'What do you want?' she asked edgily.
He didn't answer; the sight of her in her wedding dress seemed to have stupefied him. That would have been the last thing he'd expected— to have her open the door to him in her wedding dress. No doubt he wondered why on earth she was wearing it!
'I was having a fitting,' she stumblingly explained.
'Oh, I see.' He seemed to wrench his stare from her, scowling, as though he hated the sight of her in the lace and silk dress.
He probably did. It must remind him that any day now she would be his sister-in-law, one of his family. Like his mother, Giles Kent did not think she was good enough for that.
'Are you alone?' he asked tersely, looking past her into the flat. Did he wonder if Malcolm was there? No, of course, he knew his brother was abroad on the firm's business, in Switzerland.
'Yes,' she admitted warily, wondering if she should refuse to let him enter her flat. Would it be wise to be alone with him? Malcolm had warned her, after that incident at the barbecue, not to trust his brother, never to let Giles near her. 'He's ruthless with women,' he had told her. 'Giles is ruthless with business, the family, everyone, but especially with women.'
Why was he here, when he knew his brother was away? She bit her lip, wondering what to do. 'Angela… the friend who is making my dress has just gone out,' she hurriedly said, rather flushed. 'But she should be back some time soon…'
He nodded again, but absently. 'May I come in?' He didn't wait for an answer. He stepped forward, and she had to let him pass. She wished she knew why he was here—she couldn't believe this was a casual, friendly visit. Had he come to ask her to give Malcolm up? To persuade? Or to threaten? The latter, probably; Giles Kent gave off an air of threat most of the time, and that was what she could expect from him.
Leonie felt stupid in the long, elaborately romantic dress and would have gone to take it off, except that she did not want to encourage Giles Kent to stay any longer than necessary. He made her far too nervous.
'Have you got any brandy?' he asked abruptly, swinging to face her suddenly, and she couldn't stop herself visibly flinching.
'B…brandy?' She looked rather wildly around the sitting-room, shaking her head.
'Sorry, I'm afraid… I don't drink, you see, I don't keep spirits in the fiat. There is some white wine in the fridge, for dinner when Malcolm gets back—'
'He won't be back!' Giles Kent interrupted, His voice harsh, and she stared at him in some confusion, her brow furrowed.
'Is this trip taking longer than expected?'
Suspicion raced through her—were they trying to keep Malcolm abroad as long as possible, still hoping to separate them?
Giles didn't answer. Instead, he suddenly took her shoulders and pushed her backwards on to a chair. She was too surprised to struggle, her body pliant in his grip for a second. He looked so odd that he frightened her. He was going to make another pass at her, after all. Her heart beat suffocatingly, and she tried to think what to do. This time they were alone and she didn't know if she could handle him; he was so much stronger, a tall, hard, lean man whose body could dominate hers without much effort.
He bent over her, his face inches away, a disturbing mask of bone out of which grey eyes watched her frowningly.
'Please, don't…' she stammered, trembling, too scared even to be angry, but then he interrupted her, his voice rough.
'Leonie, listen… God, I don't know how to say this… there's no painless way of doing it— if I could, I would, but… best to be quick, get it over.' He took a long breath. 'He's been killed.'
Leonie stared at him, blank-faced, not yet understanding. 'Who are you talking about?'
'Malcolm,' Giles said. 'Malcolm is dead.'
The breath seemed to leave her body. Her heart seemed to stop beating. She didn't make a sound, just sat there, staring.
Giles talked on in that angry voice, the words like bullets aimed at her, or fate, or maybe even himself. 'This morning—he was killed this morning. On the ski slopes. He came down too fast, collided with someone and was killed instantly, a head injury, a glancing blow from the other man's ski as they fell together. A one in a million chance, they say. A stupid accident, need not have happened if he had been thinking what he was doing…'
Leonie hadn't moved, hadn't given a sign of life since he said that first sentence. She was still hearing it. 'He's dead.' The words repeated in her head while she sat staring at Giles; face deathly white, blue eyes wide and dark and fixed, like the eyes of a china doll, not the eyes of a living girl. He's dead. He's dead. He is dead, the words crashed and beat inside her, but she didn't believe them, she couldn't bear to believe them.
