by Lucy Gordon
‘I wouldn’t know, would I?’ he asked at last.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘How could you?’
‘I think we both need a good stiff drink and a large meal,’ he said. ‘The best restaurant seems to be the one on the roof, and so let’s head up there.’
The restaurant had two halves, one with a glass roof, one with no roof at all. As the weather was clement they settled here with a magnificent view over London. In the distance the setting sun blazed crimson as it drifted slowly down the sky.
‘It’s like watching a fire that you don’t have to be afraid of,’ she said in wonder.
‘Is there such a thing as a fire you need not fear?’ he asked.
He spoke lightly, even casually, but she thought she sensed tension beneath the tone.
Only because you’re listening for it, said her inner voice sternly. Be careful of getting paranoid.
‘What did you say?’ Marcel asked.
‘Nothing, I—’
‘It sounded like, “Sometimes paranoid is best.”’
‘Nonsense.’ She laughed edgily. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘I thought you did. Ah, here’s the waiter. Time for a celebratory supper.’
He ordered the best of everything, including champagne and caviar, seeking her opinion, deferring to her as if she were a queen.
Until your usefulness is ended, Smith reminded her in her mind.
Get lost! she told him.
‘What’s so amusing?’ Marcel asked, looking at her curiously. ‘You suddenly started to smile in a very mysterious way. Share the joke.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Ah, a private joke. They’re often the most interesting.’
‘Only while they stay private.’
‘I see. All right, I’ll back off—for the moment.’
Suddenly she came to a resolution. Clenching her hands beneath the table where he couldn’t see, she said, ‘There’s something I meant to ask you,’ she said.
‘Go on.’
‘When I fell against the tree, I thought I heard you call me Cassie. Who is she?’
He didn’t reply at once, only looked at her strangely, as though trying to make up his mind. With sudden devastating insight she saw herself through his eyes—the severe clothes, the flattened hair, the steel-rimmed spectacles. She could even hear his thoughts. How could I ever have thought this was her?
‘Just a girl I once knew,’ he said at last. ‘And you confused me with her? Am I like her?’ ‘Not at all,’ he said instantly. ‘The way she looked, the way she dressed—she gave herself to the world, at least—’ ‘Yes?’ she urged when he didn’t go on. ‘Nothing.’
‘She gave herself to the world, meaning I don’t?’ ‘I think you prefer to withdraw and hide deep inside yourself.’
She laughed. ‘That’s one way of putting it. You said I looked grim and forbidding, and recently someone said I looked like a prison wardress.’
‘To your face?’
‘No, he didn’t realise that I could hear.’ ‘You sound remarkably cheerful about it. Most women would be hurt or offended.’ ‘I’m not most women.’
‘Indeed you’re not. I’m beginning to understand that.’
‘In my job it’s an advantage if people think I’m dreary. They ignore me and overlook me, which is useful. You learn a lot when people have forgotten you’re there.’
‘But you’re not at work every hour. What about the rest of the time?’
She gave a carefully calculated shrug. ‘What rest of the time? Life is work, making a profit, turning everything to your advantage. What else?’
‘You say that but you don’t live by it, otherwise you wouldn’t let your family bleed you dry.’
She shrugged. ‘Their needs just mean that I have to make twice as much profit, be twice as determined to manage life my way. Eventually I’ll make so much money that I can afford to help them and become a financial tyrant.’
‘It has to be a tyrant, does it?’
‘They seem to be the kind that flourish best.’
‘Some people think there are other things that matter.’ He was watching her.
‘Some people are losers,’ she observed.
‘They certainly are,’ he said slowly. ‘No doubt about that. But not us. That’s true, isn’t it?’
‘That’s definitely true.’
The champagne arrived. Marcel filled both glasses and raised his. ‘I think we should toast ourselves. To us and what we’re going to achieve.’ They clinked.
‘I’m looking forward to the moment when you see La Couronne.’
‘Am I going to?’
‘Yes, I think we should head there as soon as possible. My lawyer here can deal with the formalities. When you’ve seen what there is in Paris you’ll be better placed to take charge in London.’
‘I must warn you that my French is very poor.’
‘Really? I thought such an efficient lady must be an expert.’
‘I know a few words—very limited—’
Mon seul amour, je t’aime pour toujours—
Words of passionate adoration that she had learned from him, and repeated with all her heart. To please him, as a surprise, she’d started to learn the language properly, but their parting had come before she could tell him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said now. ‘There are so many English tourists in Paris that I insist that all my employees speak the language.’
‘How long will I need to be in Paris?’
‘Several weeks at least. Is that a problem?’
‘No, but I shall need to sort out my affairs here. Perhaps I can take tomorrow off to make my arrangements.’
‘Very well. Do you have other relatives? I assume you have no children since your sister and her family take so much from you. But what about Mr Henshaw? Does he have no claims?’
‘None,’ she said shortly. She held out her glass. ‘Can I have another champagne?’
When Marcel had filled her glass she rose and went to the edge of the roof, leaning on the wall and looking down at London, where the lights had come on, glimmering in the darkness.
