It was late when they arrived back at the hotel. Maggie and Nick went up in the lift together. 'We'll take the express lift to your floor,' he said, 'and I'll walk down to my room.'
Maggie never knew whether he really intended to walk down again or not. Outside the door of her suite they stopped while she fumbled for her key.
'Am I to be invited in for a drink?' Nick said quietly.
In the soft-carpeted corridor they stood looking at each other, and a strange recklessness overcame Maggie. Later on, she knew, she might be sorry, but at this moment the thought of going into an empty room, alone, was not to be borne.
'Why not?' She met his questioning eyes with a smile.
In the tiny entrance lobby Nick took the silk shawl from her bare shoulders and kept his arm there instead. She leaned closer to him. Nick was a darling—strong, dependable, uncomplicated, mature. When her marriage to Blake was over, she told herself hazily, perhaps—
Arms entwined, they walked together through the door of the sitting room.
There they stopped dead. Nick's arm dropped to his side and Maggie nearly toppled over, her eyes staring, her mouth opening with shock.
Blake got up from the sofa and walked towards them, and his face was like thunder.
'So—' he said grimly, 'it was true what I've been hearing.' He put his dark face close to Nick's and there was a dangerous light in his eyes. 'You bastard, Nick Grant,' he ground out, 'I asked you to keep an eye on my wife, not to take advantage of my absence to get into bed with her!'
CHAPTER SIX
Nick backed away a couple of paces. His face had gone very pale. 'Now, wait a minute, Blake.'
Blake was in no mood to wait. 'Get out!' he snarled. 'Get the hell out of here before I forget you're working for my firm!'
Nick hesitated, looking uncertainly at Maggie, but she nodded.
'All right, I'll go if you say so, Maggie. And when you've succeeded in making this suspicious so-and-so see what an idiot he's making of himself, we'll all have a drink together.'
The door closed behind him and Blake turned on Maggie. Before he spoke she saw how exhausted he looked; his face was haggard and there were great sooty grooves under his grey eyes.
She put a hand on his arm. 'Blake, don't jump to conclusions. Don't say anything now—not until you've had a sleep. You're too tired to be reasonable.'
He let out a harsh laugh and shook her hand off. 'Oh no, you don't get round me like that, my girl. I want to know what's been going on between you and Nick Grant while I've been out of the way. I've come back to find out, and by God, I mean to!'
He towered over her, his eyes piercing into hers, and a bitter hostility engulfed her, like a wind straight from the polar regions. She shrank away and stumbled across the room, frightened of what he meant to do next. This was a new Blake, this icy accusing man who had once been her friend. Oh God, she thought helplessly, how did we ever get like this?
She said uncertainly, 'What do you mean—you've come back to find out?'
'Exactly what I say. I dislike very much having my wife the subject of gossip among the staff out here. It undermines my authority and makes me look a fool. I won't have it, Maggie, do you hear? I bloody well won't have it!'
She turned away hopelessly. If he had been jealous she would have welcomed his anger, but this wasn't jealousy, only a cold resentful indignation. All he cared about was his standing and reputation in the company.
She shook her head wearily. 'I don't know what you're talking about. There's been nothing between Nick and me that anyone could take exception to. You left me alone in a strange place and you asked him to look after me. He's done just that, and he's done it wonderfully.'
He looked down at her flushed face. 'I bet he has,' he jeered.
The flush deepened, but she kept her head high and looked straight into his mocking face. 'Yes, he has,' she repeated firmly. 'He's done all he could to try to make up to me for what he thought was my unhappiness at having my honeymoon cut short. I didn't tell him that it wasn't a honeymoon at all, that my husband had gone out of his way to insult and humiliate me.'
Blake lounged back against the door of the shower-room, a hateful, ironic smile on his mouth. 'Do you expect me to believe that was all there was to it?'
She shrugged. 'I don't care much what you believe, Blake. Whatever there's been between you and me in the past—friendship, understanding—is dead. You're like a stranger now, an enemy, and you obviously feel the same.' Her throat was tight as she forced out the words. 'So the sooner we part the better. I suppose you've already started proceedings for an annulment of the marriage?'
