Prisoner Of Passion

by Lynne Graham

  She felt mean and she acted accordingly. ‘Tell me about your ex-wife.’

  The strong muscles in his arms drew taut. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Her name… that would be a start.’

  ‘Margarita.’

  ‘And then maybe you could tell me why you’re so bitter,’ she dared.

  ‘I am not bitter.’

  ‘Do I remind you of her?’

  ‘Not at all. She was small, black-haired, blue-eyed.’

  ‘Beautiful?’

  ‘Stunning.’

  ‘You could ease up on the superlatives if you like,’ she told him. ‘So how did you meet?’

  ‘A nightclub. She was an actress but I had no idea how ambitious she was. In fact I never really knew her at all,’ he admitted flatly. ‘I was twenty, she was two years older. I didn’t know the difference between love and sexual obsession. At that age everything feels so intense. When she told me she was pregnant I married her.’ ‘Yes,’ she whispered softly.

  ‘Once he was born, Margarita dropped any pretence of wishing to be a mother and went back to the film world,’ he said drily. ‘I tried very hard to make the marriage work. Everyone had told me I was making a mistake. I was determined to prove them wrong … and I trusted her.

  ‘Even when I found her in bed with another man I didn’t realise that he was one of many. She would have slept with anyone capable of furthering her career. She was drunk that night. She told me how many others there had been. The next morning she moved out and moved in with her producer. I instigated the divorce…’

  ‘What else could you have done?’ Bella leant her head back against him, understanding all that he had left unsaid. He had been used, kicked in the teeth and dumped. She waited for him to mention the little boy again, realised that he hadn’t even referred to him by name, and also that he had not told her that that child had not been his.

  ‘Margarita made it a battle, and she revelled in the publicity until it turned on her,’ he drawled. ‘Her career nosedived after the divorce. Nobody came out of it happy.’

  Had he still been in love with his ex-wife? His grim intonation suggested regret to Bella. Regret for what? She wanted to probe deeper but resisted the temptation. She knew that she would drag it all out of him eventually. But now, she sensed, was not the time.

  ‘But I learnt a lot from Margarita,’ Rico murmured with satire.

  Nothing good, Bella thought. He didn’t trust women. He was always looking for ulterior motives. He didn’t believe in permanence. And marriage for him had been a destructive trap from which he had gained nothing. But one truth he had spoken. He had said that he wasn’t bitter and on that count she believed him. He had come to terms with that part of his past.

  Why, then, did she sense that there was a whole lot missing from what he was telling her? He had glossed over the subject of the child. But then he wasn’t that fussed about kids anyway, was he? In a marriage as bad as that, and as short-lived, it might well have been a relief not to be linked to his ex-wife by a tie as unbreakable as that of a child.

  ‘What did you learn?’

  He settled back on the lush meadow grass and looked down at her, scanning her vibrant face with glittering dark eyes. ‘That I don’t have to get married to enjoy myself. That what we have here, now, is far more exciting than being welded together by an empty contract full of promises destined to be broken. If we stay together it will be a free and uncomplicated choice—’

  ‘Nothing’s that uncomplicated.’

  ‘Trust me… I trust you,’ he breathed, lowering his dark head. ‘I know you took a risk on me. I know this wasn’t your dream. This has to be the first time in my life that a woman hasn’t wanted anything from me but myself.’

  ‘And I’m only after your body, so you can feel safe.’

  With an appreciative grin he slid a hard thigh between hers, pinning her in place, studying her slumbrously from beneath the thick veil of his black lashes. ‘When you look at me like that you fill me with uncontrollable lust, gatita mia.’

  ‘But then that doesn’t take much,’ she muttered, dizzily drowning in his intent gaze as he shifted fluidly against her, letting her feel the hard thrust of his arousal.

  Bella was down at the stableyard one morning when she was told that a visitor was waiting to see her. Returning to the house, she stilled in the doorway of her studio, taut with disbelief at the sight of a complete stranger calmly leafing through her paintings. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded sharply. ‘Who are you?’

  The man straightened, seemingly unaware of his offence, and crossed the room. He extended a polite hand. ‘Dai Matheison… Rico asked me to pay you a visit next time I was in the area.’

