Bridge to Nowhere

by Yvonne Whittal

  Reggie brought the vehicle to a stop at a busy intersection and, when the traffic lights changed, he turned left towards a tall, grey building with AZTEC emblazoned above the entrance. It was an impressive concrete and steel structure, but there was something cold and impersonal about it which did not appeal to Megan.

  Chad leaned forward in his seat before the chauffeur could turn off into the parking bay for officials near the entrance. 'You can drop me off here, Reggie.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  The car pulled up at the kerb, and Chad took Megan's hand and raised it briefly to his lips before he opened the door and got out. 'I'll see you at the hotel this evening.'

  She nodded, wanting to question the curious expression that had flitted across his face, but he was closing the door and striding towards the entrance before she could say anything. The navy-clad security guard raised his hand to his peaked cap in a salutary greeting, and moments later the swinging glass door closed behind Chad, obscuring him from view.

  'Where do you wish me to take you, madam?'

  Megan looked up with a guilty start, meeting the chauffeur's dark, questioning eyes in the rear-view mirror, and she hastily gave him the address.

  John Driscoll's publishing house was several blocks away, and it was not as impressive as the Aztec Corporation's building, but the mixture of stone and whitewashed plaster had a warm, welcoming look about it.

  Reggie parked the silver-grey limousine below the shallow steps leading up to the entrance and, leaving the engine running, he got out to open the door for Megan. 'What time shall I call for you, madam?' he asked as he handed her the portfolio she had requested from the boot.

  'I doubt that I'll have concluded my business here before four o'clock this afternoon. Would that time suit you?' she asked with a measure of uncertainty.

  Reggie smiled and raised his fingers respectfully to the polished peak of his cap. 'I'll be here at four, madam.'

  There was no delay at reception. Megan was expected, and she took the lift up to the administrative offices on the eighth floor. The publisher's elderly secretary rose behind her desk with a smile of recognition and ushered her directly into the office behind the panelled door.

  John Driscoll was a lean, wiry man in his early fifties, and he approached Megan from behind his desk with his usual brisk tread, his hands outstretched.

  'Come in, Megan! Come in!' he welcomed her heartily, the grip of his fingers firm and a smiling warmth in the dark eyes surveying her from behind rimless spectacles. 'Could we offer you a cup of tea, perhaps?'

  Megan's soft mouth curved in an answering smile. 'That would be nice, thank you.'

  'Please arrange for a tray of tea, Mrs Simms, and make it three cups,' he asked his secretary. 'I'm expecting Wendy van Wijk to arrive shortly.'

  'Certainly, Mr Driscoll.'

  The panelled door closed behind Mrs Simms' grey-clad figure, and the publisher hastily cleared a space on his cluttered mahogany desk.

  'Let's have a quick preview of your work while we wait for the author, shall we?' he suggested with almost childlike curiosity.

  Megan removed the canvas board paintings, one by one, from her portfolio to put them on the desk for his inspection, but her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking about Chad, and wondering again what had been behind that fleeting but curious expression she had seen on his face when he had left her in the car to enter the Aztec building. What had it meant?

  'This is absolutely marvellous work, Megan!' John Driscoll's enthusiastic statement made her surface from her thoughts to see him working his way once more through the pile of thirty illustrations, taking care not to disturb their order. 'Absolutely marvellous!' he said again.

  'I think they're pretty good myself,' Megan admitted with a smile, 'but we won't know for sure until Mrs van Wijk has given them her seal of approval.'

  'You're quite right, of course.' John Driscoll grimaced theatrically. 'Authors can be terribly fussy when it comes to the illustrative side of their work.'

  'I don't blame them,' she retorted generously in defence of the author. 'The entire concept of Mrs van Wijk's story could be affected if the illustrations aren't compatible to the theme.'

  'Just so, just so,' he agreed, glancing impatiently at his wrist watch, and just then the panelled door opened to admit the author and Mrs Simms, who was carrying the tray of tea he had ordered.

