by Susan Lewis
Belinda was back in a few minutes with a message from Max reminding Galina that it was her day so she was to let him sort out the children and they would meet her at the chapel in a couple of hours.
The time passed swiftly as the Conspiracy team went busily and humorously about their work, keeping Galina and Rhiannon entertained with their Hollywood gossip and lightning repartee. Cornelius, the hair stylist, who was some kind of quick-fingered magician as well as the other half of a riotous double-act with Mimi, tried several different looks with Rhiannon’s hair, before finally settling on a kind of loose French roll that suited her so well that she couldn’t stop herself wondering what Max would think when he saw her. Dismissing the thought quickly, she laughed at something Mimi was saying, but there was no denying that the closer the clock crept to three the more tense she was becoming. She could see that Galina was too, as she snapped at Belinda, apologized, then turned helplessly to Rhiannon as though asking what she should do next.
‘It’s OK,’ Rhiannon smiled slipping an arm around her and turning her to the mirror. ‘The dress looks beautiful. You look beautiful. Max is going to be so proud.’ As her heart faltered on the words, Galina’s eyes met hers in the mirror.
‘Thank you,’ Galina whispered.
Rhiannon smiled again, then took a step back to clear Galina’s reflection. The ivory silk dress, with its low-cut shoulders, simple lace panels and long, flowing skirts, was exquisite. The jewels sewn into the bodice glinted and shimmered in the sunlight and the flowers in her lovely blonde hair lent her a quality that was almost ethereal. She looked, Rhiannon thought, more beautiful, yet somehow more fragile, than she had ever seen her. Her blue eyes were wide with apprehension, her full, sensuous lips seemed to tremble with fear.
‘You look lovely,’ Rhiannon whispered.
Galina’s eyes fell to the floor as two spots of colour rose in her cheeks. ‘Thank you,’ she said again. Then turning to Rhiannon, she touched her fingers lightly to Rhiannon’s wrist and said, ‘So do you.’ Her eyes swept down over Rhiannon’s ivory silk dress. ‘Max will think so too,’ she said softly.
Rhiannon felt the warmth drain from her smile as her heart folded around the words and sensing the discomfort of the others in the room she said, ‘It’s time we were going.’
By the time she and Galina arrived at the chapel everyone else was there, gathered on the small square of lawn outside the door. The roar of the traffic and incessant swirl of dust kicking up in its wake seemed part of another world beside the cosy tranquillity of the chapel which, with its glossy white walls, quaint arched windows and slender little steeple, was a bijou version of picture book perfection. It sat like a gleaming little jewel between two flagrantly impervious tower blocks and in front of a tawdry, tired-looking shopping mall. Above the chapel, straddling it on great iron legs, was a flashing neon sign advertising its twenty-four-hour-a-day service.
As they stepped from the back of the limousine a hot, dry desert wind rustled Galina’s dress and loosened several strands of Rhiannon’s hair. Marina, in a miniature version of Galina’s gown, ran to Galina and took her hand. Aleks, in his smart tailcoat and red bow tie, was right behind his sister, clamouring for the other hand. Rhiannon took Galina’s flowers so she could attend to the children and unable to stop herself, looked across to where Max was standing with Ramon and Maurice.
He was wearing a black tuxedo and looked so tall and handsome and incongruous in this setting that Rhiannon could only wonder again why he had agreed to it. He was watching Galina as she walked hesitantly towards him, glancing at him shyly as she waited for his approval. His eyes were inscrutable, the set of his jaw seemed harsh and almost impatient. Yet, as she reached him and tilted her face to look at him, he gazed long into her eyes, before lowering his mouth and touching it lightly to hers.
Feeling someone’s hand slide into hers, Rhiannon turned to find Ramon standing beside her. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered through his smile, ‘it will soon be over.’
Rhiannon’s eyes dilated, then unable to stop herself she said, ‘Why is he allowing her to do this? It’s so awful, Ramon. It’s so tacky.’
