by Lynne Graham
'It never happened! You think I'm some sort of pervert?' Carlo grated in frustration. 'I made it up... all of it! 1 was joking! I gave you what you seemed to expect. I do have a red-headed Amazon on my staff but she happens to be built like a tank and the happily married mother of four kids. I will never, ever buy you perfume again...'
Her nose wrinkled to force back the flood of tears threatening. The aftermath of shock, but she would sooner have been boiled alive than cry in front of him. 'If you were hanging off the edge of a cliff, I'd stand on your fingers,' she told him jerkily.
She heard paper tearing. A bottle of Obsession landed beside her.
'The name caught my eye,' he raked down at her, 'and the stupid bitch behind the counter sprayed some of it round me. That was yesterday and I still can't get rid of it!'
A long silence stretched. Her teeth bit into the hand she had wedged against her mouth but she couldn't stop the faint tremors still racking through her.
'I am sorry.' He sounded frustrated, furious and out of his depth. 'I didn't intend to upset you.'
Pull the other one, she thought bitterly, forcing herself to face head-on the extent of her self-betrayal. He tells you he's been with another woman and you go to pieces and start throwing up. Anguish trammelled through her afresh.
'There has been no woman in my bed for many weeks. Is that what you want to hear?'
No, what she really wanted to hear, she registered in agony, was that there had been no other woman in six years. Carlo had concentrated her mind wonderfully. She didn't have any secrets from herself now. No secret and no proud pretence could survive after what he had just put her through. She could not bear to think of him with another woman...all these years had not once permitted herself to envisage that reality, had not even dreamt that that reality could be so tormentingly painful to her.
Deep down inside her subconscious, Carlo had been hers alone. And until now she had never even known that that crazy belief existed inside her. But now the horrendous possessiveness she had discovered twisted like a knife in an open wound. She had no right to feel possessive about Carlo, no excuse to be torn apart by the most bitter and violent jealousy.
Beside her the mattress gave. 'What are you thinking?' Carlo demanded.
'Bastard!' she gasped helplessly.
'Was Turner unfaithful?’
One and one make two. Two and two make four. Carlo was already acting on signals received and computing possibilities like a champion downhill skier racing triumphantly for the finishing line. She couldn't even be bothered going through the motions of attempting to throw him off the scent. 'No,' she said wearily.
But she had grown up in the shadow of constant infidelity. Her mother had been quite unashamed of her promiscuity. Sexual freedom had been a destructive drug she was hooked on, and the older Jessica got, the more blatantly Carole had flaunted her beliefs and her men.
Jessica had found that even more deeply offensive than the screaming fits of abuse her father had regularly withstood. Forced to live in the turmoil of her parents'
deeply destructive marriage, she had also been forced to stand silent and blind on the sidelines, neither commenting nor taking sides. Perhaps that was when she had begun to repress her own emotions.
'You wanted to know why I never talk about my family,' she said flatly. ‘ Well, here goes. My mother was once asked to leave the Deangate Hotel because the management suspected her of soliciting.'
'Soliciting?' Carlo repeated the term as though it was foreign to him.
'She used to pick up men in the bar and go up to their rooms. Not for money, for kicks. Sometimes she brought them home... the first time, I was ten,’ Jessica confided shakily, 'I didn't know she was home. I was doing my homework in the kitchen and then I heard her laughing. I went upstairs and she was doing a strip for this guy...'
Carlo expelled his breath in a hiss. 'What did you do?’
'I ran away and told Simon. He told me not to tell,’
An embittered laugh yanked painfully at her aching
throat. ‘I never told. I never told once. Daddy's little
princess wasn't supposed to know about things like that.
But God knows, everybody else knew my mother was
the local tart. The boys at school used to laugh about
her and ask me to do all sorts of... interesting things
with them... after all, I was the daughter of a gifted
amateur. Have you got a tape recorder running, Carlo?
I would hate you to miss any of this '
'Stop it,' he grated roughly, his arms tightening round her even though she was fiercely resisting his embrace.