  The day dragged for Megan, but it had its compensations. Wendy van Wijk could not fault Megan's illustrations, they were exactly what she had wanted, and that was when the tiresome but necessary paperwork commenced. There were contracts which had to be discussed and signed, and an agreement with the author that Megan would illustrate her next two books.

  After a lavish two-hour lunch at a restaurant not far away, they returned to the publishing house to conclude their business, which had not been resolved without a measure of friction. Wendy van Wijk had had rigid ideas about what she wanted, but so had John Driscoll, and Megan had been caught uncomfortably between the two, constantly attempting to take the edge off their heated arguments until she had felt as if she was shrivelling with exhaustion inside her cerise-pink outfit.

  Chad's silver-grey limousine was there at four o'clock to collect her and, leaving her empty portfolio in Reggie's hands, she slid thankfully into the warm interior of the car. She wondered yet again about Chad. Was he still at the Aztec Corporation offices, or had he gone home? She did not dare ask Reggie, and, closing her tired eyes, she leaned back comfortably in the cushioned seat while the car purred its way through the busy Johannesburg streets. What she needed was a cup of strongly brewed tea followed by a relaxing soak in a hot bath, and she could not wait to get to the hotel.

  'You're on the tenth floor, Miss O'Brien,' the girl at the reception desk informed her when she arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes later. 'Take this lady's luggage up to the Duchess Suite, Alfred,' she added, turning to the porter and handing him the keys.

  'There must be some mistake,' Megan protested confusedly. 'I didn't ask for the Duchess Suite.'

  The girl checked the computer scanner and shook her head gravely. 'There's no mistake, Miss O'Brien, you're booked into the Duchess Suite. It's one of our best, and I'm sure you'll find it to your satisfaction, but please don't hesitate to give us a call if there's anything else you might need.' Her polite, enquiring glance shifted to the stocky, grey-haired man approaching the desk. 'May I help you, sir?'

  Megan hesitated with indecision before she followed the porter across the foyer and into the lift. She had a feeling that Chad was responsible for her booking being changed to one of the luxury suites on the tenth floor, and she was fuming with anger. He had had no right to do something like this without discussing it with her, and she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of him when she saw him that evening!

  The Duchess Suite was everything its name suggested, and it was furnished in the style of the eighteenth century, the colours ranging from a deep pearly pink to rich cream and gold. Megan tipped the porter and wandered through the lounge into the bedroom where the queen-sized bed with its elaborately draped canopy matched the style of the furniture in the lounge.

  This was a luxury she had never allowed herself on her trips to Johannesburg, it was a waste when all she virtually needed was a place to sleep, but, mellowed by the splendour of her surroundings, she returned to the lounge and helped herself to a tot of port from the bar refrigerator in preference to the cup of tea she had wanted earlier.

  She glanced at her watch. She still had plenty of time before dinner to bath and wash her hair and, kicking off her shoes, she lowered herself into a high-backed chair. She sipped her port and tried to relax, but the muscles in her body were still achingly taut half an hour later when she ventured into the bathroom to run her bath water. Her thoughts had revolved relentlessly around Chad, and none of her thoughts had encouraged relaxation.

  She was sitting in front of the mirrored dressing-table in her half-slip and bra, drying her
hair, when the telephone rang shortly after six that evening. That will be Chad, she thought, switching off her dryer and getting up to answer the phone. She had been waiting for his call, planning what she would say, but in the interim her anger had simmered down to nothing more than a vague annoyance.

  'I hope you haven't had a tiring day, Megan?' he asked, his deep, velvety voice sending shivers of pleasure cascading through her.

  'It was tiring, but it was successful, thank you.'

  'Have you settled in comfortably? Is your accommodation to your satisfaction?'

  'I'm more than comfortable, thank you,' she answered him stiffly, and then she could no longer contain her curiosity. 'Did you change my reservation to the Duchess Suite?'

  'Yes,' he confirmed her suspicions. 'I thought it would be nice if you had the suite next to mine.'

  Megan's legs caved in beneath her, and she sat down heavily on the bed. 'You're here? In this hotel?'

