by Mary Lyons
Samantha stood goggling at him for a moment, feeling as though she had been hit by a sandbag as she struggled to comprehend what he was saying. 'That. . . that's just about the most chauvinistic rubbish I've ever heard!' she spluttered. 'Are you seriously trying to tell me you think that. . . that a good physical relationship is what marriage is all about?'
'Not entirely. Having trust in one another is also very important.'
'Really? But you didn't trust me, Luke, did you? You didn't trust me enough to let me grow up, to have any thoughts or opinions of my own. I was expected to make a quantum leap of twelve years—all in the space of a few months—and to suddenly be as mature and experienced as you were.' Her eyes flashed with anger. 'And when I proved to be a grievous disappointment, you became impatient and intolerant, completely destroying what little confidence I had.'
'I've already said that I know I made mistakes in the past,' he conceded. 'But that's four years ago, and you're a different person now. Very different,' he murmured, taking a step forward and clasping her in his arms.
Caught completely by surprise, it was a second or two before she began struggling to free herself, and by then it was almost too late. She could feel her bones melting beneath the erotic touch of his hands as they slowly caressed her body, the rising excitement in her veins as his mouth possessed her lips and crushed them hungrily beneath his own. But, even as his kiss deepened, her mind was filled with dark, bitter resentment. Summoning all her strength, she pushed him away, wriggling out from beneath his embrace.
'That's not the answer!' she panted, glaring at him defiantly. 'Making love is not going to cure all our problems.'
'No, perhaps not. But it's definitely a start in the right direction,' he said drily.
'Well, it isn't a direction in which I wish to go,' she said firmly. 'I'm not running away, or hiding, or any of the other mistaken ideas you have about me. I simply don't believe that you are capable of being anything other than a complete workaholic. As far as I'm concerned, it's an addiction, every bit as bad as compulsive gambling or alcoholism—and I want none of it!'
He stood staring intently down at her for a moment. 'And that's your final word?' he asked, his voice empty of all expression.
'Yes. ' Samantha muttered huskily, unable to understand why she should suddenly be feeling quite so sick and tearful. 'Yes, I want a divorce—and as soon as possible!'
Following Barbara along the marble floor of the wide corridor, Samantha paused as her friend opened a door and led the way into one of the largest, most sumptuous bedrooms that she had ever seen.
'Voila!' Barbara laughed. 'What do you reckon to all this?'
'Good lord!' Samantha's eyes widened in startled amazement at the sight of the enormous, Louis the Sixteenth bed, set up high on a dais and garlanded in yards and yards of deep crimson satin. 'Well—er—it's all very. . .' Words failed her as her gaze travelled over the mass of heavily ornamented furniture, the many chandeliers which seemed to cover the entire ceiling, and the complicated and intricately designed curtains, the same strong colour as those ornamenting the bed, which were looped and swathed in mad profusion over the tall windows.
'It's really, really terrible, isn't it?' Barbara grinned. 'In fact, it's so awful that I'm absolutely crazy about it! This house used to belong to Edmond's grandfather,' she added, going over to sit on the bed. 'And this room was used by his terrifically expensive mistress. As soon as we arrived here, I told my darling husband that we simply had to use it ourselves.'
'Oh, Barbara—you are an idiot! You haven't changed a bit!' Samantha couldn't help laughing at her friend's bizarre sense of humour. But in reality, after her trip to Gouverneur Beach with Luke and that awful lunch, she felt more like bursting into tears.
'You haven't changed either, Sam. . . well, not really, I mean, I was so thrilled when Luke said that you and he were getting together again. And although it's plain to see that you're a far more confident, assertive character than you used to be, you're still. . .'
'Look—there seems to be some mistake,' Samantha said quickly. 'I'm not. . .that is, Luke and I. . .' She waved her hands in distraction. How on earth was she going to explain to her old friend that her brother was being his usual, devious self?
It had all started at lunch when, after a heavily silent, tense drive from the beach, she and Luke had arrived at the hotel to find Barbara and her new husband sipping cocktails, together with Corrine and a collection of strangers who were even more casually dressed than she was. It soon transpired that Luke had booked the entire restaurant for their lunch party, and their arrival seemed to be the signal for a barrage of champagne corks, which was almost deafening.
