Of course he had.
It also said that the actress was currently promoting her new film in …
Zara’s mouth dried as the two words leapt off the page and punched her in the eyes.
New York!
She put the newspaper back down, noticing that her hands were trembling. ‘Thanks for showing me,’ she said hoarsely and drank down a large mouthful of wine. ‘Can I keep this?’
‘Zara—’
‘No. Don’t say anything. It’s fine, Emma—honestly. I’m not under any illusions about my affair with Nikolai. I mean, do you really think I thought it was going to last?’
She managed to sustain the brave face until she was back home—or, rather, back at Nikolai’s house—and then she went outside into the beautiful gardens as she thought about what she was going to do.
She remembered the night she had come here, oblivious to the fact that Nikolai had secretly summoned her to work for him, and she had seen him standing at the other end of the lawn, his eyes gleaming with ice-fire as he’d watched her. He had wanted her for all kinds of reasons and she had wanted him. It had been that simple. Her desire for him seemed to have been woven into her DNA and nothing which had happened since had made that desire lessen.
But what of the future? The future she had resolutely tried not to think about since they’d been reunited? Had she really been stupid enough to nurture hope that they might have a future together when international actresses of great natural beauty were there for the taking?
She’d just assumed …
What? That he was giving her fidelity? Why would she think that when he had never offered her his fidelity? Never offered her anything more than the physical attraction between them which burned so fiercely. Not even when they’d got back together after their break. The brief episodes of closeness they’d shared hadn’t really deepened, had they? And she had just turned a blind eye to it, caring more about smoothing over the surface of their life together than having the courage to explore what lay beneath it. What a pathetic person she was. Why wouldn’t a man treat you with contempt when you had shown him that you were prepared to settle for so little?
The homecoming she had planned for him was abandoned—the arty book of photographs of Moscow she’d bought was banished to the back of the wardrobe by hands splashed with her own hot tears. She’d planned on wearing some very naughty underwear—or at least some of it. She’d planned a saucy seduction when they got back from their party—but now all those plans made her feel sick.
Why, wasn’t she behaving like some kind of high-class hooker—the kind of woman she had always despised?
The hours until his return ticked by with excruciating slowness until eventually he rang to say that he was on his way back from the airport. She paced the floor until she heard the sound of his car drawing up outside and then the slamming of the front door, and Zara mentally composed herself to greet him. She wasn’t going to scream or shout or get hysterical. She was going to be grown-up and as calm as she could.
She had given the housekeeper the afternoon off—much to the woman’s surprise—and she supposed it was ironic that she should start behaving like the mistress of the house just before she left it. Her heart hammering, Zara went to wait for him in the big sun-room at the back of the house where the French windows were opened to the fragrant scent of the summer evening. On one of the coffee tables lay the newspaper, folded to show the black and white photo of her beautiful, duplicitous lover.
‘Zara?’
‘I’m in here!’
Her heart twisted with pain as she heard the sound of his footsteps approaching—a sound so unique and distinctive to him. How on earth could she have learned to know and love that particular sound in so short a time?
Nikolai halted in the doorway, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her frozen stance as she turned her unsmiling face to his. The last time he’d been away she had greeted his homecoming with all the pent up passion of a woman who had been left by a man while he went away to fight a war. She had hurled herself into his arms and covered his face with a thousand kisses and started tugging hungrily at his tie. But not tonight. Tonight her face was pale and there were shadows beneath her eyes. And there was no soft silk-satin caressing the curves of her body, either. Instead she wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt which bore the defiant and faded logo of her old college. Weren’t they supposed to be going straight out to a party?
‘Hello, Zara,’ he said softly.
‘Hello, Nikolai.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘No kiss?’
Did she kiss him and pretend nothing had happened? Maybe ask him later, when his guard was down and he might blurt out the truth, however hurtful that might be.
How sad was that?
She still hadn’t got it, had she? If he was seeing other women then there was no getting round him and neither should there be. The relationship was essentially over—it just depended on whether she wanted it to have a painful, protracted death or do the kindest thing and kill it off quickly.
‘You’re not dressed for the party,’ he observed, when still she didn’t move.
‘No.’
‘You don’t want to go?’
‘Not really.’ She sucked in a deep breath and looked at him. ‘How was New York?’
‘Somehow I get the feeling there’s a sting in the tail of that question.’
‘And is it guilt which gives you that feeling, Nikolai?’
‘Guilt?’ His mouth tightened with growing comprehension as he pulled off his jacket and threw it onto one of the sofas. Impatiently, he loosened his tie—as if it had been a noose hanging around his neck. ‘If I am to be accused of something, isn’t it only fair to let the prisoner know what he is being accused of?’
Prisoner? His bizarre choice of description jarred. Zara shook her head, searching for words which would allow her to keep her dignity—and not make her sound like some discordant fishwife. And acknowledging that there was no point in berating him just because—for all his money and possessions—he could not give her the one thing she most wanted.
‘How was Marie-Claire?’
‘Who?’
