Substitute Bride

by Margaret Pargeter

  Wrenching her startled eyes from his hair-darkened chest, she saw he was looking strangely tired. Imagining this must be partly due to the attention he had paid other women, the night before, only increased her sense of grievance. Without hesitation she accused him, 'You talked of having to keep up appearances! You said I must pretend to be a loving wife! Well, how can I when you practically ignore my existence?'

  Coolly he regarded her. 'I've changed my mind, I'm afraid. What's the use of fawning over each other when it doesn't mean anything? This way, when we part company, we won't have to invent fictitious explanations. No one will look for them as they'll have been predicting a break-up from the beginning.'

  Emma's anger was changing rapidly to misery. 'You have it all worked out?'

  'Don't look so bitter,' he returned dryly. 'You've known from the start what was to happen. You didn't go into this with your eyes shut.'

  'No, I didn't, did I?' she agreed dully.

  'Perhaps,' his voice hardened, 'you're hoping to secure a permanent niche for yourself? Now that you've seen the way I live.'

  Emma's face went white. 'No!' she choked. 'How could I, when you don't even like me?'

  'All the same,' he rejoined grimly, 'you'll conduct yourself in a reasonable manner, while you're here.'

  'While you, I suppose, do as you like?'

  'I'll call the tune,' his eyes narrowed on her tear filled, defiant ones, 'and don't forget it.'

  'You expect me to dance to it, regardless of the consequences?'

  'What—consequences could there be?'

  Her thick lashes dropped. What would his reactions be if she confessed she was falling in love with him? Didn't he guess, being always one step ahead of everyone else, just how involved she was becoming? She kept praying the fierce emotion she felt in her heart was hate, but somehow she doubted it. The sight of Rick's tall, powerful figure in a pair of tight-fitting pants and a shirt which was open to the waist was enough to set her pulses racing. 'Perhaps none,' she attempted to answer his query lightly, 'but a few bruises which will fade.'

  'We all collect those,' he said grimly, watching coldly as she turned to leave him. 'Are you finding it difficult to settle in. Ben seems to be doing his best to help.'

  'He's the only one who bothers,' she replied flatly.

  'What you're suffering from is a dose of self-pity,' he continued indifferently to remove his shirt. 'There are many ways of dealing with that, but only one I'd be inclined to take. If you like I'll spare you an hour or two in the morning and show you a little of the island. A quick tour, if you like, but at least you would be able to find your own way round afterwards.'

  So she'd be able to amuse herself and not be a nuisance. Feeling she could almost read his thoughts, she nearly threw his invitation back in his uncaring face, but the thought of his company for even a short time was more than she could resist. Blindly she nodded her head and left him. 'It's probably a good idea,' she agreed, as she closed the door.

  The next morning, just as she was beginning to wonder if he had changed his mind, Rick turned up on the front drive in a powerful sports car and took her out. The road followed the coast where the beaches were golden and wide and very beautiful. A lot of the larger properties on the island were situated on its shoreline, with their own private beach, and, despite her former doubts, Emma found she was looking forward to the day immensely.

  First she was shown briefly over Rick's own estate, and was amazed at how extensive it was. The house she had already explored although she hadn't gone in any of the bedrooms, apart from her own, or Rick's private study. He didn't offer to show her this, but he did take her over the grounds, then the plantation.

  Seeing several men at work, she asked how many he employed.

  'Hundreds,' he said briefly, 'during the harvest, but not so many at other times.'

  Gazing around the gently rolling acres of green sugar cane, Emma wondered where such large numbers of employees lived, as there didn't seem to be a house in sight.

  Patiently Rick explained that a lot of them lived together in their own towns. 'Many of their ancestors were prisoners of war from the '45 rebellion—Scots, who instead of being hanged received the Royal Pardon and were transported to Barbados for life. Some of them eventually came to own their own plantations,' he added. 'Some of them still do.'

  Afterwards, as they were both hot, he decided they would find a beach farther north and have a swim before lunch. 'We can leave Bridgetown and the main tourist spots for another day,' he said, after making sure Emma had her bikini.

