The Marriage Merger

by Liz Fielding

  She hesitated for a moment, her appetite now subservient to her eagerness to get going. But, since he wasn’t about to leap up and go rushing off without thinking things through, she took one and began pulling it to pieces.

  ‘I’ve got a torch,’ she offered. ‘I brought it with me.’

  ‘Proper little Girl Guide, aren’t you?’ he said, teasing her. She shrugged, but he saw she was close enough to a smile as made no difference. And why not? She’d got her own way. There was nothing like getting her own way to make a woman smile. There was nothing like a woman’s smile to make a man want to move mountains for her.

  ‘And we’ve got two maps,’ she pointed out. ‘Just in case we lose one.’

  She even felt confident enough to joke about it.

  ‘Or in the event that we get seriously careless with the coffee,’ he agreed. ‘Although I was thinking more along the lines of telling someone where we’re going—just in case we don’t come back.’

  ‘Oh, cheers.’

  ‘And saying that if I think it’s too dangerous to go on, you’ll listen.’

  ‘Right,’ she said. Far too quickly.

  ‘How do you suppose that girl in the shop knows where the tomb is?’ he asked. ‘Considering it’s supposed to be such a big secret.’

  ‘You made the point yourself that when two people know something it’s no longer a secret.’

  ‘Perhaps I was exaggerating,’ he admitted. Two people could keep a secret when for one of them it was more important than life itself and the other had no one to share the burden. ‘And a lot more than two people have to know about this.’ He frowned. ‘From what you said, though, I’d assumed it was deep in the interior. It’s only a half a dozen miles from the coast.’

  ‘That was the impression I was given. But then, Saraminda is a small island. In some places, six miles is deep in the interior.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s the right place?’ Given the choice, he’d still rather not poke around in a place where an autocratic government had made it plain they didn’t want him to go. ‘The girl in the shop might just have been telling you what she thought you wanted to hear.’

  ‘That’s always a possibility, but I told her I was writing about the treasure and she appeared to know all about it.’

  ‘But she said it wasn’t a “good” place. That’s a curious way of putting it, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe it’s a language thing. A lot of people are superstitious about disturbing burials.’

  ‘You told her that you weren’t going there. That you just wanted the information for your article.’

  ‘You two did have a nice visit.’ Her mouth twitched in the promise of a smile. Move mountains, cross oceans… ‘Okay, so she was worried about telling me. I distracted her by offering to sign the books she had on display.’

  ‘You do a very nice line in distraction, Miss Claibourne.’

  Her eyes softened in response to the sudden thickness of his voice. ‘You’re not exactly a slouch in that department yourself, Mr Gifford.’

  He leaned forward, took her chin in his hand and rubbed his thumb over her mouth. ‘If you’re referring to the fact that I kissed you—that was not a distraction. It was a promise.’

  The quick flush that heated her cheeks provoked a swift response deep within him, but she leapt to her feet—whether from her eagerness to be off or to put some clear space between them, he was undecided.

  ‘If you’ve finished your breakfast, can we go?’ she asked eagerly, as if she was reading his mind.

  He wasn’t entirely convinced, but at least she’d stopped pretending to be Miss Cool, which was about as much as he could take and still keep a clear head.

  It was unbelievably hot.

  The drive along the coast road was wonderful. They didn’t use the Jeep’s air-conditioning, but simply opened the windows and enjoyed the light breeze coming off the ocean, the glimpses of small, deserted coves set along the rocky shoreline on one side of the road. On the other, the dramatically mountainous interior rose sharply above the narrow belt of terraced farmland.

  They agreed that it was magic. That it was going to be a sensational new holiday destination. It was all incredibly polite and civilised. And when Bram stopped so that she could take photographs for the travel department, they kept a clear foot of space between them by tacit agreement.

  Even so, that ‘promise’ seemed to arc through the space between them. Primitive, hot. All the more intense for being unspoken.

  Once they turned off the road, though, the heat became a reality.

