Substitute Bride

by Margaret Pargeter

  'You'll be with me all the way,' he promised, his eyes glinting coldly, 'so you'll see whether I have any regrets or not.'

  What was he talking about? Not caring for the almost sinister ring in his voice, Emma wasn't sure she really wanted to know. She was tired and wished he would go quickly and leave her in peace. There'd be more recriminations when Blanche came home and she didn't know how much more she could take. As she gazed in weary perplexity at Rick Conway all her former desire to vindicate herself in his eyes left her. If she had any desire now it was simply to see the last of him.

  'I'm afraid,' she said numbly, 'I don't quite follow you, but I think it would be better if you went. I don't feel so good myself. In some ways I think I've suffered almost as great a shock as you have.'

  'We have to talk,' he stared back at her coldly, without even the smallest flicker of sympathy in his eyes.

  'All the talk in the world isn't going to make any difference,' she rejoined stubbornly. 'Before you say any more I feel you should see Blanche. There could be a very simple explanation.'

  'Sex and a good time, with someone else's property,' he replied scathingly. 'On second thoughts, sex probably doesn't really come into it. She was always a cold little b…'

  'Don't dare say it!' Her cheeks burning, Emma cut in. 'I don't have to listen to that kind of talk. I refuse to speak to you again!'

  'You're going to do more than that,' his mouth twisting savagely, he delivered a bombshell, 'you're going to marry me.'

  'Just like that?' she gasped, unable to believe he wasn't joking.

  'Yes, just like that,' he assured her, a hard glint in his eyes. 'I've always made decisions quickly and my intuition rarely lets me down. I could say never, but not after Blanche. Blanche, I'll admit, didn't work out, but you will, if I have to drag you to the altar. We'll be married and spend our honeymoon in Paris. At the same hotel as your cousin and your late boy-friend.'

  Emma thought she might choke with stunned surprise. She still couldn't believe he was serious. Yet he had such a look of grim determination that in spite of herself she was half convinced. 'You must be crazy,' she whispered hoarsely, 'even to be contemplating such a thing!'

  'I mean it, Emma,' he rasped, standing over her, very tall and formidable, giving more than a hint of what she would have to fight if she didn't immediately obey him. 'I have a marriage licence—your name fortunately is Davis, too, and I believe Blanche's second name is also Emma, after your paternal grandmother, so there shouldn't be any difficulty there.'

  Staring at him, her grey eyes widening, Emma was suddenly afraid. 'The whole idea is ridiculous,' she faltered. 'Why don't you try being sensible for a change? How do you know Blanche didn't change her mind? She might still be in London, nowhere near Paris.'

  'I can certainly check.' His voice vibrated with a derision which, spreading to his eyes, scorched her. 'Lead me to your telephone.'

  Emma, wondering anxiously what he was going to say, showed him into the small study where the books she had been about to begin work on were piled on the desk. When she turned to leave his hand shot out to catch her wrist. 'Stay with me,' he commanded. 'I don't want you to disappear.'

  What he meant, she supposed, was that he didn't want her disappearing into the countryside, leaving him to carry out his devious plans alone. On the way from the kitchen he had asked the name of the hotel where Blanche and Rex were staying, and while she had momentarily toyed with the notion of pretending she didn't know, a glint in Rick's eye had warned her it would be a waste of time.

  Cynically, he had shrugged. 'It's one of the best. I haven't stayed there personally, but I know of people who have. Meanness can't be another of Oliver's vices.'

  Waiting, while Rick put through his call, Emma felt a mass of nerves. A de luxe hotel in most capital cities would have an international switchboard, but she wasn't really surprised when he used fluent French. If the state of her nerves hadn't been good when he started, they were worse by the time he had finished. Blanche was there, she gathered, listening apprehensively as Rick Conway cunningly extracted the information. She had been there since last night. Emma's heart felt like lead, but before Rick put down the receiver something else was disturbing her even more.

  'She is there,' he snapped, turning to her, his face taut with anger, 'staying quite openly as Mrs Rex Oliver.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Sure!' he laughed curtly. 'I got an adequate description and I'm more than satisfied. Blanche was fond of saying that no one ever looks for the obvious, and your friend Oliver must believe he has nothing to lose.'

