The Marriage Merger

by Liz Fielding

  ‘I once thought I was in love,’ he said, reclaiming her attention. ‘It seemed like love, for a while.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. We had two months together. Then one day she kissed me and said she had to leave. That it was over.’

  ‘Did you ask her to stay? To marry you?’ The question came out in a rush. As if she hated herself for asking, but had to know.

  He smiled. It was going to be the question he had been expecting, then. She was just going the long way round to get there. Testing his ‘anything’ promise to the limits. ‘I wanted her to stay. And I asked her to marry me,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Because she was pregnant?’

  ‘No. I didn’t ask her then. That was years later. Long after I’d realised that what I’d thought was love was something quite different. Infatuation on my part…and on hers…well, something else.’

  He’d asked himself the question—what would it take for him to open his heart? And he had his answer. The need to share heart and soul with another person. Someone who had reached out of the darkness and lit him up with an inner warmth, a memory of innocent love that asked nothing, gave all.

  ‘I asked her to marry me on the day I walked into the garden of an embassy in London, saw a small boy playing with the ambassador’s wife. And discovered, by the merest chance, that I had a five-year-old son.’

  ‘But…he could have been…’ Her voice faltered. ‘No.’

  ‘No. You saw the photograph. The reality was…’ He paused. ‘There was no doubt in my mind. It was like looking at a photograph of myself when I was small.’

  He was right about the dark, he thought. This wasn’t a moonlit beach, but it was a place full of mystery. Full of secrets. And he’d finally found someone who understood secrets. Someone with whom he wanted to share the biggest secret in the world.

  And in the near dark, without the visual clues, his other senses were straining to fill the gaps. He heard the tiny intake of breath that betrayed her shock. Seemed to feel a wave of something warm, empathetic, wash over him.

  ‘You didn’t know until then? She hadn’t told you?’

  He spread her hair out in his hands. Where it had been plaited it was fixed in little waves, like those of the princess watching over them. He hungered to strip away her shirt, see her hair lying over her breasts, but not here. That would wait. Instead he divided it into two and brought it forward, to match the carving on the wall.

  ‘I was right,’ he said. ‘You could be sisters. Or mother and daughter. I don’t believe she was just a princess. I’m sure that she must have been a queen.’ He frowned. ‘Can you hear something?’

  They listened. There was a slight rustling. ‘It’s the leaves outside,’ she said impatiently. ‘Bram…’ She leaned towards him, encouraging him to answer her.

  ‘No, Flora, I didn’t know. She never told me,’ he confirmed. ‘But then I was never supposed to find out. When we met she was a wealthy woman with a need. I was doing a gap year after university, working my way round France, improving my French so that I could specialise in European law. She would never have expected the waiter she’d picked out—and picked up—in a Marseilles café to be advising an ambassador on English corporate law six years later. Walking into her garden to join his family for afternoon tea.’ She reached out, covered his hand with her own.

  ‘She chose you? To give her a baby? That was her need?’

  Flora was quick, clever. She needed no explanations. ‘She didn’t tell me what she wanted. I thought she just wanted me. And I was utterly bowled over by this sad, lovely woman who seemed so alone. She was, of course. She was a long way from home in a place where no one would know her. No one would remember her. And the sorrow, at least, was not faked. Nor the pleasure, I hope. She picked me for my height and my colouring. And just a little bit for me, I have to believe.’

  ‘How could she do that?’

  ‘For love, she said. She tried to explain, to show me how it was for her, when we met later. Her husband—the ambassador—was an aristocrat whose family had run out of heirs. Time was running out for them. She couldn’t use a clinic for donation—they’d want medical records, details that she couldn’t give. And since the child would not be her husband’s genetically, his right to inherit the title, the land, would be challenged by distant cousins so far removed as to be total strangers. There is a lot to inherit. So she took the only course she felt was open to her.’

  ‘He knew what she was doing?’

  ‘He must have suspected, but they never spoke of it. She begged me not to tell him who I was. He loved his son—’

  ‘But he was your son!’

