by Daphne Clair
'Have you seen a doctor?' Morris asked when he had assimilated the fact that she was telling him she was too sick to go on tour. 'What sort of bug is it? 'Flu?'
'I guess so,' she said cautiously. `Look, I'm sorry, Morris. I know it's making things awkward for you—'
'Awkward! Cade's going to be—'
'Relieved, probably,' she said rather cuttingly. 'Since he wrote that clause into his contract, things have rather changed:
'Well, maybe, but I still think he's going to be mad—'
'Let him be,' Carissa said crisply. 'He can't do anything about it, and he certainly can't blame you. I'm sick, and I can't come, and that's that. I'll get back to the office as soon as I can, but no tour.'
She didn't get dressed because if Morris decided that Sandra could be trusted to take her place, he might take it into his head to come round with flowers or fruit for the invalid. She occupied herself brushing her hair after she had showered and put on a flowered cotton brunch coat, and experimenting with different styles, but her fingers were clumsy and in the end she let it hang loose about her shoulders. The clock moved slowly to take-off time, and her nerves were jumpy with tension.
She tidied the flat and tried flipping through a magazine that her flatmate had bought the day before, but there was still half an hour to go.
The fridge needed cleaning, she noticed, as she took out some milk to make a cup of tea. Not that she really wanted the tea, but it would fill in a few more minutes.
'She made it slowly and drank it, then decided to
clean the fridge. With an apron tied over the brunch coat she emptied the contents on to the bench, filled a bowl with warm water and got down on her knees to start cleaning the shelves.
When the doorbell rang she stayed there for a few seconds, her eyes flying to the clock on the wall. Takeoff time, exactly. She must be safe, now.
She put the bowl on the floor and pulled off the apron, going slowly towards the door and pulling the kitchen one to behind her.
When Cade strode into the flat she must have paled with shock, because he looked at her critically and said,
'Maybe you are sick, at that. I didn't believe Morris when he told me.'
'You're supposed to be on the plane ! ' she exclaimed. 'What are you doing here?'
'I came to fetch you,' he said. You're supposed to be on the plane, too, remember?'
'But—Morris told you
'Yes. When we got to the airport. Did you ask him not to tell me until then that you weren't coming?' 'No.'
'You've got your colour back,' he said. Suddenly moving closer, he put a hand to her forehead, then cupped her chin. "Flu, he said. You don't have a fever, your eyes are clear, your voice is normal. Why don't you want to come?'
`You can't want me to, really—'
'Let me decide what I want!'
`How I wish you'd return the favour!' she said bitterly. 'All right, I don't have 'flu. But I don't feel too bright, either.'
`Have you eaten this morning?'
She shook her head. 'I had a cup of tea.'
He looked around, then pushed open the door of the kitchen. 'Is this the kitchen?' He looked back at her, saying, make you something,' and must have seen the guilt on her face. He swung round and saw the bowl on the floor, the open door of the refrigerator, the food spread on the bench. `Do you always decide to spring-clean when you're feeling ill?' he asked bitingly.
'I'm not spring-cleaning,' she said weakly. 'The fridge needed—oh! Leave me alone! '
'I'll clean this up and get you something to eat while you pack,' he said, quietly but implacably. 'You'd better hurry. They're waiting for us.'
After a moment, she obeyed. For some reason he was determined she was going to come, and at the moment
she had no fight left in her.
She packed with neat haste, well used to it. Then Cade stood over her while she forced down mouthfuls of a surprisingly good omelette and drank another cup of tea under his watchful eye. As she was sipping it he said, 'jack said he told you, about Rita. I meant to do that myself.' '
She shrugged with a show of indifference. 'It doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with me—I only make the bookings.
He tensed, and she knew she had made aim angry again. 'Don't you care?' he asked harshly.
'No.' She put down the cup and got up. 'The trouble with you is, you're too used to having your own way, and too accustomed to having a bevy of adoring women about you. Well, Rita obviously adores you—I should have thought that would be enough. Why must you drag me along on this dreary tour as well?'
