'It is,' he had said happily, and had added Paris to their itinerary, extending their absence to four weeks instead of three.
'I'm surprised you can take so much time off,' she remarked as they sat sipping champagne in the upstairs lounge of the aircraft. 'I thought you were in the middle of preparing a big case.'
'I am.' He nodded towards the crocodile briefcase beside him on the floor. 'However busy you keep me, I'm hoping to snatch a little time to look over it.'
The implication was obvious, and colour suffused her cheeks. Quickly she glanced away.
'I love it when you blush,' he said softly.
'I suppose you find it amusing.' She looked back at him. 'Especially at my age.'
'I'm not poking fun at you, sweetheart. I'm sorry if it came out that way. Your innocence is a bonus, Leslie. I'm going to enjoy teaching you the art of love.'
'Lovemaking,' she corrected stonily. 'There's a difference.'
'You're splitting hairs.'
'Yes. But you get my meaning.'
'Indeed I do. But it's rather late to be having second thoughts. We're married now, for better or worse.'
'Would you force yourself on me?' Leslie blurted out.
Dane was startled, as if the idea had never occurred to him. 'Of course not. There's no satisfaction making love to a statue.' Setting down his glass, he took her hand, his skin warm against the cold of hers. 'Look, darling, I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me, but any fears you have are nothing more than first-night nerves.'
'It's more than that.' Her voice was ragged. 'Maybe I don't relish the prospect of sleeping with a man who doesn't love me.'
'There are degrees of love,' he said with such reasonableness that she knew there was no way she could carry on her argument. 'If your previous reaction to my lovemaking is anything to go by, I don't envisage any problems.'
Leslie sighed inwardly. The trouble was, neither did she. It had been a forlorn hope to imagine she could provoke him into forgoing his marital rights.
'In fact, I only hope I can keep up with you,' he went on. 'According to the sex books, you're in your prime and I'm past it!'
'Is that why you've been stoking up with oysters?'
'Naturally. And crocodiles' teeth under my pillow as a talisman!'
It was mid-morning when they landed at Heathrow, but despite the sun shining brightly in a clear blue sky, there was an undoubted nip in the air, and Leslie shivered despite her heavy tweed suit.
'This is fur coat weather,' said Dane, noticing.
'We'll look around for one tomorrow.'
'I've brought a mink jacket.'
'That won't be warm enough.'
'I've a camel coat too.'
'Not my favourite animal,' he teased. 'I'd prefer you in sable.'
'I've managed quite well without one.'
'You've also managed quite well without expensive jewellery and couture clothes—but I expect my wife to have them.' He steadied her with his hand as their taxi careered round a corner. 'And don't say you're not like most Hollywood wives, because I know that already. It's why I married you, remember?'
'As long as you remember it.'
'Always, my darling. But I'm still getting you a fur coat!'
Knowing when she was beaten, Leslie fell silent. She was Dane's wife and had to play the game his way—for the moment.
They reached the hotel, and a porter came forward to help her from the taxi. Though this wasn't her first time in London, it was a totally new experience for her to stay at Claridges. Previously she had slummed it in South Kensington!
'Like it?' Dane enquired, as a bellboy deposited their luggage in a magnificent flower-filled suite, and they were alone once more.
'It's OK,' she shrugged, then giggled as she saw his expression. 'Don't be silly, darling! It's absolutely fabulous.'
'Not too Beverly Hills for you?' he teased. 'What would you say if I told you Liz Taylor once stayed in this suite?'
'I'd say it won't kill me to live like a movie star for a few days!' Leslie's eyes ranged over the exquisite sitting-room. 'Do you always stay here when you're in London?'
'Not these particular rooms. I generally fly in at short notice and take what's available. But this trip I moved heaven and earth—or at least a minor European Royal—to get it for you.'
Leslie couldn't help wondering if Dane had brought other women here, and was surprised how disturbing she found the idea.
'No, Mrs Jordan of the ingenuous face, I've never stayed here with another woman,' he said, reading her mind with uncanny accuracy, and more than a hint of amusement.