'I never went out on a single date because I knew what would be expected of me. And I never had a female best friend. My mother was so notorious, nobody wanted their daughter to risk coming to my house, and how could I possibly be a nice, decent girl with a family background like that? Dad adored her...can you believe that?' Jessica muttered sickly. 'He pretended it wasn't happening and that meant that I had to pretend
too...except with Simon. Am I mentioning his name enough for you, Carlo?'
‘I don't want to hear it again,' he gritted out tautly, running a hand down her rigid back. 'Stop treating me like a leper! Why didn't your father divorce her?'
'He loved her.'
'That isn't love, it's masochism '
'She didn't want a divorce until you bought the firm,’
Jessica whispered grimly. 'There was finally enough cash
to finance her escape in style. She walked out a week
later and took Dad for just about all of it. I think he
thought she'd go off on a spree and then come back.. .but
she never came back...never so much as looked
back '
'And that hurt?'
'Yes.' For the very first time, she admitted to herself that it had. Even though her mother had never shown her affection, Carole's departure and years of silence had rammed the message of her disinterest home harder than anything else had. And it had hurt, but Jessica had buried that hurt.
'Go to sleep,' Carlo urged huskily.
Utterly drained, her mind floating free behind her heavy eyelids, she let her body relax into the sheltering heat of him and she slept.
CHAPTER SIX
JESSICA woke up with a start, a groan of remembered embarrassment escaping her as she sat up. She had felt half-dead when Carlo had all but carried her on to the helicopter. She had been wishing she were dead by the time she was hauled off it again, sick and in a state of collapse. Her impressions had been fleeting.
She recalled the cluster of security men converging on the helipad, blurred glimpses of an incredibly large white villa and heat that only increased the non-stop pounding behind her temples. Jet lag had finally caught up with her. A rueful grimace slanted her face as she gingerly slid out of bed to gratefully appreciate that the ground beneath her feet was no longer rocking. It was dark outside. Locating the bedside light, she glanced at her watch. Eight in the evening.
The housekeeper—at least she assumed the warm, matronly woman who had come to her assistance was the housekeeper—had been a merciful saviour. She had taken charge, banishing Carlo and helping Jessica into bed. Nor had her care ended there. Oblivious to Jessica's mortified assurances that she would be all right, the older woman had still been sitting by the bed when she finally fell asleep.
But what had possessed her yesterday? Why had she told Carlo about the misery of her adolescent years? She had told Carlo things that she had not even told Simon, things that she had never shared with anyone. And at the time she had felt curiously lightened of the burden of those unpleasant recollections, almost as though she was exorcising them and finally putting them into the
past where they belonged. In a weak moment she had surrendered her most private memories... so why didn't she feel bad about that?
She explored the huge, opulently furnished room, complete with brocaded
sofas, magnificent flower arrangements and an exquisite antique escritoire with tiny drawers rilled with luxury notepaper. The adjoining bathroom and dressing-room were equally impressive. Her very cases had been unpacked and her clothing hung.
Some of her tension evaporated. There were no male accoutrements anywhere to be seen. The decor was defiantly feminine. Contrary to her expectations, she was clearly not sharing a room with Carlo. That made her breathe a little easier.
She was emerging from the shower, towelling her hair, when she thought she heard someone in the bedroom. Employing the fleecy robe supplied for her use, she hurriedly donned it.
A tall woman in a figure-hugging backless gown the shade of ripe Hamburg grapes was standing by the windows. As she turned, her waist-length torrent of curling copper hair flew round her narrow white shoulders and great green eyes with the luminosity of jewels fixed on Jessica. Without doubt, she was one of the most beautiful women Jessica had ever seen.
'I'm Sunny,' she murmured, her gaze pinned to Jessica with disturbing intensity. ‘ Welcome to Paradise’
'Jessica Amory.' Jessica struggled not to feel self-conscious about her wet hair, bare feet and scrubbed face. Sunny Philippides, her hostess, no more than a handful of years her senior and as British as she was herself. Was an unannounced invasion the usual way she greeted her guests?