'They rang me from Zurich,' Giles said. 'Our clients out there heard the news first, and got in touch with me, a couple of hours ago.'
Her eyes flickered then; a deadlier pallor creeping into her face. Malcolm had been dead for hours. While she had laughed and talked, and tried on her wedding dress, Malcolm had been dead in the cold white snow, and she hadn't known.
'I had to break it to my mother first,' Giles said, and there was the faintest note of apology in his voice, or recognition of her claim to have heard sooner. His mouth twisted with a sort of bitterness. 'She took it badly, of course. He was always her favourite. We had to get her a doctor. He gave her a sedative; she's sleeping now.'
Leonie wasn't listening. Her eyes had a fixed, strained look. 'No,' she said suddenly. 'It can't be true. He's on a business trip. He didn't go skiing. You're lying to me. You and your family…you hate me…you've always hated me…' Her voice rose hysterically and she got up, pushing Giles out of the way so angrily that it was like a blow. 'You're lying; I don't believe he's dead!'
Giles grabbed her and she struggled wildly. 'Let go of me! Don't you touch me!'
'Be still, then,' he said through his teeth, 'You're acting crazily. You have to believe it; it's the truth, Leonie. I wouldn't lie about something like this; you know it's true…don't try to pretend it isn't, you'll just go mad.'
She swayed, her eyes closing, and let him push her back on to the chair.
'He shouldn't have been on the ski slopes,' Giles said. He crouched down in front of her and took both her icy hands. He rubbed them slowly, methodically, sending a little wave of warmth through the frozen fingers.
She didn't try to pull them away, because she wasn't really aware what he was doing. She was trying not to believe what he was saying to her. Malcolm couldn't be dead… ten minutes ago she had been looking forward to her wedding, life had been crammed with promise, she had been so happy—and now…
The words echoed in her head again. He is dead. He is dead. She couldn't bear to believe it. If it was true her whole life was over, she was looking into an abyss, into nothing, for ever and ever.
'He should have been in Zurich, but he went off skiing for the weekend, cancelling two business meetings, important ones. Utterly typical,' Giles said curtly. 'He was always going off like that, forgetting the work, just off looking for some fun…'
She got angry then and pushed him away, shaking her head. 'No! Shut up. Don't talk about him! You hated him, too; you hated both of us.' She struggled to her feet again, although he tried to stop her. 'Get your hands off me! Don't touch me!' she muttered thickly, sounding almost drunk.
'You're in shock,' Giles said roughly.
'Leave me alone!' She tried to walk away and fell over the long, flowing skirts of the dress, angrily tearing at it. 'I have to get this off…got to get it off…!' She couldn't bear to wear it, she couldn't bear to feel it against her skin. Her mind brought back the memory of her reflection in the mirror a little while ago. A smiling bride; all white lace and satin. 'Must get it off!' she groaned, straining to reach the zip, and Giles came up behind her. She felt the brush of his cool fingers on her skin and shivered. Then the zip slid down and the dress fell apart, leaving her smooth, pale back bare.
She let the chess slip to the floor and stepped out of it, wearing noth
ing but a lacy white bra and panties. It didn't even occur to her that Giles was watching her; she wasn't even aware of him.
Kicking her wedding dress aside, she walked like an automaton towards her bedroom- Giles somehow got there first, although she hadn't seen him pass her. He met her, a dressing-gown in his hands.
'Put this on; you'll catch cold.'
She tried to walk past. 'Leave me alone!'
'Leonie, for God's sake!' he muttered hoarsely, his eyes fixed on her averted face.
'Just go away! I don't want you near me!' she whispered.
His mouth indented, but he didn't leave. He took hold of her as if she were a doll, manhandled her forcibly into the dressing-gown.