'You can't blame me for wondering.'
'Think I'd be so insensitive?'
She shrugged, and watched as he leafed through the pile of messages left for him on the gilt and walnut bureau. 'Not business, I hope?'
'No. Most are congratulatory letters from English colleagues, and four are from newspapers and TV chat shows asking for interviews.'
'What it is to be famous!'
He laughed. 'They only want to talk to me because I got married. I'm the man who's supposed to be against it.'
'How will you explain your change of heart?'
'I'll show them you!' He dropped the letters back on the bureau. 'I'll probably do a couple of interviews and one chat show—no more than that.'
Curiously deflated by his need for ego-boosting, Leslie said, 'Do you enjoy being a celebrity, Dane?'
'Not much. But it's good for my practice. Every time I get publicity, Jordan Associates picks up new clients. And not only divorce cases—that's just my side of it—but anything from libel to larceny.' 'Does that mean you'll be doing shows everywhere we go?'
'I'll scrap them all if you'd prefer. This is our honeymoon, and you come first.'
'Are you sure you can afford the sacrifice?'
'Spending my time with you is no sacrifice,' he said easily, choosing to ignore her irony. He moved to the bar, where a bottle of champagne nestled in a silver ice-bucket. 'A drink, sweetheart?'
'I'll take a bath first. I need freshening up.' She yawned to emphasise the point. 'I didn't get much sleep last night, and unlike you, I couldn't make it up on the plane.'
'A bath sounds a good idea,' he agreed. 'I'll have one too.'
'When do we eat?' she asked, glancing at her watch.
Not that she had any appetite. Like taking a bath, the suggestion was simply another delaying tactic. And as senseless, she realised, for she could not put off the inevitable for ever.
'We'll eat whenever you want,' he answered her. 'But to be honest I'm only ravenous for you.'
'I—er—wouldn't you prefer to wait until—er——- '
'Don't be embarrassed, darling,' he cut in softly. 'I've waited so long, I'm sure I can last till you've satisfied your hunger pangs! I'll get room-service to send up something. What would you like?'
'Fish. I'll leave the choice to you.'
'Deciding to let Dane bath "first, so that she could unpack and hang out the creases in her clothes, she thought it would be a wifely gesture to do his unpacking too, and had just put away the last of his things when he returned to the bedroom.
His hair was still damp and gleamed like black satin, and there was a scrubbed, fresh look about him that made it hard for her to equate him with the cold, storming man she had first seen across a courtroom a year ago. A short navy towelling robe was tied loosely around his waist, and aware of his nakedness beneath it, she had to force herself not to look away. She was a mature young woman, for heaven's sake, and had already seen Dane in the nude! Remembering how that particular episode had ended, and knowing this one would end far differently, she felt warm colour suffuse her face.
'I've—er—unpacked for you,' she said jerkily.
'So I see. That was kind of you, darling.' He eyed the tidy room. 'I see you've an orderly mind, like me.'
'I hope that means you squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom up!' She was glad to make a joke.
'We can
have separate tubes, if you like.'
'Start with separate tubes, and you can never tell where it will end!' Leslie headed towards the bathroom, hoping he hadn't mistaken 'tube' for 'tub'. That was one particular intimacy she wasn't ready for!
But again she had misjudged him, for he didn't even come into the bathroom. That he wanted her desperately was obvious, but not with the crass passion of a boy. Dane was a sophisticated man, and knew he had to persuade her into submission, not claim possession by right.
She lingered as long as was reasonable in the scented water—Rochas' Mystere, with the compliments of the management—then reached for her bathcoat.
Catching sight of her reflection as she wrapped it around her, she was unexpectedly reminded of Bonnard's 'Nude before the Mirror'. With her shiny face, streaked blonde hair piled in loose abandon atop her head, and well proportioned figure, pink and glowing from the water, she could well have been his model. Maybe a few extra pounds to her slender frame would give a better likeness, she decided critically, and pulled back her shoulders, The provocative pose gave an alluring tilt to her breasts, and her mind returned instantly to Dane. Tonight he would be fondling them, rousing them to a tingling awareness, plundering her depths as no other man had done; exploring the most intimate parts of her body as she placed his seal of possession on her.