‘It’s what Galina wanted,’ Ramon answered, gesturing for her to go forward as Max and Galina walked into the chapel.
The organ was playing as the guests filed in and Max and Ramon walked ahead to the altar, while Galina waited with Rhiannon and Marina at the back. It didn’t take long for everyone to settle and as the organist changed tune Galina, Rhiannon and Marina started down the aisle.
Rhiannon watched and listened and struggled to make herself believe it was happening. It was so phoney and schmaltzy and hideously tasteless that it almost made her want to laugh. The minister was a Dolly Parton look-alike with long, feathery lashes, gleaming red lips and an impressive pale-pink wig. The end of each pew was lavishly trimmed with huge pink net bows and pink carnations. The altar was pink, so was the bible, so was the organist. Rhiannon had never seen so much pink, it was like being inside a blancmange.
Yet, as ghastly as it all was, there was no escaping the reality of the vows as first Galina, then Max repeated them and then, quite suddenly, before anyone could reach for their hankies they were being pronounced man and wife.
The rest of the day passed in a whirl as they were driven back to the hotel, shown to a private dining-room and served champagne and lobster. The excitement was running high as toasts were made, more and more corks were popped and Galina sat beside Max so flushed and happy that it was impossible not to feel happy for her. For his part Max appeared much more relaxed than he had at the chapel, but the way he was continuing to avoid Rhiannon was affecting her deeply. He had looked at her only once since the ceremony and Rhiannon had almost wished he hadn’t, for he had let her see that his need of her was every bit as intense as hers was of him.
At seven he and Galina disappeared to put the children to bed, but everyone knew that Mrs Clay was there to do that. Not knowing what else to do and unable to face being alone in her room, Rhiannon joined the others at the tables. She gambled and lost, gambled some more and lost again. At one point she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and felt almost afraid of the person looking back. Her eyes were feverishly bright, her lips were pale and random tendrils of hair were cascading about her face and neck as though she had just run through a storm. Then quite suddenly she felt reckless and crazy and so sexually alive that it was as though her entire body was burning up in the heat of it. She was drunk and she knew it, but she didn’t care.
It was almost midnight when Ramon steered her away from the amorous attentions of an oil-rich Texan and led her towards the lobby.
‘Where are we going?’ she murmured as he opened the rear door of a limousine and gestured for her to get in.
‘Where do you think?’ he countered, sliding in after her.
She thought, then shaking her head she said, ‘No, I give up. I don’t have a clue.’
Ramon smiled, then signalling to the driver that they were ready to leave, he concentrated his gaze on the road ahead.
‘Are you rescuing me?’ Rhiannon hiccuped as they turned off the Strip and headed towards the desert.
He laughed. ‘Possibly,’ he answered.
She was silent then and a few minutes later her head fell back against the seat. She gazed up at the ceiling and willed the tears to sink back into her eyes. She wanted to be drunk, she wanted to blot out the pain, the whole god-damned meanness of the fate that was doing this to her, but the journey was sobering her and she couldn’t stop thinking about Max, or Max and Galina and what they were doing now. Biting her lips, she turned to look out of the window. All she could see was the ghostly image of her reflection. Gone were the glaring neon signs, gone was the interminable flow of traffic. There was only desert, endless miles of inky black desert.
Taking a breath, she pushed a hand into her hair and tried to connect with her thoughts. Nothing seemed real any more, everything had lost its sense of normalcy, purpose and d
irection. It was insane that she should have allowed herself to become so affected by one night with a man, but she had and now she didn’t know how to control it. She wanted him so badly she couldn’t think of anything else. He was there in her mind, in her heart, in her body and soul and she couldn’t let him go. But she would have to. She must force herself.
‘We’re here,’ Ramon said a few minutes later.
Rhiannon’s eyes opened and she looked around. But there was nothing to see in the darkness, except the headlights of another car.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured as the chauffeur opened the door for her to get out.
The warm wind assailed her, blowing her hair about her face and drying the tears on her cheeks. She turned to watch Ramon as he walked around the car to join her, then suddenly her heart stood still.