Sunny strolled about the room, her pale hands touching this, adjusting that before passing by Jessica to wander into the dressing-room and skim a hand through the garments visible and then walk back out
again without a shade of discomfiture. 'Did Carlo buy the clothes as a prop for the masquerade?'
'I'm sorry. I don't follow.' Jessica maintained her composure but underneath her tension was heightening.
Sunny laughed and sent her a gleaming look of amusement from below her artfully darkened copper lashes. 'I know... I know it's a masquerade. How much is he paying you? If you're good, 'I'll double it!'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Jessica returned drily.
'Even the walls have ears... is that what he told you?' Sunny drifted fluidly over to the door. 'But you don't need to keep up the act with me. After all, I am aware that you only met Carlo for the first time last week,..'
'I've known Carlo for six years.'
Sunny stilled and turned. "That's impossible.'
Jessica's irritation was rising steadily. 'Why is it impossible?'
'You were married and Carlo.. .' Thrown by Jessica's announcement, Sunny frowned and then elevated an imperious brow. 'Oh that's the story is it? Clever. Lukas will appreciate it. Dinner's at nine. Don't be late,’ she instructed as if she was addressing an employee.
Jessica's knees sagged as the door shut. And what was all that about? Where had Sunny got her information from? How had she known that Jessica had been married? Had Carlo told them? But surely Carlo would not have told his father's wife that the engagement was a fake? Had Sunny simply been trying to trip her up?
With a furious frown of frustration, Jessica set about drying her hair and dressing, choosing a sleek gold satin and chiffon gown which she had thought was quite over the top until she saw the villa... and Sunny. 'How much is he paying you? If you're good, I'll double it.’ The hint that Sunny and Carlo were in partnership had been clear. Jessica swallowed hard, her stomach clenching. Carlo had some explaining to do.
Carlo...who didn't want to explain anything. Was his reluctance to explain based on the reality that the truth was distinctly unsavoury? With a hiss of impatience Jessica asked herself where her wild imagination was taking her now. She was not the melodramatic type. A recollection of that stupid scene on the jet replayed and her skin heated. She didn't want to think about that. Right now there were more important things.
A dark-skinned maid escorted her along a mile of corridors, down a palatial gilded staircase and into a drawing-room. Jessica registered her first mistake as a plump woman in a black dress adorned by an opulent diamond brooch moved forward to greet her. Not the housekeeper, she guessed, her cheekbones colouring. Marika, Carlo's sister.
'How are you feeling? I was going to send a tray up to you later. I thought you would sleep for hours.' With a firm hand she drew Jessica deeper into the room. 'She looks much better, doesn't she, Carlo? Sunny, this is Jessica...'
Sunny extended a languid hand as though they had not yet met. 'Do let me see your ring,’ she enthused, holding onto Jessica's fingers with a surprisingly steely grip. ‘If s gorgeous. Your choice or Carlo's?’
'A shared choice,' Jessica breathed, removing her band again, but before she could move away Sunny tucked her arm chumily into hers so that they stood side by side.
'What do we look like together?' Sunny giggled. 'She's so small, Carlo!'
Carlo strolled forward, dark and devastating in an off white dinner jacket. His golden eyes burned as scorch-ingly bright as flames, a tiny muscle pulling at the sensual line of his mouth. Jessica sensed his faint tension but his slanting smile was a masterpiece of cool.
'How do you feel, caraV
Sunny's hand dropped away. With relief, Jessica moved out of reach. 'As if I never want to board a helicopter again.'
Carlo lifted her hand and pressed his mouth hotly to the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. As she collided breathlessly with his hooded eyes, her every nerve-ending ran riot. 'You look ravishing,' he murmured huskily.
