by Sara Craven
She said sharply, ‘And if I am? What concern is it of yours?’
‘You’ll find I’m concerned about a great many things.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘So you’re really not here to drum up trade for the family business?’
‘Harringtons don’t tender for overseas contracts—particularly ones that are halfway round the world. You should know that.’
He said slowly, ‘Well, that’s something they may have to reconsider. Tell me, have you been in touch with the office during this extended vacation of yours? Have any faxes or e-mails come thundering across the ocean at you?’
‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘And I wouldn’t expect them to—not when this is my first holiday since…’ She hesitated, then said quickly, ‘In over a year.’
‘Since our honeymoon,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what you were going to say?’
‘Since the trip we were obliged to take after the wedding,’ she said brusquely. ‘Why call it a ridiculous name?’
‘Maybe I’m just a stickler for convention,’ he drawled. There was another pause, then, ‘You really haven’t had any communication with the company?’
‘None at all. I decided I wanted a real vacation.’ Firmly, she put out of her mind the memory of that last row with Toby, and her decision not to let him know where she was while he considered the ultimatum she’d given him.
‘I’d say you’d achieved it. Even down to a little holiday romance.’
‘Thank you,’ she said tautly. ‘You appear to be having a good time yourself.’
‘Ah,’ Nick said softly. ‘But appearances can be deceptive—don’t you find?’
Like you deceived me? she thought. When you made me think—just for a brief moment—one night long ago—that maybe this mismatch between us might work after all. That perhaps it could be more than just a business arrangement…
‘I think,’ she said, ‘that what you see is generally what you get.’ She moved restively, feeling at a disadvantage, standing there barefoot, with her sandals dangling from her hand. ‘Will you excuse me, please? My friends will be wondering where I am. And I’m sure your party will be missing you, too,’ she added pointedly.
‘You’re all consideration.’ He sounded amused, as if her inference wasn’t lost on him. ‘But we really do have things to talk about.’
‘Nothing that can’t wait a few months,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my lawyer to contact yours.’
‘Caribbean holidays and a divorce,’ he said meditatively. ‘You’re going to have an expensive time.’
Suddenly her antennae were alert and sounding an alarm. Because that—almost—sounded like a threat. Didn’t it?
Maybe it was something she needed to find out, she thought, her senses tingling. This confrontation might be galling, but she couldn’t end it quite yet.
She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘A quick, no-fault ending of our arrangement? With no property settlement or maintenance involved? Surely not.’
‘You don’t count the shattering of hopes and dreams?’ His tone was mocking. ‘The laceration of one’s finest feelings?’
Her mouth tightened. ‘They weren’t included in the deal.’ And if there was any lacerating done, I’m the one left with the scars.
He said slowly, ‘Perhaps I’m looking to renegotiate.’
That insidious trembling had started up again, deep in her gut.
She said quickly and coldly, ‘No chance. The original contract stands, and even that isn’t for much longer. I want out, Nick, so don’t start playing games. I’m not impressed.’
He laughed. ‘Tough talk, honey, but talk is cheap. Are you really prepared for a fight?’
‘That wasn’t part of the arrangement either.’ Her heart was beating fiercely, erratically again. The chain round her throat seemed to be tightening, and she put up a hand and tugged at it mechanically, feeling the delicate links biting into her fingers.
He said laconically, ‘Call it an afterthought.’
She said huskily, ‘Then I recommend you think again.’
His gaze fastened on the nervous movement of her hand.
‘I see,’ he said, ‘that you’ve taken off your wedding ring.’
‘I’m not a hypocrite,’ she said. ‘I won’t—pretend.’
‘No,’ he said, and his voice was suddenly bleak. ‘I’ll grant you that.’
There was a brief uneasy silence, then she said, ‘Nick, there’s no need for this. Our marriage has never existed in any real sense—just on paper. Why make difficulties about ending it?’
He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say I dislike unfinished business.’
She thought wretchedly, How can you finish something that never began…?
Aloud, she said, ‘But you got what you wanted—a seat on the Harrington board.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Courtesy of that incestuous little family arrangement that should have been legally challenged and wound up years ago.’ There was an odd, almost angry note in his voice.
She said defensively, ‘It’s worked perfectly well, up to now.’
‘Then why did you have to come to me for finance?’ Nick demanded derisively. ‘Because your credit had run out elsewhere, my dear wife, and you know it. Harringtons may have been started by a giant, but there are only pygmies left now.’
She said hotly, ‘How dare you insult my family?’
‘Sometimes the truth hurts, Paige.’ He paused. ‘So does a bad investment.’
She drew a steadying breath. ‘I suggest you take this up with your fellow board members. I’m an employee now, and I really don’t want to discuss it any further. As for our non-marriage—that’s over. And nothing you can say or do will make the slightest difference.’
‘But that’s where you’re wrong,’ Nick said softly. ‘Because I haven’t finished with you, baby. Not by a long chalk. In fact—’ his voice deepened ‘—I haven’t even begun yet.’
They were both standing still, but the space between them seemed to have diminished in some strange way. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. The brush of his body against hers.