His lips thinned, he said, 'For Rita's sake. She's the only woman in the party if you don't come, She needs a feminine companion.'
Carissa blinked, then gave a scornful little laugh. 'Good heavens, you're not telling me a girl of her sort needs a chaperone?'
She was totally unprepared for the sudden swing of his hand, the sting of his palm against her cheek.
The blow made her sway and clutch at the table, staring at him from a white face with disbelieving eyes. He looked pale, too, pale and furiously angry, his eyes glittering with temper.
'Say what you please about me,' he snapped. 'But keep your vixen's tongue off Rita, understand?'
She supposed it had been a waspish thing to say. She swallowed, wanting to tell him she hadn't meant it, to apologise. But tears threatened to overwhelm her, and-her throat tightened on the words and wouldn't let them out.
Cade ordered, 'Get your things.
Blindly she turned and went into the bedroom, scribbled a hasty note for her flatmate and picked up her case. She didn't dare suggest washing the dishes before they went. She would just have to apologise to Cathy for leaving them when she got back.
They sat in total silence in the back of a taxi all the way to the airport, and just before they got out Carissa furtively took a quick peep into her compact mirror. Her cheek still tingled, but it didn't show. She looked a little pale and very composed, and was glad of that.
Morris was there, looking slightly bewildered and a little harassed. He kissed Carissa's cheek as he greeted her, casting a curious glance at the remote cast of Cade's face and whispering to her, 'Are you okay? What's with you two, anyway?'
She tried to smile, but her mouth felt tight. `Mr Fernand just likes his own way,' she said. 'He's set on that contract being fulfilled to the letter.'
`Look, Carrie, if you're really sick, I'll talk to him,' Morris offered. 'He can't insist—he seems to think you're swinging the lead.'
`It's all right, Morris,' she said wearily. 'He'd insist on calling a doctor, who would say there's nothing wrong with me. And then he'd sue you, or walk out on the tour. Don't worry, I'll survive. Look after the store while I'm gone.'
She left him standing and walked past Cade without .looking at him, to board the plane. Morris wasn't the only one looking puzzled and curious. She dared not look at Rita, who must be wondering, surely ...
Jack was sitting by a window, and she sank down beside him, watching Cade usher Rita into a seat. Rita did look perturbed, and Carissa's heart sank as she watched her quick, ,murmured speech and agitated gestures, and saw the sardonic mockery in the tight smile that accompanied Cade's single, brief reply.
Rita's eyes went huge and hurt and she turned to look out of the window as the plane shook, roared and began gathering speed down the runway.
Cade really was a selfish, heartless beast, Carissa thought angrily.
She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep until they landed at Wellington, sweeping in down the runway close to the harbour and alighting into the chilling teeth of a typical Wellington wind.
Their hotel was in Oriental Bay, the crescent-shaped beach with its steeply rising background of well-populated hillside reminiscent of Hongkong, and the rooms had views over the water. There was a photograph in the lobby of the foundering of the Wahine, the ferry which some years ago had sunk in a storm with the loss of fifty-two lives, while the people of Wellington looked on
helplessly from the shore.
'My husband took that photo,' the proprietress told them with a mixture of pride and remembered horror. 'From one of our windows.'
Carissa looked away, and caught Cade's eyes on her, hard and speculative. They were taken up to their rooms, and she took the first single one, longing to get . away from the others. It was as her case was being sorted out from the rest of the luggage on the baggage trolley that she saw the label on one of the smart new blue leather case's that made up a matching set of three. Rita Franklin.
She took her bag and thanked the man and closed the door of her room before she allowed herself to take in the implication.
Rita Franklin, the tag had said. Franklin was the name Cade used when he wanted to be incognito. Presumably his real name. As though her mind was trying to ward off the shattering knowledge, she doggedly pursued each logical step, one at a time. Franklin was Cade's name. Rita was travelling under Cade's name.
