Love Without Lies

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘Shopping?’ It was the last thing she had expected. He gave her a glinting sideways glance. ‘For your birthday present, amongst other things…’

  Her birthday… Even Eve and Noel hadn’t remembered, and so much had happened in the past two days she hadn’t given it a thought.

  ‘How did you know it was my birthday?’

  ‘You once mentioned that if you’d been born a few minutes after midnight instead of a few minutes before, your birthday would have fallen on Christmas Eve.’

  And he’d remembered. Just for a moment she struggled against tears.

  As though he sensed her emotion, he went on briskly, ‘So what would you like for a present? It’s up to you to choose.’

  ‘I don’t want a present from you.’

  There was a telling silence, then she rushed into speech, ‘I’m sorry if I sounded rude and ungrateful. I’m not ungrateful…’

  ‘Just rude?’

  Knowing she had been brought a flush to her face. Still she persevered, ‘I really don’t want you to buy me anything.’

  As though she hadn’t spoken, he said, ‘It might be a good idea to start our shopping trip at Harrod’s.

  ‘As you haven’t got either a handbag or an overnight bag with you, you’ll need a number of things. A dress for this evening, accessories, underwear, night wear, toiletries, make-up…’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Don’t argue.’

  ‘I don’t want to be forced into having anything I can’t pay for,’ she informed him stiltedly. ‘I hate to feel beholden.’

  She saw by the way his beautiful mouth tightened that her words had angered him.

  But as though striving to be reasonable, he said equably, ‘Look on it as your Christmas present.’

  ‘I don’t want a Christmas present.’ Flatly, she added, ‘I can’t afford to buy you one.’

  ‘So indulge me, and call it your Christmas present to me.’

  Little shivers started to run up and down her spine, as he added, ‘Strictly speaking you won’t need a nightdress… But we’ll get one anyway, so I can have the pleasure of taking it off…’

  London’s busy streets and most of its pavements were clear of snow, but with frost laying icy fingers on everything, its parks and gardens and squares clad in bridal white, it looked an enchanted city as they headed towards Denver Court.

  As well as apartments the complex had a small, select shopping mall, a comprehensive fitness centre, an indoor and an outdoor swimming pool, and two of the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in town, the Starlight Room and the Jacobean Room.

  When they stopped at the main entrance to the court one of the security staff came over. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Lombard. Nice to see you back.’

  ‘Afternoon, John. Can you call a taxi, preferably one I can hire for the rest of the afternoon, and then take care of the car for me?’

  ‘Consider it done.’ A mobile phone appeared in his hand. After a brief conversation, he reported, ‘Danny, who has his own cab, is just dropping a passenger. He’ll be with you any minute.’

  As Rafe helped Madeleine out and handed over the car keys a well-kept taxi appeared, and in a moment they were installed in it and heading for Knightsbridge and Harrod’s.

  Everywhere was crowded with last-minute shoppers, but miraculously both the human traffic and the vehicular managed to keep moving.

  It was starting to get dusky, and in the centre of town the Christmas lights were just coming on.

  Teddy bears wearing festive hats tumbled and clowned, Santas and sleighs, reindeer and elves, stars and angels blinked on and off, vying with glittering shop windows full of seasonal displays of wines and foodstuffs, furs and jewellery, toys and luxury goods.

  On the street corner a Salvation Army band, the brass instruments gleaming under the lights, was playing carols, while one of its female members wielded a collecting box.

  While their taxi was held up by a red traffic light, Rafe rolled down his window and passed her a wad of notes.

  ‘Thanks,’ she called. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  ‘You’re very generous,’ Madeleine remarked.

  ‘I can afford to be, and I have great respect for the Salvation Army; they do a good job.’

  When their taxi drew up outside Harrod’s, whose window displays were a delight as always at this time of the year, having thanked the driver, Rafe asked, ‘Can you find somewhere to park, then come back for us in…say…an hour?’

