'Everything has its price,' he said, his voice cool, but there was nothing cool about his eyes, they glinted like hot metal, because he had not liked what she said, he hadn't liked the voice she used as she said it. Daniel might be using blackmail remorselessly, but he did not want her to keep underlining that fact. He preferred the truth kept out of sight.
'Our deal is just between the two of us,' he said. 'Nobody else is involved.' He watched her, his fingers curled around his wine-glass, their tips lightly tapping the stem of the glass. 'And that includes Aston Hill.'
'I don't intend to tell Aston! I'd hate him to know, too. He would be horrified, I'd feel sick if I had to tell him.'
Daniel frowned, his mouth straight, dark red running along his cheekbones. Lindsay kept her eyes on him, hoping her pointed remarks were making him angry. She wanted to hurt him, to prick that thick skin of his, she was still raw from the memory of seeing the blonde actress hanging round his neck and calling him 'darling' in those honeyed tones. Last time she had run away because loving him hurt so much, and she couldn't live in a ceaseless atmosphere of doubt and jealousy. Nothing had changed, Daniel was still the same man, she had to be stupid to let history repeat itself. Somehow she had to keep a wall between them, she had to learn not to care what he did, who he was with, how he felt. During their separation she had built up a satisfactory life of her own, she had learnt so much about herself and about life since she left him and she was determined not to make the mistake of letting her emotions take control of her, not this time. She would just have to keep him at arms' length.
Mrs Henshaw served their coffee and Lindsay glanced at her watch. 'Look at the time! I'll have to be going soon—I've got a mountain of work to get through before I can leave tonight.'
'Drink your coffee and I'll drive you back to your office.' Daniel looked at his own watch, shrugging. 'I'll have to get back to work myself.'
In the car, he asked: 'Dinner tonight?' and Lindsay shook her head.
'I'm having dinner with Aston.'
She felt him stiffen. When he spoke again his voice held a muffled snarl of temper. 'That's over now, you know that? You're hot dating him again. We're getting remarried, the press would have a field day if you were seen with another man.'
He couldn't speak too loudly because he Was afraid the chauffeur would hear him. Lindsay gave him a sweet smile. 'Aston's an old friend.' The car had stopped, she opened the door and quickly fled before she got any reaction from Daniel.
Of course, Chris was waiting for her, buzzing with questions. She regarded him wryly. 'Oh, well, you might as well know—we're getting married again.'
His jaw dropped. 'You and Daniel Randall…'
'Me and Daniel Randall,' she nodded. 'Happy now? Can I do some work?'
'When?' Chris demanded, and she looked at her piled desk.
'Now might be a good time before I get buried alive in paper.'
'No,' he said, impatiently. 'When are you getting married again?' Then he laughed and said: 'You knew what I meant.'
'In a fortnight,' Lindsay told him. 'We just spent an hour planning it—that gives his damned sister time to buy a new hat, let's hope it hides her face.' Daniel's sister had never liked Lindsay. Meriel was a feline, self-important woman with too much money, too much time on her hands and too little to do with either.
Chris stared at her, wide awake for once. 'I didn't know you were still seeing him,' he said slowly. 'I thought it was Aston…'
Lindsay shrugged and couldn't think of an answer for that. Chris ran a hand through his glowing,-honey-blond hair, frowning.
'I hope you'll be happy,' he said in a dubious way, looking distinctly worried, then he wandered away and Lindsay sat looking at nothing. So did she, wasn't that what everyone wanted? To be happy? Marriage to Daniel Randall didn't seem a likely prospect for finding happiness, though. Heartache, perhaps, she had had enough of that last time, he was good at that.
She got home late that evening and had to rush to shower and change before Aston arrived. She was just brushing a little rouge along her cheekbones when the doorbell went. She ran to open it, smiling, but it wasn't Aston, it was a girl in a T-shirt and jeans who grinned at her and handed her the enormous cellophane-wrapped bouquet she was holding.
'Mrs Randall?'
'Yes.' Lindsay said. 'Thank you.'
