Wildfire

by Susan Lewis

  ‘The tickets were delivered here the other morning.’

  Lizzy nodded, then slanting a cautious look in Rhiannon’s direction she said, ‘Why Marrakesh? It’s horrible. You’ll hate it.’

  ‘How can I if I’m not going?’ Rhiannon responded irritably.

  ‘Was it your choice, or Oliver’s?’ Lizzy asked.

  ‘I mentioned once that it was somewhere I’d like to go,’ Rhiannon answered with exaggerated patience. ‘And since we can only take five days it probably seemed a good idea.’

  ‘You’re staying at La Mamounia, I take it.’

  ‘Yes, we are. At least, we’re supposed to be. Let’s go out. Let’s go over to PJ’s. There’s bound to be someone there we know and I feel like getting seriously drunk and disorderly in a public place.’

  ‘What if Oliver calls and wants you to go and pick him up from the airport?’

  Temper sparked in Rhiannon’s eyes. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting I sit around here waiting for him, are you?’ she replied bitingly.

  ‘He might be in some kind of trouble,’ Lizzy said tentatively and immediately winced as Rhiannon clasped her hands to her head and started to rant.

  ‘Don’t say that!’ she cried. ‘I’m going out of my mind here. He is in trouble and we both know it. But what kind of trouble? Has someone hurt him? Shall I call the police? They’ll just think what everyone else will think, that he’s got cold feet and gone into hiding rather than face me. And maybe that’s what he has done. But what if . . . Oh Christ, what am I talking about? What’s all this fucking jibberish that’s coming out of my mouth? I’m losing it, Lizzy. I’m falling apart . . .’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Lizzy smiled, putting her arms around her. ‘You’re behaving the same way anyone would if they were in your position. But he’ll be back in time, Rhiannon. You just wait and see.’

  But by Sunday evening there was still no word and Rhiannon’s dread that he had walked out on her was only surpassed by the fear that something terrible had happened to him. Lizzy had gone home to pick up some clothes and was back now to lend moral support and try to bring some common sense to the madness. But as the hours ticked by even she was running out of excuses and the comfort she offered was starting to sound hollow even to her ears.

  Looking up from the commentary she was writing as the sitting-room door burst open, she laid down her pen and watched Rhiannon as, swathed in thick white towels, she started to pace the room. ‘When do you think I should call the register office?’ she demanded. ‘I mean, I have to let them know that the wedding’s off. Do you think I should call first thing in the morning?’ Each word tightened the ache in her heart as disbelief and panic flashed wildly in her eyes.

  ‘You don’t have to call that soon,’ Lizzy responded. ‘He still might . . .’

  ‘What about my engagement ring?’ Rhiannon cut in. ‘It’s worth a fortune. Do you think I should give it back? What shall I do with it? How the hell can I give it back when I don’t even know where he is? OK, OK,’ she said, holding up her hands as a by now familiar look stole into Lizzy’s eyes. ‘I’m calming down. I’m not over-reacting any more. My name is Rhiannon Edwardes. I’m twenty-nine years old. I live in Kensington. And I’ve been stood up twice at the altar.’

  Despite herself Lizzy laughed and to her relief Rhiannon managed a smile too. But it was only fleeting as she curled into a corner of the sofa and stared concentratedly at nothing while winding her finger round a loose thread in the towel. ‘I can’t go and pick my dress up in the morning,’ she whispered finally. ‘I just can’t.’

  Lizzy pressed her lips together and looked away. Then returning her eyes to Rhiannon she said, ‘Look, if it comes to it I’ll handle everything for you. You won’t have to go anywhere or call anyone. But it’s not going to come to that.’

  Rhiannon’s face was so pale that even her freckles seemed to have faded under the strain. Her eyes were dark and heavy and, swamped in towels as she was, she appeared almost to have shrunk. ‘What am I going to tell my father?’ she said brokenly.

  Lizzy looked at her, watching helplessly as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘I never thought he’d do this to me,’ Rhiannon said, her voice thick with pain. ‘I thought I was insecure about the way he felt about me, but I realize now that I wasn’t. I truly believed he loved me.’ She tilted her head down to look at her lap. ‘I really did believe it.’