  ‘Can do,’ the man agreed laconically. ‘But it’ll cost a packet.’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Rafe said smoothly, and more notes changed hands.

  He turned to Madeleine and, shrugging out of his leather jacket, said, ‘I suggest you leave your coat in the car; you won’t need it.’

  When, still unhappy about him spending money on her, she had reluctantly slipped out of her coat he hurried her into the huge store.

  ‘We’ll start in the dress department.’

  Despite the crush of shoppers, focused and positive, Rafe got attention with no apparent effort.

  Unlike most men he had very clear ideas about what would suit her and how he wanted her to look, and when, her mouth stubborn, she refused to choose, he chose for her.

  In a remarkably short space of time she had everything he had previously listed, including an evening bag and a shoulder-bag. Amazingly, it was still a few minutes short of an hour when, loaded with boxes and packages, he shepherded her towards the main doors.

  Just as they reached the pavement their taxi drew up, the lights gleaming on its polished bonnet.

  When the packages were stored in the boot and she was settled in her seat, Rafe gave the driver an instruction she didn’t catch and got in beside her.

  As they pulled away from the kerb, he asked quizzically, ‘There, that wasn’t too painful, was it?’

  Hating to be railroaded like that, she stayed mutinously silent.

  He picked up her hand, which was clenched into a fist, and, straightening the fingers one by one, said, ‘Tell me something; if you were my wife, or we were about to marry, would you still object to me buying you things?’

  Her heart did a little flip before she answered, ‘No, of course not. But that’s different.’

  Instead of just wanting to use her to satisfy his lust and soothe his wounded pride, it would mean that he loved and respected her. It would change everything.

  ‘As it is, I feel like a…a paid mistress.’

  ‘That denigrates us both.’ Though he spoke softly, she heard the edge of anger in his voice.

  Responding to that anger, she said, ‘I suppose you’ve never had to pay for sexual favours.’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ he replied curtly. ‘And I wasn’t thinking of starting now.’

  Suddenly ashamed of herself, of her behaviour, she admitted, ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry…’

  With a little sigh, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. ‘And I’m sorry we didn’t do the more important shopping first.

  ‘Had we done things the other way round, it might have made all the difference to how you feel.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t see how it could have made any difference.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that rather depend on what I was thinking of buying?’

  Confused, she said, ‘I don’t know.’ Then, curiously, ‘What were you thinking of buying?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when we get there.’ Uneasy, she insisted, ‘Tell me now.’

  ‘Apart from your birthday present? A ring.’

  ‘A r—ring?’ she stammered.

  ‘An engagement ring,’ he said deliberately.

  Once, when she had fondly imagined he might love her, that would have been like a dream come true. Now it was bewildering and unsettling.

  ‘Why would you want to buy me a ring when you said all you wanted was reparation?’

  ‘Shall we say for the look of the thing? So that other people—’

 
; ‘I don’t want a ring,’ she broke in, her voice thick. ‘It would just be a sham.’

  ‘You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to feel like a paid mistress. As my fiancée you would have no cause to feel that way, and while we’re together you’d have a certain status.’

  ‘You can keep your money. I don’t need a ring. I’ve no intention of staying with you. Apart from the fact that you want revenge, I mean nothing to you—’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve become something of an obsession, and I’ve no intention of letting you go until I’m good and ready.’

  ‘You can’t force me to stay.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but you will. There’s a part of you that wants to. A part of you that—at the risk of sounding melo-dramatic—is still in thrall. Otherwise you would never have slept with me last night, never have left the Denaught with me today.’

  When, thrown by such an accurate assessment, she stayed silent, he went on, ‘Maybe you need to get me out of your system, the same as I need to get you out of mine…’

  Chilled by his words, she shivered.

  ‘And the best way to do that, and set both of us free, would be to stay together until the torment, the fixation, the obsession, call it what you will, dies a natural death…’

  If only it were that simple.

