Blogger Bundle Volume VI: SB Sarah Selects Books That Rock Her Socks

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  She said with difficulty, ‘She must have loved him very much.’ She paused. ‘Did you ever see your father again?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘When your mother eventually left him he went back to South America, and I spent a lot of time with him there. But he wasn’t the same. He looked old and tired, long before his final heart attack. And I blamed her for that too.’ He saw her flinch and took a step towards her. ‘Darling…’

  ‘It’s all right.’ She held up a hand, smiling resolutely. ‘It’s just that I still can’t equate the woman I knew with this—this heartless home-wrecker.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Which is perhaps the moment to change the subject. Did you manage to find me a flight back to Britain tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘At five p.m. from Oviedo. The ticket will be at the Transoria desk.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She looked down at her glass. ‘There’s one more thing. Tonight—may I—is it possible for me to sleep in another room?’

  Diaz turned back to the window. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said quietly. ‘I should have suggested it myself.’ He paused. ‘I’ll tell Pilar to transfer your things.’

  She said, too brightly, ‘Another victory for morality. She’ll be delighted—especially when she finds I’m leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘Then at least one cloud has a silver lining.’ He drained his glass. His smile skimmed her. ‘Shall we go into dinner?’

  It was a wretched meal, eaten mainly in silence, although the food was superb. There was a delicate almond soup, followed by thin slices of tender beef cooked in wine and green olives, and to finish crème Catalan, flavoured with lemon.

  She said, ‘I didn’t think anything could better the food on your boat, but now I’m not so sure.’

  His smile was abstracted. ‘Hardly surprising. Pilar taught Enrique all he knows.’ He rose. ‘Would you excuse me for a little while? I have some correspondence I should attend to.’

  She said swiftly, ‘And, once again, I have to pack.’ She paused. ‘So, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Her new room was just across the passage from the one she’d shared with Diaz the previous night. Everything had been prepared for her. The shutters had been closed and the lamp lit. The ceiling fan was whirring softly and her nightgown waited on the turned-down bed.

  And on the night table was the photograph wallet, which Pilar must have found when she’d been unpacking for her.

  Rhianna sat down on the bed and looked at the contents again. The pictures of Ben Penvarnon were the least terrible in the selection, so maybe she should offer them to Diaz, who might like them as a memento of his father.

  But she couldn’t imagine he’d want the awful ones of Moira Seymour, skulking about in the bushes, she thought critically as she riffled through them. What on earth had Aunt Kezia been thinking of?

  I’ll sort them out in the morning, she told herself, and began to get ready for bed.

  She felt unutterably weary as she lay in the darkness, listening to the splash of the rain, but her mind wouldn’t let her rest, imprisoning her on an emotional treadmill of regret and longing.

  Images of Diaz smiling into her eyes jostled with the bleakness in his face as he’d talked of his parents’ marriage. He’d been a lonely child, she thought, and his initial kindness to her had been prompted when he’d recognised the same sadness in herself.

  But now the trap of loneliness was closing round them again, and although she’d tried to armour herself against it by spending tonight apart from him it hadn’t worked. She was just wasting precious hours when they could have been creating a last beloved memory together.

  Besides, after what they had shared, how could they part in this coldness? It just wasn’t possible.

  She slipped out of bed and went to the door, quiet as a ghost in her white nightgown.

  He might be asleep, she thought as she crossed the passage. Or, worse, he might decide things were better as they were and reject her.

  It was a thought that halted her, but even as she hesitated his door opened suddenly, and Diaz confronted her, wearing a black silk robe.

  For a moment there was silence, then he said her name very softly, and took her hand.

  Colour stormed into her face. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Neither could I,’ he said huskily. ‘I was just coming to your room. I thought—I hoped that perhaps you might let me hold you. I wouldn’t ask for anything else.’

  She said, ‘Then I’ll simply have to plead for both of us,’ and went into his arms.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SHE awoke just before dawn and lay for a moment watching him sleep, before easing herself to the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him.

  He deserved his rest, she thought with tenderness, remembering how he’d exerted all his self-control in order to pull himself back from some edge of desperation when he’d first begun to touch her, and the lingering, exquisite arousal to the aching passion of mutual fulfilment which had followed.

