That it could be a beginning, and not an end.
Except that it was too late for that. Too much had happened.
Now, she could hear the buzz as he worked his way round the room. Knew when he’d paused to shake hands and hold a brief conversation with another guest, even as she herself listened politely to the elderly woman beside her. As she responded gracefully to what the other was saying about her favourite characters in Castle Pride, with Lady Ariadne very clearly not included among them.
Felt her heart quicken and her mouth dry as he reached her.
‘Rhianna,’ he said silkily. ‘You take my breath away. This evening will be a real privilege.’
She watched him looking at her, frankly assimilating the way her dress clung to her breasts and hips. How the sash reduced her waist to a handspan.
‘Allow me to return the compliment,’ she returned crisply. One swift glance had been enough to inform her of his immaculately cut dark suit, the crisp whiteness of his shirt, and the sombre silk magnificence of his crimson tie.
‘I’m sorry I’m a little late. I had some business to attend to.’ He paused. ‘Is there anyone else you wish to speak to? Or may I steal you away now?’
Rhianna shrugged. ‘We’re having a duty dinner,’ she said. ‘It’s hardly an elopement.’
‘Then let’s go,’ he said. ‘Before we’re arrested and charged with criminal damage to a tiara. I saw Mrs Rawlins bristle as I walked in.’ He took her hand and smiled at her companion. ‘Will you excuse us?’
She looked arch. ‘With pleasure,’ she said. ‘And may I say you make a very handsome couple?’
No, Rhianna wanted to scream. You may say nothing of the kind. In fact you aren’t even allowed to think it. And if the ground would open and swallow me, I’d regard it as a blessing.
But the floor remained in its usual robust state as she walked across it to the door, hand in hand with Diaz Penvarnon, acutely aware of the curious stares and whispers following them.
In the foyer, she detached herself coolly and firmly. ‘We really don’t have to do this,’ she said. ‘We can part company here and now and no one will be any the wiser.’
‘So what’s your alternative?’ Diaz asked softly. ‘Mourning your loss over a solitary scampi and chips at the White Hart?’ He shook his head. ‘No way, Rhianna. I asked you to have dinner with me, and the invitation stands—however distasteful you may find it.’
She hesitated, then reluctantly followed him out of the hotel. She glanced around her. ‘I don’t see the Jeep.’
‘It was needed elsewhere,’ he said. ‘Besides, it’s a beautiful evening. I thought we’d walk. Will your shoes allow that?’
‘Of course.’ But where on earth could they be going? she asked herself in bewilderment. The hotel, the pub, Rollo’s Café, plus the fish and chip shop in Quay Street constituted Polkernick’s entire claim to gourmet fame, as far as she was aware.
It was only when they reached the harbour and she looked out across the water to the sleek, beautiful motor yacht, riding there at anchor, dwarfing everything around it, that she realised.
‘Your boat?’ Her voice rose as she turned to him. ‘You expect me to have dinner on your boat?’
‘Why, yes.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s like a millpond out there, Rhianna. You can’t be that poor a sailor. And I have an excellent chef, so what’s the problem?’
You are, she thought, and I am. I’d prefer not to be quite so alone with you, but to have other people at other tables around us. And I can’t walk on water if I need a quick exit.
As she hesitated, he added, ‘It was either Windhover or the Boathouse at Garzion again, and I felt that might be a trip too far down memory lane for both of us.’
‘How right you were.’ Her own smile was forced. ‘Well—if this is the deal, let’s go. After all, we don’t want to keep your chef waiting.’
And felt her heartbeat quicken as she went with him.
CHAPTER FIVE
AT THE harbour wall, she was forced to take his hand again to negotiate the slippery steps down to the waiting dinghy, where a grizzled man helped her aboard, his teeth flashing in a smile that managed to be admiring and respectful at the same time.
‘This is Juan,’ Diaz said casually. ‘He helps me with the boat. His brother Enrique does the cooking.’