Trembling, she rubbed herself dry and slipped on her nightdress and matching neglige. They did little to dispel her wayward thoughts, for the fine white silk and lace gave her skin the lustre of magnolia blossom, and outlined the curves of her body as clearly as if she had been naked. Enough to raise the blood presure of any man, she thought without conceit, but wasted on Dane, for his was already at boiling point.
Resisting the urge to slip back into her towelling robe, she went into the sitting-room. Wryly she saw he hadn't wasted any time. The overhead lighting had been switched off and the lamps dimmed to a soft glow. The soft strains of James Last provided background music at a romantic range of decibels, while the bridegroom himself lounged indolently against the bar, appraising his bride with warm brown eyes. In cream silk pyjamas, piped in navy, and a matching navy and white dressing-gown, he looked utterly at ease. And why not? This wasn't the first time he had been in such a situation—though it was the first time the woman had had his ring on her finger!
'I'm ready for my champagne now,' she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
'Your wish is my command.' Effortlessly uncorking a bottle, he filled two glasses.
'To us,' he toasted, 'and the beginning of a wonderful life.'
Leslie touched her glass to his, and they both took a sip.
'Hope that didn't sound too trite?' Dane said.
'Triteness, like cliches, is often the best way of expressing oneself.'
'I'm glad you think so, because here stands the king of cliches. I use loads of them when I sum up in court!'
Leslie longed to say she knew it only too well, but stopped herself.
The arrival of dinner provided a welcome interruption to her thoughts, and while Dane refilled their glasses, she lifted the silver covers off the first course, a creamy lobster bisque. Though she knew it had to be delicious, it tasted like sawdust to her, and it was all she could do to pretend she was enjoying it.
Dane, on the other hand, ate with blithe unconcern, keeping up a constant patter of trivia, and seemingly not noticing her monosyllabic replies. If his intention was to take her mind off the coming night, he was having little success, for her attention kept wandering to the half-open bedroom door and the king-size bed, its satin cover turned down in readiness.
'More champagne?' he enquired, watching her divide the strawberries Romanoff between them.
'No, thanks. I've had more than enough.'
'Food too?' he asked, seeing her toy with her dessert. 'Or shall I order you something else?'
'This is fine, I'm full, that's all.'
'How about some exercise to help the digestion? And I don't mean what you think I mean!' he added. 'I was simply suggesting we dance.'
'Why not?' she said, and wondered if it was another of his ploys to help her relax! Poor Dane, she thought, as he drew her into his arms. I must be the only girl he's actually had to push to bed—the others all jumped.
The strains of Sinatra singing 'Easy to Love' acted on her hypnotically, and she rested her cheek on Dane's. Then finding it difficult to move on the thick carpet in heels, she kicked of her white satin mules.
"That's better,' he murmured, drawing her head to his shoulder. 'Much, much better.'
As he drew her closer still, the warmth of his body pervaded her: the aromatic scent of his after-shave and far more disturbing, the scent of the man himself. She couldn't concentrate on her dancing, and as he began kissing her she found herself responding with an abandon that made nonsense of any control she had hoped to exercise over her emotions.
For what seemed an eternity they clung together, kissing, touching, caressing, and her legs trembled beneath her.
'Darling,' he murmured. 'Darling, beautiful Leslie.'
Effortlessly he swung her off her feet, and as he carried her across the sitting-room to the bedroom, there was the soft whisper of silk as her neglige slipped to the floor. Gently he placed her on the bed and for a moment, eyes darkened by desire, he gazed down on her, drinking in her beauty.
Then swiftly he removed his robe and lay beside her, naked. Reaching out, he dimmed the lamp, and as rosy shadow blanked out reality, he gathered her close and explored every inch of her body with his mouth and tongue, arousing her to a raging fever of desire that enveloped them both in a world where time ceased to have any meaning.
