Dark Betrayal

by Patricia Lake

  Memories of that time after their parting, memories of the pain that had seemed to last forever, contained her. She kept herself locked away. Even if she'd had the strength to admit her love, hadn't Jake made it very clear that his interest lay only in the child she was carrying?

  There was still a fierce sexual tension between them,

  but she knew that it wasn't enough. He didn't love her, and that would never change.

  When she came downstairs, Jake was already there, scanning a Spanish newspaper, a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked up at her as she entered the room, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. She felt herself trembling as their eyes met, but managed to greet him coolly.

  'Did you sleep well?' he asked, with smooth mockery.

  'Yes, thank you,' she lied, reaching for the coffee pot and finding it cold.

  As she spoke Ana appeared, as though by silent command, carrying coffee, orange juice and a basket containing sweet rolls and churros.

  In the silence that followed her departure, Deborah sipped orange juice, unable to touch any food, the warm smell of the fresh bread making her feel sick.

  Jake glanced at her, his brows drawn together, frowningly. 'You should eat something,' he said, putting down the newspaper. 'Ana could bring you bacon or an omelette, anything you want.'

  'I'm not hungry,' she replied, her stomach protesting at the food he mentioned.

  'You should think of the child you're carrying.' His voice was very cool.

  'I'm forced to think of it all the time,' she snapped, green eyes flashing fire. 'I'm sick nearly every morning.'

  'Have you seen a doctor?'

  'Yes, I have, which is why I don't need your advice on whether or not I should eat breakfast.' His eyes warned her to stop, but her lonely depression spurred her on. 'You're not the one who'll get as big as a house, you're not the one who'll suffer the pain, so

  don't tell me what I should be doing.'

  His mouth hardened. 'Is that how you really see it?' he asked evenly.

  'Is there another way?'

  He was silent, but she could feel the probe of his eyes, as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

  She knew she looked pale and tired, the dark circles round her eyes testimony to her sleepless nights. Would he attribute it to her pregnancy? She hoped he would, even though nothing could be further from the truth. The tension between them was getting to her. It was like walking a tight-rope.

  They acted like polite strangers when they were together, never touching, never coming too close. Jake was kind to her, but he was also cool and withdrawn, a remote stranger with whom she had been thrown together in this beautiful house.

  It couldn't go on, the waiting, the tension, it was like poison eating away at them both. She looked at him covertly and suddenly knew that it was affecting him too. There was a gaunt hollowed look about his face, the grey eyes burning like fire. And there was a tension in the way he moved, not noticeable to the casual observer, but noticeable to Deborah, who had watched him with the curious hunger of love. There was tension in his shoulders, in his hands, in the way he held his head, despite the cat-like grace of movement that remained unchanged.

  She didn't know how long they could continue with this cruel charade, but sooner or later there would be an explosion. And while she waited for it, in the uneasy calm before the storm, her nerves were stretched as tight as wires.

  Ana brought the mail as they sat together in strained silence. Jake had arranged to have all mail

  forwarded from England, while he researched his play.

  'Anything for me?' Deborah asked lightly, not expecting anything.

  Jake shook his head as he flicked through the envelopes. He picked up one, ripping it open impatiently, scanning the contents, his face totally expressionless, before slipping it into the pocket of his shirt. He said nothing, and Deborah noticed that the stamp was foreign. A woman, perhaps? The thought made her stomach clench with jealousy.

  Jake put down the rest of the mail without opening any of it. 'Let's go sightseeing,' he suggested, watching her.

  Surprised by the invitation, Deborah was silent for a moment. He spent most of his time shut away in the study working. It was an attractive proposition, more attractive than she cared to admit. 'Yes, I'd like to,' she smiled, her eyes meeting his briefly before veering away again.