  ‘He does love you,’ Lizzy said softly.

  Rhiannon shook her head, then covering her face with her hands she finally gave in to the terrible desperation inside her and wept as though her heart would break.

  Randy Theakston walked across the sitting-room of her elegant two-storey brownstone on New York’s Upper West side and handed Theo Straussen a Scotch. His heavies had remained in the car and without their bulk dwarfing him Straussen appeared slightly larger than normal. He was seated on a brown leather Chesterfield and as his deep-set eyes wandered the curious collection of art on the walls Randy carried her vodka across to a wing-backed armchair.

  ‘Maguire’s on his way back to London,’ Straussen informed her, in his smooth, gravelly voice.

  Randy nodded. She allowed a few seconds to pass then said, ‘Are you planning on turning up at his wedding?’

  Straussen chuckled. ‘Maguire’s having nightmares about it,’ he answered.

  ‘He told you that?’ Randy asked, surprised.

  ‘He didn’t have to. The man would have to be some kind of moron if he wasn’t.’

  Randy’s lips pursed as her head went down. ‘I’ve got to tell you, Mr Straussen’, she said eventually, ‘that I’m not entirely comfortable with this.’

  Straussen was unperturbed. ‘You’ve been paid, Randy,’ he reminded her. ‘You did a good job, now as far as you’re concerned it’s over. So don’t you go losing any sleep over what might or might not happen from here.’

  Randy’s eyes moved away and settled on a spiky green fern in the hearth. Outside, the sound of running footsteps echoed down the street, while somewhere in the distance the wail of a car alarm provided the neighbourhood with a persistent wake-up call. ‘It’s Rhiannon Edwardes that concerns me,’ she said finally.

  Straussen smiled. ‘I thought it might be,’ he commented.

  Randy’s eyes narrowed. Then with an impatient sigh she put her glass down and leaned forward in her chair. ‘Let me speak to her,’ she said.

  Straussen’s expression was pained. ‘That’s not a good idea, Randy,’ he told her.

  ‘But innocent people are going to end up getting hurt,’ Randy protested.

  ‘That’s the way of the world,’ Straussen sighed. ‘And try looking at it this way: if Maguire had done to you what he’s doing to me, wouldn’t you want to fuck him over?’

  ‘Of course I would, but it’s how you’re doing it that’s bothering me.’

  Straussen shook his head and sighed. ‘All I’m doing, Randy,’ he said, ‘is sticking to the agreement.’

  Andy was sprawled across an old leather sofa in Perlatonga’s covered lounge, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his khaki shorts, watching the rain bounce a foot in the air as it slammed into the ground. The sky overhead was a bulbous mass of angry, purple cloud and the incessant noise of the storm was like a full-throttle hose hitting a wall. Across the way, in the clubroom-cum-shop a few of the guests were watching videos of bush life, while the hardier souls were out there with their rangers literally soaking it all up.

  Doug had just flown back that morning after five days in Jo’burg, bringing the accountant and a new ranger with him, while Willem the camp administrator had, a few minutes ago, ambled off with a flea in his ear for bothering Andy with things that Andy didn’t want to be bothered about. He had more pressing matters on his mind right now, like Sheila, the Perlatonga lioness. She was sick and Doug wanted to call in a couple of vets from the Kruger Park. Andy did too, but it wasn’t professional to get involved with the animals like this. They’d alre
ady interfered once, if they did it again they could be putting the lioness’s life at risk in the future by not leaving her to fend for herself now. Trouble was, they were both pretty attached to the old girl and neither of them wanted to see her suffer.

  ‘Here, thought you looked in need.’

  Andy looked up as Nanette, one of the camp’s hostesses, put a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of ginger biscuits on the table next to him.

  ‘Willem said you almost bit his head off,’ she remarked, raising her voice to make herself heard over the violent hiss of the storm, ‘so I’m going to scoot now before you try the same with me. But I thought you should know we just had a radio call from Chris. He spotted Sheila a few minutes ago and she was up and walking.’

  Andy’s eyes widened. ‘Cubs with her?’ he asked.

  Nanette nodded, then turned as the kitchen door slammed behind Doug who was coming towards them with his own coffee and a handful of mail.

