‘Hello,’ he said, and smiled, and her heart turned over and over like a tumbler turning somersaults.
She thought she wasn’t going to be able to say anything at first, and then she got out a husky, ‘Hello,’ and Tom turned round too.
Bianca couldn’t quite meet her son’s eyes. ‘Have you offered Mr Marquez a drink, Tom? Would you like some coffee, or something stronger? I think we may have some sherry somewhere.’
‘Coffee would be fine, thank you,’ Gil said, and his eyes had not moved from her for a second; she hoped Tom hadn’t noticed the way he was staring.
She flickered a look at Tom, and he was staring at her too, looking a bit pink; she knew he was upset because his ears were pink as well, and that was a sure sign with him. She had not shown a serious interest in a man since his father died and Tom was at that sensitive, half-boy, half-man stage where anything out of place or unexpected could embarrass; he was obviously taken aback to have a strange man arriving out of the blue to see his mother.
Tom still had a simple attitude to her. She was his mother! Why would she want another man, a life of her own? She had him, didn’t she?
‘Would you make the coffee, please, Tom, while I talk to Mr Marquez?’ she asked him, hoping he wouldn’t be difficult. She had to get him out of the room. She couldn’t talk frankly to Gil with her son there, listening to them.
Why had Gil come? She hadn’t thought he would do this; it had not entered her head that he would follow her. She had assumed he would just accept the fact that she had gone, and put her out of his mind.
‘Right,’ Tom said in his gruff, not quite grown-up voice, and stumbled out, making a lot of noise as he slammed the door behind him.
He’s angry with me! she thought, sighing, and then realised that the room was very still, yet reverberating with awareness. Her nerves prickled. She hurriedly looked at Gil and saw his eyes flash, the smile vanish from his face as if wiped off with an invisible hand. That was when she realised that Tom was not the only one who was angry with her. Gil was even angrier—his body was as taut as stretched wire, and his eyes glittered.
‘Did you really think I’d let you end it like that, without so much as a word?’
He took a step closer, and she felt her stomach sink as if she were in a lift which had suddenly gone out of control. Gil angry was frightening; he made the room seem suddenly very small. He looked oddly out of place here, in England; his tanned skin, black hair and light eyes made him look distinctly foreign under these cool grey English spring skies.
She fought to hide her nervousness; with men and dogs you had to pretend you were unconcerned and in control, especially when you weren’t. They were quick to pick up any uncertainty in you.
Lifting her chin, she defied him. ‘I wish you hadn’t come here,’ she said, and he laughed with bared teeth, taking another stride.
‘I bet you do! That’s why you ran away, isn’t it? You couldn’t actually face the thought of talking to me, admitting anything...’
‘There’s nothing to admit!’ she threw back, bristling like a frightened cat.
‘Liar,’ he said, moving closer again, and his grey eyes were violent—they seemed almost black. ‘You were scared so you ran away—don’t tell me there’s nothing to admit. I should have guessed you would try something like that, of course. I knew you were tied up in knots in your head.’
‘My head is none of your business!’ He had guessed how she felt, and that frightened her even more. She didn’t want him knowing what she was thinking or feeling. She needed the privacy of her own head; she didn’t want him invading it. It meant he knew too much about her.
‘Everything about you is my business,’ Gil said softly. ‘I’m in love with you.’
The blood seemed to drain out of her heart. She went white, then red, breathing fiercely.
She had never realised before how close to pain some joy could be; her body couldn’t sustain such anguish, she was afraid she would die of it, and yet she had never felt so alive.
‘I fell in love with you the minute I saw you on that balcony, staring down at me,’ she heard him say. The words seemed to come from a long way off; she gazed at him, fighting for breath. Gil reached out and framed her face in his hands, his palms warm against her skin. He looked passionately into her eyes and her own eyes darkened until she could scarcely see him.