  The water was warm but pleasantly invigorating, yet while Rick was beside her she was too aware of him to really relax. She had known he was well made, but she hadn't realised until she saw him in a pair of brief swimming trunks—which she suspected he only wore for her benefit—just what a perfect physique he had. It would have been much easier, she thought wryly, trying not to stare at him, if he had been old and ugly. At least then he wouldn't have been able to make her feel the way she did.

  'Don't ever swim here by yourself,' he instructed curtly, as they waded out of the churning surf.

  They had the beach entirely to themselves and she kept her eyes fixed steadily on the lonely reaches of it. 'But you won't always have time to come with me?' She almost added—Or the inclination.

  He surprised her by saying, 'Occasionally I might, but when I can't, use the pool in the garden.'

  'Ben might bring me,' she retorted, suddenly stung by the indifference in his voice to her defying him.

  'I'd rather he didn't,' Rick replied curtly.

  'He's very obliging,' she smiled.

  'No Ben!' Emma's over-bright smile faded as Rick glanced tautly over her thin body, at the soft golden hair still streaming with water down her slender back, leaving her features as bare and innocent as a newly born babe's. His eyes narrowed, as though he was suddenly seeing her differently and trying to compose a picture which elusively escaped him.

  'What if I feel like a little romance?' she asked, driven by what she assessed as a mocking glance to provoke him. She certainly wasn't interested in having a romantic relationship with Ben or any other man, but Rick needn't know that.

  A moment later she was regretting her rash question when he drew her swiftly to him and kissed her. During their conversation she had been busy rubbing the water from her face and eyes or she might have seen his arms reaching out. Encircled in them, she realised it was too late to do anything else but submit. The pressure of his mouth increased, and wriggle as she might, she couldn't escape it.

  Lifting his head, Rick stared into her dazed eyes, his own darkening. 'I've told you before, you have a very provocative mouth,' he said softly.

  She was raising her hands to push him away when a huge wave swept over their lightly clad bodies, the suction of the receding water moulding them together. Her eyes widened and she gasped as she felt his natural response to her thin but very feminine figure. Yet when she tried to pull back the sand was drawn from under her feet, making her cling to him.

  Her weight wasn't great, but the sand undermined his balance as well, toppling them both on to the sea bed where the next wave engulfed them completely.

  Half drowning in sea water and warm, sensuous feeling, Emma could do nothing as Rick took her mouth again, pinning her body with his to keep her under him on the fine, shifting sand. Wildly she clutched at him, aware only of her reeling senses, while some pagan-like emotion drew them fiercely together. Unconsciously she gasped as he went on kissing her, his mouth hardening with a desire which seemed reflected in the driving force of his limbs.

  'Emma?' he muttered against her trembling mouth, 'Emma? Let me love you.'

  If he hadn't spoken she couldn't have refused him anything. Why did he ask? she wondered, unable immediately to escape the deep yearning inside her. Why didn't he just take?

  When instinctively she said no, without meaning to, he exclaimed harshly, 'You haven't refused other men.'

  As the t
ide receded, he grasped a handful of her streaming hair, breaking the contact of their lips long enough to stare at her. His eyes, she saw dazedly, were full of raw flames. He was aroused and wanting her, but any woman might have done.

  'Let me go, Rick.' The words were difficult to get out past the ones she really wanted to utter. Knowing she loved him and was refusing a chance of belonging to him brought tears to her eyes. Helplessly she felt them streaming down her cheeks, as the weight of his body pressing down between her legs hurt.

  He let her go at once, with the air of a man full of contempt. 'I've told you before, you're a little tease,' he rasped, pulling her up beside him.

  Unable to reply coherently,. Emma stood shaking her head. Noticing her distress, he enquired coldly.

  'Did I hurt you?'

  'No,' but her voice broke.

  'Then why weep?'

  'Why does any woman weep?' she did her best to avoid a straight answer.

  'Why indeed?' he murmured dryly. 'Usually to help them get their own way. Unfortunately men become hardened to that kind of blackmail, especially with someone like you.'