Paige made a small inarticulate sound in her throat, then she moved, skirting round him, keeping him at arm’s length or more, walking fast, trying not to run.
Trying to maintain a safe distance between them—if there could be such a thing, she thought crazily as she went up the beach, stumbling a little, despising her own clumsiness. Hating him for being its cause.
She didn’t look back, but then she didn’t have to. She could feel his eyes on her back, burning like ice. Branding her.
Except that she was no possession of his—and she never would be.
‘So there you are,’ Brad greeted her jovially. ‘We were just going to send out a search party.’
‘It’s a pretty straight beach,’ Paige returned as lightly as possible. ‘Not many places to get lost.’ Except in some hell of my own making.
‘What’s going on?’ Angie hissed as Paige took her seat beside her. ‘One minute you’re dancing with Brad, the next you’re out beachcombing.’
‘I needed some air,’ Paige whispered back. ‘I’ve got a headache.’
‘What lousy luck.’ Angie was instantly sympathetic. ‘Do you want to call it a day?’
‘It might be better. I have to finish packing, and I’ve got a long flight tomorrow.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Paige saw Nick come up from the beach. For a moment she thought he was going to come over to their table, and tensed, but he walked straight past without giving any of them a glance. And Angie’s attention was fortunately centred on her.
I’m not getting out completely unscathed, Paige thought. But it could be very much worse.
On her way out, a few minutes later, she risked a brief look at Nick’s table to see if her departure had been witnessed, but he appeared to be completely engrossed in his blonde.
Which, Paige told herself vehemently, could only be a relief.
Brad held her hand for
a moment longer than necessary as they said goodnight. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he promised, and she smiled and tried to feel interested and grateful.
But it was impossible. Her mind was in turmoil. Jack and Angie chatted quietly to each other in the front of the car, out of consideration for her headache, and she sat alone in the darkness almost obsessively going over and over the scene on the beach. Asking herself what he could possibly have meant and receiving no answer. At least none that satisfied her, or even offered a modicum of comfort.
But then Nick had always been an enigma, she told herself restively.
She wrapped her arms round her body, shivering. She was shaking inside, aware of a feeling of faint nausea. Of disorientation.
Shock, she thought. That was what it was. He was the last person she’d expected—or wanted—to see. And it was one of life’s terrible ironies that they should be on the same small island, in the same nightclub, at the same time.
If they’d spent the evening anywhere else she’d have avoided him, as she’d been doing so successfully all these months. Checking the schedule of his visits to London, or to the company headquarters, and quietly arranging to be elsewhere. Ensuring work took her far away, to the other end of the country, on the infrequent occasions when he was due to stay at the house.
‘You could make more of an effort,’ Toby had grumbled on the last occasion. ‘It means Denise has to entertain him, and he scares her witless.’
That, Paige thought scathingly, mentally reviewing her sister-in-law’s vacant blue eyes and pouting ever-present smile, would not incur a great deal of effort on Nick’s part.
She had said crisply, ‘She’s the wife of the managing director, Toby. It comes with the territory.’
‘But she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Why you’re never around.’
And with very good reason, Paige had supplemented silently. Total discretion had been insisted on from both sides when the original deal was struck. However, it was tacitly acknowledged in the family that Toby’s wife was an air-head who could gossip for Britain. One whisper of the raison d’être for Paige’s unconventional marriage and she would be up and running with the story.
She had said, ‘Well, I’m sure you can come up with some plausible explanation, brother dear. Because there’s no way I’m going to share a roof with Nick just to protect Denise’s sensibilities.’ She’d paused. ‘And Nick would be no more keen to spend time in my company, believe me.’
And she’d spoken no more than the truth. She was sure of it. So why had he sought her out tonight? she asked herself with shaken bewilderment. Implied the things that he had? She’d kept the terms of their agreement meticulously, yet now, with freedom in sight, Nick appeared to be about to chuck a spanner into the works.
Except she wouldn’t allow it to happen. And being a member of the Harrington board wasn’t necessarily a job for life. Anyone could be voted off. And just because that had never happened, no guarantee was offered that it never would. If the company could just find an alternative source of financing, she thought broodingly, Maitland Destry might be history.
Back at Les Roches, she accepted Angie’s concerned offer of paracetamol, and went up to her room.
Most of her packing was actually already done, she thought, looking around her with a critical eye. And what was left could wait until the morning. So she might as well take a shower and get an early night.
She walked over to the dressing table and sat down wearily, pushing back her hair. It was a pale, strained face looking back at her, she realised with a sigh, then tensed, her hand flying to her throat, as she realised her pearl pendant was missing.
She groaned under her breath.
I must have snapped the chain when I was fiddling with it on the beach, she thought, distressed. Something else to hate Nick for.
Sadly, she unhooked the drops from her ears. Pearls were supposed to symbolise tears, weren’t they? she thought. Maybe the loss of her necklace was a signal to her not to waste any more time in mourning for the past.
From now on she would look forward, not back. And she’d kickstart the new regime with a good night’s sleep, she told herself, biting her lip.