  At first the track took them through small traditional villages, where children stared at them as if they were beings from another planet and chickens scattered before their wheels. But their destination lay higher up the slopes and gradually civilisation was left behind. Along with the fresh breeze.

  They drove as far as possible, but when the track got too narrow, too steep, they continued on foot, carrying only water and some food. The path had been recently used, and was easy enough to follow, but the forest seemed to press in on them and the air was thick with moisture.

  ‘According to the map, it can’t be much further,’ Bram said, when they paused to take a drink at a point where the ground fell away steeply and there was an unexpected blast of fresh air. ‘And if I were to build a lasting monument to someone great, this is the place I’d choose.’

  Flora unfastened the third button of her shirt, flapping the two edges to encourage the cool air to circulate over her skin. ‘It would make a great site for Tipi’s eco lodge,’ she agreed. ‘Just look at those orchids…’ She took her camera from her bag to take some photographs. The motor wind of her camera disturbed a small flock of brightly coloured birds that rose noisily from the trees as she used up the last of the roll. A huge butterfly drifted past.

  ‘He’s right about it being a naturalists’ heaven,’ she said, dropping the film in the small rucksack she’d loaded up with essentials and slotting a fresh roll into her camera. Bram didn’t answer and she looked around.

  ‘Bram?’ He’d disappeared. Gone. ‘Bram!’ she yelled.

  ‘Up here.’ At the sound of his voice she swung round and looked up.

  For a moment she couldn’t see him. Then she caught a telltale glimpse of blue chambray a few feet above her and saw that he’d pushed his way up the hillside through the thick vegetation. He was just yards away, yet almost invisible.

  And the possibilities provided by exotic birds and butterflies the size of hang-gliders gave way to less pleasant thoughts about the ecological downside of this demi-Eden: insects, snakes, spiders the size of dinner plates.

  Then, remembering her proud boast—so unfortunately undermined by that crab—she pushed all thoughts of such things from her mind and scrambled up after him.

  He turned, reached out a hand to pull her up beside him. About to remind him that this place was supposed to be dangerous, that they should stick together—which considering her earlier intention to come here alone was a touch ironic—she stopped, blinked, for a moment unable to take in the magnitude of what stood before her. Then her eyes refocused to accommodate the scale of what she was looking at. ‘Oh, good grief…’

  The entrance was nothing more than a natural split in the rock face of a towering cliff. She held onto her straw hat as she tipped her head back and looked up at the wall. Under normal circumstances, their gaze might have passed over it a thousand times and they still would never have seen it for what it was. But, although fresh growth was quickly re-invading the cliff-face, it had quite recently been partially cleared to reveal deep, ancient carving. She took a step back, trying to work out what it was. And another. It was a two-headed bird, something akin to a raven, she thought, wings spread protectively around the entrance. It was vivid, almost alive, and it made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

  ‘It’s awesome,’ she said.

  ‘In the full sense of the word,’ he agreed. ‘Majestic. Powerful. Intended t
o induce a state of wonder. Or fear.’

  It was all of those things, and she shivered, no longer hot. ‘The scale of it is quite terrifying.’ Then, ‘I’d never have found it on my own. It’s—what?—twenty feet from the path, and no one would ever know it was here.’

  ‘With creepers growing right up to it, it would have been invisible.’

  ‘What made you look here?’

  He turned and looked across at the view that, only fifteen or so feet above the path, stretched endlessly to the ocean. ‘That. It seemed…appropriate.’

  ‘Yes. It’s absolutely perfect.’

  ‘Perfect,’ he agreed, looking down at her. ‘And awesome. Do you think that’s the problem the Saramindans have with it? A folk memory of the place as somewhere alien? Off-limits?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She sounded doubtful. And yet, despite her own immediate reaction, she knew there was nothing to fear.

  ‘Imagine being here, hacking away centuries’ growth of creepers to get a better look, and then there’s another minor earth tremor.’

  ‘Another one?’