  However, Pilar also deserved her illusions, she told herself, rescuing her torn nightdress from the floor and slipping noiselessly back to her room.

  So it would be as well to pretend they’d spent the whole night apart.

  She dropped the nightgown into her waiting travel bag, and then, her body still glowing with remembered pleasure, slid back into bed.

  The rain had stopped, and a grey light was filtering into the room through the shutters. Somewhere in the garden a bird sang.

  Another memory, she thought, to be recalled when she was far away, and she turned, burying her face in the pillow.

  She hadn’t planned on sleeping, but when she eventually stirred the floor was slatted with brilliant sunlight, and a glance at her watch told her it was nearly mid-morning.

  She scrambled almost guiltily out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Why had no one woken her? she asked herself, as she stood under the shower. It seemed to her that at some point someone had touched her hair, but that was probably just a dream.

  Half an hour later, dressed and with most of her packing done, she ventured downstairs. As she stood hesitantly in the entrance hall, Pilar appeared from the salon, according her the beginnings of a smile.

  ‘Buenos dias, señorita. You come—eat?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rhianna paused awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late.’

  The housekeeper shrugged. ‘No importa. Señor Diaz say leave to sleep. So I leave.’

  A place had been set for her on the rear terrace. Coffee was brought in a tall pot, followed by hot rolls, a dish of honey, and a bowl of fresh fruit. And finally Pilar put a platter in front of her, with a vast omelette filled with smoked bacon, tomatoes, peppers, potatoes and cheese.

  ‘Heavens.’ Rhianna surveyed its proportions with faint dismay. ‘Just for me?’

  ‘Por supuesto,’ Pilar returned. ‘Of course.’

  ‘The señor has had his breakfast?’ Rhianna ventured as she poured her coffee.

  ‘Many hours ago.’ Pilar gave her an astonished look. ‘Then he work on computer, on telephone. Much busy. Now he go to Puerto Caravejo—to boat.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rhianna’s brow wrinkled as she calculated the distance. ‘Do you know how long that will take? It’s just that I have to get to the airport…’

  ‘No worry. He say he be here. He will come.’ Pilar allowed her another judicious smile and departed.

  To her own surprise Rhianna demolished every scrap of the omelette, and ate two rolls with honey after it.

  After all, she reasoned, she might not eat again until she was back in England.

  She was up in her room when she heard the sound of the car. Her lift to the airport, she told herself. She picked up her bags, took a last look around to make sure she’d forgotten nothing, then started for the stairs.

  She would greet him smiling, she told herself. And not a word or a gesture would betray how much their separation would cost her.

  As she turned the corner a bright light flashed
in front of her, and she halted, blinking. In the same instant she realised that it was not Diaz waiting in the hall below but two men, one of whom was just lowering a camera.

  The other was the reporter from the Duchy Herald, Jason Tully.

  ‘Hello, Rhianna.’ His smile was triumphant. ‘I just knew we’d meet up again.’ He looked at the luggage she was carrying. ‘Going somewhere?’

  ‘Yes, back to England.’ She spoke calmly and continued her descent, putting the bags down at the foot of the stairs. But under her surface composure she felt sick, and her heart was going like a trip-hammer.

  ‘But not back to Cornwall, I hope? You’re persona non grata down there, as I imagine you know.’ He paused. ‘I suppose you have read my exclusive in the Sunday Echo? No?’ He took a folded newspaper from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Be my guest. And you might want to sit down.’

  Something warned her to do as he said, and she seated herself on the bottom step. As she opened the paper, the strapline above the front page leapt out at her.

  Castle Pride star’s wedding shock: ‘He’s mine,’ says tearful Donna.

  Oh, no, she whispered silently. Oh, God, please, no. The story, with pictures filled the whole of page three.

  Wedding guests at a picturesque Cornish church were left stunned yesterday when Donna Winston, rising star of hit TV series Castle Pride, halted the ceremony, claiming, ‘I’m having the bridegroom’s baby!’

  Donna, twenty-two, told the shocked congregation that she and Simon Rawlins, scheduled to marry childhood sweetheart Caroline Seymour, had been involved in a passionate three month affair, which had left her pregnant.