  Rico had asked him? Bella’s face froze. ‘The Matheison Gallery, right?’ she murmured, mentioning the prestigious gallery with distinct coolness.

  ‘Try not to hold it against me.’ Shrewd blue eyes read her taut facial muscles.

  ‘Rico didn’t tell me you were coming.’ She wanted to leap up and down with sheer rage and embarrassment. How dared Rico humiliate her like this? Unknown artists did not receive personal visits from the owner of the Matheison Gallery.

  ‘Between you, me and the gatepost,’ Dai Matheison said drily, ‘I didn’t want to. But if what I have so far managed to see is a sample of your work Rico did us both a favour. I’m doing an exhibition in late September. I’m willing to include you if you’re interested.’

  Her teeth gritted. ‘Thank you but I don’t think—’

  ‘Rico may be a friend, but don’t insult me by assuming that I would issue such an invitation on that basis alone,’ he cut in smoothly. ‘If I didn’t think you were worthy of my gallery’s reputation, Miss Jennings, God Himself would not persuade me otherwise.’

  Bella reddened, sharply disconcerted. ‘I—’

  He handed her a card. ‘Call me if you’re interested and don’t leave it too late. I need an answer soon.’

  ‘Mr Matheison, I’m sorry—’

  ‘Not half as sorry as I am.’ He smiled with rueful amusement. ‘I was looking forward to shooting Rico down in flames. But after what I’ve seen here I shall have to grit my teeth and say, Thank you for the tip. You’re even more talented than he said you were.’

  He was gone before she could gather her wits again. In one explosive stride she reached the nearest phone and dialled Rico’s private number.

  ‘Did you remember to call the caterers?’ he asked straight off, reminding her about the party he was planning to hold in a fortnight’s time.

  ‘Yes. Dai Matheison has just been here!’

  There was a moment of silence.

  ‘And?’ he responded calmly.

  ‘And nothing, Rico! How dare you do that to me?’

  ‘I have other contacts.’

  ‘Stuff your bloody contacts!’ she hissed. ‘If you must know, he’s willing to show me, but that’s not the point—’

  ‘That was exactly the point,’ Rico interrupted with unhidden satisfaction.

  ‘You had no right to interfere.’

  ‘You and your giant insecurity complex were likely to avoid the issue into the next century,’ he informed her. ‘So I took care of it for you.’

  His lack of remorse only inflamed her more. In all her life she had rarely felt so mortified as Rico had made her feel. ‘You humiliated me,’ she condemned shakily. ‘And if you can’t see that, then there’s not a lot of hope for us!’

  ‘Be brief, Bella,’ he sighed, refusing to take her seriously. ‘I have two diplomats waiting to see me.’

  ‘I make my own breaks. I don’t need you to pull the strings for me. Dai Matheison didn’t want to come here. He thought he was coming to see your little bimbo’s etchings—’

  ‘Now he knows differently,’ Rico returned with exasperated unconcern. ‘Tell me, is there a point to this howling melodrama? You should be grateful I had that amount of faith in you. I told you I’d be your patron—’

  ‘
You just can’t accept what I give!’ she accused in stark distress. ‘You’re not happy unless you think you’re paying for what I do in bed!’

  ‘Bella, no man in his right mind would pay for this. I’ll call you from Edinburgh.’ The assurance was icy cold. The phone went dead.

  Throwing herself face down on a sofa, she burst into floods of tears, shocking herself. She felt out of control, desperately hurt, desperately confused.

  They had been together for three and a half wonderfully happy weeks. But sometimes she got scared; sometimes she admitted to herself that temperamentally she was not cut out for a relationship in which she could not say openly, honestly, I love you. She guarded her tongue more and more. It had become harder to keep up the free-and-easy sallies that demanded nothing, asked for no reassurance, never mentioned the future. And all of a sudden Bella knew that she was facing up to the reality of their relationship.

  Rico didn’t want any more from her. He wanted her passion, not her love. She felt like somebody squeezed into a box that was becoming suffocating. Holding her emotions back didn’t come naturally to her. The longer she held them in, the more dangerous they felt. On the surface everything was fine but underneath she was always waiting for the ice to crack and plunge her into the icy water of disaster.