Barbara's husband, Edmond Vignaux, had been a surprise. Far from being the classical idea of a Frenchman—tall, dark and devastatingly handsome— Edmond proved to be short, plump and a good many years older than his young wife. However, it didn't take Samantha very long to realise that, although he was obviously very wealthy, he was also very kind, very charming and—the most important fact of all—both he and Barbara were clearly very much in iove with each other,
Preoccupied with her own wretchedly confused, miserable state of mind, Samantha couldn't help feeling a deep pang of envy at her friend's happiness. And then, immediately ashamed of such a petty, small-minded reaction to Barbara's joy and contentment, she forced -herself to concentrate as Luke introduced her to the other members of the party. She soon discovered that they were mostly architects, designers and craftsmen concerned with Edmond's current project, which was to restore his old family home to its former glory; and she was just deciding that they were an amusing and interesting bunch of characters when a waiter began filling her glass with more champagne. At the same time, Edmond called for silence, and announced that he wished to propose a toast.
It must have been the effect of drinking champagne on an empty stomach. Samantha honestly couldn't think of any other good, valid reason why it should have taken so long for the hideous truth to sink into her thick head. Admittedly, Edmond had been talking very fast, and her ability to speak or understand the French language was fairly minimal—nevertheless, his repeated use of the word rapprochement, should have given her some idea of what he was talking about, surely? However, it wasn't until he had finished speaking, and she was the recipient of many beaming smiles and winks as they were all being issued through into the dining-room, that the mists began to clear from her brain and she realised what was going on. Edmond had been toasting a supposed reconciliation between herself and Luke!
Goodness knew, she certainly didn't want to create a scene in public, but on the other hand. . . 'What do you think you're up to?' she demanded, glaring up at Luke as he came over to stand beside her.
'Me. . .?' he said, raising a dark eyebrow in blank surprise. 'I can't think what you're talking about.'
'Oh, yeah?' She gave a harsh laugh. 'I may not have "ze French" too good, buster, but even I got the drift of Edmond's little speech just now!'
'Really? How interesting/ he drawled. 'What did he say?'
'As if you didn't know!' she snapped, her cheeks flaming as she tried to control her temper. He thought he'd got her in a corner, didn't he? He was obviously relying on the fact that nice girls didn't make scenes in restaurants—what a rat the man was! Samantha ground her teeth with fury as she caught the devilish glint of laughter in the depths of his blue eyes. The trouble was, he was right! She didn't want to make a scene, and upset Barbara and her new husband. On the other hand. . . 'There's no way I'm going to let you push me around,' she hissed. 'Let me tell you . . .'
'No, not right now, Samantha,' he said firmly. 'We can discuss this matter later, but just at the moment. . .' he gave a low, sardonic laugh as he gestured to a waiter standing behind her chair, 'I think you'll find everyone is waiting for you to sit down.'
'Oh, hell!' she muttered under her breath, casting a nervous smile around the table as she quickly took her seat. 'But you needn'
t think that I'm going along with any of your nonsense,' she whispered indignantly a few moments later. 'As far as I'm concerned, you know exactly what you can do with your so-called rapprochement? Her anger increased as he merely greeted her words with a mocking, sardonic laugh before turning to talk to a dark-haired girl with an amazing bust, who was sitting on his other side.
There were enthusiastic murmurs as one delicious course followed another, but the food seemed to turn to cardboard and ashes in her mouth as Samantha tried to think what on earth she was going to do. As much as she would have liked to have buried her sorrows in alcohol, she wasn't able to drink any of the expensive claret which seemed to be circulating around the table at the speed of light. Not only would it be a dangerously stupid thing to do, in view of her intended flight to Antigua later on that afternoon; but in any dealings with her ex-husband, it clearly behoved her to try and keep as clear a head as possible!