An efficient outboard motor propelled them across the calm water to the side of the yacht and a small platform at the foot of a broad steel ladder, leading to the upper deck, where Enrique, dressed in dark trousers and a white coat, waited deferentially to show her to the companionway leading down to the saloon.
Carrie’s ‘floating hotel suite’ didn’t even begin to cover it, she thought, looking round her in astonishment at the elegant pale tweed sofas grouped round a large square table, with drawers and cupboards beneath it.
Behind the seating area was a dining table, large enough to seat eight people, but tonight set only for two. And beyond that, judging by the delectable smells, was the galley.
‘A drink?’ Diaz suggested as Enrique disappeared, presumably to put the finishing touches to their meal. ‘I can offer you fresh orange juice, if you’re still swearing off alcohol.’
She noticed decanters and glasses waiting on a side table, and said lightly, ‘If you can promise that Juan will be there to save me if I fall overboard, then I’ll have sherry, please, as dry as possible.’
‘If memory serves, you’re probably a better swimmer than he is,’ Diaz observed drily. ‘But let’s say I guarantee that drowning won’t be an option.’ He handed her the sherry and raised his own glass. ‘Salud!’
She echoed the toast a little shyly, and sipped. She looked at him, her eyes widening. ‘That’s superb.’
‘I’m glad you approve. You’re permitted to sit down.’
She complied, and he took the seat opposite. ‘I’m still trying to take it all in,’ she said frankly. ‘It’s just amazing. And it—she—really is brand-new.’
‘Just out of her trials,’ he agreed. ‘She’s the new version of my previous boat and rather more powerful, giving me a greater range.’
‘I—I didn’t realise you were interested in boats.’
‘How could you?’ he said. ‘You went off to London when you were eighteen, shaking the Cornish dust off your shoes. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten.’
‘No.’ She didn’t look at him, aware that her throat was tightening.
‘And we haven’t seen a great deal of each other since that time,’ he went on slowly. ‘Or not until the last few months when we—met again. And once we had met there were always other things to talk about. We never really got around to my leisure interests, if you remember.’
She stared down at her glass. ‘I’m hardly likely to forget.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think that at least is true, if not the whole truth.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘The curse of a good memory.’ He paused. ‘So, tell me something, Rhianna. Why, in spite of everything, did you come to this bloody wedding?’
‘Because I couldn’t think of a convincing reason to stay away,’ she said. ‘I could hardly tell Carrie that I was being pressured by you. She might have asked you for an explanation, and imagine how embarrassing that would have been. What price the whole truth then?’ She paused. ‘Anyway, I needed to say goodbye.’
The firm mouth curled.
‘To Carrie.’ She gave him a defiant look. ‘And to all the rest of it. Everything. Cutting the last links for good. You should find that reassuring.’
He contemplated the pale liquid in his glass. ‘Very little about you reassures me, Rhianna.’ He leaned back against the cushions. ‘Tell me, have you seen any more of your reporter friend, or hasn’t he managed to track you down yet?’
‘You clearly have a very broad view of friendship,’ she said shortly. ‘But the gentleman concerned—another loose term—seems to have returned to the hole he crawled out of. I only hope he stays there.’
‘Amen to that.
’ He was watching her, the silver eyes sombrely intent. ‘I did wonder, of course, if you were planning to hand him the scoop of his career. “Lady Ariadne claims another victim in best friend’s nightmare.” “Bridegroom flees with TV star.” Or something of the kind.’
Her fingers tightened round the stem of her glass. ‘What a vivid imagination you have,’ she remarked. ‘And you seem to have captured the gutter jargon perfectly. Maybe you missed your vocation.’
‘Then I’m glad at least one of us has fulfilled his or her potential,’ he said. ‘Tell me something. Did the television company realise at once it was typecasting, or did you actually have to sleep with someone in order to play Ariadne?’
Oh, God. Oh, God…
Pain and outrage, which she could not afford to let him see, clawed at her. She leaned back in her turn, smiling at him with a fair bid for insouciance.