  Standing at the altar rail, just minutes before the arrival of the bride, Donna turned weeping to the blond, six-foot groom and declared, ‘You’re my baby’s father, Simon. You belong to me, and I won’t let you go.’

  Ushers hustled the distraught Donna out of the church amid the murmurs of horrified onlookers. Standing in the sunshine, she declared defiantly, ‘Simon’s been living a lie. But it has to stop. He has responsibilities.’

  She also revealed that she met twenty-six-year-old Simon through her former flatmate, Rhianna Carlow, and that many of their passionate love trysts had actually taken place at the Castle Pride star’s Walburgh Square pad.

  ‘Rhianna knew exactly what was going on,’ she said. ‘Even though she’s supposed to be the bride’s lifelong friend. But she must have had a recent attack of guilty conscience, as she’s been trying to bully me into having an abortion. I wouldn’t do it, because I know Simon loves me, and our baby is part of that love.’

  Meanwhile, inside the church, the Vicar of Polkernick, the Rev. Alan Braithwaite, announced that both the ceremony and the lavish reception for two hundred guests would be indefinitely postponed.

  As disappointed friends and family left the church, the bridegroom and best man departed by a side door, refusing to comment.

  Also unavailable was Rhianna Carlow, who allegedly aided and abetted the secret affair, and whose portrayal of scheming, immoral Lady Ariadne in Castle Pride has raised eyebrows all around the world.

  According to local reports she has not been seen since she left a prenuptial party hand in hand with glamorous multimillionaire Diaz Penvarnon, whose gracious home, Penvarnon House, was due to host the cancelled reception.

  It is believed the couple decided to boycott the wedding for a love tryst of their own aboard the millionaire’s luxury yacht, which sailed from Polkernick Harbour on Friday evening for an unknown destination.

  Meanwhile the betrayed bride, pretty twenty-three-year-old Caroline Seymour, is being comforted by her family, with callers barred from the Penvarnon mansion.

  Rhianna drew a deep breath and looked at Jason Tully. ‘Not such an unknown destination after all, it seems.’ She tapped the paper with a contemptuous finger. ‘Well, you’ve already done your worst, Mr Tully, and earned yourself a national by-line. So why are you here?’

  ‘To confirm a few things and make some more money.’ He looked around. ‘Very cosy. But where’s the boyfriend? Still sleeping off the Ariadne effect?’ His smile was a lecherous insult. ‘Hasn’t lasted, though, your grand passion, has it? Maybe it occurred to him that having Grace Trewint’s daughter as his mistress was a bit too close to home.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he added softly, as Rhianna gave an involuntary gasp. ‘People couldn’t wait to fill me in on the old scandal—not when they heard what you’d done to Miss Seymour. Your name’s dirt in Polkernick. And lucky me has another exclusive. I gather the wronged wife lives just over the French border,’ he went on. ‘What will she say, I wonder, when she hears that her son’s been following so closely in his father’s footsteps? Will she be impressed? I don’t think so.’

  Rhianna said calmly, ‘The most you’ll get is “no comment”. I can promise you that. Anyway, why involve her when you have me? I’ll give you what you want to know.’

  She got up, smoothing her dress and smiling. ‘As you’ve guessed, it was just a brief fling.’ She slowed her voice to a drawl. ‘One of those things that happen when you’ve both had too much to drink, alas. I threw myself at him, and he caught me. Something that seemed like a good idea at the time, but wasn’t. And now it’s over, and I’m out of here.’ Her smile widened. ‘If you’re heading for the airport I’d be glad of a lift.’

  For a moment Jason Tully looked almost nonplussed. ‘You have no plans to meet him again?’

  ‘Absolutely none,’ she said. ‘We agreed on just one thing—enough is definitely enough.’

  ‘Right,’ he said slowly. ‘And what are you planning to say to Caroline Seymour next time you see her?’

  How was it possible to stand and talk and function with some semblance of normality when you were hurting so much? When all you wanted to do was sink to your knees and howl?

  She shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.’

  ‘And how do you react to rumours that your Castle Pride contract may be cancelled after the next series has been shown?’