  ‘What was I to do, Flora? Turn the child’s life upside down? Demand my rights? Destroy three lives?’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘They were good people.’

  She uttered a tiny dismissive sound.

  ‘Despair will drive the kindest people to do desperate things. And they loved him so much. I sat and watched this man play with my son and inside I was raging, but only because I had no right to love him that way.’

  ‘But you still asked her to marry you? To divorce her husband and marry you?’

  ‘I had to try. She only agreed to meet me because she was afraid of what I might do. I raged, I threatened, I demanded she leave her husband and marry me. Finally, I begged. She didn’t say anything. She just let me say every hurtful thing I could lay my tongue to, waiting until I had said it all. Waiting for me to accept the truth. That biologically John might be my child, but in every way that was important he was her husband’s son.’

  ‘John? His name is John?’

  ‘That’s the English version of his name. They don’t call him that.’

  Bram drew a deep breath. He’d known all this for a long time, accepted it even, but finally telling someone made it all seem so much clearer. ‘I wasn’t there when he was born, or when he first smiled. It wasn’t me who held his hand as he took his first steps, or sat with him in the night when he was sick.’ Explaining it to Flora was like a release. The guilt eased. ‘That’s what a father is, Flora. He was a happy little boy, and if I’d demanded my rights, blood tests, all that would have been wiped away.’

  She held his hand, telling him by touch that she understood. That he had been right. ‘Does anyone else know?’

  ‘Who would I tell? What point would there have been telling my parents that they had a grandchild they could never know? Making them as miserable as I was? He was a happy child; now he’s a happy young man. He’ll be fourteen this year. If he ever needs me, I’ll be there for him. The best part of me hopes he never will.’

  Her fingers slipped from his and she reached up to touch his cheek. Softly wipe away tears he’d been unaware of shedding. And for a moment she held him, her arms about him.

  ‘You said you don’t know what love is, Bram, but you’re so wrong. Letting go was the perfect act of love. Thank you for telling me.’ She looked up. ‘For trusting me.’

  ‘I believe it’s time we trusted one another, instead of fighting.’

  ‘Are we talking personally, here, or professionally?’

  ‘Both.’ He felt rather than saw her nod. ‘Have you seen enough?’ he asked, lifting his head. There was a soft whispering noise above them. Wind, leaves—it still lifted the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. ‘I’d like to get out of here.’

  ‘I’ll just take some photographs. Will you take the torch, shine it on the wall so that I can see what I’m taking pictures of? Then maybe we should take our picnic down to one of those beaches.’

  ‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit with me.’

  ‘Neither did I.’

  ‘You’re quite determined to get us both locked up, Flora Claibourne.’

  ‘I don’t know about both of us. I’m sure India would be delighted if I could get you locked up.’

  He laughed, the sound echoing back from the high walls. But there was more than laughter in the sound. The rustling gr
ew louder. It was above them, around them, the air was stirring, and suddenly he knew what it was. ‘Flora!’ he warned as she raised her camera to take a picture. ‘Don’t!’

  The flash was blinding in the dark. Neither of them could see. But he reached out anyway and, finding her arm, dragged her with him towards the entrance. ‘I haven’t finished,’ she complained.

  He didn’t stop to argue, but bundled her out into the open, where they stood blinking for a moment in the light.

  ‘What on earth—?’

  ‘Bats,’ he said. Even as he said the word small dark shapes began to emerge from the entrance to the tomb. Just a few at first, but behind them the tomb was filled with the whirring of wings as the disturbed creatures began to drop from the roof, whirling faster and faster, like angry bees, and then they began to pour out of the entrance like black smoke.

  He saw her face, her mouth working in sheer terror, and then she tore free and began to run.

  ‘Flora! Wait!’

  Flora didn’t stop to listen to reason. Spiders were bad. Snakes were terrifying, but bats… She flung her arms over her head, terrified that they would get tangled in her hair. Everyone told her that it didn’t happen, that it was just nonsense, but it made no difference. The crab had startled her. This was real terror.