‘Oh my God,’ she breathed as she saw Max coming towards her.
They stood together in the moonlight holding each other tightly as Ramon and the chauffeur drove away. The strength of his arms was steadying her, but the confusion in her heart was making her cling to him all the harder, until gently easing her away he looked down into her eyes, before pressing his mouth to hers.
‘Are you OK?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, tilting her head back to look at him. ‘Just tell me what’s happening, why you’re here. Oh God, I can’t believe you’re here.’
Taking her face in his hands, he gazed down at her again. ‘Susan Posner?’ he said, his eyes watching her closely.
‘Oh God,’ she groaned. ‘It was nothing. I swear to you, it was nothing. I was going to see her, but after we . . . After the other night . . .’
‘It’s OK,’ he said, pulling her back to him. Her lips parted and their tongues entwined, as he pressed her body hard against his.
When finally he let her go she laughed shakily and turned to look into the night. ‘There must be a hundred things I should say now,’ she whispered, feeling her cheeks start to burn, ‘but all I can think of, all I want . . .’ Feeling him tense she brought her eyes back to his. ‘I want you to make love to me,’ she said. ‘I want you to do all the things to me you did the other night and more.’ Her head fell forward on to his chest as she choked back a laugh. ‘God, what must you think of me,’ she murmured. ‘This is your honeymoon night and you’re here with me and I don’t know why and I . . .’ She stopped as he lifted her face back to his and gazed long into her eyes.
Her heart was thumping as he reached behind her to unzip her dress, then letting it fall to the sand he peeled away the fine lace body and pushed it down over her legs. The feel of the breeze on her skin was as erotic as the caress of his eyes and as he drew her against him she could feel herself melting in the consuming heat of her need.
Their love-making was every bit as erotic and passionate as before, as he turned her away from him and slipped his fingers down to the join in her legs. Then keeping his hand there he leaned her over the car and entered her from behind. With his other hand he turned her mouth to his and kissed her so deeply, so hungrily and commandingly that her lips trembled under the force of his need. He was so hard and uncompromising in the way he held her that the sensations coursing through her were more savage than the thrust of his hips. When she came he could feel the convulsions racking her as his fingers and his penis took her deeper and deeper into the sensations, until his own climax broke under the persistent pressure of hers.
When at last the tension began to leave their bodies and their breathing slowed he turned her in his arms and gazed down into her eyes. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but the fact that he was there, holding her in his arms as the dying tremors of their love-making receded, was enough. Her heart pounded against his as she looked back at him and no words made it to her lips.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, when a few minutes later they got into the car and started to drive away from Las Vegas.
Any wild notion she might have had that they were about to run off together was crushed by his response. ‘Not far,’ he said.
Rhiannon looked out at the night and wondered if she was dreaming. She didn’t know what to say. He seemed strangely remote, yet so dominatingly there. It was as though he was resisting her, yet the very fact that he was with her, that he had made love to her the way he had, holding her so close, keeping his mouth almost constantly on hers, told her that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her eyes closed as she willed her instincts to guide her. ‘What about Galina?’ she heard herself ask.
‘Galina’s in a private gaming room playing blackjack,’ he answered. ‘She’ll be there most of the night.’
Rhiannon nodded. There was no emotion in his voice; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Then, barely connecting with the fact that she was asking it, she said, ‘Does she know you’re with me?’
His eyebrows rose in a quick expression of humour. ‘Not yet,’ he said, ‘but she’ll probably guess.’
Rhiannon looked down at her hands as a thousand thoughts chased about her head trying to find something to hold on to.
A few minutes later they were entering a huge, well-tended estate where artfully lit sculptures of lions, fauns, satyrs and cherubs sat among the imported palms that lined the drive. At the end of the drive was an exquisite French-style château whose reflection shimmered in the moonlit lake before it.
‘Is this yours?’ she asked, knowing instinctively that it wasn’t.
‘No. It belongs to someone I know.’
‘Is anybody at home?’ she asked as they came to a stop at the foot of a beautifully crafted stone staircase that led up to the château.
