The Marriage Merger

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Yes, thank goodness. We rescued him this morning. Our security service mounted a dawn raid in the mountains, dealt with the rebels and brought him back to us safe and well. His poor wife has been so understanding. So patient… As you can imagine, the need for discretion—’ He was distracted by an acquaintance.

  ‘Poor woman,’ Flora said. ‘I was going to speak to her. I wish I had.’ Then, glancing at Bram, she realised why he’d been avoiding her. ‘She reminded you—’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He covered her hand. ‘You’re right, of course, but I shouldn’t assume everyone has a hidden agenda. I must try to be kinder.’

  ‘I’ve got no complaints.’

  ‘You are too kind,’ he said with a wry smile as Tipi Myan rejoined them.

  ‘I’m sorry…what was I saying?’

  ‘Something about the need for discretion?’ Bram suggested.

  ‘It’s always best if these things can be contained. But the good news is that it is now safe for you to go and see the tomb. Maybe tomorrow? There are amazing rock carvings that you will find enormously interesting, Dr Claibourne.’

  ‘Actually, we’ve—’ Flora began.

  ‘I think Flora might prefer it if you just provided her with photographs,’ Bram intervened swiftly, before she could confess. ‘I don’t want her taking any unnecessary risks. But we’ll be at the museum first thing in the morning. Nine o’clock?’

  Tipi Myan bowed his head. ‘Of course. I’ll be there.’

  Bram grasped Flora’s hand and led her away from the celebration. ‘I don’t think we need to tell Tipi Myan how we spent our morning, do you?’

  ‘I’ll never be able to keep it to myself.’

  He shook his head. ‘How on earth you kept your affair with the tennis coach a secret for so long defeats me.’

  ‘Maybe it’s because it was a one-off,’ she admitted as he returned their cold box to Reception. ‘Usually I’m hopeless at secrets.’

  ‘You mean I won’t have to torture you to find out what your sister has up her sleeve to keep the Farradays out of the store?’

  ‘Torture me?’

  ‘Tickling usually works,’ he said, not quite smiling. ‘But you clearly don’t know anything or you’d have blurted it out by now.’

  She immediately flushed bright pink.

  ‘Miss Claibourne!’ The receptionist greeted her with relief. ‘I didn’t expect you back until later. You have visitors.’

  ‘Visitors?’ she said, never taking her gaze from Bram’s face.

  The receptionist indicated a man and a young woman sitting quietly on a low sofa. ‘They said you asked them to come here. I told them you would be late, but they insisted on waiting.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, but didn’t move. They were still locked into the untold secret that her blush had betrayed. Bram stepped back. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t want to know.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No.’ He put his fingers to her lips, sealing them. ‘Let’s go and talk to your earring-maker.’

  ‘That’s your good deed for the day,’ Bram said. The man who made the jewellery and his wife—who’d come along to translate—had gone beaming on their way, having arranged for Flora to visit his workshop. Bram was grinning too. ‘You can send the hundred pounds you owe me to your favourite charity.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  ‘Or you could take me out to dinner, instead?’

  ‘I’m happy to do both, but we haven’t actually had lunch yet,’ she reminded him. They glanced towards the terrace, still noisy with celebration. ‘I’m not dressed for company. I’ll call Room Service,’ she said, heading for the bungalow.

  ‘Good plan.’

  ‘And then I’ll take a trip out to the weaving centre.’

  ‘You can’t drive with a bad knee.’

  ‘Where I go, you go—isn’t that what you said?’ Then, a touch sarcastically, ‘I’m sorry, would you prefer to take a siesta?’

  ‘Only if that’s an invitation.’ Bram laughed as she blushed again. ‘And I thought this was going to be dull. Go and fix your hair, Flora, while I order us some lunch, and then we’ll go to see the weavers and the botanic gardens—’

  ‘And pick up my jackets.’

  ‘That too. Anywhere, in fact, where there are a lot of people.’

  She frowned. ‘You’re looking for crowds?’

  ‘We need to get to know one another a little better before…well, before we get to know one another a lot better.’

