Conflict Of Hearts

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Let me tell you, Noah Jordan, I spent hours choosing that tie—’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. It can’t have been easy to find something that hideous.’ He didn’t wait for her reply, but retreated into the bathroom and closed the door. And as soon as she heard the water running Lizzie scrambled from the bed and dived into the safety of the dressing room.

  The flight on Concorde was swift and thrilling for Lizzie, and the crowded, noisy city of Cairo a collage of brilliant impressions as they swept along in their chauffeur-driven car—impressions of the Nile glinting with sunlight and the feluccas plying their trade from bank to bank, of tall, white-robed figures striding majestically along the dusty roads, of cafés crowded with old men drinking mint tea from tiny glasses. Lizzie was enchanted.

  ‘Can we see the museum? The pyramids?’ she asked breathlessly as they checked into their hotel.

  ‘You’ll be seeing the pyramids tonight,’ Noah informed her.

  ‘Tonight? Oh, glory, are they floodlit?’ Then a sudden tremor of excitement rippled through her. ‘Noah?’

  He signed the registration form, handed over their passports to the hotel receptionist and turned to Lizzie. ‘I can see from your face that you’ve guessed my surprise. Well, I promised you I’d take you to see Aida. I thought perhaps you might enjoy hearing Domingo in the original setting.’

  ‘Might enjoy...?’ Lizzie, overwhelmed by his generosity, flung her arms impetuously about his neck and kissed him, heedless of the fact that they were in the reception lobby of the most opulent hotel in the capital. ‘No one has ever given me a better wedding present,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Well, give it time, my dear. You’ve only been married once. Perhaps your next husband will manage Madame Butterfly in Nagasaki.’ And he disentangled her arms from about his neck.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ONLY the very public nature of their location kept Lizzie’s hands glued to her sides, that and the fact that if she let fly it would betray just how very much his words had hurt her. But, as if regretting his early morning flirtatiousness, Noah had been terse to the point of irritability ever since he had joined her at breakfast.

  Her own excitement had carried her through the journey, but now she had no choice but to confront the fact that while she had been continually urged to keep up the appearance of a happy newly-wed Noah obviously didn’t feel the same rules applied to him. Well, here no one knew or cared whether they were happy.

  ‘It is not my intention to make a habit of collecting husbands, Noah. On present performance, six months of you will be more than enough to last me a lifetime,’ she said, her voice crackling with frost, leaving him in no doubt about how angry she was. Then she turned and followed the waiting porter to the lift, not caring whether Noah followed her or not.

  Their suite had two bedrooms, she saw with relief, and immediately retired to the nearest, shutting the door firmly behind her. She didn’t lock it. That would have smacked of the melodramatic, and there was clearly no need since Noah made no effort to disturb her. But then she hadn’t expected him to.

  Lizzie spent a long time dressing. Noah had gone out of his way to remind her that this marriage was to be purely temporary, and despite her fury she knew that whatever his purpose had been in marrying her she had been guilty of using him. The least she could do was make an effort to play the part of Mrs Noah Jordan to the hilt. This morning she had come all too close...

  She had brought with her a gown in floating silk chiffon that Olivia had encouraged her to buy despite the outrageous cost. It was constructed in a jewel-bright harlequin patchwork of diamond shapes supported by tiny shoelace straps, and she had fallen in love with it on sight. She wrapped the slender, toning scarf about her throat, leaving the long ends to trail behind her, and then slipped her feet into a pair of silk pumps.

  But despite the brilliance of her reflection in her mirror it gave her little pleasure. The image that shimmered back at her was not Lizzie French. That pale, strained face belonged to Mrs Noah Jordan. She picked up her bag and opened the door.

  Noah was on the balcony, his arms resting on the parapet, his attention wholly fixed on the traffic on the Nile. For a moment he didn’t move, and her eyes softened as they lingered on his powerful figure. Then he looked over his shoulder, and his glance, detached and wintry, flickered over her briefly. ‘Another fortune, I fancy,’ he murmured, straightening.

