by Helen Brooks
'No… ' It was the last thing she'd expected.
'Yes.' His mouth twisted in a wry smile. 'And it'd help if you looked less horrified. I love you, Annie, and I want you in my bed, my home, my life, my soul, but not for a month or a year. I want to marry you, and this is the last time of asking. Whatever you say now, I shan't ask again. I'll be there for you, I'll take anything you can give and make it work, whatever's happened in the past, but I don't intend to keep on asking. I love you, and I know, whatever you say and whatever you've done, that you love me. I don't understand you but I love you. Well?'
He paused, his eyes dark with emotion and his mouth taut 'What's it to be?' he asked quietly. ' A future together or goodbye?'
She stared at him, the colour coming and going in her face and the faintness in her head making her dizzy. Oh, Hudson, she thought, I love you so much. Please try to understand, my love. You will meet someone else; there are hundreds of women out there who would give everything they possess to be your wife, so there's got to be someone you could love in return. But it can't be me. Not if you want it all. With me it's a choice, and if I made you make that choice, forced you to give up everything you love, you'd begin to hate me. Perhaps in a year, maybe five, but eventually…
'Goodbye, Hudson.' She stood up slowly, and this time he made no effort to restrain her as she reached for her bags. 'You might not believe this right now but I want you to be happy,' she said tonelessly, forcing all emotion out of her voice as she said what she had to say. 'And I know you wouldn't be with me, whatever you think.' There was an unnerving silence while she waited for him to speak, but he said nothing, his eyes unreadable as they searched her pale face in which all vestige of colour was gone, and he still said nothing as she walked out of sight.
The next two or three weeks were the sort of nightmare Marianne wouldn't have wished on her worst enemy.
She returned from Morocco utterly worn out and emotionally drained, her anguish increasing rather than lessening as time went on.
She worked all hours of the day and night, but still found it difficult to sleep despite a grinding exhaustion that showed in a dramatic loss of weight and deep blue-mauve shadows under her eyes. But she resisted sleeping pills—they wouldn't help what ailed her. She knew Keith and the others were worried about her, one or two friends even taking it upon themselves to call round to her flat and gently enquire as to what was wrong, but her pain and confusion were too deep to discuss. She felt bereft, without hope, and the future stretched ahead like a great black chasm in which there was nothing but despair and a terrifying loneliness.
It was in the middle of her third week back in London, when she had struggled to work on a rainy, cold morning that resembled October rather than late June, that Keith called her into his office, his voice excited and shrill.
'What do you know about an organisation called Major Promotions?' he asked before she had even got through the door. 'They're based in the States but have subsidiaries in Canada and Australia. Have you ever worked for them in the past?'
'Major Promotions?' She tried to force a vestige of interest and intelligence into her voice. 'I don't think… '
'Think, Marianne, think.' Keith was all but dancing. 'A name, someone you've met at a shoot or perhaps socially, a friend of a friend? You must know someone connected with them?'
'I'm sorry, Keith, but Major Promotions does nothing for me,' Marianne said quietly. 'Is there any reason why it should?'
'Well, they certainly know you.' Keith waved her to be seated, his voice gleeful. 'Or of you at least. And what they know they like. I got a letter this morning. Here, read that'
He flung a piece of paper across to her and she saw it was a letter on beautifully embossed thick notepaper of the finest quality.
'They're interested in us, or rather you, covering a project they're doing with some of the top names in advertising in the States,' Keith continued before she had had time to read a word. It's all on conservation, but just read some of the names who are involved with it—go on, read them—'
'Keith, give me a minute, would you?' Enough was enough—she couldn't think straight with him chirping on like that.
'Oh, yeah, right, sorry. Read on.' He sat back and waited.
It was quite clear-cut. They wanted Marianne Harding and they were prepared to pay for the privilege—from the generous offer outlined in the document in front of her it appeared money was no object And the project was indeed a mind-blowing one, as were the celebrity names connected with it. What it didn't say—Marianne's brow wrinkled—was how they had heard of her in the first place. Keith she could have understood, but Marianne Harding? Who was Marianne Harding to these sorts of people? She asked Keith the same question, her voice perplexed.
'I thought you'd be the one to tell me that.' He stared at her puzzled face. 'You mean you really don't know where the link is?' he asked after a few seconds had ticked by.
'Not a clue.' She had been racking her brains to no avail.
'Oh, what does it matter anyway?' Keith said briskly. 'The point is they've heard of you and they want you, and that can only spell opportunity to you and the business. They want you to fly over at the end of the month—that's not a problem, is it? I've got to fax them with our acceptance and then set the ball rolling.'
'But… but do you think I'm up to it?' Marianne asked anxiously as her stomach began to turn over. 'It sounds like a massive project.' She glanced at the letter again.
'Of which you will be merely a tiny cog,' Keith said reassuringly. I've worked on things like this, Marianne; you won't be the only photographer, believe me. They often have several different things going at the same time and they always cover themselves for unforeseen difficulties. There'll be back-up, not that you'll need it,' he added encouragingly. It'll be a great experience for you.'