They were beautiful. She walked slowly into the kitchen cradling them, deep red velvety roses with long stems, frilly white carnations, yellow gladioli. Lindsay stripped off the cellophane and began to put them in vases. The doorbell went again and this time it was Aston. He looked at the rose she held, smiling.
'For me?' he asked, his mouth crooked.
She laughed, walking back into the kitchen. He stood at her shoulder, staring at the flowers, watching her finish the arrangement.
'Randall?' His voice was quiet, it held no particular intonation.
She nodded without looking round, nerving herself to tell him she was remarrying Daniel, but before she could say anything, Aston's hands gripped her shoulders, he moved closer, his mouth moving against her neck.
'He's chasing you again, isn't he, Lindsay?' She felt the pressure of his lips, heard him breathing quickly. 'Don't let him too hear you, have you forgotten what he did to you last time? It was a year before you could bear a man near you, you were a human iceberg.' His hands slid down her arms and round her waist, she felt them warm and firm below her breasts. 'I've waited too long,' he said unsteadily, and she was disturbed by the note in his voice. 'I should have turned a blow-torch cm you long ago.'
'Aston—' she began, but he was spinning her round to face him and as she looked up into the rugged, humorous face she saw a new expression, one she had never seen before; a fierce excitement, a passion, that silenced her in shock.
His arms went round her, pulled her close in a convulsive, demanding movement, and he kissed her hungrily, with desire, with pleading, and the sheer naked need in that kiss sent her spinning off balance, everything female in her responded to Aston's unhidden need of her. He pressed her even closer, a hand gripping her back, and his mouth was warm and sensuous. He had never kissed her like this before, and she yielded to him without being able to think.
It was always dangerous to think you knew someone, she thought; had she been so wrong about Aston? Her heart was going inside her like a steam-hammer, crashing wildly, she couldn't breathe. Aston was turning her body to soft, yielding wax in his caressing hands.
He lifted his head, breathing raggedly. Lindsay opened her eyes, dazed by the light, and he said in a husky voice: 'I love you.'
She burst into tears.
CHAPTER NINE
'Darling!' Aston sounded horrified. He tipped up her face and gently wiped her eyes with a hankie, murmuring soothingly: 'What is it? Lindsay darling, don't, I didn't mean to frighten you—don't cry, love.'
She couldn't stop the tears, they poured out of her like Niagara Falls, she rubbed her hand across her wet face and Aston said; 'You're smudging your mascara, you look like a panda,' which made her giggle hysterically and then hiccup, crying and laughing together.
Aston urged her into the sitting-room, pushed her down on the couch. 'What you need is a drink,' he said. 'I need one myself,' he added in a self-mocking voice. 'A stiff whisky, that's what I need. I seem to have rubber legs.' He went over to pour the drinks, saying with his back to her: 'That was some kiss.' He sounded selfconscious; he was not given to such violent emotion, he was a calm man who liked his life to be under control. Lindsay had never expected him to break out like that, she had thought she had him worked out to the last detail, she had been wrong, and she was dreading the next few moments. How was she going to tell him about Daniel now?
She hadn't expected Aston to be pleased, of course, she had known he would be taken aback, even hurt or angry, but it hadn't entered her head that under his smiling surface there lurked such strong feelings.
He came over and put a glass into her hand, sat down next to her
, swallowing some of the whisky in his own glass. He was very flushed, he looked like a man who has surprised himself and isn't sure what to do, next. Lindsay glanced at him secretly from under her lashes, pretending to sip her whisky. Grimacing at the taste, she said huskily: 'Aston, I've got to tell you…'
'I know,' he said, interrupting. 'Why do you think I haven't rushed you until now? I knew you weren't in love with me, I realised I had to be patient. Don't think I'm expecting an answer right away, I just wanted you to know how I felt.' He blushed and looked down into his whisky, smiling, a quick, secret smile he tried to hide by turning his head away, but too late, Lindsay had seen it. 'I should have shown you sooner,' he said, and she knew from that smile that her response to his passionate kiss had misled him into thinking she felt more for him than she did.