She resisted, but Giles got his way, of course. He always did—Malcolm had often said so. Giles had not wanted her in the Kent family, and he was getting his own way there. His brother was dead, and she would never be his sister-in-law.
'I hope you're satisfied,' she said bitterly. 'This is what you wanted, isn't it—to stop him marrying me? And now he won't. You must be very happy.'
'Hate me as much as you like; at least that's a healthy emotion,' he said drily. 'But it won't bring Malcolm back to life if you get sick, so I want you to go and lie down now and try to sleep.'
She didn't answer. What did it matter? Nothing in the world mattered now. Malcolm was dead. Malcolm was dead. Thinking it, repeating it, did not make it seem any more possible, any more believable.
He tied the belt of the dressing-gown around her waist, staring down at her white face. 'Is there someone I can call? Your mother? Shall I ring her and ask her to come?'
'I don't want anyone.'
'You shouldn't be alone. You must have someone with you, to look after you. I can't stay, or I would, but I must get back to my mother; she'll need me there when she wakes up. Let me call your mother—what's her number?'
'I don't want her.'
'A friend, then?' he patiently insisted. 'The one who was making your dress? Did you say she was coming back soon? I'll call her, shall I?'
'No. Don't call anyone,' she whispered with the last of her energy. 'I just want to be alone.' She couldn't start believing in what he had told her, start bearing it, accepting it, until he had gone and she was alone, away from watching eyes and listening ears. 'Please, go away and leave me alone.'
'Look…' Giles Kent began quite gently, but Leonie had had enough. She saw the darkness opening out in front of her and fell forward into it.
When she recovered consciousness, she was in bed, the duvet piled over her, the curtains drawn and the bedroom dark and silent. For a second she blankly did not remember what had happened, and then she did, and, thinking she was alone, she opened her mouth to let out a primal cry; wordless, a groan of agony.
At that somebody moved in the room. Her head twisted on the pillow, her ay bitten off as she stared. The dark shape of a man stood by the window, outlined by a faint glow from a street-lamp outside. He came towards her, bent to look at her, and she saw it was Giles Kent. He had not gone, he was still here.
'I've rung your mother, she should be here within an hour,' he said quietly. 'I'll stay until she gets here. Is there anything I can get you? Some tea? Milk?'
'No,' she said hoarsely. 'I don't want anything, I don't want anyone… I don't want you here…'
'I understand,' he said in that low voice. 'But you're in shock. You shouldn't be alone. A cup of hot tea would help, you know. Let me make one for you.'
Anything to get rid of him, she thought wildly. 'Yes, yes, I'll have tea, then…'
'Good girl,' he said, almost smiling. 'I won't be a moment…'
He went out, closing the door behind him, and she lay there in the bed, her body still icy cold and shivering in spite of the warmth of the duvet. She was alone now, she could cry, but she couldn't, there were no tears, just a terrible anguish eating away at her.
She closed her eyes and saw Malcolm's face; smiling, that teasing, charming smile which made him so irresistible. He had his family colouring; dark hair, pale eyes, height and a slim figure, but in Malcolm they somehow made a different pattern. He was less daunting than his elder brother, much better looking and more light-hearted; a little spoilt, perhaps, by his mother, as Giles had said, but Leonie could understand her spoiling him—Malcolm must have been an adorable little boy. He had often told her Giles was jealous of him, but he had laughed about it, found it funny, even secretly been pleased about it.
Leonie had always felt that Malcolm wasn't yet fully grown up—his mother's partiality had kept a boyishness in him—but she had been sure he would grow out of that once they were married, when they had children of their own.
Now they never would, she thought with a pang of grief that shook her body physically, and that was when the tears began pouring down her face. Shaking with sobs, she couldn't stop them once they had begun, and when the bedroom door opened she had to roll hurriedly on to her face and hide them from Giles.
She heard him put a cup down on her bedside table, and lay still, stifling her sobs and wrenched breathing in her pillow, hoping he would think she was asleep and go away.