  'I'm in the Somerset Suite.'

  The Somerset and Duchess suites adjoined each other, Megan had noticed that on her arrival, and suddenly she knew the reason for that odd look she had seen on Chad's face that morning.

  'Why are you staying here and not at your home?' she asked warily.

  'I'll explain later,' he brushed aside her query abruptly. 'Will you join me in my suite for a drink before dinner?'

  Megan felt a quick stab of uneasiness, but she shrugged it off just as quickly to ask, 'What time?'

  'I'd like to shower and change into something else, so let's make it seven o'clock.'

  'I'll see you at seven, then.'

  Megan dressed with care that evening. Her soft woollen evening dress was a pastel shade of apricot that accentuated what was left of her summer tan. The sleeves were wide and gathered into a broad band at the wrist, and the neckline plunged just far enough to leave her respectability intact. The diamond studs in her ears and the matching pendant about her throat had been a gift from her parents three years ago on her twenty-first birthday, and they added the final touch to her appearance.

  She studied herself absently in the full-length mirror, her glance trailing from the sheen of the fair hair curling softly about her face down to the delicate straps of the gold sandals on her feet. She looked calm and confident, but inwardly she was a bundle of nerves, and she pulled a face at herself before she turned away from the mirror. It was seven o'clock and, collecting her wrap and evening purse where she had put them in readiness on the bed, she left her suite.

  Chad opened the door to the Somerset Suite almost immediately in response to her knock. There was still a trace of dampness in the dark hair which had been brushed back so severely from his broad forehead, and the familiar smell of his shaving cream and cologne wafted out towards her to attack her senses. She had wanted to appear cool and unruffled, but her heart was suddenly thudding uncomfortably hard against her ribs.

  Her gaze dropped to the pearly buttons on his white silk shirt, but his compelling glance drew hers like a magnet, and she looked up to find him observing her with an amused expression in his eyes. He knew she was nervous! He had always had that uncanny ability to sense her thoughts and her feelings, and at that moment she could almost hate him for it.

  'Come in, Megan.'

  His hand emerged from the pocket of his black, expensively tailored trousers and, reaching out, he gripped her wrist and drew her inside. Caught off her guard, Megan was unresisting, and a thousand nerves leapt to attention as her body touched his. She tried to step back, but his hand shifted to the hollow of her back, deliberately prolonging this moment of intimacy, and her flush of embarrassment simply added to the amusement lurking in his eyes.

  'Make yourself comfortable,' he suggested, but she was feeling extremely uncomfortable with his hand in the small of her back as he guided her towards a high-backed chair which belonged to a set similar to the one in her suite.

  She sat down, relieved to escape his disturbing touch, and her wary glance followed him when he walked towards the table beside the ornamental fireplace where a bottle of champagne nestled in a bucket of ice. The wrapper had been removed, and Chad lifted the bottle from its bed of ice to ease the cork from the slender neck. It shot out into his hand, the sound of its release jarring her raw nerves, and she jumped visibly.

  'What are we celebrating?' she asked, trying desperately to regain her composure while she watched him pouring the fizzy liquid into two tall champagne glasses.

  'Success,' he announced, his smile mocking as he turned to hand her a glass. 'You did say you had a successful day, didn't you?'

  'Yes, very successful,' she confirmed, tasting her champagne and wishing he would sit down instead of towering over her. 'And you?' she asked. 'Did you have a successful day?'

  'I concluded a deal which will swell the coffers of the Aztec Corporation, and the sale of my father's house was finalised. I sold it lock, stock and barrel, and the new owner moved in this afternoon.'

  So this was why he was staying in the hotel, Megan thought with a stab of sympathy. 'It must have been a sad moment for you to have to part with your home.'

  His wide shoulders moved beneath the silk shirt as if he wanted to shrug off her statement, and he sat down at last, giving her more room to breathe. 'It was senseless holding on to a place like that when it was so seldom in use, and it doesn't hold many happy memories for me.'