She turned away and stood with her back to him, leaning the palms of her hands on the dressing table as if she were in actual physical pain. She couldn't bear to see his face, triumphant, when he told her.
He said in a flat voice. 'There isn't going to be an annulment.'
She spun round, her brain reeling. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to accept her as his wife after all? 'Then w-what—' she stammered.
'It wasn't as easy as I'd supposed. The legal situation could be complicated.' His mouth twisted bitterly, it seems, my darling wife, that I'm stuck with you for the present.'
She sank down on to the dressing-table stool as her knees buckled under her. This was something she had never expected.
He came close, leaning down to her, speaking in a low rasping voice. 'So you see, perhaps, why I was concerned about what you were getting up to here, in my absence. When I heard about the gossip that was going the rounds of the staff here—'
'Wait a minute,' Maggie broke in desperately. 'What gossip? What have you heard, and who's been telling lies about Nick and me?'
'Oh, not lies, surely?' His voice had a hateful smoothness now. He threw himself down on the bed, leaning back, hands in pockets, his long legs thrust out in front of him. 'But if you must know, I happened to phone Denby from London. When we'd finished our business, he started humming and hawing like an old woman, and then he came out with it. He thought I ought to know—it was very awkward for him, but he felt it his duty as manager—his secretary had made him aware of what was going on, and she was very upset and worried too—' He mimicked Mr Denby's high-pitched, querulous voice. 'So embarrassing, when Mr Nicholas Grant was attached to the company—did my wife realise that Hong Kong society had rather conventional standards about the way a top executive's wife should behave—it could do the Corporation's reputation considerable harm with our friends out here—perhaps I'd better put in a word of warning to my wife—'
Maggie listened, getting colder and colder until her whole body felt numb. This was Dorothy Steel's doing, of course. Maggie remembered now where she had seen the girl before, that day she and Nick went to the cemetery in Macau she had been with a party of tourists there. She must have recognised Nick, and later realised that it was she, Blake Morden's wife, who was there with him. And probably Dorothy had seen them together in the Casino gardens too.
She ran a hand distractedly through her hair. 'There was nothing—nothing—' she blurted out. But even as she said the words she knew that if Blake hadn't been here tonight those words might not have been true; that the strain of the last days might very well have thrown her into Nick's arms to seek consolation, and that she would have regretted it afterwards.
He must have heard the hint of evasion in her voice, for his mouth twisted in contempt. 'Nothing? Do you expect me to believe that? When you two were seen several times kissing and cuddling, when he came to your room at night—my room—God, it makes me sick to think of it! And to hear it from Denby and know he was loving every minute of it—'
He stood up and gripped her shoulders, thrusting his face down only inches from hers. 'Couldn't you have behaved yourself decently while I was away? Haven't you done me enough harm without carrying on like a low-down, common little tart?'
Her head jerked back and her eyes went wide. Somehow she flung off his hands and jumped up to confront him. 'Don't
you dare call me that, Blake Morden. Don't you dare!' she blazed. Automatically her hand went up and she struck him hard across his cold, sneering face.
His expression changed. The irony disappeared and she saw rage take its place. She had a moment of desperate fear; she had gone too far.
A muscle was working in his cheek. He gripped her by both arms and shook her. 'I said tart and that's what I meant. Good God, look at you, you even look like a tart! This dress—' he tugged at the flimsy sequinned shoulder-strap of the scarlet dress and it snapped in his hand. 'See?' he snarled. 'Easy, isn't it?'
She tried to grab at the bodice, but he had ripped it down. 'If anyone is going to enjoy your favours tonight it should be your husband, don't you agree?' His hand was moving over her breasts, not gently, but his touch aroused an appalling hunger in her. She didn't care what he thought of her, how much he despised her. Self-respect meant nothing at this moment. As his hands found the slit in the skirt of her dress and started to stroke her thigh she pressed herself against him recklessly, lifting her face, her lips aching to feel his lips on them.