  She rubbed absently at her aching breasts and then realised what she was doing. What on earth was wrong with the stupid things? Maybe it was the weight she was putting on—too many regular meals, too much rich food. It was time she went to a doctor. But look on the bright side, she reflected; at least you weren’t pregnant. Not that she had had much literal proof to the contrary, but a few tiny spots of that very light period had released her from her growing anxiety.

  As she sprang upright a wave of dizziness left her light-headed. Stress, she decided. Rico was bad for her nerves. Stupid of her to start a row on the phone, though, especially when he wouldn’t be coming home until tomorrow. But then she had had every right to be angry. Rico had no right to ride roughshod over her wishes. Maybe he was keen to make her more socially acceptable, she thought bitterly. His live-in partner, the artist… no longer an undiscovered talent.

  Face it, she conceded abruptly, you’re really hurt that he didn’t invite you to Edinburgh. It was so ridiculous too. Couldn’t she bear him to be out of her sight for even twenty-four hours? But whereas three and a half weeks ago, feeling as she did now, she would have cheerfully and spontaneously invited herself along the same period had reduced her ability to be that bold. Being careful was inhibiting. She snatched up a piece of charcoal and her sketch-pad and drew a caricature of Rico, complete with grinning bimbo on his arm, festooned in jewellery that resembled chains.

  So they had had a fight. Fights were not infrequent, she had to admit. How had she ever thought they had nothing in common? Her mouth twisted. Both of them were stubborn, quick-tempered and bossy. But neither of them was prone to holding spite. They were both crazy about horses and they spent an awful lot of time together without ever getting bored. It had been like a honeymoon—two people wrapped up in each other to the exclusion of the rest of the world. She would keep that thought to herself. She was well aware that he was throwing the party to introduce her to his friends.

  Late that afternoon Haversham announced a second visitor. Bella looked up from the magazine she had been somewhat sleepily studying and was astonished to see Griff bearing down on her.

  ‘Getting in here is like getting into Fort Knox,’ he complained grimly. ‘And as for getting the phone number… forget it. That is highly confidential information!’

  Bella stood up with a frown. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m not here by choice.’ He sighed. ‘Look, if Hector had had a note of the phone number I wouldn’t be here—’

  ‘Hector?’

  ‘My boss is Hector’s solicitor.’ He reminded her of the connection through which they had met. ‘I’m afraid the old boy’s had a heart attack.’

  Bella stared at him in mute horror and swayed sickly.

  ‘Steady on.’ Griff pushed her back down on the seat she had vacated. ‘You’re really fond of the old buzzard,’ he muttered in surprise. ‘He’s not dead but he’s not too good from what I understand.’

  Afterwards Bella could never recall that drive to London with Griff. She spent the whole journey spinning between awful guilt and simple prayer. Had it been her decision to live with Rico which had prompted this? She had only seen Hector twice since then and he had still been trying to persuade her to leave Rico.

  ‘He is seventy-eight,’ the sister in Intensive Care told her quietly. ‘If he’s still with us in the morning, he has a chance.’

  ‘I thought he was only about seventy,’ Bella mumbled thickly through her tears.

  ‘You can sit with him for a while. You’re the only person he asked for.’

  ‘I’ll wait out here,’ Griff said resignedly.

  She had forgotten about him. Awkwardly she turned to thank him for driving her to the hospital. ‘But don’t wait for me. I won’t leave until… well, until I see how it goes,’ she completed tautly.

  Hector looked so frail, so shrunken lying in the railed bed. She covered his hand with hers, willed him to feel her presence, and sat there, gripped by the awareness that she had been far closer to Hector than she had ever been to her grandfather. Hector had understood her in a way her mother’s father never had.

  In the early evening Hector’s solicitor, Mr Harvey, arrived. He gave her the keys to the house and mentioned, with a cloaked look, that if Hector made it out of Intensive Care he would be moved to a private room, and then to a convalescent home. Those were Hector’s wishes as laid down by him in the event of serious illness.

  ‘He’ll hate that.’ Bella sighed, refusing to believe that Hector would not live to see those wishes carried out. ‘What about his relatives? Why aren’t they here?’