  While trying to assimilate this, Emma heard herself murmuring in painful apprehension, 'Is it true you've booked rooms from tomorrow?'

  Sharply he glanced at her shaken face. 'You could follow what I was saying?'

  'A little.' She didn't bother explaining, although she sensed his surprise, 'Are you—' she swallowed and had to make another attempt, 'Are you going after them?'

  'Not with a gun in my hand.' His black brows rose above eyes hard as steel. 'A wife will be a much better weapon, as I've already told you.'

  'No!' Emma cried.

  He took no notice of her protesting anguish, but continued ruthlessly as if she had never spoken.

  'We'll leave for London this morning, after I settle things here. Tomorrow we get married, then pop over the Channel. You might even enjoy the experience.'

  'You're mad!' she repeated unevenly. 'Quite mad!' Her eyes darkened to twin pools of fear. 'I—I don't see how you can enjoy such a joke, after what's just happened!'

  'It's because of what's happened, you little fool,' he snarled, while his grasp on her thin shoulders threatened to break her in two. 'Listen to me,' he said grimly, his dark eyes boring into hers. 'We both want revenge, but if that was all that mattered I have no doubt it could easily be achieved without marriage. Certainly I have no great wish to be tied to a pitiful little nobody like you, but I have no wish, either, to return to my home minus the bride whom a great many of my friends and relations are waiting to see. I refuse to become an object of ridicule.'

  Smarting under his contemptuous remarks, Emma retorted tersely, 'What's to stop you saying you'd been the one to change your mind?'

  'Lies of that kind are almost always found out,' he replied.

  Desperately she suggested next. 'You must know a lot of beautiful women who'd be only too willing to marry you—for any reason whatsoever.'

  'Several,' he agreed, without batting an arrogant eyelid, 'but if I were to marry one of them Blanche would eventually get over the fact that through her own foolishness she lost herself a millionaire. You, my dear Emma, as her cousin, will prove a constant reminder. Plain women can be draped in furs and jewels, all the outward trappings of success, just as easily as beautiful ones. And even though she might seldom see you she won't find it possible to forget.'

  'Aren't you rather cutting off your nose to spite your face?' Emma argued helplessly. 'Don't forget you'll have to live with me, not Blanche. Rather than grinding her teeth in anger, she might just as easily finish-up pitying you for being tied to an unattractive wife.'

  'Don't worry,' he snapped, 'it won't be for long. Just as long as it takes to really hurt.'

  And who would suffer most, Emma wondered dismally, in the meantime? Worry gnawed holes in her stomach as she viewed with apprehension the lengths to which a man might be prepared to go to avenge his wounded pride. Of course Rick Conway loved Blanche and that must be hurting too, but she doubted if love was the most important emotion behind the force that seemed to be driving him.

  'Aren't you forgetting something?' She stared up at him mutinously. 'For all you despise me, you need me to help carry out your awful plans, and I refuse!'

  'No, you won't,' he said roughly. 'Not unless you're more of a fool than I take you to be. You'll be able to laugh at your ex-lover and get away from here. Not only that, you'll be able to lead a life of luxurious idleness for at least a year—and without the embarrassmen
t of a husband invading your bedroom, demanding his rights. The lack of sex, of course, is the one thing that might really worry you, but I'm sure there'll be compensations. You'll find it a small price to pay for what I'm prepared to give you otherwise.'

  'You're insulting!' Emma cried, every inch of her body burning beneath his acrimonious tongue.

  'I can afford to be,' he assured her indifferently. 'Why not try thinking of Oliver's face when he hears you've captured an even bigger fish than he is? It might help.'

  'I still won't…'

  Rick cut her off coldly, his dark face aloof, as though he had had more than enough of what he clearly considered her senseless protesting. 'I have a couple of calls to make. While I'm busy, why not go and fix us some coffee and think things over? I'm sure you'll come round to seeing things my way in a very short time.'

  He might have been planning a business deal. Completely incredulous, Emma turned without another word and went into the kitchen. After starting the coffee she slumped down at the table. That, of course, was exactly what he was planning, a business deal, but did he realise completely what he was doing? He was bound to be suffering from some degree of shock, and shock could make people react in the most peculiar ways. He must have loved Blanche a lot.