‘Believe me, you really don’t want to know,’ she drawled. ‘But I can swear that the casting couch was never as comfortable as this one. Does that satisfy your curiosity?’
She saw a sudden flare of colour along the high cheekbones, a glint in his eyes that might have been anger, or something less easy to define, and felt a stab of bitter triumph.
But when he spoke his voice was even. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is something that you really don’t want to know. And I think Enrique is ready to serve dinner.’
She would have given a great deal to damn him and his dinner to hell and leave. But that, of course, was impossible. She was virtually trapped there.
And if she insisted on being put ashore immediately he would know that she was not as unaffected by his jibes as she wished to appear.
Besides, Sod’s Law was kicking in, reminding her that she’d eaten very little for the past twenty-four hours, and her usual appetite was being forcibly awoken by the enticing aromas of Enrique’s cooking.
She rose in silence and followed him to the dining area, realising with chagrin that she would not be facing him from the opposite end of the long table, but had been seated instead at his right-hand side. Almost close enough to touch.
An altogether too cosy, too intimate placing, but presumably done according to his instructions.
But, whatever game Diaz Penvarnon was playing, she would be a match for him, she told herself with determination.
He held the chair for her courteously, and she sank on to it with a murmured word of thanks, sending him a glancing smile.
This was how to play it, she thought, however much it might hurt. So for the next hour or so Diaz would find himself dining with none other than Lady Ariadne—‘the Tart without a Heart’, as one tabloid had christened her. Television’s favourite Bitch Queen, never more dangerous or desirable than when she was planning something.
She would eat and drink whatever she was offered. She would keep up her side of any conversation and be charming. She might even flirt a little, letting her eyes under the long fringe of lashes offer him all kinds of possibilities. Knowing she was unreachable. Untouchable.
And once the meal was over she would yawn prettily, excuse herself, then leave.
Because first thing in the morning, wedding or no wedding, she would be inventing some dire emergency that required her elsewhere immediately, and catching the next available train out.
Which, she told herself, would finally be the end of it. She could not afford to look back. Or to hope. Not again. Not ever.
Although London wouldn’t necessarily be her first destination of choice, she thought wearily. It was hardly a sanctuary for her these days. Even now there were going to be issues to be dealt with before she could attempt to get her life back on track.
And there was also Daisy to consider. Daisy, her friend, whose husband had left her, and who would be shocked and frightened, needing all the comfort and support Rhianna could give her.
But at least, she told herself, that would force her to put the sorrow of her own rejection, her own loneliness and fear, to the back of her mind until she was somehow strong enough to deal with them. Whenever that might be.
She stifled a sigh as she shook out her linen table napkin.
In this whole, reeling, unhappy mess, her only certainty was that it would not be soon. That it would take every scrap of courage she possessed even to survive.
And that the campaign was starting here and now, at this table, with this man.
If the circumstances had been different, she would have openly revelled in the food a beaming Enrique brought to them.
The first course was an array of tapas, individual little dishes of spicy sausage, olives, prawns, anchovies and marinated peppers. This was followed by a fillet of lamb, pink and tender, served with garlicky roasted vegetables, and the meal concluded with almond creams, all of it served with a flavoursome Rioja.
It was a delicious and leisurely performance, with Diaz suddenly transformed into the perfect host, and Rhianna found, to her own surprise, that she was perceptibly relaxing her guard as the evening went on. Which could be dangerous.
‘Goodness,’ she said, half-laughing at one point. ‘All this, plus Juan and Enrique too. Is this some reversion to your Spanish ancestry?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s pointless to deny it exists, and just occasionally over the generations it comes roaring back.’ He drank some wine. ‘We were all pirates at the time of the first Elizabeth, the Spanish and the English alike,’ he went on reflectively. ‘All raiders and looters, feathering our nests in the name of patriotism. Taking what we wanted when we saw it, and to hell with the consequences. And my many times great-grandfather was certainly no different. Before his ship went down Jorge might even have been the man lighting the torch that fired Penzance. Quien sabe? Who knows?’