  She certainly hadn’t been expecting that, she thought, flinching inwardly. Who said there was no such thing as bad publicity?

  She said lightly, ‘Merely that all good things come to an end.’

  She was braced for another question, but at that moment Pilar suddenly erupted on to the scene from the back of the house, her voice rising in a crescendo of fierce Spanish as she flourished a threatening broom at the startled Tully and his companion.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted as the bristles grazed his shoulder. He turned on Rhianna. ‘You tell her that’s assault, and I’ll have the law on her.’

  ‘I think she’ll tell you this is trespass,’ Rhianna returned evenly. ‘Also this is her country, and her boss is a respected figure locally, so don’t count on the police being on your side. I’d just leave, if I were you.’

  She didn’t expect her advice to be taken, but with a lot of muttering they went, and she heard the car drive away.

  It was only when she felt Pilar’s hand on her shoulder, and the older woman’s voice urging her to be calm, that she realised she had sunk back on to the bottom stair and was sitting with her face in her hands.

  She said shakily, ‘Pilar, I have to go now. This minute. I must get back to England. Get an earlier flight if I can. Could Felipe drive me to Oviedo?’

  ‘Felipe is disgrace,’ Pilar said icily. ‘He let in men—strangers—to the house of Señor Diaz. Take money. Bring dishonour on family.’ She paused. ‘Better you wait for the señor.’

  ‘No!’ Rhianna grasped her hand. ‘I can’t—not after this.’ I can’t face him. Not after what’s happened—and what I’ve said. She went on, ‘Whatever Felipe’s done, I really need him to drive the car. Please, Pilar. Tell him to take me to the airport, por favor.’

  There was a silence, then Pilar nodded reluctantly.

  ‘Ay de mi.’ She raised clenched fists. ‘What I say to the señor when he comes? What I tell him of me
n in house?’

  Rhianna handed her the crumpled newspaper. ‘Just give him this,’ she said quietly. ‘It will explain everything. And now will you get Felipe, please? Because I really have to go.’

  ‘You’re not serious.’ Daisy stared at Rhianna open-mouthed. ‘You’re coming out of Castle Pride because of this nonsense? Darling, you don’t mean it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rhianna said steadily, ‘I do. I’ve realised I simply can’t do it any longer.’ She pushed the tabloid newspaper she’d brought with her across the kitchen table. ‘This decided me.’

  She pointed at a large picture of Diaz walking along a street, his face cold and fierce with anger as he realised the presence of the camera, and at the screaming headline which accompanied it: ‘He laid Ariadne and lived! Millionaire’s drunken sex romp!’

  She shook her head. ‘Oh, God, how vile and sordid is that? Diaz is the last man in the world to want his private life gloated over in this ghastly way. Especially now that the papers have all picked up the story about my mother and his father being lovers.’

  She attempted a smile. ‘My attempt at a diversionary tactic has just made things a thousand times worse. I’ve failed everyone, including myself. But I’ve been well punished for my failure. Diaz must really hate me after all this.’

  Daisy picked up the coffee pot and refilled their cups. ‘Well,’ she pointed out reasonably, ‘as you’ve sworn you’re never going to see him again that hardly matters. Nor are you responsible for something that happened long before you were born.’ She paused. ‘Besides, you didn’t drag Diaz Penvarnon on board a yacht and sail off with him into the wide blue yonder. That was all his own idea, and if it’s backfired—tough. It’s certainly no reason to jeopardise your entire career.’

  She gave Rhianna a long look. ‘What on earth did your agent say?’

  Rhianna bit her lip. ‘Plenty.’

  ‘I bet,’ said Daisy. ‘And the production company probably said even more.’

  ‘I haven’t had their reaction yet,’ Rhianna returned. ‘Although I’ve reason to believe they won’t be too upset. Not that it will make any difference.’ She leaned forward. ‘Don’t you see? In everyone’s minds I’ve turned into Lady Ariadne—this monstrous creature. She’s become the reality instead of me. And I can’t handle that any more. When I started playing her it all seemed quite harmless, but it isn’t any more. And I—I need to get away from it all. To get away from her.’