In fact, the only faintly amusing aspect of the long, seemingly endless meal was the sight of Corrine's rigid, angry figure. The other girl had clearly been harbouring fond hopes of a rosy future with Luke, and appeared to have completely lost her cool composure following Edmond's announcement; rapidly tipping glasses of wine down her throat as she glared across the table at her employer.
If only she knew the truth, Samantha had thought glumly, trying to work out the geometric variations of what seemed to be a complicated triangular relationship. However, she had been forced to abandon the attempt as the lunch had drawn to a close. And now, as she paced restlessly about the room, she realised that she had absolutely no idea about the depths of Luke's true feelings with regard to his lovely female architect. . . or his wife, for that matter.
'Hey—calm down!' Barbara said with a laugh as she viewed her friend's nervous, agitated figure.
'I can't. I. . .' Samantha waved her hands distractedly in the air. 'I mean. . .' She sighed deeply and turned to face the other girl. 'I—I don't know what Luke has told you. But whatever he's said. . .well, it just isn't true, I'm afraid.'
Barbara stared at her. 'What do you mean? What isn't true?'
'Well. . . you must see that I can't. . . I mean, I really shouldn't be discussing my marriage with you.'
'Why ever not?'
'Because Luke's your brother, and I know you love him very much—that's why not!'
'Sure, I love him, but I'm not blind to his faults, you know,' Barbara grinned. 'So, shoot—what's the problem?'
Samantha hesitated a moment, and then gave a heavy sigh. 'I don't know what sort of game Luke thinks he's playing, but I've got to tell you that there's no way I'm going back with him to the States.' She sank down on to a fragile gilt chair and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. 'And there's absolutely no truth in our so-called reconciliation.'
'Do you mean. . .?'
'I'll tell you exactly what I mean,' Samantha said firmly. 'I mean, no—I am not going to resume my marriage to your brother, and yes—I definitely want a divorce.'
'I don't believe it!'
Samantha gave an impatient groan. 'Maybe, if I keep on saying the words—very loudly—someone will actually hear and believe what I say!'
'Well, it certainly won't be me!' Barbara retorted. 'I've seen the way you two look and act towards each other. . .'
'Oh, yes?' Samantha's bitter laugh echoed around the room. 'Mostly with rage and fury!'
'Who are you kidding? It's as plain as the freckles on my nose that not only are you and Luke crazy about one another—but you both also just love a good, old-fashioned row!'
'We—what. . .?'
Barbara grinned at the blank astonishment on her friend's face. 'Watching the way you two squared up to one another before lunch—I tell you, I nearly died laughing! It's as clear as daylight that you both get a huge kick out of bawling and squabbling with each other.'
'You're joking!'
'It's true!' Barbara insisted. 'Just think for a moment. How many people—other than you and I—ever really stand up to my brother? And that's not all, is it? You and Luke have also got another great plus going for you both, haven't you?'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Samantha muttered, rising from the chair and going over to look out of the window.
The other girl gave an impatient sigh. 'Oh, come on, kiddo! This is your old pal—remember? Why don't we both admit, just between the two of us, that you and Luke always did have a great sexual relationship, huh?'
'For heaven's sake!'
'Well. . .?'
A deep tide of crimson swept over Samantha's face. 'This. . . this really isn't the sort of thing that. . . I mean, I can't possibly discuss our private. . . our intimate life together. And certainly not with my husband's sister!' she added crossly.
'I don't see why not. I knew you before you knew Luke—besides which, it's as clear as daylight that you two are mad about each other. And with so much going for you both, I reckon you'd be plum crazy to go ahead with your plans for a divorce. Yes, I know. . .' Barbara added as Samantha opened her mouth to protest. 'I know that I ought to mind my own business and not interfere, but in a way it is my business. If you chuck Luke back into the pond, he's bound to be quickly hooked by someone like Corrine What's-her-name. I mean—how would you like to have a cold, wet fish like her for a sister-in-law, huh?'
'Not much,' Samantha agreed tersely, desperately trying to ignore the tide of green jealousy sweeping through her veins. 'However, Luke's future plans are a matter of supreme indifference as far as I'm concerned,' she added defiantly, before walking over to a chair and picking up her tote bag.