  ‘Hear the news about Sheila?’ he said, sinking into the armchair adjacent to Andy as Nanette sprinted off across the camp through the rain.

  ‘Yeah,’ Andy nodded, watching her go. Then picking up his coffee he said, ‘We’ll go out and take a look for ourselves this afternoon. How was Jo’burg? Leandra still at you to go and shack up in the big city?’

  ‘A girl never gives up till she’s got what she wants,’ Doug responded, sliding a postcard out of the mail and holding it out to his brother.

  Andy’s face was expressionless as he looked at it, then glancing at Doug he took it and turned it over to see who it was from, even though he already knew. ‘So what’s her news?’ he said, flicking it on to the cushion beside him. ‘You must have read it.’

  Doug lifted his stalker boots on to the table and took a mouthful of coffee. ‘She’s wondering why you haven’t written back to her, or returned her calls,’ he answered. ‘No big deal, she says, she’s just wondering, that’s all.’

  Andy looked at him, obviously expecting him to say more, but Doug merely popped a biscuit in his mouth.

  When he looked up again Andy was still watching him and starting to grin, Doug said, ‘Are you going to answer this time?’

  ‘What’s there to say?’

  Doug shrugged. ‘Maybe you could tell her about Catherina.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘Just a thought. Where is the gorgeous creature, by the way? I haven’t seen her since I got back.’

  ‘Last time I saw her she was moving her things into our place,’ Andy responded.

  Doug’s eyebrows arched, but as he started to respond he saw Catherina herself threading a path through the dining area towards them and stopped to watch her, as entranced now as he had been the first time he’d seen her. With her thick, glossy black hair, long brown legs and dark Italian eyes she exuded more sex appeal than a Hollywood siren and more style than a catwalk preen-queen.

  Able to tell by the look on his brother’s face that she was on her way, Andy turned to watch her too, his face softening as she looked at him and started to smile.

  ‘All finished?’ he said, surreptitiously sliding Lizzy’s postcard in between the cushions.

  ‘All finished,’ she confirmed, going straight to Doug to welcome him back. ‘We missed you,’ she told him, stooping to kiss him on either cheek and appearing totally oblivious to the effect her very generous display of cleavage was having on him.

  ‘I missed you too,’ he responded, causing Andy to choke back a laugh at the strangled tone of his voice.

  ‘Did anyone tell you about Sheila?’ she asked, sitting down beside Andy and stretching her superb legs out alongside his.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, allowing his eyes to roam the soft, dusky skin right up to the hem of her shorts. ‘Good news, eh? We’re going out to take a look after lunch. Want to come?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d love to,’ she beamed, tossing her hair over one shoulder. Then quite suddenly she was back on her feet. ‘My goodness, I almost forget,’ she cried. ‘I promise Willem I help him for an hour before lunch. He is teaching me so much, you know,’ and before either of them could respond she was running off across the camp, taking their slavish eyes with her.

  ‘You know who she puts me in mind of?’ Doug said. ‘Oliver Maguire’s woman, Rhiannon. Not the looks, the body.’

  Andy nodded. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Darker skin, but all legs and tits. I wonder how that’s working out.’

  ‘Didn’t Lizzy mention anything in any of her letters?’ Doug said, starting to sift through the mail.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Andy snapped, getting to his feet, ‘I don’t read them,’ and leaving the postcard where it was he stalked off into the rain.

  Chapter 12

  AS OLIVER SPOKE the words to make her his wife, Rhiannon’s heart was faltering under the weight of emotion. She watched as he slid the dainty gold band on to her finger, then lifting her eyes back to his she had to bite her lips to stop herself laughing and sobbing as he gazed down at her in a way that seemed to shut out the rest of the room. His face was pale from lack of sleep and like any other bridegroom he appeared slightly nervous, but there was no mistaking the feeling in his words, nor the profound love in his eyes.

  Vaguely Rhiannon wondered if he was aware of what either of them was saying; of course he would know they were exchanging marriage vows, but if his longing to hold her was as pressing as hers to hold him then the registrar’s closing words would be like a fading echo around the strength of their need.