  An odd ache began in Emma's heart when she considered that, but she wasn't sure if it was for herself or Rick? Blanche deserved to suffer—Rick was right in this respect. What he didn't seem to understand was that revenge had a funny way of rebounding on those who carried it out. She had a very uneasy feeling that, in the end, she might be the one to suffer most if she agreed to marry Rick and went to Paris with him.

  If that had been all it might have been bad enough, but afterwards there would be his family to face. Blanche had never talked of Rick's family, so Emma knew nothing about them, but she did know that families could be very intuitive about each other. What was to stop Rick's relatives from finding out about his bogus marriage and making her a target for their subsequent scorn and amusement?

  And what, she forced herself to ask, with an odd little quiver, if the awareness she already felt for him turned into something deeper? She might hate him, but this peculiar emotion she felt seemed stronger than hate or anything else. When he had grasped her shoulders a few minutes ago he had hurt, but she had also felt a sensation running through her, akin to the blaze of a newly lighted fire.

  While some vague, shivering premonition of danger warned her to run while she still had the chance, it was fear of another kind that finally decided Emma to do as Rick asked. When Blanche returned and discovered what had happened she would be furious, to say the least. And if Emma stayed she had no doubt the other girl would make her life intolerable. Then, if she had to leave the farm without money, a career or a home, where would she go? What would happen to her? What hope would she have of ever finding another job? Whereas, if she was to marry Rick, hadn't he more or less promised he would see her well provided for? He might divorce her, but he wouldn't see her destitute. Marriage would at least give her time to look around and to make plans for the future.

  Her mind made up uneasily at last, Emma still remained uncertain about several things, one of which she considered important. She was convinced Rick mustn't know Rex Oliver had never been her lover. If Rick was to suspect she was marrying him just to escape being here when Blanche returned, then he might change his mind. And suddenly Emma's fear of Blanche was strangely greater than her fear of him. If he were to learn that she was innocent of all he accused her of, he would probably tell her to forget the whole thing. Then where would she be? Surely a marriage in name only, for one short year, would be a small price to pay for a fresh start?

  Having reached a decision, Emma stuck to it resolutely, and to her surprise was able to face Rick a few minutes later with remarkable composure.

  It caused her some chagrin, after all her painful soul-searching, that he appeared to have taken her capitulation for granted. He accepted her willingness to marry him as casually as he drank the two cups of black coffee she made him.

  'Go upstairs and pack your things,' he said, his face expressionless. 'We leave at once.'

  'At once?' she gasped, almost spilling her own coffee, which she suddenly didn't want. 'I—I can't leave right away, Rick. I'll have to speak to Jim first. Then there's the house.'

  'I'll go and see Jim while you're packing,' he said curtly. 'Go on.'

  Still she hesitated. 'I'm not sure that Jim can manage on his own.' Anxiously she met Rick's eyes, 'It's crazy to think I can just walk out!'

  'Jim will—and you can,' Rick replied tightly. 'We had quite a chat, Jim and I, over your cow and calf last week. You have very little livestock and your spring crops are all in. It won't be beyond him to manage until your aunt returns to make other arrangements.'

  'If you say so,' Emma whispered, wondering why she was giving in so weakly, when her conscience was protesting so strongly. His mention of Hilda and Blanche couldn't have anything to do with it.

  Rushing upstairs as though the devil himself was after her, she was trying to find something suitable for London when she glanced up to find Rick leaning against the bedroom door, watching her. He hadn't been long, and she almost jumped with fright.

  'Get out!' she exclaimed, reacting to his presence with instinctive alarm. 'We aren't married yet.'

  Coolly his eyes mocked her flushed cheeks. 'Don't flatter yourself that I came for anything—or ever will, not from you.'

  Her lips trembled against his unexpected hardness. 'I'm sorry,' she mumbled, her face hotter than ever, 'I didn't mean… I mean, I won't expect…'

  'I'm glad you understand,' he stared at her insolently. 'I thought I'd made that very clear, but perhaps I'd better refresh your memory. It is only in public that I'll ask you to endure being near me—for appearances' sake.'

