by Sara Craven
‘I hope,’ she said icily, ‘that you’re proud of your deal.’
‘Wait until I’ve brought Harringtons back from the brink,’ he returned with equal coldness. ‘Then ask me again.’
He paused. ‘Perhaps you’d forgive me if I don’t escort you back to the Hall. I think both of us would prefer to be alone.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that would be—best.’
She stood, watching the tall figure stride away from her, around the corner by the church, where he was lost to view.
Out of sight, Paige thought. But not, unfortunately, out of mind.
Somehow she was going to have to find a cure for that. And it would need to be a permanent one—that was if she was ever to have any peace of mind again.
And slowly she began the long walk home.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘PAIGE. Paige.’ Nick’s impatient voice invaded her reverie and brought the real world stinging suddenly into focus. ‘Are you listening?’
She found herself blinking dazedly as she encountered the questioning look he was directing at her over the back of his seat.
‘I’m sorry. I—I was miles away.’
‘Wishful thinking, I fear.’ The firm mouth curled. ‘This is very definitely the here and now, and the message from Hilaire is to tighten our seatbelts. We’re in for the proverbial bumpy ride.’
‘Oh.’ One apprehensive glance out of the window showed her that the sea below them was no longer still and flat. The high slate-coloured waves were crested with angry white foam. The sky was a dark blanket and the horizon invisible.
She bit her lip. ‘It looks as if the storm has caught up with us.’
‘It’s moved up a notch,’ Nick said drily. ‘It’s now officially a Hurricane. They’ve christened it Minna.’
‘Oh, God.’ She stiffened in dismay, her fingers clamped to the arms of her seat.
‘But Hilaire says this is only the edge of it,’ he went on briskly, ‘and that we’ll soon be at Sainte Marie. Just as planned.’
‘Yes,’ Paige said, touching the tip of her tongue to her dry lips as the plane lurched suddenly. ‘Yes, of course.’
Nick’s gaze sharpened. ‘Nervous?’ he asked, the tiny mannerism not lost on him.
‘Not at all,’ she denied swiftly. ‘Just a little thirsty, that’s all.’
‘You’ll find some drinks in the cold bag under your seat. And don’t worry,’ he added, more gently. ‘Hilaire knows what he’s doing.’
‘Yes,’ she said again. And, ‘Thank you.’
She uncapped some still mineral water, repressing an instinctive cry of alarm as the plane juddered again.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ He was still watching her, damn him.
‘Perfectly.’ She drank some more water. ‘Please don’t fuss. It’s only a bit of turbulence, after all,’ she added with an assumption of nonchalance.
Besides, nothing the hurricane threw at her could compare with the emotional storm now churning inside her, she thought wretchedly.
It was incredible how vivid her recollection had been. It seemed that she was cursed with total recall over every painful moment she’d spent with Nick. The passage of time hadn’t blurred a thing.
She’d almost felt the sun-warmed stones of the churchyard wall under her hand as she’d stood watching Nick’s departure.
But then Nick walking away would always be one of her most potent memories, she told herself, her fingers tightening almost convulsively on the arms of her seat. Because it had happened so often during the brief entanglement of their lives.
It was encountering him again so unexpectedly that had prompted all this inner turmoil, she thought. Usually she had the past well under control. But now events were conspiring against her to stir the memory banks into action again.
Another gust caught the plane and she closed her eyes, making herself breathe deeply and evenly, aware that the churning inside her had become swiftly and unpleasantly physical with the increase in turbulence.
You are never air-sick, she told herself with grim determination. And, anyway, you cannot be ill in front of him. That would be a disaster.
Nor can you let him see that you’re terrified in case, for all Hilaire’s experience, that hostile stretch of ocean down there might be waiting to swallow you up.
Sips of water helped her resolve as the aircraft battered its way to Sainte Marie with what seemed agonising slowness. But she was dizzy with fighting her nausea, and shaking like a leaf by the time Hilaire coaxed the plane skilfully down on to the runway.