Women who were merely living with a man these days didn't bother to assume his name—and besides, it would be illegal to use a passport with a false name, wouldn't it?
Rita Franklin. Mrs Rita Franklin, of course. They were married. Cade was married.
She unpacked and stowed some of her clothes in the small closet in the corner, then stood at the window, looking out at the grey water, and tried to think of nothing at all. She hardly realised that she was crying until there was a tap on the door, and she turned, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks as Rita opened the door.
The other woman looked concerned. 'Cade sent me to see if you were all right,' she said. 'What's the matter?'
'Nothing,' said Carissa. 'I'm fine really.'
After a moment's silence Rita said, 'Cade can be a bit of a brute, sometimes, even to me. He doesn't seem able to make up his mind if you're really unwell, or just pretending. He went off in a towering rage to fetch you, and he nearly bit my head off, in a nasty, sarcastic way, when I suggested he'd been a bit harsh with you. Most of the time, he's terribly good to me, and I can take his occasional flashes of temper. I had much worse than that from my ex-husband. But you're not as tough as I am—'
.'It has nothing to do with Cade,' Carissa lied valiantly. 'I was—I was looking out the window and thinking of the Wahine.'
Rita looked sceptical for a moment, then she transferred her gaze to her hands, sitting on the bed as though she meant to stay, and said, 'Oh, yes. The leader of the backing group has just been telling us about it. It was a terrible disaster, wasn't it? Did you know anyone who was on the ship?'
'No. But the news and the papers were full of it for
days—all the details. I Was at an impressionable age. Being here, and the picture in the lobby, just brought it all back.'
'Well, there's a bit of a party going on in Cade's suite. We had drinks brought up. Why don't you join us, and cheer yourself up?' Carissa hesitated, and Rita said, 'Come on, honey. Rinse your face and, put on some make-up. It'll make you feel better, And maybe Cade won't be quite such a bear, either.' She grimaced, laughing.
Carissa took her advice. It would do no good to remain skulking in her room, and at least there was safety in numbers. She had to face Cade again some time, and it should be easier in a room full of people.
They went into the suite together, and from across a room which seemed full of young men with glasses in their hands, and some with guitars on their knees, as they lounged about the chairs or the floor, Cade looked over at them, and his face softened as he smiled.
That's how he looks for Rita, Carissa told herself painfully, as Rita drew her into the room. Jack and another man got up from a small sofa and the two women sat down side by side, while Jack went to get them drinks.
But it was Cade who brought them over, smiling at Rita, the smile still lingering as he turned to Carissa and murmured, 'Feeling better?'
`Quite a lot, thanks,' she answered, and found her gaze caught and held by his. The enigmatic look was gone, and he seemed to be trying to look into her mind, as though he wanted badly to know what she was thinking.
Then someone called him and he turned away.
The drink warmed her, and she did feel a little less bleak. The group's drummer, a young man she knew slightly, sank down at her feet and began to talk to her while Rita chatted with Jack Benton and another
man. Someone began to play the guitar, and several voices joined in singing. The drummer persuaded her to dance, and Rita was pulled to her feet by someone else.
The party broke up with the sound of the dinner gong. In the dining room the drummer pulled out a chair at a table for two and Carissa was glad. He was making a mild play for her, and she didn't mind Anything that would remove her from Cade's immediate vicinity was welcome just now.
She kept her eyes averted from the table where Rita was seated with Cade and Jack Benton, and tried to concentrate her attention on the young man who was trying to capture it.
She even went to the bar with him afterwards and had a few drinks, sipping them very slowly to make them last. Two other members of the group came in and they sat and talked for a couple of hours before she excused herself, tactfully declining the drummer's offer to accompany her.
She was at the door of her room when-Cade's door swung open and he came into, the corridor. She hastily turned the handle and was already shutting the door behind her when his striding step brought him to it, and he pushed it wide again, stepping into the room.
`You've been long enough,' he said, as the lock clicked behind him.
'I don't remember inviting you in.'