  'Oh, leave me alone,' she muttered, turning from him with a twist of her thin body, to run up the beach. As she got back into her clothes she felt she hated him because he clearly considered her too sophisticated to be genuinely upset. She hated herself, too, for crying over a man who disliked her. Reminding herself of this, she felt oddly grateful that she had had the strength to say no when he had wanted to make love to her. While she loved Rick, she suspected the emotion which occasionally drew them so violently together had little to do with actual loving. It frightened her even to think of it, the passion which could move through them so strongly, because she feared she might not be able to resist it for ever. Rick would take and then discard, leaving her broken and despairing, without giving her another thought.

  Lunch, taken in one of the many hotels that dotted the island, was a silent meal. It wasn't until they reached the coffee stage that Emma found the courage to ask Rick a few questions about Barbados, which she felt might be a safer topic than anything else.

  Eventually, however, she heard herself asking, 'Would you tell me about St Lusanda? Is your plantation there the same as at Coral Bay?'

  'Who told you about St Lusanda?' he startled her by asking sharply. 'I certainly didn't.'

  'No.' Emma realised she had almost made a stupid mistake. It had been Blanche who had told her, and that wouldn't please Rick. 'I—I can't remember,' she stammered uneasily. 'Someone must have done…'

  'You aren't a good liar, are you?' he rejoined softly. 'At a guess it was Blanche.'

  Unhappily, Emma nodded, without attempting to deviate again. 'She only said you spent a lot of time there.'

  'And she didn't approve?'

  'You probably know she didn't,' Emma replied shortly, 'but it was only because she didn't like the idea of you being away from her.'

  'But she liked less the prospect of spending weeks there with me?'

  Finding it impossible to deny this, Emma gazed at him uncertainly. 'Perhaps she thought it would be lonely.'

  'I'm beginning to think I've had a lucky escape,' Rick retorted cynically. 'Of course,' he added, eyeing Emma dryly, 'it's obviously a case of out of the frying pan into the fire. Would the thought of spending a honeymoon with me on a lonely island deter you, my dear Emma?'

  While she knew he was deliberately trying to embarrass her, her heart suddenly leapt and the hand that held her cup of coffee shook. How dared he so callously torment her?

  'Are you shaking with fear or anticipation?' he jeered cruelly, watching her hot face.

  'Why should I be shaking from either?' she glared at him defiantly. 'The question won't arise…'

  'Won't it?' he merely grinned derisively.

  'Rick,' suddenly discarding discretion completely, Emma leant over the table eagerly, 'can't we talk sensibly? Honeymoons aside, I would like to see your island. When you go, would you take me?'

  'No, I don't think so,' coolly his glance travelled over her again. 'Why should I? There's no entertainment on St Lusanda. We should have to amuse ourselves, and you've made it quite clear that you have no intention of amusing yourself with me.'

  The implication of what he said couldn't have been plainer. The flush on Emma's cheeks deepened and in an effort to defend herself she exclaimed indiscreetly, 'Haven't you ever taken Veronica Ray there?'

  'Yes,' he replied distantly, 'I have.'

  No more—or less—but it was enough. Emma lapsed into a bitter silence, her face white. 'She's very beautiful,' she said at last.

  'Yes.'

  'Do you like her better than me?'

  'I know her better than you.' He stood up with an impatient sigh. 'If you're quite finished, Emma, we can go. I have no intention of becoming the target for a full-scale interrogation.'

  Three days later he left for Canada where, he told her, he had business interests. This didn't altogether surprise her as already she had learnt that Canada had many links with the island, both business and otherwise. The association with Canada was a lengthy one. As long ago as the eighteenth century Barbados was importing timber from Halifax and Quebec while in return Canada bought molasses and rum. There were Canadian research stations on the island and a lot of Canadians lived here, while many Barbadians went to Canadian universities and eventually made their homes there. Ben had gone to a Canadian university, but he told Emma if he settled anywhere it might be Australia.