  ‘How true,’ Lizzie replied, her voice apparently struggling through treacle. ‘In fact, this dress was considerably more expensive...’

  He conceded a grudging smile to her fighting spirit. ‘It was worth every penny, I assure you. But you’ll have to try harder than that if you want to make me wince,’ he said, gravely mocking her naivety. ‘That was your intention?’

  ‘Watch this space,’ she advised him shortly.

  ‘I will do so with pleasure,’ he reassured her. ‘Now, give me your wrist.’

  ‘Why? Are you planning to slap it?’

  ‘How tempting. But no.’ He waited. A little nervously she extended her hand to him, then stared in disbelief as he fastened a bracelet—a strand of uncut diamonds, each one loosely imprisoned in a cage of fine gold filigree—about her wrist.

  ‘Noah,’ she protested, ‘I can’t take this.’

  ‘Not even if I told you that it would really hurt?’ Then his mouth tightened. ‘It’s just a prop, Elizabeth. What you do with it... afterwards... is entirely up to you.’

  Some prop, she thought. ‘You must have it back,’ she said, a little desperately. ‘And the ring. Everything’

  ‘No. Thank you.’ And for just a moment his eyes creased in a smile that rent her heart. ‘They really wouldn’t suit me.’

  ‘I... I’ll get my cloak,’ she said, somewhat hoarsely. And as she bent to pick up the soft velvet cape the mirror assured her that pallor was no longer a problem. Her cheeks now had the sting of colour to them.

  Downstairs the hotel lobby was overflowing with men in dinner jackets and women in glorious gowns, all apparently going to the open-air performance of Aida. But Noah didn’t linger, despite several attempts to engage him in conversation. He swept her out to the waiting car and the driver immediately sped away.

  ‘How far is it?’ she asked as they reached the outskirts of the city, where the towering quarries that had supplied the stone for the pyramids formed a backdrop for an open-air market with a vast array of pots laid row upon row in the evening sun.

  ‘You’ll see the pyramids soon,’ he promised. And he was right. Suddenly they were there, appearing as if by magic above the haze, much closer than she bad expected. And, needing to touch something human, she reached for his hand.

  ‘Oh, glory,’ she murmured softly, and as if he understood he gently squeezed her fingers.

  But they didn’t stop, although she could see the stage set, the arena, and a few early arrivals, oddly out of place in their evening clothes, wandering around the vast necropolis. She turned questioningly to Noah.

  ‘Just wait,’ he said. The sun was lowering as the car finally pulled to a halt, and she realised that her hand was still held close in his. Noah climbed out and, holding out his arm to support her, led the way across the stony desert ground until they came to the edge of a ridge.

  A little way below them, on the plains of Giza, stood the three great pyramids, surrounded by the ruins of much smaller tombs. The shadows had lengthened now, stretching endlessly as the sun sank slowly towards the desert, a huge ball of fire that seemed to blot out the sky. The sand blazed red for just a moment, and then it was over, and all that was left was a pink blush to colour the gathering purple where a single star winked brightly at her.

  ‘That was incredible,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ The words didn’t seem nearly enough, and it seemed for ever before he stirred and turned to her.

  ‘An apology for what I said this afternoon seemed hardly sufficient,’ he said a little stiffly. ‘So, for what it’s worth, that’s it.’

&nbs
p; Lizzie gasped. Noah Jordan did nothing by half measures. This afternoon he had cut her heart out with his tongue; now he had reduced her to tears with one stunning gesture. It just wasn’t fair. She turned her head a little desperately, away from those intently searching eyes, back to the darkening pyramids. Anywhere so that he shouldn’t see how vulnerable she was, that she was way out of her depth and had no idea which way the shore might be. Below her the floodlights had come on with the setting of the sun, and the crowds were beginning to arrive in ever-increasing numbers.

  ‘A simple “I’m sorry” would have done, Noah. If you’d meant it. We’d better go, or we’ll miss the start of the performance.’ And she fled back to the car before he could see the tears glistening on her cheeks.