His dark, angry face was only inches above hers. She heard him mutter hoarsely, 'So that's it, is it, that's what you want. All right, then, you shall have it, my dear.'
His mouth covered hers in a deep, merciless kiss that bruised and ravaged the tender skin until she felt the taste of blood on her lips. But she was past caring. She had waited so long, and if this was the only way she could have Blake—in fury, not in love—then this way it must be. Her arms went up round his neck and her fingers buried themselves deeply in the thick hair as he bent her back, his kisses savaging her mouth, her breast.
Then he lifted her roughly in his arms and tossed her on to the bed, pulling off her dress with one hand, while his other hand fumbled with the buttons of his own shirt. She felt the heat and hardness of his skin against hers and her body arched in sudden overpowering response.
Sometimes in the past, she had imagined what it would be like if Blake made love to her—of course she had. But the reality was nothing like the dream. The reality was harsh, brutal, and dimly she knew she should be resisting, while her treacherous body moved beneath his in a frenzy of pleasure that made her moan and cry out as with a final long, shuddering sigh she lay limp and motionless, drained of sensation, drugged with fulfilment.
Maggie couldn't remember when she had had a full night's sleep, but tonight she slept without consciousness of dreaming and wakened to see sunshine edging the heavy curtains.
Blake was lying on his side, turned towards her, one arm flung out sideways. He was sleeping heavily, breathing deeply and evenly, and she lay beside him remembering last night with a sensual happiness, her limbs warm and relaxed under the light bedcover.
She propped herself up on one elbow and studied his face. All the anger was smoothed out of it; he looked younger and somehow he seemed curiously uncertain and vulnerable. A lock of dark hair straggled across his forehead and the dark shadow on his chin merged with the thicker line of hair that grew straight down his chest. Her pulses quickened, remembering how she had clung to him, remembering the roughness of his springy hair against her flesh.
She wanted to stretch out a hand and touch him. If he wakened now what would happen? Would he be glad to find her in bed beside him—roused, perhaps, to want her again? Or would he turn away from her coldly, hating her because she wasn't Fiona?
She couldn't risk it. Silently she slid out of bed and crossed to the shower-room, her bare feet making no sound on the thick carpet. She dressed in a white cotton dress with a demure frill round the neckline and hem. She wanted something as different as possible from the scarlet dress she had worn last night. Blake should have no excuse for calling her a tart this morning, she thought with a flash of angry resentment. She was painfully conscious of him sleeping in the bed behind her as she brushed her curly brown hair and put on a light makeup. When she had finished she walked over and stood beside the bed, looking down on this man who had the power to cause her so much pain and give her so much ecstasy. She stood there for minutes, but he didn't stir, and finally she went out of the room and closed the door quietly.
The staff of Mordens usually gathered in one of the hotel restaurants for breakfast, but today Maggie avoided that particular place and found a small snackbar serving coffee and rolls. She sat down at a table in a corner and hoped she wouldn't be noticed.
Vain hope! Almost before she had settled down she saw Nick coming across to her. He stopped beside the table, with a quick look over his shoulder. 'Are you on your own?' The worry lines between his fair brows were deeper than usual this morning.
When she nodded he slipped into a chair beside her. 'Maggie—my dear girl, what a thing to happen last night! I couldn't go into the office this morning until I'd reassured myself that things were O.K. between you and Blake. I wouldn't for the world be the cause of any trouble. The poor old chap was in a state—all that commuting backwards and forwards—he must have been in the final stages of jet-lag. I don't wonder he got all mixed up and jumped to conclusions.'
He was trying to take the sting out of a nasty little episode, but under the half-joking words she could sense his uneasiness. She answered in a matter-of-fact tone, 'I think you're right, Nick. He was dead tired, absolutely good for nothing at all.' Nothing at all? She felt her cheeks go warm and bent her head lower over her coffee cup. 'I'm sure he'll see things more clearly this morning after a good night's sleep.'