'Oh, yeah. . .?'
'Yes, well. . .' she said hastily, ignoring Barbara's sceptical reaction to her words as she turned towards the door. On arriving back here from the restaurant, the last thing she'd felt like had been a tour of the house. But Barbara had been so keen to show her everything that Samantha had forced herself to go through the motions. However, it was definitely time she left, especially since she hadn't liked the colour of the sky when she'd looked outside the window just now.
'I'm sorry to have to cut and run,' she told Barbara. 'I've got to fly to Antigua to see my aunt, and from the look of those dark clouds out there, the sooner I take off, the better.'
Barbara gave a heavy sigh. 'I know my brother has been a complete idiot, but I do wish you'd try and have another go at your marriage, Sam. You're both older and a lot more sensible nowadays; and Luke's told me that he realises it was mostly his fault that it all went wrong.'
'That's. . .well, that's generous of him,' Samantha said slowly. 'But—no, I can't. I truly am sorry,' she added quietly. 'I wish that it was possible for Luke and myself to get together and live happily ever after, but it just wouldn't work I'm afraid.'
'Well, I'm sorry, too,' Barbara said as they left the room and moved slowly down the corridor towards the large, main hall. 'Not just for my brother's sake, but also because I sure hate to see your aunt winning this round of the game—just as she's won all the others.'
'What?' Samantha turned to stare at her friend. 'What on earth are you talking about?'
'I'm talking about the fact that Luke was so worried and upset when you ran away, that he accepted your Aunt Emily's advice as some sort of gospel truth,' Barbara said grimly. 'All right. . .' she held up her hand as Samantha began to protest, 'I'm not going to pretend that Luke is—or was—some kind of plaster saint. When you and he were first married, he clearly hadn't any idea how to cope with a young girl—and it's obvious that he was far too possessive. Instead of criticising you, he should have helped you to grow up—assisted you to stand on your own two feet. And I'll freely admit that both my mother and myself have given him hell over the last years for having been so stupid—OK?'
'But. . . but what's my Aunt Emily got to do with any of this?'
'When you ran away, and landed up with her on that little island, she told Luke that you needed to be left alone for a bit; that you needed time to grow up. And no on
e—let alone Luke—is disputing the fact that she was right. But that was four years ago, Sam, and although Luke has done everything he can think of, he can't seem to get her to let go.'
Samantha gave a shrill laugh. 'Oh, come on—I've never heard such nonsense! I can promise you that from the moment I left New York, right up to a few days ago, I haven't seen or heard a damn thing from your brother. And why you should be trying to make my aunt into some sort of villain. . .'
'I'm not,' Barbara assured her quickly. 'Luke's going to kill me for telling you all this, since he's expressly forbidden me to say anything. He's convinced that any criticism of your Aunt Emily will send you rushing immediately, and blindly, to her defence, and is therefore likely to be counterproductive.' Barbara shrugged. 'I happen to think that Luke's far too cautious. In fact, for someone who's supposed to be such a tough businessman, I reckon he's been thoroughly inept and made a complete mess, of the whole affair. But I guess that's understandable under the circumstances.'
'What circumstances?' Samantha cried impatiently. 'I haven't a clue what you're talking about.'
'Well. . . my dear brother is probably an idiot, but it seems he was afraid that if he didn't proceed cautiously, step by step, he'd never get you back.'
'What nonsense!'
'Oh, I agree, absolutely? Barbara grinned. 'We both knew that he should have arrived on the island like an avenging fury, and swept you off your feet with a long, hot session of madly passionate lovemaking. But, there you go—that just shows how stupid some men can be, doesn't it?'
Samantha was ashamed to find herself weakly joining in her friend's rueful laughter. 'Seriously, Barbara, it's all too stupid. . .'
'Once again—I agree. Luke was stupid, but unfortunately he did listen to your aunt, and since he realised that the breakdown of your marriage was mainly his fault, he took her advice and left you strictly alone for the first two years. And when, after that, he tried to contact you, your Aunt Emily always somehow managed to put a spanner in the works. Luke is damn sure that you've never received any of his letters. . .'