  The performance was intensely moving—the story of the princess-slave and her love for an Egyptian soldier. It was a love to die for, and right now Lizzie knew just how that felt. She turned to Noah in the darkness. His profile, outlined by the lights reflected from the stage, was hard, unsmiling.

  She was bitterly regretting her rejection of his apology, an overture that might have led to...what? She would never know. She had been too cautious—afraid of committing herself, afraid of being hurt beyond mending. And suddenly she knew that being hurt wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her. The worst thing was being afraid, not having the courage to risk her heart without the guarantee of a happy ending. Life carried no guarantees, as she well knew.

  After the performance Noah took her to a small restaurant high in the citadel, far away from the opera crowd.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to go to quite this much trouble to honour our bet,’ Lizzie said, trying to lighten the atmosphere as they were served a traditional mezza of hot and cold dishes.

  ‘I couldn’t have you telling Peter I don’t keep my promises. This was the only performance I could find within the next six months.’

  ‘I have no intention of seeing Peter in the foreseeable future.’

  ‘You’re going to have to face him,’ he began, ‘if Fran is—’ He stopped as he saw her face involuntarily tighten at the mention of the other woman’s name. ‘Well, perhaps we should drop that particular subject before it spoils an excellent meal,’ he suggested. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you thought of Domingo?’

  But she did little talking. As they were served with a dish of succulent spiced lamb cooked with lemons and olives it was Noah who went out of his way to entertain her, with stories about the foibles of some of the great operatic divas. He was almost unbearably kind in his attempt to distract her, making her feel even more wretched that she had spurned his overture of peace.

  And despite Lizzie’s protestations that she could eat nothing more Noah instructed the waiter to bring khoushaf—a delicious fruit salad studded with pistachio nuts and pine kernels and flavoured with rose and orange flower water—so that she could at least taste it and finish her meal in a thoroughly Arab style.

  She was half-asleep as they drove back to the hotel, and Noah put his arm around her and drew her against his shoulder. It was the most blissful agony. And he kept her hand in his as they strolled through the lobby.

  Once inside their suite he opened her bedroom door before turning to her as if he wanted to say something.

  ‘Yes?’ Lizzie prompted as he seemed about to turn away.

  He shook his head, but then, almost reluctantly, he said, ‘Olivia was right about you, Elizabeth...’

  ‘Right?’ Lizzie was suddenly jolted wide awake. ‘But I thought she told you—’

  Noah wasn’t interested in what she thought. ‘Despite the fact that you are without doubt the most provoking, the most impertinent and downright reckless young woman I have ever met—’

  ‘I’m provoking—’ Her heated challenge was cut off as he brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

  ‘Positively infuriating,’ he continued softly. ‘Despite all that, Elizabeth, you would be very easy to love.’

  Her heart gave a little skip, a dance of delight, and she reached for him. ‘Then... love me,’ she whispered, slipping her arms about his neck.

  For a moment his lips hovered barely an inch from her own, and she could feel the warmth of his body as she pressed close. Then he took her hands away and stepped back. ‘I guess I never was much good at taking second place.’ And when she could bear to open her eyes she saw that his face was wearing its sardonic disguise. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the evening, Elizabeth. But, as you went to such pains to point out, a simple thank you is all that’s necessary. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Noah refused to let her go down to the cottage, insisting that he needed her in London as his hostess, although in truth they did little entertaining. But to the outside world he was certainly the model of the devoted husband, bringing her flowers every day and making strenuous efforts to amuse her.

  It was almost unbearable. One evening she tried to make him rebel by suggesting that she would like to see a local showing of the Walt Disney version of Beauty and the Beast. He didn’t bat an eyelid. It was only his somewhat wry enquiry as to whether she thought his likeness to the beast quite remarkable that just for a moment recalled the piquant discord that had so enlivened their early exchanges.

  To the outside world it must have appeared the perfect marriage. But at night, when Lizzie curled up alone, the hollow reality of their mock marriage asserted itself.

  In the morning Noah was always there when she woke, when Mrs Harper brought up tea and the newspapers—relaxed in his dressing-gown, propped against the bedhead, apparently amusing his new wife. He was both amusing and charming whenever there was anyone to be convinced. And when they were alone he was as distant as the far side of the moon. What to the world looked like perfection was only perfect hell.