Or was he right? She sat up, jerked into cold self-appraisal. How had she felt? At the time she had been swept away like a straw on a flooding river, helpless to do more than go with the compelling tide. She hadn't been thinking or assessing how she felt, she had given in to him mindlessly. If Daniel had not come back into her life, would she have fallen in love with Aston, sooner or later? She had been telling herself she liked him but nothing more; she had seen him in a different light now and she was no longer so sure.
What was love, anyway? Why did she feel the way she did about Daniel, rather than any other man? His looks? Other men were as good- looking, but they didn't do a thing to her heartbeat. His wealth and power? If he had been as rich as Croesus but hadn't turned her on, she wouldn't have looked at him twice. His personality? She grimaced, drinking some more whisky. Daniel had the personality of a steamroller; he crushed everyone he met and left them flattened at his feet.
There was a lot of hostility in the way she felt about him, but she couldn't hide from herself the truth that her emotions towards him were complicated, involved, convoluted, like a thick skein of multi-coloured silks, twisted together and almost impossible to unwind without violence. When she was with him she couldn't take her eyes off him, he fascinated her; images flashed through her head now and she felt that betraying weakness she always felt when she was with him. Daniel's wide, firm mouth, smiling, or hard, his lashes lying on his skin like shadows when he looked down, his brown neck, the slow pulse at the base of it, the way he moved suddenly, the long legs graceful. She visualised without thinking, swallowing on a sudden dry-mouthed intensity. How can you pinpoint the focus of so deep an attraction? Perhaps it was none of those things, perhaps it was in herself that she should be looking—her own nature needed something she sensed in Daniel and not in any other man, but she didn't have a clue what it was she needed.
Would she have found it with Aston, though?
She looked at him and he was watching her, his mouth crooked.
'Don't look so worried, it will wait,' he said, and she wanted to cry again because he was trying to comfort her and that made her ache with guilt.
Self-hatred forced the words out of her. 'I'm going to marry Daniel.'
Aston sat there, staring at her, his glass clutched in his hand. He looked as though he hadn't understood the words. The colour drained slowly out of his face.
'I tried to tell you,' Lindsay mumbled in a low voice.
He leaned over and put down his glass, whisky spilled out of it at the crash as it hit the table.
'Why?'
The word had a raw force behind it. She couldn't meet his eyes, she was pale and she felt sick. What could she tell him? Not the truth, obviously, the situation was explosive enough without that.
'I don't know,' she said helplessly, her lower lip trembling, and in a sense that was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. On the surface Daniel was blackmailing her, but under that there lay whole layers of reasons for what was happening, subterranean levels of feeling one upon another, so complex she couldn't reach the end of them.
'What do you mean, you don't know?' Aston broke out angrily, and he might well be angry-she knew she sounded fatuous, stupid, she wasn't making sense, to him or herself. 'Are you out of your mind?' he asked, and she grasped almost gratefully at the question.
'Yes,' she said, and began to laugh now, a high-pitched, unbalanced laughter close to tears. 'Stop it!' Aston muttered, and she stopped, dead, swallowing.
'You can't be serious,' he protested. 'After what you've said about him? He's poison to you!'
A sweet poison, Lindsay thought, shuddering, and felt the ache of desire deep inside herself— wasn't that what Daniel had meant when he said that although lobster brought him out in a rash he couldn't resist it? Did he feel the same about her? Were they both aware that it was insanity for them to be together, but far more painful for them to be apart? During their separation she had built up a pleasant life, her days had been busy and painless, her burnt-out nerves had had a chance to heal, she should have been very happy, but since Daniel came back into her world she had felt fifty times more alive, a hundred times more real. He hurt, he drove her crazy, but she needed him.
Aston was looking at her grimly. 'Just now—' he began, and she put her hands over her face. He had good reason to be angry with her, she was angry with herself.
'I'm sorry,' she muttered through her fingers, and he pulled them down, refusing to let her hide from him.
'Why did you let me kiss you like that when all the time you knew you were going to marry Randall again?'
'I didn't mean to… I'm sorry… Aston, I like you so much, but…what can I say? I don't know, you've every right to hate me, I wouldn't blame you if you did, I wish I could love you, you're a wonderful man.'