She nodded slowly. A few months, even a few weeks ago an opportunity like this one would have had her delirious with excitement, so why couldn't she feel even a tiny grain of enthusiasm now? she asked herself irritably. Why didn't it matter—even a little bit? But it didn't. She felt apprehensive that she might not be up to scratch, but beyond that—nothing.
Oh… She physically shook her head, disgusted at herself. She couldn't go on like this. She had to pull herself together, look to her career and her future—it was all she was ever going to have, after all. That thought did nothing to lessen the black cloud that was permanently in place these days.
'So… I'll fax them, shall I?' Keith sounded put out.
It was clear Keith couldn't understand her lack of enthusiasm, and she really couldn't blame him, Marianne thought miserably. She didn't understand it, or herself, either. Somehow it was as if the lights had been turned off deep inside—everything was dark and shadowy and pointless—and it scared her, because even in the worst days during the time after she had first left Hudson two years ago she hadn't felt quite like this.
But she would get through. She set her teeth and listened to Keith enthusing on. It was either that or give in, and she was a fighter—the last two years had taught her that If she gave in then Michael and the evil men who were still alive and perpetuating their poison would have won on every count, and that wasn't to foe borne. She just wished she knew Hudson was all right.
She was telling herself exactly the same thing five days later as a cab raced her through the teeming streets of New York. Even in her misery the pace and vibrant life of the famous metropolis was thrilling, its mass of human inhabitants scurrying about the sidewalks like tiny ants with the huge towering buildings seeming more suited to an advanced computer game than real life. And she was part of it… for a while.
She was glad the job hadn't been in Washington DC, where Hudson lived and worked. For all its wonderful potential and future possibilities she would have had to turn it down, ridiculous though it would have seemed to Keith and everyone else. But the slightest, the merest chance of meeting Hudson would have meant she couldn't accept it. She couldn't live through
another meeting with him and emerge sane.
The cab stopped in front of a building that was identical to the ones surrounding it, but none the less impressive because of it She stood looking up at the myriad windows for some moments after she had paid the driver, the warm June breeze teasing the few tendrils of hair that had escaped the businesslike knot on top of her head and stroking her cheeks softly.
It was hot, very hot—an unexpected heatwave, the cab driver had said—but she felt quite comfortable in a smart white linen suit, its short skirt and tailored jacket both feminine and chic. She hadn't been too sure about the white high-heeled court shoes—she had always had a fear of sprawling at someone's feet when she wore heels over an inch high for work—but the Italian shoes had gone so beautifully with the suit, she hadn't been able to resist wearing them, knowing they gave an elegance to the outfit that was striking. And she felt she needed to look her best.
This meeting was merely a chat to cover any loose ends regarding the job anyway, she reassured herself as she stepped through massive doors into the building, which was all air-conditioning and ankle-deep carpeting. She'd be sitting down for most of it, no doubt.
She gave her name at Reception as instructed, and immediately a tall, fair-haired man who had been standing to one side of the reception desk sprang to her side. 'Miss Harding?' He seemed faintly familiar but she couldn't work out why. 'They're expecting you upstairs, in the Blue Suite. Please allow me to escort you there. My name is Bill Truscott by the way,' he added smilingly.
'Thank you.' She stared at him in surprise. She was just a very minor little cog in the grand clock that made up Major Promotions—Keith had told her that more than once over the last few days, as much to reassure her that the success of the whole project wasn't hanging on her camera as to satisfy a little grain of personal pique that it hadn't been his services Major Promotions had asked for—and she certainly hadn't expected to be met in Reception by anyone. Perhaps that was a courtesy they extended to everyone she thought to herself as she followed Bill Truscott to the lifts. Americans were always very sociable and genial, after all. That must be it.
The lift was mirrored and carpeted, and as it took them swiftly upwards she forced herself to ask, 'Has… has everyone else arrived, Mr Truscott?' She was feeling nervous now, and the only way to combat it was to talk normally.
'Pretty much—and the name's Bill.' He smiled again, and the strange feeling that had assailed her before was back, but more strongly. She found herself staring at him for a moment, and quickly lowered her gaze when a pair of smoky grey eyes registered her regard. Goodness, he'd think she fancied him at this rate.
'Good flight?' He was far more at ease than she was. 'I understand you arrived yesterday; I hope you've recovered from the jet-lag a little now?' he added politely.
'Yes, thank you.' She met his gaze again and forced her expression into neutral. 'The hotel is lovely and the room is very comfortable.' In truth she had slept better the night before than in weeks, much to her surprise, although it had still taken careful application of makeup to hide the shadows under her eyes.
'Good, good.' The lift slid to a halt and they stepped into a corridor beautifully decorated in muted shades of blue. 'The suite is just along here, if you'd like to follow me.'
She suddenly recognised that the unease she was feeling was more than just mere nerves at the forthcoming meeting, but she couldn't pin down the reason for the icy little trickles flickering down her backbone. But they were there.
'Mr Truscott—Bill?' She caught his arm as they made their way towards a door at the very end of the corridor. 'Could I just ask you something?' she said quickly.
'Of course; ask away.' He smiled, but there was a reserve, a faint wariness that made her stammer as she said, 'Do… do I know you? I mean, have… have we met before?'