  They spent the day wandering around the old city, starting at the Giralda tower. Once inside the minaret, they walked up the ramps, looking out of the windows as they climbed higher. The wind whistled through the brick trellis-work, whipping Deborah's hair around her face. It was tiring, but much easier than walking up steps, and the view from the belfry was well worth the effort. Below them stretched the city. The Plaza de Espana, the bull ring, Triana, Los Remedios. Jake pointed them out, showing her the landmarks, his arm around her shoulders.

  The red tiled roofs stretched into the distance, baking beneath the blinding Spanish sun. The patio of the Oranges, with its perfect symmetry, was a splash of cool green below. The iron bells above their heads chimed the hour, a deafening noise. Deborah laughed, exhilarated, surprised when Jake's dark head swooped, his mouth taking hers in a brief hard kiss.

  Dizzily, she reached for his shoulders to steady herself, but he was already moving away, and she stared at the huge wooden framed clock, her eyes filling with tears.

  Next to the Giralda, stood the cathedral—one of the largest Gothic churches in the world. Deborah wandered alone in the cold silence, deliberately keeping her distance from Jake. She was awed by the sheer size of the place, by the riches displayed in the antechambers off the main aisle. Everything seemed old and rich and faded, telling of a bygone age that could now only be guessed at by the parties of tourists clattering through with their guides. Many languages filled the hushed gloom, and the flashing of cameras, though not encouraged, sparkled in distant corners. Deborah felt alone, because of the vast space around her. The place was alive with the history of centuries, and she could understand why Jake found it so fascinating.

  He found her half an hour later, gazing up at the enormous altarpiece.

  'Let us build a church in such a way that those who see it will think we are crazy,' he quoted, smiling at her.

  'Who said that?' she asked, returning his smile shyly.

  'One of the members of the cathedral council in the fifteenth century,' he replied, taking her arm. 'Have you seen the monument to Christopher Columbus?'

  Deborah shook her head, and allowed him to lead her to the huge coffin, held aloft by four larger-than- life allegorical figures. 'It's beautiful,' she whispered, walking round it, touching it with her fingers.

  Jake watched her face. He had known she would like

  it.

  They ate lunch under the orange trees of a streetside cafe. The slender, dark eyed waiter brought wine and a tray of tapas, which Deborah devoured, finding her appetite on tasting the flavours of ham and cheese and fish.

  And in the late afternoon, they walked in the gardens of the Alcazar, past vaulted baths and lush palm trees and terracotta pots of geraniums that edged tiled fountains. It was a magical place that seemed to stretch on for ever, blocking out the city in the fading light. She was acutely aware of Jake walking beside her, and her heart ached. She wished she could share her delight in these magnificent gardens without restraint.

  As they strolled down a narrow path lined with lemon trees, Jake turned to her. 'Tell me about Robert Stevens,' he said expressionlessly.

  She wondered why he asked, but didn't dare to voice the question. It seemed right to tell him the truth here, as the dying sun streaked the sky with orange, in the peace and the greenery.

  So she told him everything. That she and Robert had been childhood friends, that Frances had looked after both Oliver and herself after the death of their parents. She explained that she had never suspected Robert's true feelings for her, utterly surprised when he sought her out in America and proposed.

  And she tol
d him about the plane crash, the pretence, and Frances's gentle but unyielding persuasion. She told him everything, leaving nothing out. Not in anger this time, nor because she wanted revenge, but because it was important that he knew the truth.

  Jake listened in silence, his face an expressionless mask, his body tense. When she had finished, he turned, taking her shoulders lightly in his hands. 'I'm sorry.'

  Deborah shrugged, embarrassed. 'It doesn't matter. I know how it must have looked'

  'Yes.' He was abrupt. 'And since then, has there been anybody else?' The harshness of his voice brought colour to her face, and her heart was beating quickly.

  'Why do you ask?' she prevaricated, knowing that if she told him she might be giving away everything.

  'Because, dammit, I have to know.' His eyes held hers, pinning her mercilessly. She took a deep breath, unable to bear the torment she saw in his face. 'There's been nobody else,' she said quietly. 'Nobody.'

