by Sara Craven
‘I’m sorry,’ was all she could manage. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Yet, knowing that,’ Diaz went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘you encouraged me to—violate you. Why?’
She said, ‘Because I wanted you.’ Because I love you. I always have and always will.
Those unsayable words he would not want to hear. Therefore they went unsaid.
She took a deep breath. ‘I decided long ago that my first time was going to be with someone I’d always really fancied, who knew what he was doing. You fitted the template perfectly—and created the opportunity too. You can hardly deny that. So it was never a—a violation. I truly wanted it, and you must believe that.’
She added unevenly, ‘I thought being a virgin was simply a state of mind. I never dreamed there’d be—consequences.’
‘Apart, you mean,’ he said with chilling irony, ‘from the dangers of unprotected sex? You didn’t take those into consideration? The fact that there might be a real baby to be disposed of this time?’
She winced. ‘Don’t!’
Do you really imagine I’m capable of that? Especially if it’s your child involved? I’d rather die…
‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he demanded. ‘Taking part in some episode from that damned series? Making life up as you went along? Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me the truth about Simon Rawlins? Why did you let me think you were having an affair with him?’
For the first time she turned away from him, sheltering her naked body with the protection of her arms.
She said tonelessly, ‘Because it was what you wanted to think. My mother took your father away from your mother. I had to be the one to take Simon away from Carrie. History repeating itself. Another ideal template.’
‘No,’ he said. Then, more forcefully, ‘No, Rhianna, that makes no sense. You stood there and let me accuse you of being Simon’s secret mistress without one word in your own defence. How do you explain that?’
He paused. ‘You say you’ve always wanted me, but you went to great lengths to ensure we wouldn’t be together.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Our joint family history did that. Because if it had ever become known we were lovers, all the old stories about my mother would have been dragged out for another airing. Her memory doesn’t deserve that, whatever you believe.’ She paused. ‘Nor does your own mother, who is still around to be hurt. How would she feel if she knew you were sleeping with Grace Trewint’s daughter?’
She stared sightlessly ahead of her. ‘Maybe, unconsciously, when you started accusing me of being Simon’s mistress I saw it as a convenient get-out clause—a means of escape from an impossible situation. And, perhaps what happened just now is fate’s way of telling us that wanting each other still doesn’t make it right.’
She bit down on her already torn lip. ‘Would you go now, please? I—I’d rather be alone.’
‘Tough,’ Diaz said succinctly. ‘Because I’m going nowhere.’ He drew her back into his arms, swearing softly when he saw the expression of mute apprehension on her face. ‘No, darling, I’m not planning to try and have sex with you again. I just need to hold you.’ His mouth twisted. ‘You look as if you need that too.’
It was suddenly all too much—the misery and disappointment, the knowledge that inevitably there’d be more questions to come, more blame assigned. The certainty that any remaining flicker of hope was gone for ever. Yet now, almost from nowhere, this unexpected kindness.
Rhianna turned her face into his shoulder and could taste the salt of his sweat on her trembling lips as she wept softly and bitterly in the arms of the man who could never be her lover.
CHAPTER NINE
AS SHE cried, she was aware of his hand smoothing her damp, tumbled hair, and his voice murmuring to her in a language she dimly recognised as Spanish.
And in some strange way both seemed equally comforting.
At last he lifted her and put her back against the pillows.
He said, ‘I’m going to get you some water.’
‘I’m not thirsty.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But you’ve bled a little.’
Her face burned. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry,’ she muttered, totally humiliated.
‘Why?’ Diaz dropped a kiss on the top of her head. The kind of caress you’d offer a child. ‘I’m the one who feels like the biggest bastard in the known world.’
He reached for his shorts and zipped himself into them with a kind of finality.
When he returned from the bathroom she’d retrieved the towel from the floor and shrouded herself in it. She held out her hand for the cloth he’d brought, blushing again. ‘Please—I’ll do it.’
His hesitation was momentary, then he shrugged. ‘If that’s what you wish.’ He added levelly, ‘I assume it’s also another way of asking me to give you some privacy?’
She looked away, nodding jerkily, and thought she heard him sigh.
‘Then I’ll go,’ he said, and paused. ‘But it’s not over yet, Rhianna. We still have matters to discuss, you and I. You said so yourself.’
‘But that was—before. I—I don’t see what else you need to know,’ she protested.
‘Something quite simple really,’ he drawled. ‘It’s known as the truth.’
He walked to the door and halted, looking back at her, his mouth twisting in a faint smile. ‘Until later,’ he promised, and went, leaving her staring after him, her eyes stricken.
Once alone, she sponged the tell-tale spots of blood from the sheet, then took another quick shower. Half an hour later, her hair dry, her face made-up, buttoned into the coffee linen dress, she was curled into the corner of the sofa, considering her options.
Which were few, she admitted wryly, and singularly unappealing.
Diaz wanted the truth. But what good could it possibly do—especially now that the marriage had taken place exactly as planned?
And particularly since he knew beyond all doubt that she’d never been Simon’s mistress, or pregnant with his child. Why couldn’t that be enough for him? Why did he need more?