Act one, scene one... the Latin lover, Jessica thought tautly. He drew her down onto a sofa and signalled for a drink to be brought to her and as she took her seat, she glimpsed Sunny's furious face. Jessica looked away again. Marika started talking doggedly about clothes, seating herself beside Jessica and effectively blocking her sister-in-law from view. Carlo wandered over and stood at the windows with his back to them. Seconds later, Sunny drifted over to his side.
A humming sound turned Jessica's head. A big, broadly built man seated in a wheelchair had appeared in the doorway. Lukas Philippides had thick silver hair and a deeply lined, fleshy face. He was struggling for breath but furiously waving away the uniformed male nurse beside him. Sunken dark eyes scanned the room and centred on Jessica with perceptible force.
He lifted a hand. 'Come here,' he commanded brusquely like an old-fashioned potentate.
Helplessly, Jessica sought out Carlo. He was smiling with genuine amusement. She stood up under the glare of the huge chandelier above, her head high, her shoulders back and moved forward.
'She walks like a queen, Carlo!' Lukas Philippides subjected her to a thorough top to toe assessment. 'Small. Good breasts. Quick temper,’ he concluded, reading Jessica's flashing eyes with accuracy.
'Would you like to check my teeth?' Jessica enquired.
Lukas stared at her for a startled moment and then gave a great shout of appreciative laughter. 'Spirit and
a sense of humour... I like that. But can you give Carlo sons?' he demanded bluntly. 'That is the most important thing.'
Carlo banded an arm to her taut spine. 'Not to me.'
'Five years of marriage and no children,' Lukas argued fiercely. 'You think about that, Carlo...send her for some tests or something and then I'll keep quiet!'
Jessica could not quite believe that this utterly revolting conversation was carrying on above her head. Carlo said something in rapid Greek and his father snapped back at him and then cast both hands in the air with an attitude of blistering contempt.
Dinner was announced.
As they left the room in the wake of Lukas, Jessica hissed at Carlo, 'I want to talk to you!'
'You want to fight, we do it in private,' he gritted down at her roughly, a dark anger seething in his flashing sidewise glance.
And what the blue blazes did he have to smoulder about?
She asked him.
'The thought of you lying under Turner for five bloody years!' he slashed back down at her with visible distaste. 'Unproductive or otherwise.'
Jessica went white.
The dining table was circular. It was
a relief to find Marika seated to one side of her. She couldn't bring herself to look at Carlo again.
'Children are very important to Greek men of my father's generation,' Carlo's sister murmured with a sigh. 'It was not his intention to hurt your feelings.'
A lie if ever there was one, even if it was meant kindly. After half an hour watching Lukas Philippides in action, it was crystal-clear that he didn't give a damn what he said or how it was received. The mere fact that Jessica was female put her in an inferior position.
Sunny was different in her husband's presence. She smiled and chattered gaily, putting on a show of great friendliness towards Jessica. She ate very little but her wine glass required constant replenishment. Father and son talked in Greek. Marika made polite, rather anxious conversation, her attention frequently straying to her sister-in-law.
Jessica was sipping her coffee when it happened. With a guttural sound of fury, Lukas reached out, snatched up his wife's glass and flung it violently against the wall. Quite unconcerned, Sunny smothered a yawn with a polite hand.
'I think I'll turn in,’ Sunny said as a poker-faced manservant began to quietly pick up the broken shards of glass.
Lukas grunted something rough in Greek and lit a fat cigar, unconcerned by the shattering silence. He gave his daughter an impatient nod.
'Would you like some fresh air, Jessica?' Marika murmured brightly on cue. 'We could walk on the terrace.'
Jessica's last view of Lukas was of him choking on the cigar and wheezing, and with the best will in the world she couldn't experience much in the way of compassion.
‘My father is not a sensitive man,' Marika said with careful emphasis as soon as the doors closed behind them. 'Don't let him upset you. I wish you could have witnessed his delight and satisfaction when he learnt of your engagement. My brother is thirty-three and the news was most welcome. We were beginning to fear that he would never marry.’