He got up in a fierce, aggressive movement. 'I don't want to hear any more. I don't understand you, I don't understand women at all.' He walked to the door and Lindsay sat on the couch, shivering.
Aston stopped at the door, looked back. His hazel eyes were still almost black, his jawline rigid. She thought he was going to say something and waited, not quite meeting that stare, but after a long silence he went without a word, closing the front door very quietly.
Lindsay sat there without moving for a long time, then she got up unsteadily and went into the kitchen, to be met by a wave of perfume from the flowers Daniel had sent her. She looked at them with animosity, as though they were to blame for what had happened. She pulled some of the roses out, water dripping on the floor as she did so, and was barely conscious of the thorns pricking her skin. Half sobbing, she tore the flowers between her fingers. 'Damn you, damn you!' she whispered, and flung them from her. They drifted to the floor in a shower of torn crimson petals and green leaves. Her fingers showed tiny spots of blood, she stared at them with clouded eyes. He was hurting her already.
The phone rang, making her jump. She answered it reluctantly. It was Stephen, sounding almost lightheaded. 'I suppose you know,' he said, and she pretended not to understand, her voice, puzzled. 'Know what?'
'You don't?' Stephen sounded disbelieving, but he told her about Daniel's offer, and she ex-claimed joyfully, hoping she wasn't over-acting and that he wouldn't guess she knew all about it.
'Isn't that wonderful? I'm so glad—are you pleased? Is he giving you a good deal, or aren't you happy with his offer?'
'He's being more than handsome,' Stephen told her in a slightly dry tone. 'I'd be an ungrateful fool if I wasn't relieved and delighted. Nobody loses their job, the firm stays nominally mine and Alice won't have to leave her house. I couldn't in my wildest dreams have hoped for anything like Daniel's offer.' He talked about the details for a while, then said: 'Thanks, Lindsay,' and she protested: 'What for, what did I do? I had nothing to do with it.'
'Pull the other one,' Stephen said bluntly. 'Daniel Randall isn't the quixotic type, he and I were never that close, he wouldn't do this for me. There's only one person who could get him to play Sir Galahad. He was always nuts about you.'
When she had rung off Lindsay slowly went into her bedroom and sat down on the bed, staring at her own reflection with searching eyes.
Her skin had a betraying pallor, her green eyes looked too large, too bright, their lids flickering nervously as she stared at herself and saw in the mirror those hints of emotional turmoil which she did not want anyone else to glimpse. She ran a shaky hand through her hair and it flamed in the lamplight, soft, gleaming red curls which clung to her pale fingers. She thought of Daniel, and involuntarily, her eyes shut, she breathed faster, hating herself but wanting him. If only she knew how he felt about her—did he hate her? She knew he desired her, but how much of that desire was hatred?
It's so easy, she thought, to hate and love at one and the same time, the piercing emotional intensity of both can be mistaken for the other.
She undressed and slipped into bed, turned out the light and tried to sleep. She was very tired, sleep should have come quickly, but it evaded her. It was some time before she felt her body relaxing and then just as she was falling asleep the phone rang. Groggily, she groped for it in the dark and the bedside lamp almost crashed to the floor. She lifted the phone and mumbled: 'Mmm…' Even as she muttered that she was waking up and guessing that Aston had rung, her face wary as she finally managed to find the lamp switch and turn on the light.
'Lindsay?' The voice was hard and cool and it wasn't Aston's—it was Daniel, sounding distinctly harsh.
'What on earth…' She looked at her bedside clock in disbelief. 'Do you know what time it is? It's midnight.' Then fear made her voice rise. 'What's wrong?' Her mind leapt to the obvious. 'Stephen…'
'Is fine, as far as I know,' said Daniel. 'I was ringing to make sure you were okay.'
'You were what? You wake me up to… I don't believe my ears!'
'I just saw Hill,' he said tersely.
Lindsay froze. 'What? Aston? Where? What did…'
'We didn't speak,' Daniel said. 'He was drunk. It was the most incredible thing—I was with a party of Swedes over here on a buying expedition, we'd been having dinner and went on to a club. Hill was going out as we went in—he saw me, gave me one look and hit me.'
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