  ‘Flora! It’s all right…’ As he reached for her, tried to hold her, she lashed out and ran for dear life back down the path towards the Jeep. ‘Look out!’

  Too late. She staggered and went down as the path dipped suddenly, dropping onto her knees. But nothing, not even pain, was going to stop her. She staggered to her feet, her arms still around her head, running blindly, but this time she was brought up sharply as Bram grabbed the back of her shirt. For a moment she continued to struggle and there was an ominous ripping sound.

  ‘Be still.’ The sudden sharpness in his voice finally got through to her, and as she hovered between flight and collapse he turned her into his body and held her tight. ‘I won’t let anything hurt you,’ he said, stroking her hair, kissing it. ‘You’re safe.’ And he kept saying it over and over. Holding her close, telling her over and over again that she was safe.

  Eventually she heard him. Believed him. Slumped against him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, bunching his shirt-front in her hands, mumbling into his chest. ‘I’m so sorry. I just panicked.’

  ‘I know.’

  She looked up, suddenly more afraid that he was laughing at her than of the bats. ‘It’s just bats,’ she said, trying to retrieve a little dignity.

  He dropped a kiss on her mouth as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘Bats and crabs,’ he said, his mouth lifting at the corner in something very like a smile.

  But he wasn’t mocking her. Just teasing a little. And she discovered that being teased by Bram made her feel great.

  ‘Tell me…just so I can be ready…what you’ll do if you meet something really dangerous? A snake, or a spider the size of a dinner plate.’ She moaned. ‘Right. Well, I guess we know exactly how you feel about creepy-crawlies. Scared to death.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she protested. Then, with a tiny shrug, ‘At least, not in theory.’

  ‘I’m not sure that theory counts.’

  ‘No.’ Then, ‘I’m okay with mice.’

  ‘Sugar ones?’

  ‘No, honestly!’ She pulled back, then winced as she put her weight onto her left leg and grabbed at him for support. He took one look at the torn knees of her trousers and didn’t bother to ask her whether she needed help. He just picked her up and began to carry her back to the Jeep.

  About to protest at such high-handedness, Flora changed her mind and instead put her arms around his neck, laid her head against his chest and listened to the slow, steady thud of his heart as he held her safe.

  Once they reached the Jeep, Bram handed her a bottle of water, and while she was taking a drink he found the first aid box and gently cleaned up her knees with antiseptic wipes. ‘This one is a bit swollen,’ he said. She flexed it and winced. ‘How bad is it? Do you want to go to the hospital in Minda?’

  She shook her head. ‘I won’t be running a marathon for a week or so, but it’ll be fine if I keep my weight off it for a day or two.’

  He glanced up. ‘You run marathons?’

  ‘It was just a figure of speech, Bram.’ Then she realised he was grinning. She handed him the water bottle. ‘Here, occupy your mouth with that.’ Then, as he tilted his head to take a long drink and she didn’t have to look him in the eyes, she said, ‘Thank you, Bram.’ She made a vague gesture in the direction of the tomb. ‘For getting me out of there. Dealing with my hysterics.’

  ‘No problem.’ He straightened and she was looking straight up into his eyes for a long moment. They were both remembering how it had been before she’d run in terror. Then, ‘Okay, now?’ he asked briskly. ‘Heart-rate back to normal?’

  Not exactly, she thought.

  Her heart-rate was giving her considerable trouble.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said aloud. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m feeling pretty stupid. I mean I know bats are harmless. In theory.’

  ‘It wasn’t just you. The hairs on my neck were beginning to stand on end back there. I can’t say I’m sorry to be out of that place.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you to say so, but—’

  ‘I’m many things, Flora. Sweet isn’t one of them.’

  No. And he was probably busy compiling a list of her own shortcomings right now. A reckless disregard for her safety. Hysterics. Jordan Farraday would be proud of him. She shivered again. ‘I suppose the bats might explain why the locals think it’s spooky,’ she said.

  ‘It might. It doesn’t explain why Tipi Myan is so keen to keep you away, though.’

  ‘Unless the bats are a rare, endangered species and must not be disturbed.’