  'While, in private, you ignore me?' she choked, unable to understand why she should feel so bleak about it.

  'Oh, I might not ignore you altogether,' he rejoined derisively. 'I don't imagine I could love you, but I do believe I might enjoy schooling you. A little tough handling might be good for you at that. It might help straighten you out while you're still young enough to be reformed. Like your cousin, you've obviously inherited a twisted character from somewhere.'

  Apprehensively Emma's thoughts leaped to her father.

  Rick must never find out that his business had failed when he'd tried to take a short cut by cheating somebody. At least so Hilda had said. When, with what must have been coincidence, Rick asked sharply what her father's employment had been, she muttered something about him being out of work when he'd died.

  As if the paleness of her face warned him against probing further, Rick straightened abruptly from the door. 'I don't want to hear any more. Just close your case and I'll take it to the car while you dress.'

  'I'm afraid I haven't much,' she indicated uncertainly to the few shabby articles of clothing the case contained, which was all she had. 'I've two photographs, though, of my parents,' she showed him the parcel, neatly wrapped in newspaper, tied with string. 'Please,' her eyes were huge and anxious, 'I have to keep them.'

  'I'm not a monster,' he assured her impatiently. 'Take what you like.' Removing them from her tightly protective clasp, he almost flung them on top of her clothes, snapping the case shut himself. 'Now get a move on,' he commanded curtly, viewing her trembling figure grimly. 'I won't tell you again. If you aren't down in five minutes I'll leave without you.'

  Emma never could decide whether he had really been giving her a chance to change her mind or not. She dressed swiftly, obeying him weakly. It made her contemptuous of herself,, all the way to London, that she hadn't been able to find the courage to defy him and stay.

  Once in the city, she was amazed at how quickly Rick got things done. He was so decisive and competent she didn't think she would ever be able to keep up with him. After arranging for them to stay at a luxurious and disquiet hotel, he took her to a fashionable boutique and bou
ght her some new clothes.

  When she hissed a protest when the saleswoman's back was turned, he merely looked bored. 'You need something for dinner tonight, and to get married in. What you're wearing at the moment wouldn't flatter a tramp.'

  'Oh, I hate you!' she cried.

  'It's no use trying to look like a wounded gazelle,' he jeered. 'I suppose you're so shabby because you couldn't bear to bring the things you wore when you went out with Oliver?'

  Startled, she glanced at him, nervously moving her Head. This, she realised too late, he took for acquiescence. But, as she sought belatedly to correct the assumption, it occurred to her that she couldn't. Not if she wanted her secret to remain safe. If Rick knew she had no other clothes he would immediately become suspicious—and, because of his astuteness, that need only be a short step to his guessing the true state of affairs between herself and Rex Oliver.

  Without another murmur she chose two outfits, and when she tried them on she fancied Rick was surprised at her good taste. The small hairdressing salon which Rick found next enhanced her image a little more. Her hair, when she emerged, looked a lot better than it had done when she went in, and she purchased some moisture cream for her neglected skin. Perhaps in Paris or Barbados she might have time to consult someone who could advise her properly about it. Working out on the farm in all weathers hadn't seemed to improve its appearance.

  She passed her wedding day in a kind of vague daze, finding nothing in the brief ceremony to convince her she was really getting married. From the time she rose in the morning to the moment when she and Rick entered the impressive foyer of the hotel on the Rue de Rivoli in Paris, she felt she couldn't be certain she wasn't dreaming. Curiously, if she was nervous it wasn't of Rick. He had been a remote stranger since they left the farm. In everything he had done, from the buying of her dresses to her engagement and wedding rings, he had kept his distance. As she stood beside him, repeating the vows which changed her status, in an incredibly few minutes, from Miss Emma Davis to Mrs Richard Conway, he had seemed more distant than ever. Her hand had trembled when he lifted it to slip the gold wedding ring on her long, slender finger. She feared her lips had trembled, too, when his mouth had touched them swiftly in a brief, formal kiss. Apart from this she had had no great difficulty in controlling her feelings. She was even beginning to believe in her own impassivity until the doors of their splendidly furnished suite closed behind them and she and Rick were alone.