She couldn’t fight it any more; she wanted him too much; just feeling his hands touching her sent her into a fever. She shut her eyes to shut out the world, reality, the fear which had been dominating her ever since that night in Spain. For one moment...just one moment...she had to give in to the way Gil made her feel. So she closed her eyes and sank into the darkness.
‘Oh, Bianca,’ Gil whispered, sending a shiver of desire down her spine. She was so afraid she was going to faint that she grabbed at his shirt to keep herself upright.
Touching him was a mistake. It was like lighting the fuse of a bomb; she felt the explosion right through her body, and so did Gil. She heard his intake of air, then his mouth hit hers.
Bianca shuddered, her palms flattening on his body, feeling the beating of his heart reverberating under her hands. She arched backwards, with his arm around her, kissing him back, her mouth parted, hungry. Her hands ran up his body and round his neck, closed on his nape, holding him. For the first time in days she felt real again, complete; Gil had somehow become necessary to her; without him she felt like someone who had had a limb amputated and was haunted by the absence of an essential part of herself.
But I’m forty! she thought with a pang of grief. I’m forty, and Gil’s only in his thirties. When he marries again he’ll want children, obviously; he hasn’t got any—
of course he’ll want some. And at forty the chances of my having another child aren’t very good. Possible, I suppose—women of forty do have babies—but it isn’t as easy a process at that age as it is when you’re in your twenties; problems are more likely to crop up. It’s far more tiring to be pregnant; you and the baby are more at risk. Oh, and even if I could have one quite safely, she thought, do I want to go through all that again? I’ve been along that road once, with Rob; I was the right age to do that then; it was all new and exciting, being a wife, having babies, bringing them up. But now Vicky is grown-up and Tom certainly isn’t a child any more. Do I really want to start again?
And what on earth would they think of their mother marrying again, having a baby? It’s simply ridiculous; it is out of the question. I had a wonderful marriage and a marvellous man—it’s greedy to ask for a second chance at love.
Her mouth was growing cold and stiff under his; she felt the excitement draining out of her. Gil broke off the kiss suddenly and caught her chin in one hand, tilting her head.
‘Open your eyes, Bianca. Look at me.’
Her lashes fluttered against her hot cheek. She shook her head.
Gil shook her slightly, his voice impatient, insistent. ‘Stop being such a coward—look at me! I want to see your eyes.’
Reluctantly she lifted her lids; her blue eyes were shadowed and dilated. Gil looked into them, his face just inches away.
‘I know what’s going on in your head, and it’s crazy. You love me, I know you love me—you couldn’t kiss me like that if you didn’t—but you’re so afraid to admit it that you’d rather ruin both our lives.’
‘We barely know each other!’ she whispered, tears behind her eyes. ‘Can’t you see how ridiculous it would be? We only met a fortnight ago! How on earth could I ruin your life by turning you down? This is just an infatuation, Gil, can’t you see that? Go back to Spain— you’ll soon forget you ever met me.’
His face darkened. ‘Will you forget me?’ he bit out, and she winced, trying to lie.
‘Of course I w...’
The words died in her throat; she could not utter them.
Gil nodded grimly. ‘You know you won’t. And I’m not going to forget I met you either, not if I live a hundred years.’
‘Don’t make light of what I feel, Bianca,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not going to let you do that. I made a mistake about my first wife—or maybe we were mistaken about each other. But this time it’s different. This time I’m absolutely sure it’s the real thing, Bianca—aren’t you?’
His grey eyes stared insistently into hers. She stared back, swallowing, dry-mouthed.
‘I may only have known you for a short time, but I’m certain you’re the woman for me, Bianca, and I even think I know why you’re trying to drive me away.’ He paused, then in a gentle voice added, ‘I understand, you know.’
A pulse beat at the side of her throat. ‘What are you talking about now?’
‘I understand what’s wrong,’ Gil said calmly. ‘What scared you off was that little swine attacking you in your apartment, wasn’t it? You got everything muddled up in your mind; suddenly you just wanted to get away from me. You were afraid of yourself and me—we’d moved too fast, maybe. But that was inevitable from the minute we met. I know I’d have jumped into bed with you the first day.’