'I don't think so.' They were at the door now and he paused, his voice soft as he added, 'Don't look so scared, Annie; no one is going to eat you.'
'Annie?' The name hit her like a thunderbolt but in the next instant he opened the door and pushed her gently inside, straight into Hudson's waiting arms.
CHAPTER NINE
'Hudson?' Marianne just had time to breathe his name, her eyes opening into wide green pools, before his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that was fierce and hard and had the hunger of years in it. She couldn't do a single thing to resist him, her mind stunned and disbelieving even as her senses soared and spun until she thought she would faint. He was here. He was here…
As always fire exploded between them the second their mouths fused, and as he moulded her possessively into his hard male frame she clung to him, unable to believe it was really happening.
The door had shut quietly behind them once Marianne was inside the room but neither of them was aware of it, their minds and souls and bodies wrapped in each other to the point where nothing and no one else existed.
It was as Hudson groaned and crushed her further into him that he seemed to gain control of himself, his mouth lifting from hers as he took a long, deep pull of air, his breathing ragged.
'I don't understand… ' If it hadn't been for his strong arms holding her she would have fallen to the floor, her legs useless. 'What… Where is everyone? The meeting… '
'There is no meeting—or, to be precise, there is one, but next week, and either you or Keith can attend.'
His voice was shaking but she was too stunned herself to notice. 'It's not now? But… that man.' She glanced round wildly for Bill Truscott. 'He was going to take me there.'
'He's waiting in the adjoining room, along with other relatives and friends,' Hudson said softly. 'Admittedly not yours—I couldn't risk someone telling you—but we can have another ceremony later if you want.' He was keeping tight hold of her.
'Who is he?' She could only focus on the man; the rest of this was too surreal. 'He… he looked familiar.'
'My cousin… and my best man.' The last was said softly and deeply, and accompanied by a tightening of his arms around her as his eyes devoured her confused, stricken face.
'Your best man? But… ' She stared up at him, her face as white as the clothes she was wearing. 'You told me you weren't married,' she murmured faintly. 'Who… ? When did you… ?'
'I'm not, not yet,' Hudson said quietly. 'But I intend to be—very soon. And to you.'
'Me?' There was a distinct buzzing in her ears and she just managed to say, 'I think I need a glass of water or something,' before the room began to swim and dip and her legs folded.
He whisked her up in his arms immediately, carrying her over to a small sofa and giving her a glass of what looked very much like brandy once he had placed her on the cushioned seat. 'Drink it all,' he ordered softly, 'straight down. Bill had the foresight to think you might need it Part of a best man's duties.'
She drank it straight down in spite of the fact she didn't care for brandy, and once the neat alcohol had burnt its way into her system the faintness receded, and as it disappeared reality dawned. 'Hudson?' She opened her eyes from where she had been lying back against the cushions to find him kneeling in front of her, his eyes on a level with hers. 'If this means what I think it means you're crazy, do you know that? I can't possibly—'
'I'm not going to ask you to marry me; the time for asking is finished with,' he said quietly, but with an intentness that was unnerving. I've tried the reasonable approach—hell, I've tried every damn thing—so now I'm going to make you marry me. I love you, Annie, and I know you love me. I've been in touch with some of your friends and they say you've been miserable, desperately miserable, since you came back from Morocco. And you're killing me,' he finished softly.
It wasn't happening; she'd finally flipped, she thought vacantly.
'So now I'm taking the initiative for a change.'
For a change? The ridiculousness of that statement would have brought a smile in any other circumstances.
'I'm not going to ask you what happened in France two years ago, or why you
refused me again in Morocco—not now, not ever, Annie,' he continued steadily. 'I don't care what's stopped you being with me, only in so far as how it affects you, but whatever it is, however terrible, I'm not going to let it ruin both our lives. You love me enough for marriage—it was there in your eyes at the airport and it's there now. If there's one thing my work has taught me it's to forget about words and read the inner soul.' His voice was quiet but terrifyingly firm.
'No, I can't; you don't understand—'
'No, I don't,' he agreed quietly. 'Perhaps I never will, but that's up to you. Through that door—' he pointed to the inter-connecting door and her eyes followed his hand '—are some of my relations and closest friends waiting to see a minister perform a wedding ceremony for us. Apart from Bill no one knows the circumstances and what it's taken to get you here, so if you let me down now—if you walk away—you'll be making me look a fool in front of everyone who matters to me. I'm not going to carry you kicking and screaming into that room.'
He paused, his heart in his eyes as he took in her white face and trembling lips. 'The choice is yours, Annie. But I want you and I intend to have you, and you want me—I know it. Whether it's now, a year from now, ten years from now, I shan't give up. And once we are married it will be all right; I promise you that'
She had never wanted to believe in his confident assurance of his own power and authority so much, but, knowing what she did, it was impossible. 'And if it's not?' she whispered brokenly.
'It will be.' His eyes were intent on hers, the air vibrating with emotion. 'I've never broken a promise yet'
'But if it's not?' she repeated tremulously. 'What then?'
'If after we're married you feel it's not working, I wouldn't hold you against your will,' he said evenly. 'Will that do?'