  Flora fled for the shower before she changed her mind about that siesta. But she left her hair loose and dressed with more care than she had in a long time.

  Bram was signing the waiter’s chit when Flora joined him on the veranda. Her hair hung loose and shining nearly to her waist and she was wearing a white shirt knotted casually beneath her breasts to offer a glimpse of her firm flat stomach. And she’d painted her fingernails to match her toes.

  For a moment he came close to seizing her by the hand and forgetting all about lunch. But he resisted temptation, and as she sat opposite him at the small table, reached for a napkin, he said, ‘Tell me your earliest memory.’

  She stabbed a piece of ginger chicken salad with her fork. ‘Gosh, this is good.’ Then she glanced up and looked straight at him. ‘This is your plan for us to get to know one another…better?’

  ‘It’s a start,’ he said, his voice suddenly thick. He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll ask you a question, then it’s your turn.’

  ‘I can ask whatever I want?’

  ‘Only the store is off limits.’

  She shrugged. ‘Okay. My earliest memory is my mother bending over me to kiss me goodnight. She was going out somewhere, I imagine, and she was wearing a necklace. I grabbed for it and it broke and the pearls went everywhere.’

  ‘Was she angry?’

  ‘No. She laughed, said I was a girl after her own heart.’

  ‘Then she was wrong.’

  ‘Was she? We both wanted, more than anything, to be loved. And you know what they say…’ He waited for her to tell him. ‘Women give sex to get love.’

  ‘And men? What do they do?’

  ‘Give love to get sex?’

  About to tell her that she was wrong, it occurred to him that it was too easy to say the words. Flora needed a demonstration, not a declaration, so instead he said, ‘It’s your turn.’

  ‘To ask a question?’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘Okay. Who was the first girl you kissed?’

  ‘Sarah Carstairs,’ he said, without hesitation. ‘It was my first day at school. She knew where the pencils were kept and wouldn’t tell me unless I kissed her.’

  Flora laughed. ‘What a hussy. How old was she?’

  ‘Four. What is it they say in school reports? Must pay closer attention? If I’d been paying attention to the lesson she taught me that day I might have saved myself a lot of grief.’

  ‘Hey, come on. Not all women are like that.’

  ‘Nor are all men like Steve.’

  She refused to meet his gaze. ‘Have you finished?’ she asked.

  ‘Lunch or questions?’

  ‘Lunch. We’ve got a lot to do this afternoon.’

  ‘Will your leg stand it? I could do the tourist thing tomorrow while you’re at the museum. Organise the cloth samples. Pick up your jackets, even.’

  Apparently he’d said the right thing, because she reached out, took his hand. ‘I want you to be with me when I see the princess’s gold, Bram.’ Then, her voice thick with a desire that neither of them were quite ready to acknowledge, she said, ‘And meanwhile, if the knee plays up…’ her lashes flickered as she lowered them ‘…I’ll hold you to your promise to carry me.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He raised her fingers to his lips, brushing them over her freshly painted nails. ‘So, Miss Claibourne, who’s the hussy now?’ he asked.

  ‘Is that your next question?’

  ‘Yes, but I’d advise you not to answer it. Not if you really w
ant to go to the weaving centre.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THERE was a moment when anything might have happened. When they might have forgotten why they were in Saraminda, that they were on opposite sides in the battle for control of Claibourne & Farraday. When the past might have been brushed aside and only the future mattered.

  Then she said, ‘I really want to go the weaving centre.’ And before he could respond Flora was on her feet and heading for the car park—more slowly than usual, to be sure, but still leaving him to follow or not, as he chose. Again.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, taking her arm so that she could lean on him, take the weight off her leg. ‘We’re a team, remember? You give the orders, I drive.’

  She glanced up at him. ‘Can you talk and drive at the same time?’

  ‘We’re back to the questions?’

  ‘I didn’t realise we’d ever left them.’

  ‘In that case it’s my turn.’

  ‘You blew your turn, Bram.’

  No. He’d done the right thing. Twice. Once last night. Once just now. Sex was the easy part. Trust, commitment, falling in love—they took something more, and neither of them were quite ready for that. ‘So, what do you want to know?’