  ‘He would have told you that. No, I’m sure there’s something else going on, and if you don’t mind I think we’ll get out of here while the going’s good,’ he said, handing back the water bottle before easing her legs over the seat and closing the Jeep door. Then he climbed in beside her and slid the key into the ignition.

  ‘Bram…’ He glanced at her, and her determination to look him in the eye and say thank you faltered.

  ‘Yes?’

  She swallowed. ‘I just wanted to thank you. Properly. For…well…um…carrying me all that way.’

  He grinned. ‘I’m getting used to it. Although, if we’re going to be doing that on a regular basis, I have to tell you that you could lose a little weight.’

  ‘Oh, charming!’ Actually, it felt a lot more real than some smooth, practised compliment of the ‘light as a feather’ variety. At least she knew he was telling the truth.

  ‘Of course, if you’re prepared to use your own two legs as transport, I’m quite prepared to admit that I think you’re pretty much perfect just the way you are.’

  She felt the heat rush to her face and hoped he’d put the pink cheeks down to the temperature. ‘Apart from the combs,’ she reminded him. She didn’t want him getting too nice.

  ‘Apart from the combs,’ he agreed.

  ‘And the blue toenails?’

  ‘I’ve no objection to blue toenails.’

  She wanted him to ask about them again, Bram realised. Wanted to share her own secrets. And he wanted to hear them. He wanted to know everything about Flora Claibourne. But not now. Not here.

  He turned the Jeep on the narrow path and headed back to the coast.

  They both breathed a little easier once they were back on the coast road, although Bram kept his thoughts to himself, his eyes on the road ahead. Flora too was quiet, concentrating on the view, the small sandy coves set amidst towering rock formations. On an impulse he turned off the road.

  Flora threw a startled glance at him. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We’re behind with our sightseeing. We can at least cross the beach picnic off the list.’

  ‘No, Bram…’ she objected as
he got out and rounded the Jeep to open her door. She wasn’t in the mood for a picnic any more. ‘I need a shower. I have to wash off the jungle sweat.’ Wash the creepy bat thing out of her hair.

  ‘Try a swim instead,’ he said, with a glance at the ocean, sparkling, bright, empty as far as the eye could see.

  It was a lot closer than the hotel and it looked blissfully inviting, she thought, weakening.

  Bram kicked off his shoes, stripped down to his underwear, then looked up. ‘It isn’t compulsory, but you might want to take off some of those clothes.’

  She swallowed. ‘Right.’

  ‘Do you need a hand—’

  ‘No! I can manage,’ she said, and quickly began to unfasten the buttons of her shirt.

  ‘—with your boots?’ he finished. Grinning.

  ‘I can manage,’ she repeated stubbornly, through a mouth apparently stuffed with cotton wool.

  He did it anyway, his wide shoulders spanning the open doorway as he bent to loosen her laces. She slipped out of her shirt, not sure whether she was pleased or disappointed to be wearing a wide-strapped sports bra that was quite as decent as any bikini top. Then, when he’d carefully eased off her boots, she lifted her bottom from the seat to shuck down her trousers. And winced as her knee brought her back to painful reality.

  ‘This is a waste of time,’ she said. ‘There’s no way I’m going to be able to walk across the sand. Or dive into the ocean. I’m sorry, Bram. It’s a nice thought, but—’ She stopped as he slid his hand beneath her knees. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Lean forward and put your arms around my neck.’ She didn’t move. ‘Trust me, Flora. I’m your shadow, remember? We’re inseparable.’ And he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the beach and out into the sea.

  Floating back in the cool water, her hair trailing behind her, and with Bram’s hand firmly grasping hers, was as blissful as anything she could have imagined. Actually, her imagination didn’t stretch that far.

  ‘I’ll say this for you, Bram Gifford, you certainly know how to pick a beach,’ she said, by way of distraction. ‘It has everything.’ A perfect horseshoe of white sand, low palm trees bent to offer shade, a natural waterfall providing a fresh shower where the stream plunged over the rocks. ‘This was a great idea,’ she said.