  ‘This part of the world is geologically very active. Something brought that down.’ He indicated a huge piece of rockface that had sheared away and fallen to the ground. The forest was quickly closing in on it, but it had once been part of the raven’s wing. ‘It wouldn’t have to be a very big tremor. Just enough to suggest the gods were angry.’ He shrugged, leaving the rest to her imagination.

  ‘The curious weren’t too scared to help themselves to the princess’s gold,’ she pointed out as she gathered herself and began to take the pictures she’d come for.

  ‘Maybe they already had it.’ He walked towards the edge of the massive façade, where the ground fell sharply, leaving freshly exposed earth and roots. ‘The ground over here appears to have been eroded by rainwater. It’s undermined this side of the tomb and there’s been quite a large rockfall. Maybe they were coming back for another look.’

  ‘So that’s it? Mystery solved?’

  ‘Up to a point.’ He shrugged. ‘I think it would take more than this to scare off Tipi Myan, but there’s no sign of any engineering work to underpin the structure.’ He looked round at her. ‘Are you going inside?’

  The entrance was not inviting. ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘I’m not an engineer, Flora. You’ll get no guarantees from me.’

  She would get nothing from Bram Gifford and his promises except trouble, she decided. But his doubt put steel into her backbone. Bram hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place, she reminded herself. But she’d been proved right. There was nothing to frighten them but the bogeymen of their imaginations. Hers was working full time, but she refused to wimp out now.

  ‘Your considered opinion will do,’ she replied, not looking at him. ‘You’re a man,’ she said. ‘You must have one.’

  ‘Don’t do that, Flora.’

  She blinked at the sudden sharpness in his voice. ‘What?’ He didn’t answer. ‘What am I doing?’

  ‘You’re treating me like the enemy again. I’m here. I’m with you.’ For a moment their gaze locked. ‘For you, not against you. If you want to look inside I’ll come with you.’

  Flora felt as if the ground were crumbling beneath her feet. As if, like the cliff-face before them, the foundations upon which she lived her life were being undermined by Bram Gifford.

  First he had taken her hand, and she had not pulled away—sure that she was the stronger, that he could never slip beneath her guard. Too late, she’d learned that she was not immune to the touch of the man’s hand, a certain look in his eyes, the hot lick of desire.

  Worse, she’d found herself worrying about him, caring that he was safe. He’d seen that, used that, kissing her with a sweetness that was designed to turn her head, make her forget that they were rivals. That they were both after the same prize.

  And she’d forgotten.

  Now…now…she didn’t know what he was doing. She just knew that, more than anything else, she wanted him beside her when she stepped into the dark.

  As if he could read her mind, he said, ‘All you have to do is trust me, Flora. All you have to do is ask. Anything.’

  The forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to speak.

  She should be standing firm. She had been her own woman for a long time. On her own. Needing no one. Until now. She looked up at the massive façade. It was awesome. But she wasn’t backing away from it. She wouldn’t back away from Bram, either.

  ‘Will you come with me?’ she whispered hoarsely.

  ‘Give me your hand.’

  He reached out to her and, with her heart beating in her mouth, she lifted her hand and placed it in his. He gripped it firmly for a moment, then said, ‘It’ll probably be all right as long as we don’t breathe too hard.’

  ‘Don’t breathe too hard,’ she repeated in a voice that was little more than a whisper. It still sounded too loud in the quiet of the ruins. ‘Right.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Ready?’

  Was she? Ready to step into the unknown? Take a risk?

  She took a deep breath, switched on her torch. ‘Ready,’ she affirmed. Then, as they stepped together into the dark, she turned to him and said, ‘Anything?’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘ANYTHING?’ Bram repeated.

  ‘You said I could ask anything.’ The beam of her torch swept shakily across the stone floor, littered with the debris of ages. At the far end a vast slab of stone lay tilted, where the earth had been undermined and fallen away. On the opposite wall some elaborate design had been chiselled into the rockface. ‘Did you mean it when you said I could ask you anything? Or did you mean that I could ask anything of you?’

