by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
‘Oh, I don’t think it will be that.’ His sideways glance was mocking. ‘There’s enough passion on both sides to guarantee good sex. What more could anyone ask?’
In Fran’s opinion, a great deal. She had always believed that love and sex went hand in hand, that sex alone was unfulfilling, as disappointing as an empty fire-grate on a snowy day.
‘Just suppose, when it was too late, one of you fell in love with someone else?’
‘That would be a complication,’ Blaze admitted. ‘But hopefully we wouldn’t let it make any difference. No matter what the poets would have us believe, it should be possible to stifle unwanted feelings…You look doubtful?’
‘No, I’m sure you’re right.’ It wasn’t easy, in fact it was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but it was possible.
He raised a dark brow. ‘Do I detect a shift in attitude? Have I converted you to my way of thinking?’
Shaking her head, she said, ‘I still don’t believe you can deal with human emotions as though they were figures on a balance sheet. At least not long-term. And, to me, marriage should be a commitment that lasts a lifetime.’
‘Well, there at least we see eye to eye.’
Something more fundamental than mere curiosity drove her to ask, ‘Then you don’t visualise an open marriage?’
‘You mean with both partners free to roam?’
She nodded.
‘No, I don’t,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m prepared to stick as closely as possible to the vows I’ve made, and I expect my wife to do the same. As well as fun and excitement, I want a stable marriage and a happy home for our children.’
Recalling the day she and Kirk had been lunching with Melinda, and a small child had been sitting with her parents at the next table, Fran’s heart sank.
The little girl, chubby and dimpled, had turned a big, beaming smile in their direction. Fran had smiled back, but Melinda had merely looked uncomfortable.
‘Not fond of children?’ Kirk had asked.
‘No, I’m not,’ the American had admitted with disarming frankness. ‘But as I need this marriage to go through, I didn’t think it would be wise to say so. An agreement to have children is written into the settlement the lawyers drew up.’ She had pulled a face.
‘Of course, I can stall for as long as possible, but my future husband is far from being a fool. Sooner or later he’s going to realise that I’ve no intention of sticking to the bargain, and then there’ll be heap-big trouble.
‘Though he can be extremely generous—he bought me the Porsche for a wedding present—he can also be quite formidable when he’s crossed. If things get too hot I may have to cut and run…’
Fran had felt disturbed and off-put. From whichever angle she’d looked at it, that kind of cold and calculated ‘bargain’ had seemed somehow distasteful.
Finding herself unable to condone the other woman’s lack of principle, and feeling precious little sympathy for Edward Balantyne, she had made an effort to put what was really no business of hers out of her mind.
Now she felt a sudden sharp concern.
It just went to prove that a business-type settlement could fall down where a loving talk might have brought things into the open…
Becoming aware that Blaze seemed to be waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t even heard, Fran said vaguely, ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I asked, was your parents’ marriage a good one? Did you have a happy home? It’s something you’ve never talked about.’
‘No, it wasn’t happy,’ she admitted. ‘My mother was a single parent. When her lover discovered she was pregnant, instead of standing by her he left her flat. He didn’t even help financially.
‘Being abandoned to bring up a child alone made her warped and bitter. Afraid that I would make the same mistake, she drummed it into me that men weren’t to be trusted…’
‘I see,’ Blaze said slowly.
Flushing a little as she recalled their first meeting and her own unrestrained response to his lovemaking, she added a shade awkwardly, ‘You may not believe that.’
‘Oh, but I do. And it explains something that’s always puzzled me…Why such a passionate woman was still a virgin at twenty-three.’
As her colour deepened still further he harked back to ask, ‘So what plans have you for your marriage?’
‘None as yet. Everything’s happened so quickly…Though Kirk suggested a spring wedding.’
‘Are you living together?’
The blunt question threw her somewhat, but, recalling his frankness, she found herself answering, ‘No…Yes…Well, we will be.’
Blaze lifted a quizzical brow.
‘Kirk asked me to move in with him, and he helped me take my things over to his place just before he left for the airport.’
‘But you’re not yet living at his apartment.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Well, no. I didn’t want to actually move in until he came back, so I stayed in my own flat last night and only handed in the keys this morning.’
‘And now you’re looking forward to him getting back, so that after this weekend’s out of the way you can be together?’
Suspecting hidden mockery, she nevertheless answered as steadily as possible, ‘Yes, I am.’
They had reached the man-made lake, an elongated figure of eight, the narrowest part spanned by a mellow stone bridge with three arches.
Its looking glass surface was marred by an occasional ripple as the light breeze skittered over it. Patches of late water lilies, their dark green pads and perfect waxy blooms looking almost artificial, formed floating islands.
The expanse of blue water was surrounded by a paved walkway with herbaceous borders, stone benches and old statuary. Beyond the low walls were ornamental trees and beautifully terraced gardens.
‘It’s always referred to as “the lake”,’ Blaze remarked, as they began to follow the path round it, ‘though really it’s little more than a pond.’
Reaching a honeysuckle-entwined arbour, he sat down, and, indicating the space beside him suggested straight-faced, ‘It might be as well to rest those knees a little.’