She swallowed. Was he going to make a fool of her into the bargain? Effecting ignorance and making her wonder if she was going crazy? ‘The French actress you’re so close to!’
‘The French actress I’m so close to,’ he repeated slowly.
‘In every sense!’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘This is what I’m talking about!’ She picked up the newspaper and shoved it at him. ‘Here it is, in black and white! Deny it now, if you dare!’
Nikolai looked down at the photo and gave a ghostly smile of recognition. There had been many photos like this published over the years. Sometimes the images had been faithful to the truth and sometimes they had been as far away from it as it was possible to imagine. A captured split second when someone smiled at you and it looked as if you were in your own private little world of love. He had learned many things during his time in the public eye and one of those had been that the camera could be a very unreliable witness.
‘You’d believe this rag?’ he said contemptuously. ‘Without bothering to ask me first?’
‘Who is she?’ Zara demanded.
‘I thought you knew exactly who she was! Why should I bother answering your accusations since you already seem to have made your mind up?’
‘She’s just been in New York!’
‘Along with about ten million others!’
Her heart was racing and her mouth felt like sandpaper. ‘Don’t you think you owe me the courtesy of an explanation, Nikolai?’ she questioned quietly.
‘And don’t you owe me the courtesy of showing me a little trust?’
Zara blinked at him. He was in the wrong, surely—and now he was twisting it round and making her feel as if she’d done something wrong. ‘When was the picture taken?’
With a weary sigh, he walked
over to the cabinet where the drinks were kept and poured himself a small glass of vodka. He drank only a little of it before putting the glass down and turning to stare at her. ‘It was taken while we were on a break—’
‘See!’
‘I went to a party and she was there. We talked and she asked me for a lift home.’
‘Which you, of course, gave her?’
‘It seemed ungentlemanly to refuse.’
‘And we all know how much of a gentleman you can be in the back of cars, Nikolai!’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why don’t you just come right out and ask me if I slept with her, Zara?’
‘Did you?’
‘No, I damned well didn’t!’ he exploded, smashing his fist down on the cupboard so that the glass wobbled and splashed vodka down the side. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone since I first laid eyes on you. I haven’t wanted to. In fact, since the moment I met you—it’s like other women don’t even exist! I can’t seem to get enough of you.’
She bit her lip—because didn’t he make that sound more like some sort of fierce sexual obsession than anything really meaningful? ‘I find that very hard to believe.’
‘Oh, I’ll bet you do,’ he snapped. ‘What does it take to convince you, Zara? I thought I’d take things slowly.
Show you how much I care for you in real ways. So I didn’t object when you insisted on continuing with your waitressing—even though the money they pay you is ludicrous. I admired your independence, if you must know. And I like those little presents you buy me when I go away.’
‘Nikolai—’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘You go on and on about wanting to be my equal—but emotionally you don’t have the courage to try. You dared to be tender with me the first time we made out—but now it’s as if you’re holding back all the time. You used to make me dig deep inside myself. I’d never have found out about my mother if it hadn’t been for your damned persistence. Sometimes I resented it, but at least you made me confront things. You made me feel alive. But not any more. Now all I get from you is precisely—’ he snapped his fingers and his face tightened ‘—nothing.’
Her fingers flew to her lips in distress. ‘Nikolai—’
‘I’ve given you more than I’ve ever given any woman and I don’t know whether there’s anything left to give—because I get nothing back. Nothing! You affect not to care about my money or power and yet, deep down, I think that you despise them. They’re all you see—instead of the man underneath—the man who stupidly thought you might be able to look beneath all the trappings.’ He bent to pick up his jacket and headed for the door and it wasn’t until Zara heard him talking on his phone to his driver that she realised he was actually going out!
‘Where are you going?’ she yelled.
‘To the party! If I get such an empty reception at home, then maybe I’ll try to find a little comfort elsewhere. And let’s face it—’ she could hear the grim note in his voice ‘—if I’m going to be accused of something I might as well get the benefits of it!’
She heard the door slam just as she began to frame his name and she dashed through the hall to open it just in time to see his car pulling away. For a moment she contemplated sprinting up the road after it, but the powerful car was already down by the electronic gates, its tail lights flashing. Her heart slamming, she stared at the gates closed behind it. He’d gone to the party! He’d spoken to her more honestly than he’d ever done before and then he had walked out.
And suddenly she saw her own part in what had gone wrong.
She had accused him of infidelity—she had wanted to believe the very worst of him—was it any wonder that their relationship hadn’t deepened when she had been sitting on the sidelines just waiting for him to step out of line? Yet he had never given her any reason to believe that he was interested in other women, had he? She wondered if her lack of trust was driven by his reluctance to offer her any long-term future—or just her general insecurity that a man like Nikolai should be living with someone like her.
So had they now reached a stalemate—with each of them too scared to proceed any further? She because she was afraid of getting hurt and Nikolai because he simply didn’t know how to express emotion?
Distractedly, Zara stared out at the beautiful garden. Yet would a man who could have any woman he wanted bother living with someone unless he felt something?