She drew a shaky breath, her face burning.
Gil’s eyes challenged her. ‘Come on, admit it. I’m pretty sure you felt the same way.’
‘I’m not admitting anything!’ she mumbled.
He sighed. ‘If only you hadn’t gone into Marbella that first evening, been mugged—I’ve an idea everything would have been different if there had been no complications. But you confused what you felt for me with what that little thug tried to do to you. And that wrecked everything. I knew what was happening. I saw it in your face that night in your apartment when we caught him— I saw the way you couldn’t bear me to touch you. Why do you think I left you alone when you told me to go? Do you think I wanted to go? Don’t you think I was worried sick about you? I could tell what was going on in your head; it wasn’t difficult to work out. I realised I had to leave you alone to get over the shock of being attacked like that.’
‘Don’t keep talking about it!’ she broke out, shaking, icy cold as she remembered that night.
‘Talking about it is the only way you’ll get it sorted out in your head,’ he told her. ‘You should be having counselling, Bianca. You need to talk this out—a shock like that goes on echoing inside you for years if you don’t deal with the trauma. If you deal with it, it will fade, the way the bruises on your face have faded.’
He put a tender finger on her cheek, trailed it down to her mouth, followed the parted, sighing line of it.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered.
‘I love you—don’t send me away again,’ he said. ‘I’ve taken a fortnight off from the hotel, left my assistant in charge—give me a chance to get to know you better. Take some more time off; we’ll explore Kent and London, go to the theatre, take walks, talk, find out all about each other.’
‘I’m forty!’ she reminded him desperately, afraid that she was going to give in.
He laughed. ‘So you keep telling me. And I keep saying... so what? I’ll be forty myself before long.’
‘You’ll want to have children and I don’t think I want to go through all that again.’
‘If I wanted to marry someone just to have children I could have done it any time these past few years. I’m not obsessed with having a child; if you don’t want to have any, that’s fine by me. I’m not even asking you to marry me, Bianca. I’m only saying I want to get to know you better.’
She met his eyes. ‘You want to sleep with me—isn’t that what you’re saying?’
‘You know I do,’ he said huskily. ‘I won’t lie about that—I want you, I’ve said so, but not until you’re ready.’
‘And if I never am?’
He grimaced. ‘I’ll have to live with that, won’t I?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her gaze defiant.
‘All I ask is to see you every day while I’m here in England,’ he said softly, watching her mouth with a hunger that made her tremble.
She heard Tom coming and moved away from Gil in a hurry, sat down on the deeply upholstered couch just as the door opened and Tom walked in, concentrating on carrying a heavy tray which held cups and saucers, a coffee-pot, cream jug, sugar bowl, even a plate of biscuits.
He avoided looking at them, and laid the tray down on the coffee-table in front of the long couch.
‘Shall I pour it?’
‘No, I’ll do it,’ Bianca said, picking up the coffee-pot. ‘You only brought two cups, Tom.’
‘I don’t want any.’
He hovered, watching her fill a cup, add sugar but no cream to the strong black coffee which she offered Gil, who took it and sat down next to her.
‘This smells good,’ Gil said, and as he spoke there was the sound of a key turning in the front-door lock.
‘There’s Vicky,’ Tom said. ‘What about supper, Mum? I’ll start getting it ready if you tell me what we’re having.’
‘I was thinking of—’ she began, but Gil cut in.
‘Why don’t you choose for yourself tonight, Tom? I expect there’s lots of food in the fridge. I am taking your mother out to dinner.’
‘I can’t—’ began Bianca, but he interrupted.
‘Of course you can!’
‘I have to make supper for Tom and Vicky.’
‘Tom and Vicky are quite old enough to make supper for themselves,’ he said coolly, and smiled at Tom. ‘Aren’t you?’
Tom did not smile back; he glowered.