Knowing she’d invited his derision, Fran hid her chagrin and joined him on the sun-warmed marble bench, keeping a careful distance between them.
For a while they sat without speaking, watching brilliant blue dragonflies darting over the water, whirring like tiny helicopters. Then Blaze broke the lengthening silence to ask, ‘So how do you see your relationship with Varley?’
She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Do you see it as a wildly romantic love affair, or as something more…shall we say…mundane?’
‘I’m in love with Kirk, if that’s what you’re getting at,’ she answered stiffly. ‘I wouldn’t be marrying him otherwise.’
‘And how does he feel? Is he in love with you?’
About to say Of course, she paused. He’d never actually said so…But he must love her, otherwise why had he asked her to marry him?
Cocking a dark brow, Blaze commented, ‘You seem a bit doubtful?’
‘Not at all,’ she denied hurriedly. ‘I’m quite sure he loves me.’
‘Do you intend to have children?’ Blaze probed.
‘I hope so, eventually.’
‘How does Varley feel about children?’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ she admitted.
‘You don’t seem to know him very well.’
‘We haven’t really had a chance to discuss it.’
‘How long have you been going out together?’
‘Not long,’ she replied, purposely vague.
‘Five months? Six months?’
‘A few weeks.’
Blaze picked it up, as she’d known he would. ‘But didn’t you say you’d been working for him since last August?’
‘Yes.’
‘What took him so long?’
Aware of his piercing stare, she shrugged, and trying for nonchalance,
spoke the exact truth. ‘I was just another employee. I don’t think Kirk had ever really noticed me until I started to work on the designs for the necklace.’
‘I see. But you’d noticed him?’
Flushing a little, she said nothing.
‘Tell me, Francesca, how old is Varley?’
‘He was thirty-two at the beginning of September. The same as you.’
Blaze quirked a brow and she bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t revealed the fact that she’d remembered his birthday.
‘What’s he like?’
‘Intelligent, witty, sociable, fun to be with, a man who makes a lot of friends—’
‘Mostly women-friends…’ Blaze watched her generous mouth tighten, before adding, ‘Or so the detective agency told me.’
‘I’ve no doubt the detective agency was wrong about a lot of things—’
‘It’s possible, but not probable.’
Ignoring the interruption, she went on angrily, ‘And, whatever they told you, Kirk’s no womaniser. He’s caring and responsible, he respects women…’
‘I see! As you’re planning to be married, I wondered why you hadn’t yet been to bed together.’
Infuriated by his open mockery, she pointed out, ‘You asked me whether we were living together, not sleeping together.’
‘So I did…And are you?’
‘Of course. Don’t most engaged couples these days?’ Blaze’s expression didn’t change, but she was oddly convinced that the thought of her sleeping with the other man had made him furious.
Just for an instant she wanted to admit that it was a lie. But if she did he would only go back to making fun of Kirk.
A tendril of curly ash-brown hair had escaped from the restraining knot, and the breeze blew it across her hot cheek. Before she could brush it away Blaze took the errant strand between his finger and thumb, and while she sat frozen, unnaturally still, began to toy with it.
With sudden painful clarity she recalled how in the past, when they had made love, he’d always liked to play with her thick sun-streaked hair, saying it felt like spun silk.
Apparently content with the response he had evoked, he tucked the strand behind her ear, before enquiring coolly, ‘Leaving Varley’s character aside, what’s he like to look at?’
The tension snapped like an overstretched rubber band. ‘Surely your detective told you?’ she demanded waspishly.
Unruffled, he said, ‘I’d like to hear your version.’
‘Kirk’s your exact opposite…’ Was that why she’d chosen him? Pushing the treacherous thought away, she went on determinedly, ‘He’s not too tall, slimly built, with blond hair, light blue eyes, a fair complexion—’
‘And oodles of charm, I expect?’
‘Oodles,’ she agreed evenly, determined not to let her companion’s snide comment bother her.
‘Melinda found him charming,’ Blaze admitted. ‘She remarked that he was like a young Robert Redford.’
‘Jealous?’ Fran enquired sweetly.
‘What do you think?’
Of course he wasn’t jealous. With his looks and charisma Blaze had no call to be jealous of any man.
‘I think most men would be.’
‘But then I’m not “most men”, and I’ve learnt how to keep what’s mine while I still want it.’
She didn’t doubt it.
‘What about you, Francesca? Aren’t you jealous?’
‘You mean of Melinda?’
‘I wasn’t thinking of Melinda. I meant of all the other women in Varley’s life.’
‘So far as I’m aware, there are no other women.’
‘And you still intend to go ahead and marry him?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Then what I told you earlier hasn’t made any difference?’
Just for an instant she thought Blaze was referring to what she’d learnt about Sherrye and his previous engagement, and her heart seemed to stop.
Pulling herself together, she stammered, ‘A-are you talking about Kirk’s financial situation?’
‘What else?’ Blaze asked laconically.
‘No, it hasn’t made any difference.’
‘You’ll be prepared to stand by him when he becomes bankrupt?’
‘If he becomes bankrupt, I’ll certainly be prepared to stand by him.’
‘But you still don’t believe it?’
