Thoughtful, Rhianna decided with faint amusement, as she waited to hear the outer door close softly. But unnecessary.
Probably Enrique was more accustomed to women guests who spent longer than just one evening on board with his boss, and who shared far more than dinner.
Whereas I, she thought, swallowing, have to go and put the remains of my life back together.
She dried her hands, and dropped the used towel into the laundry basket, then ran a comb through her hair, wondering whether to renew her lipstick and deciding against it.
As she was doing so, she noticed the toiletries grouped together on the tiled top by the mirror, realising they were all her favourite brands—from the moisturiser to the perfumed body lotion, and even the shampoo.
Odd, she thought, and walked back into the other room, where she checked, her eyes narrowing. Because something else had suddenly appeared on the bed. A woman’s nightgown, exquisitely fanned out. Her nightgown…
Rhianna took a deep breath, telling herself that it was some weird trick of her imagination, or more likely that she’d had too much of that wonderful Rioja.
At the same time, her instinct told her that she was fooling herself. She spun round and went back into the bathroom to check out the toiletries, her stomach muscles clenching as she saw that they’d all been used before, and that the pretty striped bag which had contained them when she left London was now in a cupboard under the basin.
My things, she thought desperately. Here—on his boat.
A glance in the stateroom’s fitted cupboards confirmed her worst fears. All the clothing she’d brought to Penvarnon House was there, neatly hung away, or folded in the drawers, while her travel bag and dress carrier were tucked away at the back of a wardrobe. Her handbag was there too, but, she realised, biting her lip, minus her wallet and passport.
And at that moment she became aware of something else—the steady throb of a powerful engine. And she knew, with horror, that Windhover was moving. That they’d sailed.
She almost flung herself at the stateroom door, twisting the handle one way then another, tugging it, dragging at it breathlessly, while swearing softly but comprehensively. Refusing to believe that it wasn’t going to open, in spite of her best efforts, because it wasn’t just stuck in some embarrassing way—but actually locked.
Telling herself that this wasn’t—couldn’t be happening. Not to her.
He’d implied that he was descended from a Spanish pirate, but this was the twenty-first century, for God’s sake, not the sixteenth, and there were strict laws against hijacking on the high seas.
If Polkernick Harbour actually qualified as any kind of high sea, she thought, quelling the bubble of hysteria rising inside her.
She wanted to beat on the closed door with her fists, screaming to be let out, but a small, icy voice in her brain said this was exactly the reaction he’d expect and would allow for. Therefore it would get her nowhere.
She stepped back and considered as she strove for control. For an element of calm.
Enrique had clearly been busy while her back was turned. It wasn’t just her nightgown that had been left ready for her. Mineral water and a glass had appeared on one of the shelves fitted to the bedhead, together with a plate of cinnamon biscuits.
Everything for the discerning prisoner, she thought grimly.
Including the aforementioned bell. Which she rang.
And which was answered with admirable promptness by Diaz himself. He’d discarded his jacket and removed his tie, leaving his shirt open at his tanned throat.
Rhianna faced him from the sofa, legs elegantly crossed, hands folded in her lap to hide the fact they were shaking.
Her brows lifted. ‘Enrique’s busy, trying on his jailer’s costume, I suppose?’
‘I thought you might be throwing things.’ He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. ‘And decided I’d rather they hit me.’
‘You’re all heart,’ she said shortly. She paused. ‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’
‘Taking you for a short but romantic cruise,’ he said. ‘At least I hope it will be romantic. However, the Bay of Biscay may rule against that.’
‘I’m on the side of the Bay of Biscay.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Diaz, you’re being ridiculous. You can’t behave like this.’
‘And just who is going to stop me?’ His voice held faint amusement.
‘Your own common sense, I hope,’ she said coldly. ‘We’re both supposed to be attending a wedding tomorrow—your cousin, my oldest friend. You think our absence won’t be noted? That people won’t ask questions and start looking for us?’