Mr Henshaw had never existed, although there had been a husband, one who still haunted her nightmares. She tried never to think of him and mostly succeeded, with that inner control that had become her most notable characteristic. But now events had brought him back so that he seemed to be there, infusing the air about her with fear and horror.
And there was no escape.
CHAPTER FIVE
LIFE with Jake had been a nightmare. He’d set his heart on marrying her and pestered her morning, noon and night. She’d refused, clinging to the hope that Marcel would come looking for her. Even after the agony of their last meeting she thought it might happen. He would suffer, lying in the darkness for long, sleepless nights, and during those nights the memories would come back to him. He would relive the joy of their youthful love, and at last he would realise that such love could never end in the way that theirs had seemed to. Then he would search for her, rescue her, and they would be together again.
But it hadn’t happened. Days had become weeks, weeks passed into months and the silence stretched ahead endlessly. At last she’d faced the truth. Marcel hated her. For him she no longer existed. There would be no reunion, no hope of future happiness.
In this state of despair all energy had seemed to leave her. She no longer had the vigour to fight, and when Jake had marched in one day, seized her hand and slid a magnificent engagement ring onto it, she simply stared and left it there.
After that he was shrewd enough to move fast, arranging the wedding for the soonest possible date and never letting her out of his sight. In only one matter did she find the strength to oppose him, declaring that she would not be married in church. It must be a civil ceremony only. She refused to insult any religious establishment with this mockery of a wedding. Jake didn’t care. As long as he claimed her it didn’t matter how.
The ring he gave he
r was a spectacular creation of diamonds and sapphires, clearly designed to be a trophy. It was Jake’s proof that he owned her.
The three years of her marriage were strange and haunted. He swore a thousand times that he was madly in love with her, and she came to believe that, in his own way, he was. He was cruel and egotistical, grasping whatever he wanted and careless of whom he hurt. But, like many selfish brutes, he had a sentimental streak. Cassie had a hold on his heart that nobody else could claim, and he took this as proof of his own humanity.
It gave her a kind of power, and she discovered that power could be enjoyable, especially when it was all you had. Jake’s eagerness to please her was ironic, but she could use it to make him give money to charity. She supported two particular charities, one for children, one for animals, and for them she extracted as much as she could from Jake.
Afterwards he expected to be repaid. ‘Now you’ll be nice to me, won’t you?’ he’d say, and she would yield to the night that followed, trying not to show her revulsion. What Jake called ‘love-making’ was so horribly different to what she had known with Marcel that it came from another universe, one where she had to endure being slobbered over and violated.
At first she tried to pretend that she was back in the arms of her true love, but the contrast was so cruel that she gave it up in sheer self-defence. Otherwise she would have genuinely gone mad.
It was almost a relief to become pregnant, and have an excuse to banish Jake from her bed. Slightly to her surprise he accepted her decision without argument. At the thought of producing the next generation his sentimental streak was asserting itself again, and he withdrew to protect her.
And now she could at least feel that life held out some hope for her. She would have a child to love, a purpose in life.
But after five months she miscarried. No doctor could tell her why. There had been no accident, no trauma. It had simply happened, leaving her staring into a blank future.
Hope came from an unexpected source. By chance she discovered that Jake had been playing around.
‘It’s not my fault,’ he defended himself. ‘It’s months since we could … well, it’ll be different now.’
‘Yes, it’s going to be different,’ she agreed. ‘I’m divorcing you.’
His howls of protest left her unmoved, and so did his threats.
‘If you want to destroy me, Jake, go ahead. What do you think is left to destroy? Do your worst. I don’t care.’
Perhaps it was the thought of how many of his disreputable secrets she’d learned that warned him to be cautious. But something made him cave in. Before he could change his mind she hurled back at him every expensive gift he’d ever given her, including the engagement ring. Then she moved out the same day.
He made one last attempt to persuade her to remain his wife. When that failed he tried to get her to accept a financial settlement.
She agreed to very little for the sake of her family, but took nothing for herself. ‘If I live off your money you’ll still think you control me,’ she told him. ‘And I want to forget that you ever existed.’
He paled. ‘You’re breaking my heart,’ he choked.
And he meant it, she thought afterwards. Oddly enough, this unpleasant man had a heart to break, where she was concerned.
But it left her untouched. She no longer feared him. All she felt was a heady sensation of power at having brought him down.
She rejected his name, calling herself Henshaw because it had been her mother’s maiden name, and using the ‘Mrs’ because she thought it made her sound older and more serious.
Refusing to live off Jake’s money satisfied her but left her penniless. There was no chance of returning to modelling, even if she’d wanted to. Most people would still have called her beautiful, but she felt her magic ‘something’ had vanished for ever. She’d taken any menial job she could get, using her free time to go to evening classes, studying business to the point of exhaustion. She’d emerged triumphant, going to work in a bank and climbing fast. She had never looked back.
Now she was near the top of the tree, trying to believe it had all been worth it.