‘I’m told not,’ he answered.
Rhiannon got out of the car and waited for him to join her. When he did she looked up into his face, wishing she knew what to say. She got the feeling that he regretted coming, that he almost resented her for putting him in this position, though it was one he had engendered himself. She attempted a smile as his eyes alighted briefly on hers, then her heart turned over as he drew her into his arms and dropped his head against hers.
‘Max, what is going on?’ she said, pulling back to look at him. ‘Please explain this to me. I need to know what’s happening here.’
‘You know what’s happening,’ he said softly.
‘No. I need you to tell me. You’re the one who got married today. You’re the one who had Ramon drive me out here, so tell me, Max, what is this all about?’
Lifting his head, he turned to gaze down at the moonlit lake, then pulled her more tightly into his arms.
‘Max, please,’ she said. ‘I’ve never felt with anyone the way I feel with you. I can’t think about anything but you, so don’t do this to me. Just tell me how it is that I can feel this way when I’ve only known you a week and as far as I can remember you’ve never even called me by my name.’
As he looked down at her she could see the struggle he was having with himself and wished there were something she could do to ease it. But until he told her what was in his mind she had no way of reaching him. Then, seeming to sense the anguish he was causing her, his eyes softened. ‘Rhiannon,’ he whispered, lifting a hand to her face.
Her eyes fluttered and her heart expanded as the warmth of his tone settled around it.
‘I think I love you, Rhiannon,’ he whispered.
As he turned away and fixed his eyes back on the water Rhiannon could feel her heart and her throat tightening with all the emotions that were gathering inside her.
‘Were you anyone else,’ he said finally, ‘I’d never be able to tell you this. It’s only because of your history with Galina, because you knew her as a child . . .’ He stopped, looked at her, then took a deep and obviously troubled breath.
‘There’s something wrong with her, isn’t there?’ Rhiannon whispered.
‘Yes,’ he answered.
Rhiannon was silent, until finally realizing that she would have to help him some more, she said, ‘So what is it? What’s so wro
ng with her that you had to marry her?’ She hadn’t meant to sound so cynical or bitter, it had just come out that way and now that it had there was no taking it back.
He smiled distantly. ‘I didn’t have to marry her,’ he said. ‘I married her because . . . Well, I married her for a lot of reasons, but it’s true, if I’d known I was going to feel this way about you . . .’ He stopped and looked down her. ‘We just met last Saturday,’ he said softly, ‘we made love on Wednesday and I’ve hardly been able to stop thinking about you since. But you have to understand, I couldn’t turn my whole life, her whole life, upside down when we, you and I, don’t even know each other.’
Rhiannon’s eyes were unfocused as she lowered them to the water. ‘Then what are you doing here?’ she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
‘I’m here’, he said, ‘because we need to talk. We both know that something’s happening between us, but I want you to understand why we can’t take it any further than it’s already gone.’
‘I don’t recall asking for it to go any further,’ she said defensively.
‘OK, then maybe it’s just me who wants that,’ he replied.
Rhiannon’s heart melted. ‘No, I want it too,’ she sighed. Her eyes came up to his. ‘Did you make love to her before you came here tonight?’ she asked, hating herself for it, but unable to stop herself.
Sighing deeply, he pressed his fingers into his eyes, then said, ‘I haven’t made love to Galina more than three times in my life and none of those times has been in the past three years.’
Rhiannon looked at him, her brow creased with confusion even as her heart rose with joy. But as she started to speak he put his fingers over her lips.
‘I’m going to trust you now,’ he said, ‘in a way I never thought I’d trust anyone, especially not someone in your profession. But I’m going to do it because you need to know this and because I need to tell you. You’re right about Galina, there is something wrong with her. It’s not physical, it’s psychological. It comes from the things her grandmother told her as a child and put in its simplest form it means she suffers from a transference of guilt. There’s no actual name for the disorder, but there is a recognition of her symptoms that puts her at a high-risk level of suicide.’