Leslie's submission to Dane was total, her desire for him as insatiable as his for her. Each time he took possession of her was more pleasurable than the last, for he was the most unselfish of lovers, always satisfying her before his own release.
The wonderful hunger that swept through them both made a mockery of her long-held belief that sex without love could hold no real satisfaction. Yet once or twice, in the far reaches of their passion-filled nights, she couldn't help but be riddled by guilt at the desire he aroused in her, and vowed to hold herself aloof from him; to submit to his demands but not respond. Yet he had only to touch her and her vow was forgotten. Nothing mattered but her need for him, and the exquisite feel of him inside her.
Their week in London flew by as they took in the sights by day and theatre and restaurants at night. Although she was no stranger to the town her knowledge of it was minimal compared with Dane's, and seeing it through his eyes she savoured it anew.
They hired a car and made several trips out of London, once to Windsor, ending the day with a never-to-be-forgotten dinner at the Waterside Inn. Situated on the Thames at Bray, it was justifiably as famous as its sister restaurant, Le Gavroche in London, where they had eaten several times.
Dane, true to his promise, brought Leslie a sable coat the first morning of their stay. They had not shopped since, and only on their last day did they decide to return to Knightsbridge. They window- shopped in Sloane Street, then headed for Harrods, the store that made the likes of Saks and Bergdorf Goodman pale into insignificance when it came to size, and variety of goods.
'I need some make-up,' Leslie said as they entered the Main Hall. 'Why don't you go up to China, and I'll join you as soon as I'm through?'
Nodding equably, Dane moved off. Among the items on the list for their house was a dinner-service they hoped to find here and ship back to Los Angeles.
Leslie watched his tall, broad frame disappear in the crowd before making her way to the Cosmetic Hall, stopping en route at the scarf counter to buy presents for her secretary and some close girl-friends.
Handing over her American Express card, she noticed a green cravat, the exact colour of the dress she was wearing. As she crossed to the other counter to examine it, she stopped in dismay. Charlene—whom she had last seen at Robert's funeral—was walking towards her! The shock wa
s so great, Leslie was rooted to the spot. What foul luck to run across this bitch in a city of nine million people!
'Hullo, Charlene,' she said as the girl came abreast of her.
'Well, well, what a small world!' the redhead replied. 'Here on vacation?'
'On honeymoon, actually.'
Charlene's eyes riveted to the diamond eternity ring and huge marquise diamond engagement ring on Leslie's hand. 'Looks like you've done well for yourself,' she drawled. 'Who's the man?'
Did Charlene really not know, or was she feigning ignorance in the hope of embarrassing her?
'Dane Jordan,' Leslie stated.
'Dane!' Charlene almost shouted his name, making Leslie realise that her ignorance had been no pretence. 'I don't believe it!'
'Why not? You knew I was seeing him. The papers have been full of it for weeks.'
'Not the ones I've been reading. I've been in Italy for two months.'
So that's why I couldn't get hold of her, Leslie thought, for the day after agreeing to marry Dane, she had telephoned Charlene, worried in case the girl, learning of the engagement, called Dane and teased him about marrying her ex-stepdaughter—thus giving away Leslie's relationship with Robert.
Now, face to face with Charlene, she had the chance of trying out the bluff she had intended using at the time.
'I still thought you might have heard of my marriage from one of your friends,' she shrugged. 'By the way, Dane knows Robert was my stepfather.'
'I'm married too,' Charlene said, almost as though Leslie's remark was not worth commenting on. 'He's an Italian lawyer and we're living in Rome. I'm here on business with him, in fact.' Like a satisfied animal, she smoothed the fox coat she was wearing. And indeed there was something of the fox's slyness in her expression as she went on, 'So you married Dane. I must say you amaze me. Last time we spoke, you were furious with him for making me sell my shares to Imtex—and now you're his wife and sharing in the money he got from me! What a little schemer you are!'
'It takes one to know one,' Leslie said dulcetly, and retrieving her parcels and credit card from the salesgirl, turned on her heel and headed for the relative safety of the second floor.
Roberta Leigh - Too Bad to be True Page 9