But as she looked back at Marcel, sitting quietly, watching her, she was filled with such a rush of hostility that she could have struck him down and enjoyed doing it.
You could have saved me, she thought. If I’d known who you really were I’d have appealed to your father, and everything could have been different. Oh, why weren’t you honest with me? You could have saved me from Jake, from that terrible marriage, losing my child. You could have stopped me turning into a heartless robot, but when it happened I had nowhere to turn. Damn you!
‘What’s the matter?’ Marcel asked, rising and coming beside her. ‘You look upset.’
‘Not at all,’ she said brightly. ‘I was just enjoying the view and the fresh air.’
‘Come away from the ledge.’ He led her firmly back to the table and stood over her until she was seated.
‘Go on telling me about your life,’ he said. ‘What happened to your husband? Did you walk out on him?’
Like I did with you, you mean? she thought ironically. That’s what you’re thinking right now, although you won’t come out and say so.
‘Yes, I left him,’ she said. ‘But only because he was sleeping with someone else.’
Let’s see what you make of that! If you want revenge I’ve just given it to you. But is that what you want? If only I knew.
‘I hope he made some financial provision for you,’ Marcel said politely.
‘I wouldn’t let him. It would have given him a hold on me, and no man has that. Ever.’
‘When you finish with a man you really finish with him,’ he murmured.
‘It’s the only way.’ She gave a sharp, defiant laugh. ‘When I’ve finished with him, he no longer exists.’ ‘No looking back?’
‘Looking back is scary,’ she whispered. ‘It fills you with hate and makes you want to do things that you know you shouldn’t, so then the person you hate is yourself.’
She didn’t look at him as she said it. She didn’t dare. And his reply was so soft that another person might have missed it. But she was alive to everything about him, and she heard the quiet words with their ominous warning.
‘That’s very true.’
She glanced at him just in time to meet his eyes, but not in time to read their expression before he looked away. She waited, hoping that he would turn back to her and they might even find a way to talk. But his eyes were fixed on the distance and the silence between them was as deafening as a roar.
All around them the lights were sparkling, arranged in arches by the walls, with dainty lamps near the tables.
The atmosphere on the roof had changed, grown softer, sentimental. This was a place for romantic trysts, with lovers’ eyes meeting over the rims of wine glasses. Here there should be smiles of heartfelt understanding, unspoken promises of love. It was a world apart and anyone who did not belong in that world had no right to be here.
I don’t belong, she thought wearily. I did once. Not any more.
Nearby was a couple sitting close together. The man was middle-aged and heavy. The girl was about twenty, gorgeous and flaunting it. She might have been the young Cassie.
‘I guess there’s no point in me trying to talk to him tonight,’ said a male voice nearby. ‘Sorry,’ he added hastily, as Marcel and Cassie turned to look at him. ‘It’s just that I’d planned to talk business with that fellow.’
Marcel grinned. ‘No chance now.’
‘We should never have agreed to meet here. Too many good-time girls as a distraction. I gather this place is known for it. Everywhere you look there’s a lush female trying to seduce a man into parting from his money.’ He seemed to become aware of Cassie and hastily added, ‘Forgive me. Not you, of course!’
‘Of course,’ she said.
‘I mean you’re obviously a very … sensible … businesslike woman, and I didn’t mean to insult you.’
She regarded him with ironic humour. ‘You mean it’s quite impossible that I could ever lead a man down dark and dangerous paths? Some women would be more insulted by that than the other.’
‘Look I … put my foot in it. I apologise.’
He retreated in a flurry of embarrassment.
‘Well, you certainly made him sorry,’ Marcel declared.
She managed to laugh. ‘I did, didn’t I? His face!’
The man had gone to join the couple at the other table, talking wildly and making gestures, clearly explaining something to them. He glanced up, saw Cassie looking at him and gave her an embarrassed grin.
‘He’s terrified of me,’ she murmured to Marcel.
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Why should I mind? I don’t want to lead him down “dark and dangerous paths”. Hey, the girl’s looking at me now. I wonder if she’s taking warning.’
‘That your gaze might turn her to stone?’ Marcel hazarded hilariously.
‘No, that a woman can start out like her and end like me. Not that she’d believe it.’
She had a dizzying sensation of going too far. Surely now Marcel must be remembering the dark and dangerous paths down which they’d travelled together, and reading the truth in her eyes. But the time was not right. If things had been different she could have told him everything now, but that was impossible until he could bring himself to admit that he knew who she was.
And that day might never come.
Suddenly she doubted that she had the strength for this. She wanted to cry aloud and flee him. She even moved to rise from her seat, but his hand detained her.
‘Are you all right? You look troubled.’
His voice was gentle, his eyes warm and concerned. It was as though another man had taken him over, or perhaps lured him back to the past, and it was her undoing.
‘Look, I must go. It’s late and I’m tired—’
‘Of course. I’ll take you home.’
‘No!’ The word was almost violent. ‘No, there’s no need for that. I’ll be all right.’
‘I’ll tell Hotel Reception to send a car to the front for you. Then you’ll be free of me.’