  ‘Ah, here we are.’ The taxi had drawn up outside Marshall Brand, one of the best known and most exclusive jewellers in town, whose windows invariably displayed the minimum of rare and beautiful objects.

  ‘Can you give us half an hour or so?’ Rafe asked the driver.

  The man nodded. ‘We’re in luck. I’ve just spotted a free meter a few yards further on.’

  Opening the door, Rafe jumped out, and before Madeleine could argue she found herself urged out of the taxi and across the pavement.

  A uniformed security guard opened the heavy glass door and, after an assessing glance at Rafe, ushered them into the palatial shop.

  With mirrored walls, crystal chandeliers and vases of fresh flowers, the sales area was set out like a salon. Velvet-covered couches and easy chairs, interspersed with elegant display cabinets and small glass-topped tables, were widely spaced on a thick, plum-coloured carpet.

  As Madeleine glanced around her, a delicate gold bracelet in one of the cabinets caught her eye, and for a moment or two she was lost in admiration of its beauty and simplicity.

  ‘Mr Lombard?’ A well-dressed man with silver hair and rimless glasses appeared from nowhere.

  Turning from watching Madeleine, Rafe said easily, ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Good afternoon. I’m Carl Brand.’ The two men shook hands.

  An arm at her waist, Rafe made the introduction. ‘This is Miss Knight, my fiancée.’

  ‘Miss Knight…’ Carl Brand inclined his head.

  ‘I’m sorry that we’re somewhat later than I’d first anticipated,’ Rafe said.

  ‘Please don’t apologise.’ Brand waved them to the nearest couch. ‘If you would care to take a seat, I have a selection of rings the size you indicated, ready to show you.’

  As he proceeded to unlock the nearest display cabinet they heard a pop, and a young woman appeared with a still-smoking bottle of vintage champagne and two glasses on a silver tray.

  When the flutes had been filled, feeling as though she was an actress in some play, Madeleine accepted one and took a sip. The wine was cool and sparkling, like quicksilver on her tongue.

  While they sipped the champagne, half a dozen rings on individual stands were placed on the table. There was a ruby, an emerald, a beautiful aquamarine on a chased gold band, a sapphire, a cluster of small, perfect opals and a huge diamond solitaire.

  All were superb of their kind.

  ‘I’ll give you a moment,’ Brand murmured, and moved discreetly into the background.

  ‘What do you think, darling?’ Rafe asked.

  Caught on the raw by the darling, she wondered how he’d deal with it if she announced that she hated them all, and walked out.

  But she very much doubted if she could drum up sufficient nerve.

  As though he’d read her mind, he glanced at her, his green eyes holding an unmistakable warning, as he suggested, ‘Suppose you try one on?’

  ‘Do I have any other option?’ she asked pleasantly.

  He deliberately chose to misunderstand her. ‘If you don’t care for any of these, we can always ask to see some more.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to see any more.’

  ‘Does that mean there’s one here you like?’

  In the circumstances it didn’t matter, though for her one particular ring stood out.

  Unwilling to say so, she cooed with saccharine-sweetness, ‘As you’re buying it, darling, I’d much prefer you to choose.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Though he smiled, she knew he was annoyed, both by her mockery and her refusal to co-operate.

  ‘Very well.’

  She felt a fleeting regret. He would probably insist on buying the diamond, her least favourite. Though she couldn’t deny it was a magnificent ring, and many women would have preferred it, it was too large and showy for her taste.

  Reaching out, he selected a ring and slipped it onto her finger. ‘This would be my choice.’

  Madeleine found herself staring down at the aquamarine as he added, ‘It matches your beautiful eyes.’

  It fitted to perfection, and looked wonderful on her slim, but strong, hand.

  Had this been a real engagement it was the ring she would have chosen, and suddenly she found herself gazing at it through a mist of tears.

  He tilted her chin, and she looked into his eyes, her own open wide, afraid to blink. Seeing the shimmer of tears, he said, ‘Of course, if you have any other preference…’

  She shook her head, mutely.