Because nothing had changed. There was still a bitter, devastated girl out there who needed her support, no matter how tired she herself might be of the entire situation. How angry and sick at heart.
‘Donna,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Donna Winston. Oh, God, I wish I’d never met her. Never known of her existence.’
At the time, of course, it had all made perfect sense. The young actress had just won the role of governess Martha Webb in Castle Pride, and had wanted to move out of the noisy, overcrowded flat she shared with three other girls. Rhianna had had a spare room, which she’d offered as a temporary solution, while Donna looked around for a place of her own.
And at first it had gone reasonably well. Donna was also an only child, and they’d been careful to respect each other’s space, although Rhianna had worked out fairly soon that the other girl, a year younger than herself, would probably never be a close friend. She was altogether too dependent, complaining constantly of being homesick, and spending a lot of time on the telephone to her parents in Ipswich.
One evening, after a hard day’s rehearsal, they’d dropped into a local pizza place, too tired to face cooking at the flat. They’d finished their meal and were about to order coffee when a man’s voice had said, ‘Good God, Rhianna, fancy seeing you here.’ She’d looked up to see Simon smiling at her.
It was far from the encounter of choice. She’d seen him several times when she’d been to Oxford, visiting Carrie, and had learned reluctantly to accept that they were very much an item again.
‘Isn’t this terrific?’ Carrie had said happily one weekend when the three of them had been picnicking by the river. ‘Just like old times.’
And Rhianna had seen Simon’s eyes rest on her with a faint sneer, as if he was remembering that night in the stable yard and daring her to do the same. After which she’d made a conscious effort to time her visits when he was elsewhere.
‘Simon—hi.’ She tried to sound pleasant, but not unduly welcoming. ‘Didn’t Carrie tell me you were in Glasgow?’
‘A temporary secondment,’ he said. ‘I came back a week ago.’ He looked at Donna, assessing the heart-shaped face and enormous brown eyes, and his smile widened. ‘Won’t you introduce me?
She did the honours briefly, then signalled to the waitress to bring the bill.
‘It seems we’re having coffee at home,’ Donna said with faint disappointment, then brightened, her eyes shining. ‘I know—why don’t you join us, as you and Rhianna are such old friends? Then you can catch up with each other’s news.’
‘I’d love to.’ He turned to Rhianna, brows lifting. ‘No objections, have you, sweet pea?’
Enough to fill a telephone directory, thought Rhianna.
‘Of course not,’ she said briskly. ‘Although it will have to be a flying visit, I’m afraid. Donna and I have an early start tomorrow.’
‘Well,’ Simon said softly, ‘instant coffee will be fine.’
She’d supposed afterwards that they must have swapped contact numbers while she was in the kitchen, because it had been within the following week that Donna’s unaccountable absences had first begun.
But even then the penny hadn’t dropped, Rhianna thought, because she’d seen Donna lunching in the canteen more than once with one of the assistant producers on the show, who was known to be something of a Lothario, and drawn her own conclusions.
I’m not her Mother Superior, she’d told herself, shrugging. If she wants to stay out all night with Hugh the Rover, she’s entitled. She just doesn’t seem the type, that’s all.
She might have remained in the dark indefinitely, their unwitting and witless accomplice, but for that opportune headache.
She’d waited in her room that night until she heard the door slam behind Simon, then she’d gone in search of Donna. She’d found her crouching in a corner of the sofa, her dressing gown thrown round her, clutching a damp ball of a handkerchief in one hand. She’d looked at Rhianna with drowned eyes.
‘I’m so—so sorry,’ she gulped.
‘Sorry?’ Rhianna repeated incredulously. ‘For God’s sake, Donna, Simon’s engaged to my best friend. The wedding’s only a couple of months away. You know that perfectly well. The invitation’s right there on the mantelpiece.’
Donna swallowed convulsively. ‘Yes, I know. And Simon’s told me all about it—how they were childhood sweethearts. But he’s not going to go through with the wedding,’ she added defiantly. ‘He can’t. Because he’s fallen in love with me.’
‘No,’ Rhianna said bluntly. ‘You’re fooling yourself. Simon may be enjoying a bit on the side, that’s probably the way he is, but he won’t let Carrie go—not when push comes to shove. I can guarantee that. So stop this now, before you, and other people get hurt.’
‘You’re just jealous.’ Donna rounded on her tearfully. ‘You wanted Simon yourself years ago, and you made a really heavy pass at him. But you were found out, and as a result you got turned out of your own home by your aunt. He’s told me all about it.’
‘Then he’s lied,’ Rhianna told her icily. ‘Not that it matters. You disgust me, the pair of you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’ll have to move out, Donna. I can’t let you stay after this.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ Donna demanded sullenly. ‘Spill the beans to your little friend, I suppose?’
‘On the contrary,’ Rhianna returned curtly. ‘I’m simply going to wait for Simon to come to his senses.’
Donna flounced past her to the door. She was gone within the hour—presumably to Simon. Rhianna didn’t ask, and could only look forward to when the final episode of the current series was finished, and they didn’t have to encounter each other on set any more.