  ‘Hector didn’t want them told,’ the solicitor admitted. ‘But I have informed them. They said that they would keep in touch with the situation by phone.’

  It was a very long night. Around dawn Hector opened his eyes on Bella and smiled. Then, after weakly squeezing her hand, he drifted away again. She bought herself breakfast in the cafeteria.

  She needed sleep. Accepting that reality, she caught a bus back to Hector’s house. She was in the act of wearily climbing the steps when a hand came out of nowhere and snatched the key from her grasp. She spun round.

  ‘Rico!’ she gasped in consternation, pressing a hand to her palpitating heart. ‘What a fright you gave me!’

  He unlocked the door, pushed it back and thrust her inside. Slamming it, he rested back against it and released his breath in a hiss. His eyes were slivers of raw gold condemnation in his dark, set face. ‘You little bitch,’ he muttered raggedly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Reeling with exhaustion and shock at his sudden appearance, Bella slumped down on the stairs and focused on him with dazed eyes.

  ‘Por qué… why?’ he slammed at her with unhidden savagery.

  She could feel the violence in him, coiled up tight like a cobra ready to strike. He was struggling to contain it, on the edge. Her brain was moving in slow motion, could not yet comprehend what on earth was the matter with him. ‘Rico…I—’

  ‘Don’t try to lie to me!’ he grated with vicious bite. ‘You’ve been out all night. You’re still wearing the clothes you had on at breakfast yesterday. Madre de Dios, I trusted you, I actually trusted you! But I make one wrong move and you react like a whore—’

  ‘A whore?’ She framed the words with the greatest of difficulty, scrutinising him with wide, incredulous eyes.

  Outraged by her lack of response, Rico reached for her with hard hands and hauled her upright. ‘You thought I wouldn’t find out, es verdad?’ he seethed down at her in a blaze of fury, his diction destroyed by the thickness of his accent. ‘You would’ve told me that you came up to see Hector and stayed the night here. If I hadn’t seen you coming back
this morning I wouldn’t have known that you had been with Atherton all night!’

  The penny finally dropped with Bella. Her stomach heaved with nausea. ‘The butler talked,’ she said with heavy irony. ‘He told you that I left Winterwood with Griff.’

  As Rico released her with a vicious burst of Spanish she slumped back down again, feeling really ill. That Rico could believe for one second that she could be that treacherous, that disloyal and that cheap filled her with shrinking distaste.

  When she spoke it was more like talking to herself than to Rico. ‘I meant to phone last night and leave a message for you but I was so upset that I forgot. It didn’t even occur to me that you would distrust me to this extent… that you could… Dear God.’ Bella groaned, staggering upright on a wave of nausea more powerful than any she had yet managed to ride out and heading blindly for the sanctuary of the downstairs cloakroom, ‘I’ve been sleeping with a stranger…

  “‘I kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee,”’ she mumbled in a daze as she yanked open the door. ‘“He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.”’

  ‘Othello and Macbeth,’ Rico growled in incredulous recognition. His bewilderment and frustration unconcealed, he simply stood there glowering at her. The phone started ringing. Neither of them paid it any heed.

  To the accompaniment of the phone shrilling, Bella just managed to shut the door before she was horribly sick. As someone who had always rejoiced in an iron digestive systems, she was shaken by her own bodily weakness. Afterwards she clung to the sink and rinsed her mouth out. At least the phone had finally stopped.

  The door opened. ‘Go away,’ she said thickly.

  ‘The phone,’ Rico breathed tautly. ‘It’s some cousin of Hector’s. He wants to know what hospital Hector’s in… He’s waiting for an answer.’

  Bella swallowed hard and gave the answer, then listened dully to him concluding the call.

  ‘How bad is it?’ Rico murmured even more tautly. ‘Dios, you look terrible—’

  He was a quick study. Reasoning had returned, suggesting the real explanation for her overnight absence. Bella wished that the call hadn’t come. She would have left Rico to stew in his own vile assumptions. He didn’t deserve to be let off the hook this quickly and this easily. This was the male she had sacrificed her dreams for, the male she had burnt her rulebook over… and where had it got her? Maybe exactly where she deserved to be.