Unconcerned, Gil said to Bianca, ‘After all, they managed perfectly well while you were in Spain; why shouldn’t they do so tonight?’
Before she could answer him, Vicky came into the room and stopped dead, staring at Gil, her hazel eyes rounding into saucers.
‘You must be Vicky,’ Gil said, holding out his hand and smiling in a way that made her look even more startled. ‘Hello. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother—I’m Gil Marquez; your mother and I met in Marbella while she was staying there.’
Vicky shook hands, stammered something, then looked at Bianca as if her mother had suddenly grown two heads. She was only too obviously putting two and two together, and not far out with her guesswork.
‘I’m taking your mother out for dinner tonight; you two can manage without her for the evening, can’t you?’ Gil said with a cool authority which brought a murmur of agreement from her two children.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Vicky.
‘Mmm...’ Tom said a little sulkily, shrugging.
Bianca couldn’t argue with him in front of them. She got up from the couch. ‘I’ll go and change, then.’
‘Don’t be long or I’ll come and look for you,’ Gil said without caring what her children thought.
She gave him a furious look and hurried out. Upstairs she chose a dress he hadn’t seen, and was about to slip into it when there was a tap on her door.
‘Yes?’ she called warily.
‘It’s me,’ said Vicky.
‘Oh...’ Bianca sighed. She had hoped to avoid a discussion with her daughter until she got back later tonight, but obviously Vicky had no intention of waiting. ‘Come in,’ she added.
Vicky came in, closing the door behind her. She looked oddly younger suddenly, a little helpless, her mouth faintly prim, her hazel eyes accusing, as if her mother had behaved badly.
‘Who is he? You didn’t tell us you’d got involved with some Spaniard, and I bet I know why you kept him so quiet. Do you know anything about him? I mean, he probably thinks you’re a rich widow; he looks like a guy on the make to me!’
‘Vicky!’ Bianca laughed with impatience. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong! He has far more money than me and—’
‘Oh, you’re so naive,’ Vicky said crossly. ‘These men haunt holiday resorts just to pick up women like you. I mean, just look at him... all that tanned skin, that solid gold Carrier watch, and those clothes—you should know they’re high fashion. His suit’s
Armani, Mum! It will have cost an arm and a leg. And he’s too good-looking to be real; he has to be a phoney.’
‘He can afford Armani—he owned the hotel I was staying at!’ Bianca told her, and Vicky’s mouth dropped open.
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No, and it was one of the best luxury hotels in Marbella—there were about six swimming-pools in the garden complex, and it had its own private beach.’
‘And... he owns it?’ Vicky still wasn’t convinced.
‘Not only that, he’s building another one, down the coast, a luxury sports centre-cum-hotel. So forget any idea of him chasing me for your father’s insurance money or my shop. I’m not in the same league.’ Bianca looked at her watch. ‘Now, I want to get changed—out you go, Vicky.’
Vicky was staring at her fixedly, mouth open. ‘What on earth does he see in you, then?’
‘Go, Vicky,’ Bianca said, furious and laughing at the same time, and took her by the Shoulders and pushed her out of the room, locking the door behind her.
She took ten minutes to get ready and then stood in front of the dressing-table mirror in an agony of uncertainty, staring at her reflection.
Vicky was right, after all. What on earth did Gil see in her? What could he want with a forty-year-old mother of two who wasn’t sophisticated or witty or beautiful or rich?
Her blue eyes were as dark as the evening sky as she thought about it without coming up with any answer.
What did she want from Gil, come to that?
It was a mystery. She took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. She wanted him, that was all she knew. Maybe that was all Gil knew too?
She went slowly down the stairs and he stood at the bottom of them, watching her come, with an expression that made her shake with fever. Desire had its own reasons that the mind could not explain.
From the sitting-room her two children watched her and Gil, their faces baffled, disapproving, worried. Vicky and Tom loved her and were afraid she might get hurt, she thought, understanding. She was afraid of that too, but sometimes you had to take a leap into the dark.
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