  He’d thought she hadn’t caught the invitation he’d tossed into the conversation. It seemed that he was mistaken. She’d been listening to every word.

  ‘What would you like it to mean?’ he asked.

  She didn’t immediately answer, instead concentrating on widening the torch beam to reveal the whole of the rock wall facing them. Chiselled out of the living rock was a portrait of a woman seated upon a throne, her long hair rippling in tiny formalised waves over her naked breasts. Flora went up close, her fingers tracing the details of the stonemason’s art. Intricate carvings that depicted a diadem upon her head, the jewels with which the mason had decorated her arms, ankles, throat. ‘It’s real,’ she whispered.

  ‘Real?’

  ‘I was beginning to think that Tipi had invented the whole thing to get some publicity for the tourist industry. He used to be Minister of Tourism…I thought maybe they’d found some old ruins and he’d brought some old jewels to pass off as grave goods.’ She turned to him. ‘He wouldn’t be the first. Not all that gold at Troy came out of the ground. Schliemann bought most of that stuff. He used to dress his wife up as Helen, like in the famous photograph, just to make his discovery seem more impressive. But this is the real thing.’

  ‘It’s incredible.’ For a moment Bram had been too stunned to say anything. Then he, too, reached out to touch the face of the ‘lost princess’. ‘That could be you, Flora.’ She turned to him. ‘With your hair loose, a centuries-old crown on your head.’ Her profile gleamed in the soft spillage of light from the torch and he reached out, touched her throat. ‘Ropes of pearls about your throat…precious stones…’

  He felt her swallow beneath his hand. ‘Don’t be foolish. I don’t look like that.’

  ‘You are her living image.’ He turned to her, laid his hands gently over her face, closed his eyes. ‘Brows,’ he said, outlining them with his fingers. ‘Nose…’ He brushed it with his thumbs. ‘Mouth…’ He didn’t need to see her mouth, he knew it intimately. How it looked before he kissed her. How it felt. Full, soft and warm. He didn’t need his eyes, he had his mind. It was all there. The sudden shy smile, the quick flare of her unexpected response to him. The slow, melting, surrender. ‘You share the same strong features.’

  She drew back slightly. Pu
tting an inch of space between them. ‘That’s just a polite way of saying I have a big nose,’ she said.

  He opened his eyes. ‘If I thought you had a big nose I’d say so. On anyone else it might be big. On you, it’s a perfect fit.’ He reached for her plait, removed the band. She made another move to distance herself, but he said, ‘Be still now. Let me do this. Then I’ll take a photograph of you and the princess, so that you can see for yourself.’ And as he began to slowly unravel her hair he said, ‘Was there something you wanted to ask me, Flora?’

  She was perfectly still as, slowly and carefully, he teased out the windblown plait. Scarcely breathing. Well, that made two of them. ‘It’s personal, not about the store,’ she said, half in question.

  They were barely touching. His sleeve skimmed her cheek as he reached around to loosen the tight French plait. His fingers grazed her neck, shivering over her skin. The heavier cloth of his shirt brushed against the fine linen of hers and he felt her nipples tighten, reach for him, begging him to touch them. But he just kept working at her hair.

  ‘Ask what you want, Flora.’

  ‘I just…I wanted to ask you if you’ve ever been in love.’

  It wasn’t the question he’d expected. ‘I don’t know what love is.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t answer,’ she said, letting the torch beam wander over the walls as she breathed out.

  He reached out, caught her wrist and turned the light back on the richly carved relief of the princess, stared at it for a moment. ‘That’s what they’ve got in the museum? They buried her jewels and crown with her?’

  ‘I imagine so.’ Her voice was pert, dismissive.

  ‘Did Tipi Myan say the tomb was decorated?’

  ‘Are you kidding? He must have known that if he’d told me about this nothing would have kept me away.’ Then, ‘Are you any the wiser as to why he would want to keep me away?’ she asked. In the darkness, without the brisk careless gesture, the bright smile to back it up, her voice betrayed her. It told him that she was angry. Not with him, but with herself for believing that he was serious.