‘They won’t have to,’ he said. ‘The letter I left for Carrie earlier when I was collecting your stuff from the house makes the situation perfectly clear.’
Her heartbeat seemed to be rattling against her ribcage. ‘Then maybe you could offer me equal clarification. If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Not at all.’ He settled himself more comfortably against the door, hands in his pockets. ‘I told her that we’d got together in London earlier this year, but things had gone wrong between us.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t specify what, or how, but I said I felt I had a real chance to put things right if you and I could just be alone together for a while to work things out.
‘I mentioned that I knew that you planned to leave straight after the wedding, and once you’d gone any opportunity to get you to myself would probably be blown too, and I couldn’t risk it. So I was extending our dinner date into a trip on Windhover for a few days. A kind of advance honeymoon. I thought that was the kind of excuse that might appeal, as she’s about to embark on a honeymoon of her own.’
He added unsmilingly, ‘I also asked her to forgive us both, and wish us luck.’
She said huskily, ‘You actually believe that anyone will be deceived by such nonsense? By that—tissue of lies?’
He shrugged. ‘Why not? Admittedly my explanation may not go down well in some quarters, and Carrie will indeed be disappointed, but in this case I feel the end justifies the means.’
‘But I don’t agree,’ she said. ‘So I’d be glad if you’d turn this floating prison right around and take me back to Polkernick.’
‘Not a chance, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘You’re coming with me. You might not be my companion of choice, you understand, but—hey—the time will soon pass. And when we eventually put in somewhere, you’ll find yourself on a flight back to London before you know it.’
‘Kidnap is a crime,’ she said. ‘People end up in jail for things like this.’
‘For “kidnap” substitute “brief idyllic interlude for two people who fancy each other like crazy”.’ His smile was cold. ‘Quite apart from the note, I think most of the evidence is on my side. Mrs Henderson was delighted to collaborate in my “surprise” and pack your things for Juan to collect after you’d left for the hotel. Everyone saw us leave the party in perfect amity, and knew we were having dinner together. There was no kicking and screaming at the harbour. There were people around who can verify that you came on board without coercion.’
‘But that’s not how I’ve stayed,’ she said tautly. ‘You had me locked in.’
‘Did I?’ he countered. ‘Or have we just experienced some teething troubles with an ill-fitting door, perhaps?’
‘No doubt that will be confirmed by Enrique,’ she said bitterly. ‘But it makes no difference. Because now I want to leave.’ She swallowed. ‘I don’t even have to go back to Polkernick, if that’s inconvenient. There are loads of harbours along the coast. You could simply drop me ashore at one of them, and be rid of me. I—I promise I’ll make no official complaint.’
‘A selfless thought,’ he returned. ‘And a real temptation. But no chance, my pet. We’re sailing off into tomorrow’s sunrise. Together.’
‘But why are you doing this?’ Her voice was a strained whisper. ‘Why? I don’t understand.’
Diaz straightened, coming away from the door
and walking across to her. Standing over her so that in spite of herself she shrank back against the cushions.
His voice bit. ‘To make sure that Carrie’s wedding, however ill-advised I may think it, goes ahead, unhindered and unhampered by any dramatic revelations from you, darling.’
His eyes were hard. ‘You see, Rhianna, I just don’t think you can be trusted. I think you spell trouble in every line of that delectable body that you use to such effect. But what finally tipped the scales against you was when I caught you parading yourself in front of the mirror yesterday—taking advantage of Carrie’s momentary absence to see how her wedding dress and veil would look if you were wearing them instead of her.’
Rhianna felt the colour drain from her face. ‘So it was you,’ she said. ‘I thought I heard someone.’
His mouth curled. ‘Unfortunately for you—yes. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. Dear God, you’d only been in the house five minutes and already you were pretending to be the bride. Imagining yourself taking her place. And who could guarantee you might be not be tempted to turn your pathetic little fantasy into reality?’