  She paused for a moment, so that he was forced to stop too. ‘Everything,’ she said. And then she moved on without waiting for his answer. ‘What’s your favourite food…No, scratch that. What don’t you like?’

  ‘Bananas,’ he said. ‘Cauliflower soup.’

  She glanced at him. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Cottage cheese?’ he offered.

  ‘Oh, right,’ she laughed. ‘That’s a match.’

  ‘Coleslaw. And egg sandwiches…’

  She pulled a face. ‘The smell…’

  They spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on the tourist sights. Flora organised a shipment of samples to be shipped back from the weaving centre to London. They wandered through the botanic gardens, wondering at the orchids and the hummingbirds and the butterflies.

  They picked up her jackets from the tailor.

  But all the time they continued swapping questions, occasionally laughing at the more ridiculous answers, on occasion moved almost to tears by an unexpectedly poignant response. The shared pain of the death of a favourite pet. The squirming anguish of embarrassments they’d rather forget. The scent of flowers on the grave of someone they’d loved.

  They ate local fish in a small restaurant, then finally returned to their bungalow. ‘Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Bram,’ Flora said, turning in the doorway of her bedroom. ‘A lovely day.’

  ‘Apart from the bats.’

  ‘It’s a memory we share.’

  ‘There’ll be more of those.’ Bram brushed her cheek with the lightest of kisses. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ He didn’t linger, but walked right along to his own room and shut the door.

  He didn’t leave it again, not even to walk on the beach, despite the fact that sleep eluded him for a long time.

  He woke to a brassy sun and oppressive heat, and when they finally descended into the cool depths of the museum vault it was, despite the slightly claustrophobic weight of the stone walls closing in on them, almost a relief.

  But the sight of the princess’s treasure laid out, waiting for Flora, was enough to take his mind off his unease. It gleamed and shimmered in the bright overhead lighting. He had a feeling that it would gleam just as brightly in the dark.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ he said, when Tipi Myan was called away and they were on their own. Flora nodded. She didn’t touch anything, but stood and looked at it for a long time. ‘Can I touch it?’ She nodded and he carefully picked up the crown, held it for a moment, and then placed it on her head. ‘I was right. You are the image of the princess.’

  ‘No…’

  ‘I want to see you in all this stuff…’ Flora staggered slightly and he reached out to steady her. ‘What the devil—?’

  The floor beneath his feet seemed to ripple and they were showered with dust from the ceiling.

  ‘A tremor…’ And then there was no time for words. Instead he grabbed her, turning and pushing her away as part of the ceiling began to fall towards her. Then nothing.

  ‘Bram! Bram, where are you? Please, answer me!’ Flora crawled through the thick choking dust. And then she found him. Still, inert, a chunk of ceiling beside him. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.

  But there was no time for that. Instead she put her head to his chest. Was there a heartbeat? She sought out his face in the dark, brushed the dust from his face, felt gently over his scalp for damage. Her fingers came away sticky with blood and she groaned.

  He’d pushed her out of the way. It should have been her lying there with blood oozing from her head.

  ‘Help!’ She lifted her head and shouted, ‘Is there anyone out there who can hear me?’ Then, ‘Bram…you just listen to me. You are not going to damn well die on me, do you hear? I won’t allow it. I’ll give you whatever you want…’ She tried to find a pulse at his neck. Maybe she wasn’t doing it right… It was one thing in the calm of a first aid lesson, quite another in the dark…

  Calm. That was it. She had to keep calm. But all she wanted to do was shake him, make him wake up.

  No. There it was. A pulse, strong and clear. So why wouldn’t he wake up?

  ‘Damn it, Bram. Wake up.’ She grabbed at his shirt-front, bunching the cloth beneath her fingers. ‘You can have it—do you hear? All of it. At least my part of the store. India will understand. At least, she won’t, but I don’t care.’ Her voice rose in desperation. ‘Listen to me! You wanted my secrets—well, I’m telling you one. She’s going to wipe out the Farraday name. Change the name to Claibourne’s. You don’t want that, do you? I’ll help you stop her, but you’ve got to come back to me.’