But that was altogether easier said than done. The air in the room was hot and heavy, defeating even the efforts of the ceiling fan, and Paige found herself tossing and turning, trying to find a cool place on the bed, her gown adhering clammily to her skin.
For the first time she was glad to be going home. Nick’s arrival had ruined everything, and she could only be thankful that he’d turned up at the end of her holiday rather than the beginning.
‘I haven’t finished with you.’ Those had been his words, so there was every chance that he might come looking for her again. And it was only a fleeting satisfaction to know that he wouldn’t find her. Not this time.
St Antoine was not big enough for both of them, she told herself with bitter humour. But back in Britain there would be more places to hide. And backup from the rest of the family. Her father, in particular, had always been uneasy about this unholy alliance, so she could count on his support if Nick started making a nuisance of himself.
But it’s all my own fault, she thought bleakly. I should never have got involved in the first place. Should have dismissed the idea of such a marriage as madness. And to hell with family solidarity.
Nor should she have allowed herself to be sweet-talked into taking her current job. She’d been happy where she was. She’d had a life. Whereas now all she seemed to be doing was sorting out one mess after another.
That was two strikes, she reminded herself grimly. She’d have to make damned sure there wasn’t a third.
Sighing, Paige turned on to her back and stared up at the ceiling.
She needed to get back into control, and fast. But it was the sheer unexpectedness of the thing that had thrown her. Looking up—and seeing Nick’s face in the crowd.
Reminding her, painfully, of the first time she’d ever seen him. It was one of the memories she’d tried so hard to suppress, she thought wretchedly, yet there it was, taunting her. As vivid in her brain as if it had happened yesterday. Or even—tonight.
It had been a hen party. One of the girls on the magazine had just got engaged, and a few of them had arranged to meet in a local wine bar to celebrate the august event. Paige had had some work to finish, so she’d arrived last to find the other three well ahead of her on champagne, flushed, slightly rowdy, and looking for mischief.
‘We’re scoring the local talent out of ten,’ Becky declared loudly. ‘So far none of them have risen above two.’ She giggled. ‘And half of them look as if they couldn’t rise at all.’
Paige groaned inwardly. This was clearly not going to be her kind of evening, but she was there, and for Lindsay’s sake she was going to make the best of it.
Already their corner table was attracting a certain amount of attention from the bar’s predominantly male clientele—some amused, some predatory, and some definitely contemptuous.
And, of those, one in particular stood out. He was at the long bar counter with another man. He was tall, and very dark, impeccable in his City suit. An interesting face, too, all planes and angles, with a cool sardonic mouth. Yet it wasn’t his looks, Paige thought, touching the tip of her tongue to suddenly dry lips. Not altogether. There was something about him, not easily defined, which would always draw the eye wherever he was. A sense of power. Of a control that was almost tangible even across the crowded room.
None of which took into account the evident disdain in the hooded glance being aimed at Paige and her companions. But even as she registered what was going on his gaze switched suddenly, making her momentarily the sole focus of his attention, then, as she felt her throat muscles tightening involuntarily, he looked away, his entire stance registering complete and utter indifference.
As she choked back a gasp, Paige felt a nudge from Becky. ‘Who’s your haughty friend?’
Paige shrugged. ‘You te
ll me.’ She made a business of picking up her glass and sipping from it.
‘Well, he’s the best of a bad bunch.’ Becky pulled a face. ‘God, what a deathly place.’
‘Let’s lighten it up, then.’ Rhona, blonde and chirpy, filled all their flutes to the brim again. ‘On the count of three we empty our glasses, and the last one to finish does a forfeit. How’s that?’
Paige groaned inwardly. She couldn’t even drink water at speed, so she was bound to lose, but it was clear that if she objected she’d be the only dissenting voice. Easier to go with the flow, she thought resignedly, picking up her glass and waiting for the signal.
Just as she’d expected, she finished last, amid giggles and barracking.
‘So what’s her forfeit going to be?’ Lindsay demanded eagerly. ‘Walk round the room without touching the floor? Mime a full strip?’
‘Better than that.’ Becky’s smile was calculating. ‘She’s going over to Mr Snooty at the bar there, and offer him a tenner for a kiss. That’ll teach him to look down his nose at us.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Paige began, alarmed.
‘You have to do it,’ Rhona warned, laughing. ‘Or we’ll make you strip for real.’
Slowly, Paige reached down and extracted a ten-pound note from her bag. Gulping down that champagne had been bad news, she thought detachedly. She was feeling light-headed, and the pulse in her throat seemed to be beating a warning tattoo.
None of the others would even hesitate, and she knew it. They’d be marching over already, to issue the challenge and put him on the spot. But it wasn’t her style. Strangers suffocated her with shyness. As for this cold-eyed stranger—well, simply asking him the time would be ordeal enough.
As for anything else…
The best she could hope for was that he’d treat her as a drunken pest and ignore her. The worst-case scenario was that she might actually have to kiss him. Or let him kiss her, she amended quickly.
Do it, she commanded herself, rising to her feet. Get it over with. Then you’ll be off the hook and you can go home.