  His twisted smile tugged savagely at her compassionate, loving heart, and she looked away, veiling her eyes with her gold-tipped lashes for fear he might mock her feelings.

  'What do you have on your agenda for tomorrow?' he asked, breaking the contemplative silence between them.

  'Absolutely nothing, and it's a glorious feeling.'

  'We'll have the day to ourselves, then,' he said, leaving his chair and lifting the bottle of champagne from its icy nest to top up their glasses.

  A nervous laugh escaped Megan when he returned to his chair. 'I don't usually drink this much champagne,' she explained when he glanced at her.

  'Tonight is special.' He saw the wariness in her eyes before she could mask it, and an unfathomable expression flitted across his lean, handsome face. 'Let's take each moment as it comes, Megan. Shall we?'

  Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to take chances. Frances' remark filtered unbidden through Megan's mind, and she forced herself to lower her guard a fraction.

  'We'll take each moment as it comes,' she agreed quietly.

  Chad's eyes creased into a smile devoid of mockery, and the melting warmth that surged through her seemed to turn her bones to liquid when they raised their glasses to each other in a silent toast.

  It was much later that evening, when they were dining in the hotel's a la carte restaurant, that the tension eased from Megan's body to leave her relaxed as she faced Chad across the candlelit table in a wood-pillared alcove. Her reserve had crumbled somewhere between the salmon pate and the crème caramel dessert, and she was responding to his gentle gibes and probing queries with her own particular brand of humour when their coffee was served.

  A three-piece band had provided the music which had coaxed the couples on to the dance floor during courses, but Megan was content to listen and allow her thoughts freedom to wander while they drank their coffee.

  There was something about Chad that set him apart from every other man in the room, and it had nothing to do with the expensive cut of his black velvet dinner jacket which accentuated the powerful width of his shoulders. It was perhaps that look of confidence and subdued aggression that drew the attention, but Megan was recalling instead her thoughts on that first occasion she had seen him more than a year ago. He was the best-looking man she had ever met, and she knew she was not the only one who thought so. Women had stared at him all evening, some openly, others covertly, and Chad had been aware of it. That cynical, faintly contemptuous look had flashed in his eyes a few times, and it had not been directed at Megan.

  'Come, Megan, let's dance,' he suggested unexpectedly when the
music changed from a disco beat to a slow, romantic number, and Megan allowed herself to be drawn to her feet.

  He did not release her hand as they made their way among the tables, and then his hand was resting in the hollow of her back to guide her expertly across the floor in time to the slow, throbbing rhythm of the music. Megan had never danced with Chad before, but it was not the possibility of missing a step that made her stiffen against the guiding pressure of his hand. It was the closeness of their bodies, and the manly scent of his cologne, that was giving her cause for alarm. Her pulse rate had quickened to leave her flushed and faintly breathless, and she did not need to look at Chad to know that he was aware of the way his nearness was affecting her.

  A member of the band crooned the words of a love song into the microphone, and Megan sighed inwardly. She would never forget her feelings for Chad, and neither could she ignore them at that moment as her body yielded against his, loving the feel of his taut thighs against her own when his arm tightened about her waist to draw her closer.

  'I've wanted to hold you close like this from the moment you stepped off the plane this morning,' he murmured into her ear.

  'What stopped you?' she mocked him.

  'Uncertainty.' He raised his head to look at her and she sensed that the mockery in his eyes was directed at himself. 'It might help if I knew where I stood with you, but I don't understand myself lately, and it's a damned uncomfortable feeling.'

  'I told you at the very beginning that it would be best for you to leave me alone and find someone else,' she reminded him. 'I could point out at least five women in this restaurant who'd give almost anything if you would so much as glance in their direction.'

  'There's only one woman in this restaurant I'm interested in, and that's you, Megan,' he murmured throatily, the mockery leaving his eyes as he lowered his head to brush his lips against her temple. 'I don't happen to want anyone else.'

  'You've got a problem,' she agreed with a certain gravity.

  'I'm well aware of that, but what I need to know is how I'm going to solve it.'