where did you get this idea that I am wicked?'