She said hoarsely, ‘Diaz—you have to let me explain…’
‘Not necessary,’ he said. ‘You see, I came back a little later to tell you—warn you that I’d seen you—and tell you for the last time to go. Only I discovered that you were otherwise engaged, talking to bloody Simon.’
She said thickly, ‘And you listened?’
‘Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged me away,’ he returned harshly. ‘It was—most revealing. Everything finally made a kind of sick sense.’
He looked at her with contempt. ‘I don’t know if being pregnant by the bridegroom is the kind of “just impediment” the Church was thinking of when it wrote the marriage service, but I sure as hell wasn’t planning to find out. I couldn’t risk you staging some hysterical last-minute confession scene, Rhianna, some touching plea for your unborn child. So I decided it would be better if you were removed—out of harm’s way. And, ironically, Simon’s ghastly mother supplied me with the means.’
‘How fortunate for you,’ she said hoarsely. ‘And if she hadn’t?’
‘I’d have found some other way.’ He gave her a cynical look. ‘And you won’t be gone for too long,’ he added. ‘Not enough to jeopardise your abortion plans anyway. I presume there’s an appointment already booked?’
‘Yes,’ she said. It was difficult to speak evenly. ‘As it happens, there is.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Always best to keep things neat and tidy. Although even if Simon had been free to marry you I can’t imagine you wanting to have the child,’ he went on. ‘After all, nothing must impede your precious career, and a pregnant Lady Ariadne would never do.’
‘Totally out of character, I agree.’ She lifted her brows, fighting the pain that raked her. ‘I didn’t realise you were such a fan.’
‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I simply found it—instructive. To see what you’ve become.’
‘I’ve become a highly paid professional actor,’ she said stonily. ‘I’m not ashamed of that. But my screen persona and my private life are leagues apart, whatever you may want to believe. And forget that garbage about the casting couch too. I don’t go in for casual sex. As you would have found out, Mr Penvarnon, dinner is one thing, but I’d have to love a man before I slept with him.’
She saw his jaw muscles clench and braced herself for anger, but when he spoke his voice was cool.
‘Then let me put your mind at rest,’ he said. ‘The term “advance honeymoon” was only a figure of speech. I wouldn’t really want Simon Rawlins’ leavings.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘But I still have a problem. As you’ve already noticed, I’m pretty recognisable, and if we’re seen together—in Spain, France, or anywhere else—the obvious conclusions will be drawn.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But when we resume our totally separate lives they’ll have to think again.’
‘And I know what they’ll think,’ she said curtly. ‘That I’m your discarded mistress. You talked about potential headlines earlier. Well, I can see these now: “Ariadne dumped.” “Millionaire turns down TV’s Sex Siren.” I don’t court bad publicity. I can’t afford to. And I shouldn’t think you want it either.’
She paused. ‘Especially if people start digging around, unearthing old scandals. How long, do you think, before that nasty little man from the Duchy Herald is told gloatingly by someone that my mother was your father’s mistress? That she betrayed a sick woman who trusted her, and destroyed her marriage, driving her into a nervous breakdown. Which is why Esther Penvarnon lives in widowed exile to this day—because it’s too painful for her to return.’
She drew a harsh breath. ‘Isn’t that still the authorised version of what happened?’
‘You, of course, have a different one.’
‘I certainly have another perception of my mother. You never knew her.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘And you never knew mine.’
‘True. However, I’m sure she wouldn’t want those stories rehashed either, or served up as background to your supposed involvement with me.’
‘Indeed not,’ he said. ‘So I shall make damned sure that our “supposed involvement” remains our little secret, and I advise you most strongly to do the same. Unless you think I missed the vague threat in your last remark.’
He paused. ‘I’m not planning to parade you through the streets of Barcelona, sweetheart, or sunbathe nude with you by a pool on the Côte d’Azur. The paparazzi can’t board this boat, and this is where you’ll stay—until the wedding’s past and gone and the happy couple far away where you can’t touch them.’