'I want to talk to you. You seem to have made a remarkable recovery.' Carissa's cheeks were warm from the crowded bar and the three drinks, and her eyes held a sparkle of temper.
`Therapy,' she said sarcastically, remembering the sting of his hand on her cheek this morning, his overbearing tactics to get her on the plane.
But Cade totally misunderstood. 'Oh, yes,' he draw-
led. 'The young drummer—sweet words and handholding.'
There hadn't been any handholding, at least not for longer than it took her to remove her hand from the boy's hold when he tried it, but after opening her mouth indignantly to deny it, she decided the quickest way to persuade one man she wasn't interested in him might be to pretend an interest in another. So she shrugged, and allowed her mouth to curve into a small smile, and let him think what he liked about that!
It seemed Cade didn't like it much. His mouth went grim, and he didn't speak for a minute.
Coolly, she enquired, 'Was there some problem with the arrangements, Mr Fernand?'
His suddenly narrowed eyes should have warned her, but his hands biting into her shoulders, jerking her close to him, were totally unexpected. Her gasp of shock was cut -off by his mouth, descending cruelly against her lips, forcing her to part them to a ruthless, seeking kiss that made the blood pound in her ears.
He was hurting her, and she made a small protesting sound in her throat, trying to push him away, with her hands against his hard chest.
Cade captured her hands in his, releasing her shoulders, imprisoning her wrists in one hand behind her, bringing her body even closer to the demanding warmth and hardness of his. His mouth softened a little and began moving on hers almost coaxingly, demanding response instead of mute, resentful submission. Her whole body ached with need, with the desire to forget everything but Cade's mouth, his hands, the fulfilment that the pressure of his body against her promised. Almost imperceptibly, resistance was melting away, she was pliantly moulded against his hardness, her soft mouth dinging to his.
She felt his fingers slide down the zip at the back of her dress, then his hands eased the bodice off her
shoulders. His thumbs lowered the straps of her bra and his mouth left hers and began kissing her throat and moving softly over her shoulders.
She wanted him so much, but still her mind bothered her with thought, with the knowledge that this was wrong. She moved her hands against him again, worried
ly but without conviction. 'Cade,' she whispered. 'Cade—we musn't—what are you doing?'
'Making sure you never Mr Fernand me again,' he muttered, lifting his mouth only an inch from her throat, so that his breath caressed it warmly as he spoke. Then he lifted his head and looked into her eyes, and his were brilliant with passion and a hint of laughter. 'Call it therapy,' he said, and kissed her again, his hands on her bared shoulders, slowly moving over them and down her back. Reluctantly, she pulled her mouth away and said, 'Cade, was this what you meant—when you said you wanted to talk?' She wished she had stuck to just one drink. Her brain was muzzy.
'No.' He kissed her temple and softly trailed his lips down the curve of her cheek to the corner of her mouth. 'But what the hell ... Every time we 'talk we fight.' He kissed her mouth softly, teasingly. His fingers fumbled with the fastening of her bra, and he murmured, 'I was going to-talk first and make love later, but I think I prefer dais way ...'
Ste put one hand behind her and captured his fingers, bringing his hand down to her waist. 'What were you planning to talk about?' she asked him softly.
'You and me,' he answered, his mouth moving gently against hers. 'And Rita.'
Her body was burning with sweet desires, but Rita's name brought a sudden chill, an utter stillness to its fevered trembling.
'Rita,' she said in a steady, cool little voice. 'Yes. Perhaps we should have talked about Rita.
Suddenly she felt very ashamed.
Cade muttered, 'Not now!' And his fingers eluded hers and moved across the skin of her back with purpose. 'The hell with Rita—with everyone.'
But she suddenly wrenched away from him, her face burning with shamed humiliation. How casually he had dismissed his wife, she thought sickly. And how ready she had been to help him betray Rita. 'You're absolutely despicable! ' she muttered, her voice low and husky with emotion. Shaking fingers pulled her dress about her, and found her zip.