He looked a little doubtfully at her. 'I hope so, indeed. But if there was gossip that reached him about you and me I think I know where it started from.'
'I think we both do,' Maggie said, and their eyes met in confirmation.
Nick pursed his lips. 'She's a difficult girl, with an outsize inferiority complex. I took her out a couple of times in London last year. It sounds rather patronising, but I suppose I was sorry for her, and I was feeling very sorry for myself too at that time. I had to pull out when I found she was building too much on it. I tried to do it kindly, but she didn't take it kindly, I'm afraid.'
He sighed and Maggie looked at him with a little smile. 'You're too softhearted altogether, Nick. You were being kind to me too, this last week, weren't you?'
He pulled a wry face at her. 'That,' he said, 'was something altogether different. I did it far more for myself than for you, Maggie, as I think you're aware, but we won't go into all that again. You know how I feel, but I'm sure I ought to fade out of the picture completely from now on. I wouldn't for the world be the cause of any trouble between you and Blake, however unjustified it might be.' He stood up and put a hand lightly on her shoulder. 'Back to the grindstone now, I suppose. We'll be meeting in the course of business, I expect. All the best, Maggie.'
She watched him walk away. Nick was the dearest of men, but never in this world could he rouse her to the kind of frenzy that Blake had roused her to last night. It was true what they said, she thought ruefully, it was the difficult, arrogant, demanding men who sent women crazy for them. It didn't seem fair.
She turned back to the table and as her eyes wandered round the room her heart gave a great lurch and started to thump with heavy beats. Blake was standing just inside the entrance opposite to the one by which Nick had left. He must have dressed hastily, for his shirt was buttoned unevenly and there was a short gash on his jaw where he had managed to cut himself.
He came across and took the chair that Nick had just vacated. 'So,' he sneered, 'you couldn't wait to get together again, could you?'
Maggie didn't reply. She got up and procured another cup of coffee—black—and set it before him. 'Drink that up and don't be silly, Blake,' she said. 'Of course Nick wanted to make sure that you weren't still playing the jealous husband.'
'And did you manage to put his mind at rest?' He took a gulp of coffee and shot her a suspicious look. 'Or did you tell him our marriage was a put-up job?'
'No, of course I didn't. I knew you'd see things differently when you thought about i
t. You were in no mood to think clearly last night.' She met his eyes levelly. 'You didn't really believe that I would start some sort of affair with Nick Grant, when I'd just married you? Surely you know me better than that.'
She spoke in the tone she had always used when they were together. Reasonable, friendly, not the slightest hint of sexual challenge. She was giving him a chance to get back on their old terms, to agree tacitly that last night had been a kind of madness, born of anger and the tiredness that clouds one's power of thought.
Blake was holding his coffee cup in both hands, watching her over its rim, and something in his eyes made her rush on nervously, 'I've been going into the office each day while you've been away and I think I'm getting the hang of things there. I've also met some of our Chinese colleagues. Shall we go in this morning and go through a few things together? If you're rested, that is,' she finished rather lamely.
He had his sardonic expression now. 'I shall go into the office. You won't.'
That took her by surprise. 'W-why not?' she stammered.
'Because I say you won't.' This was Blake at his most arrogant. 'I don't want you working with me any longer. From now on you'll be here simply as my wife.'
'But you said—you said—' Maggie felt stunned '— that was why you asked me to marry you. You said—so that I could come out here with you and go on being your assistant.'
He put down his cup and shrugged. 'At that time I said a lot of things that didn't make any sort of sense later. We all make mistakes sometimes.'
'Then—' she faltered, 'it hardly seems worthwhile my staying in Hong Kong, does it? Perhaps you'd like me to go home. You could make some excuse—illness or something.'
'No,' he said sharply. 'You'll stay here and go on being my wife—so far as the staff here are concerned anyway.' He smiled thinly. 'I think I can promise you that there won't be a repeat performance of last night's Othello scene. As you so rightly said—' he raised dark brows cynically, '—I was in no fit state to see sweet reason.'
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