And meanwhile he had walked out on her. Gone to some fancy party deciding that he was newly single and where any woman with a pulse would start coming onto him.
‘No!’ The strangled word was torn from her throat as she grabbed the invitation from the mantelpiece. Because what was the point of nurturing hope if you didn’t let it spark into an almighty flame big enough to melt doubt and uncertainty? What was the point of playing safe if that caused suspicion and unhappiness? Wasn’t it time to tell Nikolai exactly how much she loved him—to let it out into the open and see what happened?
She ran outside and then, minutes later, she was out on the main street outside the gates, searching for a cab. She saw one on the other side of the road and, to a cacophony of angry horns, she dodged the traffic to hail it down and jump in the back.
‘Take me to Primrose Hill,’ she said breathlessly as the driver turned off the yellow light. ‘As quickly as possible.’
The party was being held in a house which was as imposing as she had imagined and as she saw the immaculately dressed people going inside she suddenly realised how frightful she must look with her flushed cheeks and messy hair. But she didn’t care. There was something much more important at stake here than her appearance. She just prayed that she hadn’t left it too late …
She rang the doorbell and the uniformed butler raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes?’ he questioned unhelpfully.
‘I’m here for the party!’
His face twisted into an I-don’t-believe-you expression. ‘And do you have an invitation, madam?’
‘Yes. Here it is.’ Thank heavens she’d had the foresight to bring it with her. She thrust the card at him and pushed past him, not caring what he thought.
The murmur of voices and chink of glasses directed her footsteps up to the first-floor drawing room and when Zara walked in there was a pin-drop silence. But then, maybe that was because she was the only person in the room who was wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt bearing the legend ‘Agricultural Students Do It In Fields'.
All eyes seemed to be fixed on her but she was aware of only one pair. She could see Nikolai on the far side of the room and she couldn’t make out whether he looked shocked, furious, amused—or all three. But suddenly she didn’t care. She had to tell him. Even if it was too late—he had to know how she felt.
She walked right up to him and the blonde woman who had been smiling up at him now looked at him askance, as if an axe-murderer had just muscled in on their conversation.
‘Nikolai?’ she ventured, in a tiny little voice which matched her tiny couture-clad frame.
But Nikolai didn’t appear to have even heard the woman. His narrowed eyes were fixed and intent. ‘Zara.’
‘Yes,’ she breathed as the enormity of what she was about to do hit her.
‘This is a surprise.’
His wry understatement made her draw a deep breath. She supposed she could ask him to accompany her to another room, where they might have some peace and privacy. But Zara was afraid that if she waited a second longer then her nerve would leave her and she would never dare say the words which now bubbled out of her.
‘I love you, Nikolai Komarov,’ she said, in a quiet urgent voice. ‘I’ve loved you for so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like not to love you—only I was too scared to show it before.’
He didn’t say a word, just continued to stare at her with a steady blue gaze which was as cold as ice.
Zara drew in another deep breath. ‘I was scared that if I started to show you what I felt—that it would open up the floodgates to something so powerful t
hat it would sweep me away on its tide. And I thought you didn’t want love like that.’
For a moment there was a silence so long that it felt as if time had stretched itself out, like a piece of elastic. Say something, she urged silently. Say anything, but at least say something.
But there was no smile and no words. Nikolai just stood there as silent and as unmoving as a block of stone and Zara could see the look of shock and something else which had darkened his eyes. Something which looked a little like fear—from a man who didn’t do fear. But he didn’t do love either, did he? He’d told her that in no uncertain terms.
As Zara listened to the heavy silence she realised that her worst nightmare had come true. The gamble hadn’t paid off. He didn’t love her. Didn’t even care enough to murmur a few placatory words, which might have allowed her to save face. He was standing looking at her as if she were some kind of madwoman—while the rest of the room looked on with a mixture of amused horror.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I should never have come here.’
Unsteadily, she turned and stumbled from the room and the silence began to grow into an astonished roar as she made her way downstairs, brushing past the sanctimonious face of the butler and out onto the street.
Shuddering, she gripped onto the iron railing outside the house as she sucked in several deep breaths, but she still felt weak and dizzy—as if she was about to faint.
But she couldn’t afford to do that—not with people still arriving. I have to get away, she told herself fiercely. l have to move away from here before I make an even bigger fool of myself.
Blindly, she made her way to the end of the street, her eyes blurred with tears, the acid taste of dryness at the back of her throat as she tried to swallow down the sobs which were building in intensity. The glimpse of green at the end of the street made her make her way towards it, some instinct propelling her towards the light and space of Primrose Hill. And that was when she heard running footsteps behind her and the sound of someone calling her name.
She would have recognised his footsteps and the sexy lilt of Nikolai’s Russian accent from miles away but Zara didn’t let her own step falter because the last thing she wanted was to face him. What was she supposed to do, turn around and tell him she was fine and that she didn’t care that she’d humiliated herself by telling him she loved him in front of a room full of snooty people?
Too Proud to be Bought Page 15