‘No, I don’t believe it!’ she stated boldly. ‘When Kirk gets here—’
‘If he gets here.’ Blaze used the same emphasis on the same word.
‘Of course he’ll get here.’ The statement, meant to reassure herself as much as Blaze, seemed to echo hollowly. Jumping to her feet, she insisted, ‘He’s probably here now. And surely Miss Ross will be?’
With no sign of haste, Blaze rose. ‘Then perhaps we should start to stroll back. The prettiest way, and as it happens the shortest, is across the bridge and through the rose garden.’
Halfway across the bridge, by tacit consent, they paused to look at the spectacular sunset. Leaning her arms on the stone balustrade, Fran stood entranced.
The sun was slipping towards the horizon, turning the sky into a riot of pink and lavender, interlaced with palest green and wisps of grey chiffon cloud.
As she stared, Blaze moved to stand behind her, his hands on the balustrade either side of her elbows, effectively imprisoning her there.
She straightened, every nerve in her body tightening at his nearness.
He bent closer, and, his cheek brushing hers, asked softly, ‘Do you remember that evening in Paris? The sunset?’
She had dammed up the past with misery and pain, with self-reproach and bitter determination, never allowing herself remember. Now, as though his words had breached the dam, she was unable to stop the memory flooding back.
It had been his birthday, and the most wonderful evening of her life. Stretched on a lounger on their private balcony, still glowing from his lovemaking, she had watched the glorious pageant from the luxury of his arms.
Later, her fingers entwined in his, he had shown her the Left Bank by night, before taking her for a trip along the Seine and a romantic candlelit dinner on one of the bateaux mouches.
Afterwards they had returned to his small house close to the Iîe de la Cité and made love again…
Unable to bear the recollection, she turned blindly to escape, only to find herself imprisoned by his arms.
Looking down into her face, he said with soft satisfaction, ‘I see you do.’
As she stood helpless, vulnerable, he bent his dark head and, making no attempt to hold her in any way, covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Three
HIS kiss was light, almost casual, with no hint of force or compulsion, yet there was an arrogance about it that claimed her body and soul, and declared complete ownership.
When he drew back she staggered a little, dazed and confused. It took her what seemed an age before she was able to pull herself together and regain some semblance of assurance.
As soon as she could speak, she demanded huskily, ‘Why did you do that?’
‘An impulse…For old times’ sake…Whichever you prefer.’
For whichever reason, she could only wish he’d never done it. It had thrown her completely. Destroyed any remaining certainty or peace of mind.
But she mustn’t let past feelings, a passion long over and done with, ruin the present. She must hold on to the here and now, to what she had rather than what she might have wanted three years ago.
‘I’d prefer it if you would forget the past and resist any further impulses,’ she informed him sternly. ‘Particularly as I’m engaged, and you’re going to be married in a few days’ time.’
Brushing aside his arm, she turned to walk away, adding over her shoulder, ‘Now I’d like to get back. Kirk’s sure to be waiting.’
Falling into step beside her, Blaze taunted, ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’
‘Well, I would,’ she retorted defiantly.
&nb
sp; ‘Then we’ll have a small wager. Do you remember the keyring you bought me in Paris? The one with the picture of the Eiffel Tower?’
‘Yes, I remember it,’ she said huskily. It had been just a cheap souvenir, laughingly bought on the spur of the moment when he’d mentioned it was his birthday.
‘Well, if Varley’s there I’ll give it back to you…’
Her heart lurched painfully. Was it possible that Blaze had kept it all this time?
‘If he’s not—’
Shaking her head, she objected, ‘I can’t bet. I have nothing to give you if I lose.’
‘Tell you what,’ he said lightly, ‘if you lose you can give me a kiss.’
Panic-stricken, she began, ‘No! I don’t—’
‘I thought you were certain he would be there?’ Blaze broke in mockingly.
‘I am.’
‘So why are you so scared?’
‘I’m not scared, but—’
The trap snapped shut. ‘Then the wager’s on!’
Apparently confident of winning, he made no attempt to hide his triumph.
Realising belatedly that she had been led into this like a lamb to the slaughter, Fran bit her lip.
But why? What was his motive?
He was well aware of the effect his last kiss had had, so it was probably to disconcert her. But why should he want to?
Or could it be that he was simply baiting her? Having some fun at her expense? Waiting to see what her reaction would be if she lost?
Though of course she wouldn’t lose, she told herself stoutly as they went through a stone archway and into the walled rose garden.
‘I’m afraid it’s past its best,’ Blaze remarked.
‘It’s lovely.’ Fran let the pleasant scene wash over her, too busy with her thoughts to give it more than a passing accolade.
This weekend was of the utmost importance to Kirk, and he would move heaven and earth not to be later than was absolutely necessary.
He would be waiting, she was sure of it, and able to answer all Blaze’s ridiculous suspicions and unfounded allegations. Everything would miraculously right itself, and this uncomfortable day would be unimportant, relegated to the past.
But even as she made an effort to reassure herself Fran knew that no matter what answers Kirk had nothing would ever be quite the same again. At the back of her mind there would always be a lingering regret for what she’d lost, for what might have been…