‘And then he met Tamsin and married her,’ Rhianna said quietly.
‘Met her and seduced her,’ he corrected. ‘A fairly high-risk initiative in those days. Her father might as easily have slit his throat as said, “Bless you, my children. The wedding’s on Thursday.”’
‘But it worked out well,’ she persisted. ‘He stayed on in an enemy country so he must have loved her.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But don’t forget she was an heiress, and he was then a younger son with his way to make in the world. A few lies about his origins, and a crash course in English may not have seemed too high a price at the time. His own good fortune came later.’
‘What a cynical point of view,’ Rhianna said lightly. ‘I prefer the romantic version.’
His mouth hardened. ‘With true love triumphant, no doubt? I can see why that would appeal. Unfortunately real life rarely supplies neat endings.’
‘So I’ve discovered.’ Her smile was brief and taut. She needed to change the subject, and quickly. She looked down at her empty plate. ‘But Enrique is a gem. Surely he can’t be content to hang around on your boat simply waiting for you to show up? He must get bored while you’re in South America, or doing your global thing. Isn’t he ever tempted to spread his wings—open his own restaurant, perhaps?’
‘He’s never said so.’ Diaz refilled their glasses. ‘Why not ask him?’
She flushed. ‘Don’t be absurd. After all, it’s none of my business.’
‘I think he’d be flattered,’ he said. ‘But probably not tempted. He likes his life, and so does Juan. Maybe they’ve found the recipe for happiness, and want to hang on to it.’
‘While for the rest of us the search goes on.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens, it’s nearly midnight. I should be getting back.’
Diaz also consulted the time, brows lifting. ‘Why? The party at the hotel surely won’t be over yet.’
‘Indeed it will,’ she said briskly. ‘Carrie has to be home by twelve. You’ve forgotten the old superstition about the groom not seeing his bride on the wedding day until they meet in church.’
‘In all the other excitement it must have slipped my mind. Nor am I particularly superstitious, except when it comes to mines.’ He paused. ‘I can’t persua
de you to have coffee, then?’
‘Thank you, but not this late,’ she said. ‘It would keep me awake.’
As if there’s any chance of sleeping, anyway…
‘And naturally you wish to be at your brightest and best tomorrow,’ Diaz commented silkily. He paused. ‘However, to use a coy euphemism, would you like to freshen up before you go? If so, I’ll get Enrique to show you to one of the staterooms.’
‘Yes,’ she said, reaching for her purse. ‘That would be—most kind.’
‘De nada,’ he said. ‘Even pirates can have their moments.’
At the door she hesitated, looking back at him for a moment, at ease in his chair, studying the rich colour of the wine in his glass. Knowing that this was probably the last time she would ever see him and that this was the image she would take away with her, imprinted on her mind—the dark, intelligent face, with its high cheekbones and those amazing long-lashed eyes, and the lean, long-legged muscular body.
Another companionway led down to the sleeping accommodation. The stateroom that Enrique showed her with obvious pride made her jaw drop. The fitted wardrobes and dressing table were made of some pale, expensive wood, while the bed, the widest she’d ever seen, was made up with cream linen, a bedspread in vibrant terracotta folded across its foot. The same colour was echoed among the piled-up pillows, and a small sofa, similarly upholstered, stood against one wall.
Or perhaps they were called bulkheads, she thought. She couldn’t remember, and it didn’t really matter anyway. It wasn’t something she’d ever need to know.
The adjoining bathroom was all gleaming white and azure, with a walk-in power shower, a vanitory unit with twin basins, and a bidet as well as a loo.
‘The señorita approves?’ Enrique asked, pointing out the towels stacked on a corner shelf, and satisfying himself that there was soap in the dish between the basins. ‘If there is anything else you require, tell me, por favor,’ he added, turning to leave. ‘There is a bell.’
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