‘Safe and sound,’ Nick commented as he fastened his briefcase. ‘And ahead of schedule too.’
Well, she had that to be thankful for at least, Paige thought, forcing her trembling limbs to obey her. She hadn’t missed her onward flight, as she’d feared, and soon—very soon now—she’d be back in England—and safety.
Except—how safe was safe? she wondered restlessly as she gathered her belongings. What were the problems Nick had hinted at on the beach the previous night? She’d planned to ring home after breakfast and have a word with Toby, so that she could see exactly what she might have to deal with, but the advent of Hurricane Minna had distracted her.
Now she hung back deliberately, to allow Nick to reach the terminal building before she did and—hopefully—be lost in the crowd. The shrieking wind savaged her all the way across the tarmac, and she was breathless and almost deafened by the time she got to the main hall.
Not unexpectedly, it was crowded with agitated people—some of them milling about aimlessly, others seated on their stacked luggage.
Paige realised, heart sinking, that none of the check-ins seemed to be operating, and joined the queue for the enquiry desk.
When she reached it, her worst fears were confirmed.
‘I’m sorry, m’dame.’ The clerk was polite, but definite. ‘All flights are grounded.’
‘Until when?’
He shrugged. ‘Until further notice—and certainly until Hurricane Minna has finished with us.’
‘But what am I going to do?’ Paige asked, dismayed, glancing around her. ‘Can I stay here?’
He shook his head. ‘We will shortly be closing the airport.’ He took another look at her proffered ticket and frowned, his attention sharpening. ‘Just a minute, m’dame. I believe there is a message for you.’ He glanced down a sheet of paper lying beside him. ‘Yes, Miss Harrington, there is a car waiting to take you to the Hotel Marie Royale, where a room has been reserved on your behalf.’
‘A room?’ Paige echoed in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand. I’ve made no booking.’
‘Nevertheless it exists, m’dame.’ He handed back her ticket. ‘I advise you to make use of your car quickly. There will not be many more trips,’ he added warningly, ‘and it is a long walk into town.’
The driver was waiting impatiently, and grumbled under his breath throughout the journey.
The road into town was already littered with debris, Paige saw, and the palm trees which lined it were bending double under the force of the gale.
When they reached the hotel he almost snatched the money from her hand and drove off with a squeal of tyres. Not that she could blame him, Paige acknowledged wryly as she battled her way into the hotel.
The foyer was packed, and the queues for the reception desk seemed endless. Paige had plenty of time to look warily about her, but thankfully Nick was nowhere to be seen—yet again.
He’s probably already on his way home, she thought. Walking on the water.
She still couldn’t believe there was a room for her here. Ahead of her, people were being politely but firmly turned away and retreating, their faces resigned or disappointed.
‘A mattress in the dining room,’ one woman sighed to her husband. ‘I suppose it’s better than nothing.’
When Paige reached the desk, she said, ‘I believe you have a room for me. Paige Harrington.’
She was fully expecting to be laughed a
t, or offered another mattress, but instead the desk clerk shot her a quick glance, then turned to his computer screen.
‘Yes, madame.’ He signalled to a bellboy. ‘Take this lady’s bag to Room 105.’
Paige was aware of discontented mutters behind her, and a voice saying loudly, ‘All right for some.’
She said, ‘I don’t understand. I didn’t make any reservation.’
‘We received a telephone call from St Antoine first thing this morning, madame.’ He handed her the key, then looked past her to the next hopeful. ‘That’s how we were able to accommodate you.’
Brad, Paige thought, numb with gratitude as she followed the bellboy to the lift. He must have guessed she’d probably be stuck here, and had acted to make sure she had somewhere to sleep.
Without doubt he was one special man, she acknowledged with a sigh. And she wished with all her heart she could return his regard in the way he wanted.