  She heard the swift uneven intake of his breath without looking at him. She felt vulnerable, totally exposed. There were no secrets left, and she waited, head bowed, wondering what his reaction would be.

  He swore violently, his mouth twisting with anger. 'Three years,' he said harshly. 'Three bloody years!'

  Shaken, Deborah stared across the gardens. 'I don't know what you mean.' She touched her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. 'And I don't know why you brought me here. I want to go back to London.'

  'No,' he said, one of his hands moving into her loose golden hair, winding the silken strands around his fingers.

  'Why?' she whispered, staring up into his eyes. 'Why should you want to keep me here?'

  'Because you belong to me. I'll never let you go again.' His face was hard, dark with emotion.

  'I'll divorce you when the baby is born,' she told him bitterly.

  'We'll see.' He was as cold as ice and she knew that he was still very angry. She felt like a child with threats that were not taken seriously.

  'You let me go easily enough before,' she said, her cheeks burning.

  'Because I believed you were sleeping with Robert Stevens.' His voice held a hard possessive jealousy, so deep that it frightened her. 'I wanted to kill him, and you. I searched high and low for you, but your stepbrother was always blocking my way. Perhaps he saw that I might well have done you an injury if I got to you. I realised that myself, and I had to let you go.'

  'You accuse me?' she said bitterly. 'I can't believe your arrogance. You were the one who was unfaithful—you slept with Leila.'

  'Did I?' He was impassive.

  'I saw you.' His coolness fanned her hurt feelings into anger.

  'You saw Leila in my bed,' he said flatly. 'That changes nothing. I won't let you go.'

  'You won't be able to stop me,' she retorted in panic, trying to convince herself more than him. 'I won't live with you after the baby is born. I can't.' She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  'Why not?' His fingers tightened in her hair.

  'Because I don't trust you. There have been too many women in your life. I'd spend all my time wondering who you were with, or worse, I'd walk in one day and find you in bed with somebody else,' she said rawly.

  'That wouldn't happen, I promise you that,' he said slowly, then smiled. 'And if you wanted to make sure, you'd never leave my bed when I was in it.'

  'No..She pulled away from him, shaking. 'I believed you before and I was a fool. You told me that you wanted me, that you'd always want me, that there would never be anybody else. I won't believe you again.'

  Jake watched her carefully, his eyes narrowing. 'I didn't lie to you,' he said expressionlessly. Then glancing at the gold watch on his wrist, 'It's time we were getting back.'

  She rang Oliver that night while Jake was working. She felt a longing for a familiar voice, the beauty of her surroundings suddenly leaving her cold.

  He snatched up the receiver almost immediately, and she suspected that he had been expecting Beatrice.

  'Sorry if I'm a disappointment,' she said lightly. 'How are you?'

  'Fine.' His voice was as purposely light as her own. They were both lying. 'Why on earth are you ringing me?' he asked. 'You're on your honeymoon. A postcard would have done, and I wasn't expecting that.'

  'Honeymoon?' Deborah echoed cynically. 'Is that what this is?' She felt like laughing or crying. She wasn't sure which.

  'Are you all right?'

  Oliver's concern brought her back to her senses. 'I am. What about you?' She changed the subject quickly, avoiding further questions. 'Have you seen Beatrice?'

  There was silence at the other end of the line, then Oliver said quietly. 'Yes, I've seen her.'

  'And?'

  'And nothing. It's over. They're moving to Bermuda. David has taken over an American banking company and they're moving for tax reasons.' He sounded very bitter, his voice scathing.

  'I'm sorry.' It was inadequate. She could imagine how he must be feeling. He had given a lot away when he picked up the 'phone.

  'No sympathy for God's sake,' he laughed humourlessly.

  'But Oliver'

  'The incredible thing is that I'm relieved,' he cut in flatly. 'It hurts, it hurts like hell, but underneath I'm relieved, can you believe it? I burnt all her photographs, I really enjoyed doing it too. God, she had me for a fool!'