  Lizzie had no idea where Noah was sleeping—knew only that he was avoiding the vast four-poster bed. She assumed that he was taking himself to the top floor of the house, where there were a number of small, unused rooms that Mrs Harper rarely went into. Then one night a month or so later, after a particularly sultry day, thunder began to roll ominously.

  Lizzie ran to the windows to try and shut it out, but the sound seemed to reverberate through her bones. She stood it as long as she could, expecting Noah to appear at any moment to make sure that she was all right. Then a clap almost directly overhead sent her running through the house, searching for human contact, flinging open the bedroom doors, calling his name.

  He didn’t answer. For the simple reason that he wasn’t there. With a sudden flash of hope she flew down the stairs, expecting to find him stretched out on a sofa somewhere, or working late in the study, but the house was quite empty.

  A sudden hammering at the front door made her jump out of her skin. Then she flew to it with relief. Noah had gone out somewhere and forgotten his key. It was only after she had drawn back the bolts and opened the door that she remembered that Noah would have come through the mews at the rear.

  ‘Is everything all right, Mrs Jordan? We had a radio-call that your alarm has gone off at headquarters.’ It was the guards from the security firm who monitored Noah’s alarm system.

  Desperately conscious that she was clad only in her childish pyjamas, Lizzie cringed. ‘I’m sorry. I must have set it off when I came downstairs,... The thunder... startled me.’

  ‘Would you like us to look around? Make absolutely sure?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’ Noah’s voice was brisk, despite the fact that he had clearly been running. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been called out on a false alarm.’

  Reassured, the men finally departed, leaving Noah and Lizzie staring at one another in the entrance hall. ‘You’re wet,’ she said finally. More than that—his jeans and black polo shirt were soaked and he was unshaven.

  He wiped his hand across his face. ‘It’s raining,’ he said. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ He didn’t wait for her answer but crossed into the drawing room and put a match to the fire already laid in the gr
ate. His complete lack of emotion was too much.

  ‘Noah, where were you?’ Her voice broke on a sob. ‘I was so scared... Idiotic... I just can’t help it...’ But before she could finish, tell him about her stupid fear of thunder, he was across the room and holding her, his arms a refuge, the rough bristle of his chin bliss against her cheek.

  ‘You’re shivering.’ He made an impatient sound. ‘I’m soaking you—making it worse.’ He made a move to draw away, but she clung to him.

  ‘No, I don’t care,’ she said quickly. ‘Just hold me.’ She laid her head against his chest. ‘When I woke up and realised I was completely on my own...’ She looked up into his face, her eyes huge as they demanded an answer to her unspoken question.

  ‘Elizabeth, I’m sorry...’

  He seemed unable to go on, and with chilling insight, an ominous sense of intuition that turned her face to the colour of ashes, she knew and tried to fling away from him. Peter had gone back to New York to pack up their apartment, but Fran had stayed behind to avoid the unnecessary risk of flying, and to sort out the details of the new home they had found with Noah’s help.

  Lizzie wrenched at her arms, but Noah held her fast. ‘Listen to me.’

  ‘No, don’t tell me.’ She didn’t want to hear, and she began to beat at him and kick him and struggle as if her life depended on it.

  ‘Stop this!’ He shook her, but she kept on fighting, as if for her life. ‘Listen to me—’

  ‘I won’t listen. You were with Fran,’ she screamed at him, her hands flailing uselessly as he held her at arm’s length. ‘The nobility didn’t take long to wear off. Not so much Galahad, it seems, as Lancelot...’

  ‘You’re upset; you don’t know what you’re saying—’

  ‘Don’t I? I think I do. You haven’t been able to take your eyes off her. Even at the wedding it was there. Something.’ She shook her head, her hair flying wildly. ‘You were so protective. She mustn’t be hurt by that nasty Lizzie French who couldn’t be trusted with someone else’s husband... I can’t believe the sheer hypocrisy of it. The moment Peter left the country you couldn’t wait to move in for the kill.’