He sent her a grim smile as he turned to leave. At the door he hesitated, glancing back at her. ‘In retrospect,’ he said, ‘wouldn’t it have been better just to have taken my advice and stayed in London? Think it over, if by some mischance you can’t sleep. Goodnight, Rhianna.’
‘In retrospect,’ she said, ‘wouldn’t it have been better, in fact, if you and I had never met? You think about that.’
The door closed behind him, and this time she heard the key turn in the lock. For a moment she sat motionless, then she drew a long quivering breath and bent forward, covering her face with her hands.
While in her head a voice whispered over and over again, What can I do? Oh, God, what I can I do? How can I bear this?
But she heard only silence in reply.
CHAPTER SIX
AS A confrontation, she thought painfully, it had not gone too well. She might have had the last word, but the upper hand had eluded her completely.
What on earth had possessed her to rake up past history to throw at him? They both knew what had happened, and nothing could change that—a certainty she’d lived with during the whole five years since she’d first learned the truth.
The summer when her life had changed forever.
She’d had her eighteenth birthday, acknowledged as usual by a card from her aunt, and celebrated joyously by a night out in Falmouth with Carrie and some of the girls from school. Her final examinations had been over, and she’d been waiting for the results—although her grades hadn’t really been all that important, she reflected unhappily, as Aunt Kezia had refused point-blank to allow her to apply for a university place, unlike Carrie, who’d been hoping to go to Oxford.
‘It’s time you went out to work, my girl,’ Miss Trewint declared harshly. ‘Started contributing to your upkeep.’
In the meantime, almost as soon as the school gates closed, she found Rhianna a job for the season at Rollo’s Café. The hours were long, it was poorly paid, Mrs Rollo was a witch and by the time her board and lodging had been extracted Rhianna was left with little to show for each week’s hard work.
And this, she supposed, was to be her future. Or some dead-end office job, using the computing and word processing course from school, bolstered by weekend and evening work during the summer.
The onl
y bright spot on the horizon was the anticipation of Carrie’s eighteenth birthday, which was going to be marked by a major party at Penvarnon House.
And for once Simon was expected to be there.
He’d pretty much faded out of the picture since he’d gone up to Cambridge two years ago. He still came to Polkernick sometimes in the summer, when his parents were there, but they were fleeting visits, and often he was accompanied by friends from university, his time occupied with them. Sometimes, too, the friends were female.
Instinct told Rhianna, suffering her own pangs, how much Carrie must be hurt by this, and by the fact that her regular letters to Simon had been answered so infrequently since he left for university.
‘He’s frantically busy, of course,’ she’d said once, her clear eyes faintly shadowed. ‘With work and all the other stuff he’s involved in. Because it’s a different world. Everyone says so. Three years of complete whirl.’ She’d paused. ‘Besides, everything changes. We all move on, and I shall too.’
But Rhianna wasn’t convinced. And her own dream image of Simon the Golden wasn’t quite as perfect as it had been once, its gold just a little tarnished.
She wondered if he was bringing anyone to Carrie’s party, and hoped devoutly that he wasn’t.
She’d been invited, although naturally she wouldn’t be attending the dinner that would precede the dancing. Judging by Carrie’s obvious embarrassment, it was clear her mother had vetoed any such idea.
Carrie had the world’s loveliest dress, in aquamarine chiffon, and Rhianna couldn’t hope to emulate that. However, a charity shop in Truro had yielded a simple black slip of a dress in a silky fabric, cut on the bias with shoestring straps, nearly new, in her size and affordable. They’d even found her a pair of high-heeled sandals to match—which, the helper had confided, had proved too narrow-fitting for most of their customers.
‘Might have been made for you, my handsome,’ she’d said cheerfully, as she’d wrapped them.
Blogger Bundle Volume VI: SB Sarah Selects Books That Rock Her Socks Page 27