The room was in total darkness, and for a moment she hesitated on the threshold. Then the bellboy flicked the light switch, and Paige realised that the reason for the gloom was the substantial shutters that had been placed over the windows.
Obviously the Marie Royale was accustomed to the possibility of severe weather, and well prepared for it.
But it was a beautiful room—the walls painted a cool, pale blue and the wide bed made up with immaculate white linen.
The boy put her bag on the rack provided, showed her the bathroom and the closets, and told her that, although the dining room was being used as a dormitory, a cold buffet would be served throughout the day in the ballroom. He then departed cheerfully, clutching his tip.
When he’d gone Paige switched off the main light, leaving one of the shaded lamps on the night tables which flanked the bed as the room’s sole illumination.
She sank down on the edge of the bed, easing off her sandals with a sigh. She knew she ought to take off her linen trouser suit and hang it up before it became creased to the point of extinction, but she didn’t have the energy. Her stomach hadn’t yet settled after that nightmare flight, and her whole body felt clammy with perspiration.
The cold buffet held not the slightest attraction for her, she decided. In fact, given the choice, she would probably never eat again. Nor did she fancy leaving the privacy and comparative peace of this room and joining the crowd downstairs, who were likely to become increasingly fractious and wound up as the weather deteriorated.
She, of course, was so calm and together, she derided herself.
But it wasn’t just the trip that had upset her, she thought, lifting her legs on to the bed and settling herself back against the softness of the pillows with a sigh. Or the prospect of being trapped here while the hurricane blew itself out.
Even if the flight had been as smooth as silk, Nick’s presence on the aircraft would have provided sufficient disturbance all by itself.
All these months she’d managed to avoid him, physically if not mentally, she thought unhappily, cursing the coincidence which had thrown them together at such a time.
She closed her eyes. Lack of sleep the previous night was getting to her as well. Maybe a nap would help calm her down.
A gust of wind rattled the shutters and made her shiver, burrow more deeply into the mattress. If this was just the edge of the storm, she thought, then what the hell would it be like to be caught in the middle?
Although she should know, because it was a situation that seemed to have been pursuing her all her life. Finding herself stuck, as she was now, between the devil and the deep sea.
The devil, of course, being Nick, and Harrington Holdings the bottomless ocean.
Looking back, she saw that in the rush of preparations for her hasty wedding she’d hardly had time to think, or question what she was doing. But the sense of relief emanating from Toby and her father had been almost tangible, so she’d supposed it had to be the right thing.
And, family loyalty notwithstanding, maybe the company had needed an outside eye, dispassionate and even clinical, to put it back on the right path again.
Thankfully there had been neither the time nor the need for the usual wedding trappings—although the housekeeper had insisted on making a cake and persuaded a friend, who was an expert in sugarcraft at the local Womens’ Institute, to ice it for her.
Nothing would have induced Paige to wear white, so she’d hunted in the local boutiques until she’d found a plain shift dress, beautifully cut in heavy primrose silk and topped by a gauzy jacket striped in primrose, cream and silver that floated round her like mist. Even Denise had admitted grudgingly that it was quite pretty.
A few days before the wedding a girl introducing herself as Gina Norton, Nick’s personal assistant, had rung to ask if her passport was in order.
‘Yes, of course.’ Paige had frowned. ‘Why do you need to know?’
The other girl gave an engaging gurgle of laughter. ‘Nick asked me to check, Miss Harrington. I guess he’s taking you abroad for your honeymoon.’
‘Honeymoon?’ Paige echoed dazedly. ‘You surely don’t mean that?’ She checked, aware that she was on dangerous ground.
‘It is usual, Miss Harrington.’ Gina Norton sounded bewildered now, and Paige hurriedly pulled herself together.
‘I didn’t think there’d be time to organise anything,’ she offered lamely. ‘I know how busy Nick must be.’
‘Oh, he’ll make time for this, all right,’ Gina said cheerfully. ‘What man wouldn’t?’