  When she asked Rick when he would be home again, he said briefly that he wasn't sure, and with that she had to be content. In a way she was relieved to see him go, as having to be near him each day, yet so distant, was becoming an intolerable strain. Since the day he had taken her swimming, she had barely seen him except at dinner, and this was a meal she had come to hate, as almost always he ignored her. One evening he had dined out, Gail had hinted not alone, which only added to Emma's misery. Was he with Veronica? It was more than likely as she knew Veronica had spoken to him on the telephone late that afternoon.

  Trying to hide her despair wasn't easy. If she had known it was going to be like this she doubted if she would ever have married him. Not even Hilda or Blanche's worst behaviour had seemed as hard to endure as the way Rick treated her.

  During the first few days after he had gone, Emma felt terribly restless. She missed him, missed, strangely enough, the arrogance of his commanding figure as he went about the daily affairs of the plantation. For all he seldom spoke to her more than was absolutely necessary, she felt completely safe when he was around, as no one ever dared question his authority. Even Rita knew she could only go so far. During the evenings, if she persisted in making Emma the target for her vicious digs, Rick usually silenced his stepmother with a quelling glance, although he seldom came to Emma's rescue verbally. Without him Emma felt surprisingly exposed even as she welcomed the breathing space his absence gave her.

  Rita and Gail, now that Emma seemed no longer to pose any great threat to the security they enjoyed at Coral Bay, tolerated her but were never very friendly. It was Ben, she thought, who might have saved her sanity after Rick left without so much as kissing her goodbye. Without Ben's warm, easygoing companionship, she was sure she would never have survived.

  The effects of overwork over the past three years, combined with the tensions of the last few weeks, were impossible to throw off immediately, but gradually Emma managed it. To some extent she learnt to relax again. With a surfeit of sea and sand around her, this wasn't too difficult, and being only nineteen might have helped.

  Ben took her fishing—at least, he taught her how to handle the boat while he fished. Having always been fond of boats, she applied herself meticulously to learning all about them, and the activity involved bridged the gap between the non-stop work she had been used to and having nothing to do. Very quickly she became proficient, earning Ben's unstinted admiration.

  Her swimming improved, too. She had- been good at school and under hi
s expert guidance she soon regained all her old skill. As soon as he considered her good enough he took her snorkelling, fitting her out with a mask and flippers, introducing her to the entrancing underwater beauty of the reefs. Always, when she was in the sea, she was reminded of the last time Rick had kissed her. Sometimes she had to force her thoughts away from the memory of his hard sensuous mouth crushing down on hers while the sea pounded wildly over them.

  In an attempt to keep such memories at bay and to subdue her treacherous longings, while Ben was busy on the estate she explored the island on her own, spending some time in Bridgetown. Here she found an excellent hairdresser and beautician who was more than willing to carry on the good work begun by his counterpart in Paris. Soon Emma's skin lost every hint of roughness and glowed with a fine, clear radiance: Her hair, too, began to shine with professional care and her own fundamentally good health. Even her figure improved almost beyond anything she might have hoped for. It rounded out, becoming—she tried not to think of Ben's outrageously frank expression, 'amazingly seductive.'

  'Rick won't recognise you,' he teased. 'The whole island's talking of the way you've improved.'

  'The whole island?' she protested, her delicate brows raised in mild amusement.

  'Well, you know me—I tend to exaggerate,' Ben grinned unrepentantly, 'but I'm not laying it on this time, young Emma. When you first came the women were full of catty remarks, prompted by pity. They're still full of bitchiness, but now it's envy. Secretly some of them would give everything they possessed to look as you do now, and to know how you've done it.'

  Emma frowned, never having had any ambition to attract this kind of attention. 'I haven't done anything, Ben. I think I've just recovered…'

  'Recovered from what, for heaven's sake?' Ben asked curiously, as she hesitated.

  'Oh, just this and that,' she forced herself to laugh lightly, as though she didn't really know what she was talking about. She might have said, truthfully, from years of hard work and neglect, but this she preferred to forget. Explanations wouldn't only involve herself and wouldn't be worth it.