  He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘In that case we’ll take it.’

  Soft-footed, Carl Brand returned to ask, ‘Is there anything here that takes your fancy?’

  ‘We’ve decided on the aquamarine.’

  ‘An excellent choice, if I may say so. It’s a particularly fine stone. The colour and clarity are superb, and it was cut by Jean Pierre Falgayras, a master craftsman. Would you like to have it wrapped?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ As Madeleine made to take it off, Rafe stopped her. ‘Keep it on, darling. I’d like you to wear it.’

  ‘At the moment it’s still fully insured,’ Brand told him. ‘But if you want to check the details…’

  ‘I don’t think that’s necessary.’

  Rafe got to his feet and, taking the older man on one side, engaged him in a low-toned conversation.

  ‘We can certainly do that, Mr Lombard,’ Madeleine heard Brand agree. Then, ‘We do indeed, and they come from the same house. If you’ll give me a moment…’

  He raised a hand and, when a young woman hastened over, issued a quiet instruction that had her hurrying away again.

  She returned after a minute or so carrying a midnight-blue leather case, with Marshall Brand stamped in gold on the lid.

  At a signal from Brand, she handed the case to Rafe and unobtrusively refilled the champagne glasses before moving away.

  He opened it and, after scrutinising the contents, snapped it shut again, nodding his approval.

  ‘Would you like that gift-wrapped?’ Brand queried.

  ‘Please.’

  While Rafe and Carl Brand dealt with the financial side, Madeleine stared down at the aquamarine and sipped her champagne.

  She felt strange and light-headed, a confusion of thoughts whirling through her brain like autumn leaves in a windstorm.

  Why had he insisted on her having a ring? Had he really been considering her status? How she would feel about being his unwilling mistress?

  Oh, surely not. It just didn’t add up. If all he wanted was reparation, why should he take her feelings into account?

  Recalling what Diane had said about him
being knocked off balance when she’d gone to Boston, she wondered if he might once have cared a little for her.

  Obviously he no longer did, but he certainly wanted her. He’d admitted to being obsessed, admitted that he needed to be free of her…

  Perhaps his idea was to try and get her out of his system before he married Fiona.

  But if it was, it still didn’t explain why he’d insisted on a ring.

  And surely Fiona wouldn’t be a party to another woman wearing his ring, even if it meant nothing…

  Or would she?

  If she wanted Rafe badly enough, and agreeing to do things on his terms was the only way she could get him, she might.

  Madeleine sighed and, her mind shifting focus, began to consider things from another angle.

  All this time she had blamed Rafe for treating Fiona so badly, for reneging on the bargain he had made. But perhaps if he hadn’t met her when he did, if they hadn’t become lovers, he would have gone ahead and married Fiona.

  She wouldn’t have deliberately taken another woman’s man, but she had never asked if there was anyone else, merely presumed that there wasn’t. So could part of the blame be laid at her door? It was a most unsettling thought. She had more than enough to feel guilty about.

  Making a tremendous effort, she tried to clear away the confusion in her mind and decide what her course of action should be. Was she going to run at the first real opportunity? Or was she going to go down the bitter-sweet path of staying with Rafe whenever he wanted her?

  No, she thought violently, with the shadow of Fiona still in the background, she couldn’t do that.

  But loving him as she did, could she find enough strength to walk away from him?

  She still hadn’t reached a decision when, carrying two gift-wrapped packages, Rafe returned to ask, ‘All set to go?’

  Wondering if one of them was for Fiona, she rose to her feet to accompany him.

  They were escorted by Brand, who, at the door, wished her, ‘A very happy birthday,’ and put a small box wrapped in silver paper into her hand. She thanked him with a smile that made him her slave for life.

  Outside a few flakes of snow were drifting down, adding a touch of magic to the Christmassy scene, as Rafe steered her through a busy throng of shoppers to where the taxi was waiting.