Paige bit her lip. ‘I suppose so.’ She paused. ‘Have you any idea where he’s planning to go?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Gina apologised. ‘I think he wants to surprise you.’
Then he’s succeeded, Paige thought grimly as she replaced her receiver. It was only part of the general charade, of course, but there was such a thing as carrying pretence too far, and she couldn’t pretend that the brief exchange had not unsettled her.
On the day of the wedding itself Paige was aware of a curious sense of total unreality. If the church had been full, she thought detachedly as the organist struck up the ‘Wedding March’, and she began the long progress up the aisle on her father’s arm, she doubted whether she could have gone through with it. But fortunately she only had a handful of people to face.
And one of them, of course, was Nick.
She saw him move out of the front pew to wait for her at the chancel steps, tall and lean in yet another of his elegant dark suits. And for a moment time rushed back, and she found herself remembering in dizzying detail those few moments she had spent in his arms. She experienced again the pressure of his mouth on hers, the hot, musky invasion of his tongue, and the uncompromising strength of his body against hers.
And, most telling of all, the sudden shamed excess of her own arousal.
For a moment she faltered, aware, as she did so, of her father’s concerned sideways glance. As she struggled to regain her equilibrium she realised that Nick was watching too, his gaze fixed on every step she took towards him, his eyes hooded and impenetrable. As if he was mesmerising her, she thought, her throat tightening. Controlling her movements. Making sure she didn’t turn and run.
But the time for that was long past. She was committed now, and she would go through with her unpalatable role, whatever the cost.
She reached his side and handed Denise the flowers that had arrived for her that morning with Nick’s card—yellow freesias and tiny cream roses bound with silver ribbons.
‘He rang to ask about colours,’ her sister-in-law had confided smugly.
But not, Paige thought, to speak to herself. She hadn’t received a letter or a personal telephone call from him since the day they’d parted in the village. Even the passport enquiry had been dealt with by an underling.
In fact, she’d wondered more than once if he might be the one to back away when the chips were down.
Yet here he was, a silent presence beside her as Reverend Winship spoke the familiar, dignified words from the Book of
Common Prayer.
We should have gone to a registery office, Paige thought guiltily. These vows are too solemn, too meaningful for what we’re doing. So why did Nick insist?
His hand was strong and cool as it took hers. The ring he’d chosen was gold and completely plain. It felt heavy and alien on her finger and she stared down at it, wondering if she would have time to become accustomed to it before the marriage ended.
She was thankful that Reverend Winship was an old-fashioned man, and that, accordingly, there were no jocular exhortations to Nick to ‘kiss the bride.’
As they walked back down the aisle together Paige was aware of the critical gaze of an upright elderly lady sitting in the second pew. She was wearing a grey silk suit, and a sweep of black straw crowned her upswept white hair. As Paige drew level with her she bowed slightly, but did not smile.
That must be Nick’s grandmother, Paige thought, feeling slightly chilled. Someone else we have to deceive—and something tells me that it might not be so easy…
In the car, she found herself huddling into her corner, her fingers nervously playing with the ribbons on her bouquet.
‘Relax,’ Nick advised sardonically. He nodded towards the driver behind his glass partition. ‘I never pounce in front of an audience.’
‘That’s reassuring.’ She pulled at the petals of an inoffensive freesia. ‘But there won’t always be one.’
‘True,’ he said softly. ‘So you’ll just have to trust me.’
‘Not easy.’ Paige drew a deep breath. ‘When you spring unpleasant surprises like honeymoons on me.’
He lifted an indifferent shoulder. ‘It’s what newly married couples do, my sweet.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, I thought you could probably do with a few days’ break.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But not with you.’
‘I come with the territory, I’m afraid.’ He didn’t sound even remotely regretful. ‘We do nothing that might alert people to the fact that this is not a conventional marriage. That was the deal, and I’m holding you to it.’