Even so, she had to listen to the girl bragging about her gorgeous, sexy boyfriend, and how he was paying for her to meet up with him in Nassau.
Was Donna aware that she was simply an add-on to Simon’s stag party in the Bahamas? Rhianna wondered wearily. And if so, did she care?
And then, several weeks later, Donna made that sudden unwanted reappearance back at the flat, confessing in floods of hysterical tears that she was pregnant, and that Simon had done a total and brutal about-face, telling her the affair was over and that she had to get rid of the baby.
‘You were right about him,’ she sobbed to Rhianna when they were alone. ‘You said he’d marry her in the end. But I still love him. I can’t bear to think of life without him. And how can he tell me not to have our child?’
Quite easily, Rhianna thought, when he’d never seriously considered relinquishing his commitment to Carrie. For him the baby was just a temporary inconvenience, to be dealt with swiftly and expediently.
The last thing she’d expected was to find herself dragged unwillingly into Simon’s battle with Donna over the proposed termination, or to face its damning effect on her relationship with Diaz.
After the evening when he’d found her with Simon and walked out, she’d heard nothing from him for nearly two aching, unhappy weeks.
Then she’d gone to an opening night party for a friend from drama school in her first West End role, and Diaz, to her amazement, had been the first person she saw as she entered the room.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her heart jolting painfully as he reached her side.
‘I got a journalist friend to speak to your PR company,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘They said you’d be here, so I wangled an invitation.’
She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier just to telephone me?’
‘I tried that,’ he said grimly. ‘And I spoke to your flatmate who was doing her ongoing impression of a watering can. Something told me you might not get my message, so I decided to find a different way to make contact with you.’
Rhianna hesitated. ‘Donna’s not living with me,’ she said. ‘She comes round to see me because she’s not—very happy.’
Not happy? She’s totally hysterical most of the time, still threatening to harm herself. Sometimes I dare not let her be by herself…
‘You amaze me,’ he said. ‘God preserve me from ever being in the vicinity when she’s totally miserable.’
I wish I could tell you about it, she thought passionately. I wish I could go into your arms and unload the whole, horrible sordid mess and ask you to deal with it, because it’s getting beyond me.
Yet I can’t—I dare not. For Carrie’s sake. Because even if you didn’t half-kill Simon, you’d certainly do everything possible to stop the wedding, which would break her heart.
And it’s still just possible that something can be saved from the wreckage, if I can just persuade Donna that Simon really isn’t coming back. That even if the baby doesn’t wreck her career, being a single mother in a chancy profession like acting isn’t a sensible option. And besides, as she’s said herself through floods of tears, it would destroy her mother.
Simon doesn’t deserve Carrie, but maybe marriage will change him. Who am I to say that it won’t? Maybe this thing with Donna has given him the scare he so badly needs, and he really will behave himself from now on?
I have to try and believe that, anyway.
She looked away from Diaz’s intent gaze, afraid he would read the uncertainty and trouble in her eyes. ‘Did you have something in particular that you wanted to say to me?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I need to apologise for my total overreaction the other night. I have no excuse except that Simon Rawlins has never been my favourite person.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Frankly, I find it hard to trust him.’
Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, God, if you knew. If you only knew…
She said in a low voice, ‘Perhaps trusting isn’t that big a deal where you’re concerned?’
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‘I’d deny that,’ he returned, unfazed. ‘And so, I think, would the majority of my loyal and devoted staff around the world.’ He paused. ‘On the other hand they’d also tell you I don’t cope well with being thwarted, although I appreciate that’s no excuse for behaving like a bear with a sore head.’
She studied his waistcoat buttons with minute attention. ‘Is that what you were? Thwarted?’
‘Yes,’ he said, his eyes lingering on her mouth. ‘As you know perfectly well, my sweet, so don’t play games.’
She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t think I know very much about you at all.’
‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘with your co-operation, I’m hoping to change all that.’
She looked back at him then, her eyes wide and candid. ‘Do you think that’s wise—given past history?’
‘I wasn’t considering wisdom,’ he said. ‘I had sheer necessity in mind. I thought you felt that too.’ He allowed her an instant to digest that, then added more roughly, ‘I’m not pretending it’s going to be easy, Rhianna, but we’d be crazy not to try.’
‘Or die in the attempt?’ She tried to smile.
‘I’d much prefer to live,’ he said quietly. ‘And with you.’ He paused, glancing round. ‘But there are a lot of people who also want to talk to you looking daggers at me, so don’t answer me now. But soon—please.’
He reached for her hand and kissed it, his lips grazing the softness of her palm, making her whole body shiver.
She wanted to say, ‘Take me with you. Take me—now.’ But he was already turning away, and she could see an influential director bearing purposefully down on her, so realised she must wait for the glimpse of paradise that Diaz had offered her. The dream of joy, secretly nurtured for so long, and now astonishingly, incredibly, within her reach once more.
And she greeted the director with a smile so radiant that he almost jumped back in surprise.
She’d assumed that Diaz would stick around until they could leave together, and her heart sank when she suddenly realised that he’d already gone. Slipped away into the night at some point while she was talking to Helen, the euphoric lead in an undoubted hit.