  Deborah knew she should say something encouraging. She should say something reassuring about him finding somebody else, but she knew he wouldn't want to hear that. It wouldn't help. 'Oliver'

  'It's okay, I'll get over it, and at least I'll be able to get on with some work.' She felt him smiling. 'Don't worry about me. Tess has been holding my hand.'

  'I wasn't,' she promised, because she heard the strength beneath his angry misery. He would get over it. Beatrice had always kept him on a string. He would never have been able to break it off. Now that she was moving away, she was the one who had decided to end the relationship. Oliver was free, because he couldn't change the situation. She felt sorry for him, but truthfully, she was glad. She had never really liked Beatrice, or what she was doing to Oliver. Then she realised what he had said. 'Tess?' she repeated with a smile.

  'You heard me. But I'm not saying anything else, so get off the 'phone, get back to your husband and enjoy yourself. I don't want to hear from you again until you get back to London, okay? Unless of course, it's an emergency.'

  She replaced the receiver with a sad smile. She hadn't been able to tell him about Jake and herself, something had held her back. Anyway, Oliver had his own problems, she thought, as she wandered slowly up the stairs to her empty room.

  The following day Jake drove her out to the coast, to the Spanish resort of Playa Matascalanas. It was a modern resort, very popular with Sevillians, and it boasted miles of empty sandy beaches that stretched almost all the way to Huelva. They spent the day on the sands, swimming in the warm waters of the Gulf of Cadiz. Deborah felt self-conscious in her stylish one piece bathing costume. Her stomach hadn't started to swell yet, but her waisdine was thickening slightly and she felt embarrassed beneath Jake's cool searching scrutiny.

  'I'm ugly,' she said sharply, disconcerted by his silence. 'And soon, I'll hardly be able to move.'

  He smiled with understanding. 'You're beautiful,' he said softly. 'So beautiful. Pregnancy suits you. Your eyes are sparkling, your skin is glowing with health and your body is perfect. You look radiant.'

  'I'll bet,' she retorted, turning away, but inside, she was bursting with happiness at such compliments.

  The sea was clear, the beach deserted beneath the hot sun. In the sand at the water's edge lay a huge ruined tower, tilting crazily, the ancient bricks covered with green moss. It looked dangerous, but it was so heavy it was safe. Deborah walked round it, her feet splashing coolly in the water. She looked at Jake and her mouth went dry. Wearing only brief black swimming trunks, his hard muscular body gleamed in the harsh light, the muscles rippling beneath tanned skin as he moved. She stared at his deep powe
rful chest and wanted him so fiercely that it took her breath away. She dragged her eyes away, her body aching with unsatisfied need, and waded into the water to swim.

  It was all so hopeless. She could see no end to it. They fought again and again, but nothing changed. He didn't love her and she would be trapped by that unbearable, unchangeable knowledge for the rest of her life.

  They ate lunch under the rainbow parasols of a small cafe on the edge of the beach. The waiter brought bocadillos stuffed with cheese and sea-food, together with chilled white wine. Deborah picked at the food, her appetite non-existent. Jake watched her with narrowed eyes, his dark glance caressing when it rested on the slender grace of her body. When their eyes met, awareness shot between them, building as the meal continued, until it was unbearable. Deborah escaped back to the beach as soon as she could, thankful to reach for the protection of her sunglasses, ignoring the mockery she saw in his face. She lay sunbathing, her body relaxed, enjoying the warmth against her skin, and she watched Jake undetected, as he swam out into the sea. He was a powerful swimmer, his body cutting swiftly and cleanly through the water. When he returned, she stared at him. His body was graceful, dripping with water, the heavy muscles of his arms tensing, as he pushed his hair back from his face. He sat down beside her, and she drew a long shaking breath. She turned her head away in silence, relaxation gone, her body rigid.

  'What are you frightened of?' he asked, as he lit a cigarette.