  He groaned and she laid her head against his chest again. He was breathing; his heart was pumping. ‘Just tell me what you want, my love. I’ll do anything if only you’ll come back. Give you anything. A son of your own to keep for ever—’ Without warning he began to cough. ‘Bram…’

  ‘I’m here.’ Then he groaned again. ‘What does a man have to do to get the kiss of life around here?’

  ‘Bram!’ In her relief she flung herself at him, and he let out a sharp cry. ‘What? Where are you hurt?’

  He thought about it for a moment. ‘Everywhere. What happened?’

  ‘I think it was a tremor…’ She too began to cough as the dust filled her throat. ‘And like the chump you are you decided to be a hero instead of allowing nature to wipe out the opposition.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like me.’

  ‘Oh, sure. Mr Cynical. Just be still. I’ll see if I can make someone hear.’

  But he grabbed her arm. ‘No. Don’t go.’

  ‘What is it? What can I do?’

  ‘Just…’

  ‘What?’

  He reached up, touched the crown that was still, by some incredible chance, on her head. ‘Tell me again, princess, how I can have it all…’

  She swallowed, choking down the dust along with the bile of disappointment. He’d got everything he wanted, he seemed. ‘It’s yours,’ she said. ‘You’ve won.’

  ‘Won?’

  ‘Round two goes to the Farradays. A fair enough exchange for saving my life.’ She touched his head. ‘You could so easily have lost yours.’

  ‘Flora—’

  There was the sound of splintering wood and someone tried to prise open the door. She raised her voice. ‘Can you hurry up, please? There’s a man hurt in here.’ Then she turned back to him. ‘What is it, Bram?’

  ‘When you said I could have it all, the only thing on my mind was you. And I might not be dying, but the kiss would be very welcome.’

  He dozed most of the day and night and Flora never left him, eventually crawling into bed beside him when she nodded off herself and nearly fell off the bed.

  ‘Flora?’ She woke to find Bram propped on his elbow, lookin
g down at her.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. Then, ‘Tell me, princess, have I died and gone to heaven?’

  ‘The doctor said I should keep an eye on you. Just in case of concussion.’

  ‘Excellent doctor. What’s the prognosis?’

  ‘A few bumps and bruises. A grazed scalp. You’ll live. How’re you feeling?’

  ‘You might not want to know the answer to that question.’

  ‘You haven’t got a headache, I take it?’

  ‘Not one that I’m likely to notice. Hey, where are you going?’ he demanded, as she threw back the covers and got out of bed. ‘I need round-the-clock nursing.’

  ‘Don’t you want a drink? Something to eat?’

  ‘I’ve got the only thing I want right here.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Anything, you said. Anything I wanted.’ And he rolled onto his back, grinning. ‘You can start with a bed bath.’

  ‘Forget it. There’s nothing to stop you from using the shower.’

  ‘I’ve had a knock on the head. I might get dizzy,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Then I guess I’ll have to stay with you, just to make sure.’

  ‘Flora…’ He reached out, took her hand. ‘You don’t have to do that. You owe me nothing.’

  ‘I owe you my life.’

  ‘There are no debts in this relationship. We’ve come further in three days than some people do in a lifetime. We’ve shared our secrets, opened our hearts in a way that neither of us thought possible. When this is all over, whatever happens to the store, I want us to be partners. In every sense of the word.’

  ‘You heard it all, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘You weren’t unconscious.’

  ‘Stunned,’ he said. ‘Momentarily. But you’re right. I heard everything. At least I heard enough…’

  ‘Faking it?’

  ‘If I was pouring out my heart to you, would you want to stop me?’ She shook her head. ‘You said you would give up the store if I recovered. I don’t want that. I’m a lawyer, I can’t replace you—can’t feel what you feel, replace your enthusiasm.’

  ‘It’s odd, but a week ago I didn’t understand what the store meant to me. Thought I didn’t actually care… You’ve opened my eyes.’