  Behind them the dozen or so guests watched with dreamy and in some cases tearful smiles as the registrar invited them to sign, then Oliver pulled Rhiannon into his arms and bowing his head beneath the rim of her hat covered her lips in a long and tender embrace.

  ‘Me next, pa-leeze,’ Jolene muttered, pinching the corners of his lipsticked mouth with thumb and forefinger.

  The others laughed as Lizzy nudged him and laughing too, Rhiannon and Oliver broke apart.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Lizzy smiled, hugging them.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rhiannon whispered, still dazed by the ceremony as well as the kiss and feeling Oliver’s arm circle her waist she turned to look up at him.

  ‘You are just divine!’ Jolene declared, elbowing his way forward and pouting his lips invitingly towards Oliver.

  Oliver’s eyebrows went up, then with a quick wink at Rhiannon, he leaned forward to kiss Jolene in exactly the way he went on to embrace all the other guests – on both cheeks.

  The next half-hour passed in something of a blur. Rhiannon wanted so desperately to savour every moment of the day, but it all felt so hazy that only odd snatches were penetrating her mind. She looked more radiant, more beautiful than she ever had in her life. Her ivory silk dress with its high gold-brocaded neck and dramatically cut-away shoulders clung to the contours of her body, accentuating the fullness of her bust, the roundness of her hips and the tantalizing length of her thighs, before flaring at the knee to fall in loose folds to her ankles. Her wide-brimmed hat was pleated in the same ivory silk and seemed almost to float in an abundant sea of fine white gauze. She stood on the steps of Chelsea Town Hall beside Oliver, seemingly oblivious to passers-by and the slowly crawling traffic of the King’s Road, as they laughingly posed for photographs and Oliver’s fingers tightened possessively around hers.

  ‘Don’t let’s hang around,’ he murmured in her ear.

  Laughing, she raised her face to his.

  ‘Perfect! Just perfect!’ everyone cried. ‘Hold it like that.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re hungry,’ she teased.

  Treating her to an outrageously suggestive look, he led her down the steps and around the corner to the waiting car.

  ‘It’s right here,’ she told him, as he glanced up and down the street as though searching for it, and sliding into the back seat she waited for him to get in after her.

  Knowing where they were headed, the chauffeur eased the Mercedes away from the kerb towards the dense tr
affic of the King’s Road. Some of the guests were still grouped at the corner, looking extremely chic in the sunshine with their brightly coloured hats and expensively tailored suits. Some of the Check It Out team pretended to hitch a lift as the Mercedes passed, while Jolene, resplendent in electric pink, strutted into the road to halt the traffic for them to pull out.

  ‘You look so beautiful,’ Oliver whispered as they turned in the direction of Sloane Square.

  Rhiannon smiled and let her eyes rest on his mouth as though asking for a kiss. But he merely gazed at her, feeling an incredible desire pass through him.

  ‘So, Mr Maguire,’ she said huskily.

  He smiled, but instead of addressing her the same way he took her hand in his and turned to look out of the back window.

  ‘Darling, are you all right?’ she asked, half turning to see what on earth he could be looking at. ‘You seem so on edge.’

  He laughed and pressed her fingers to his lips. ‘I am,’ he confessed. ‘I guess I’m still pinching myself that I got to be this lucky.’

  She was watching him closely, but knew that the strain in his face probably had more to do with the fact that, thanks to a heavy weekend and pre-wedding nerves, he’d hardly slept all night, than it had with anything more sinister. Plus he was still upset that he had been unable to finalize things with Straussen. He hadn’t had time to tell her much about that yet, but she guessed he would over the next few days.

  ‘I think I should warn you about my father and the bimbette now,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘They’re extremely likely to get drunk and embarrass us all, as if she hasn’t enough already with that hideous white suit and British Homes Stores hat.’

  Oliver grinned. ‘I can’t say I noticed,’ he responded. ‘But your father seems OK.’

  ‘He is, when he wants to be,’ she answered as they both swung round to see what all the beeping was about behind them. It was Lizzy and Jolene in Lizzy’s Beetle with three others from the team squashed into the back seat. Giving them a wave and returning the hundreds of kisses being blown at them, Rhiannon looked up at Oliver to find that he had broken out in a sweat.