He stood there for a second, watching her and listening, then he said quietly, I'll be in your sitting-room if you need me. Drink your tea, Leonie, don't let it get cold.'
When he had gone again she sat up, her sobs silenced now but the tears still running down her face. She had always hoped to make friends with Giles and his mother, and his older sister, Linda, who was married, with two children, and lived in Devon, but they had kept their distance and now that, too, was something that would never happen, although Giles was being kind to her, kinder than he had ever been before.
He must be in a state of shock, too, she thought, wiping a hand over her wet eyes and face. When he first arrived she had felt he was angry, and grief took that form sometimes, especially when it came like a blow, out of the blue, and this had, for both of them, for all of them. They might not have liked her, but she had always known that the Kent family were very close, a real family, full of affection, not like her own family, which was why she had longed to become part of them one day, why she had gone on hoping that they would accept her in the end.
Giles had sent for her mother, and Martha would come, naturally. She always did what she knew the world viewed as 'the right thing'; she would be wearing black. She always had a little black dress for every occasion—black was elegant and sophisticated and suited her. She would be muted and sad, but Leonie knew she would get no comfort, or even understanding, from her mother. She wished Giles had not sent for her.
CHAPTER TWO
Two months later, Leonie was stretched out on a beach in Italy, her head shaded by a striped umbrella, her body gleaming with oil and already beginning to take on a pale tan. Angela sat on a beach mattress beside her, painting her toenails a warm shade of pink and occasionally yawning because they had been up late last night at a disco held in their hotel, and had then been awoken early by the splashing and giggling of children leaping into the hotel swimming-pool.
'I shall need a holiday to recover from this!' Angela moaned, and Leonie gave a wry little smile.
'It was your idea to come here!'
'How was I to know this hotel was a whirlpool of mad activity from dawn until the early hours of the morning? It was a good idea at the time; we both needed to get away, didn't we?'
'Yes.'
'You have enjoyed it, haven't you?' Angela asked with an anxious little frown, and Leonie gave her a sideways look, smiling a reassurance.
'You know I have… it's magical…'
She staled at the shimmering blue sea, the sky arching above it for what seemed an endless distance, and sighed. Magical was the only word she could think of to describe this landscape, especially in the mornings, when the sea and sky seemed new-born, a miracle of changing colours and echoing vistas. For the first couple of days after they had arrived, she had hardly noticed their beauty; she had just plodded obediently w
ith Angela from hotel to beach and back again, as blind to everything around her as she had been ever since Giles Kent had told her Malcolm was dead. Then, slowly, the loveliness of sea and sky had penetrated the ice which had walled her in for weeks, and her eyes had opened on to a new world.
'A holiday—that's what we need,' Angela had said in the flat one rainy May morning. It had been a Saturday, and neither of them had been working.
Leonie had come to dread weekends; she could face life during the week, when she could keep her mind on her work, surrounded by the buzz of busy colleagues, but when she was alone her mood always darkened, and she couldn't stop her thoughts from wandering.
She hadn't said anything to Angela, but she had not needed to—Angela had guessed, or noticed, and had taken to popping in at weekends to keep her company or talk her into coming out.
That morning, Angela had stood by the window looking out over wet gardens full of bedraggled spring flowers; tulips and wallflowers and white lilac. Opposite stretched a vista of wet London roofs. Leonie had been obsessively doing a jigsaw puzzle at the table; it had two thousand pieces and was fiendishly difficult, if not impossible. She had started it the day after Malcolm was buried and so far she had barely done a quarter of it, although she worked at it lethargically during any spare time she had. It gave her something to do.
'Somewhere sunny and foreign,' Angela had said, turning to watch her.
Leonie had carefully fitted an oddly shaped piece of blue sky into the outer rim of the puzzle, then looked up, staring at the grey sky behind Angela's head, realising for the first time that it was raining, and had been raining for days. 'We don't seem to have seen the sun much lately,' she'd flatly agreed.
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