The Society Bride

by Fiona Hood-Stewart

  But despite her sadness and worry Nena couldn’t entirely banish the immediate undercurrent that flowed the instant she recalled last night. She glanced fleetingly at her husband, then turned away. It was wrong to feel like this when so much was at stake, with the end of her grandfather’s life in the offing. Entirely wrong.

  Ramon stood, impeccable as always in a well-tailored dark grey silk suit, leaning his arm on the corner of the mantelpiece. He carried on a stilted conversation with his mother, and watched as the butler brought in some tea and accepted a cup from him. He was aware that Nena just sat, looking numb, as though her world were crumbling about her. One look at Don Rodrigo and a quickly exchanged glance with his mother had been enough to tell him that the end was close at hand. Perhaps that was why they hadn’t already taken him to hospital, he reflected sadly. Perhaps the old gentleman preferred to die at home in his own bed. And if that was the case then his wish should be respected.

  He glanced over at Nena, seeing the determined line of her mouth. He must make her realise the truth. He could not allow her to drag her grandfather off, subject him to treatment that would do no good anyway just because of her need to keep him alive. At that moment Ramon understood that there was a lot more to marriage than just sleeping with his wife. The role of husband was also to help her take the right course of action. Nena and he might very well be up against their first hurdle, he realised with a flash of enlightenment.

  For a minute he looked over at his mother, sitting gracefully near Nena, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her Chanel suit worn with such elegance, and wondered what it could have been like for a young girl of eighteen to marry a man twenty years her elder, a man whom she’d barely known before the wedding, and asked himself if she’d ever regretted it. His parents certainly didn’t ever give the impression of being unhappy. Quite the opposite, now he came to think of it. Perhaps there was something to be said for an arrangement of this sort after all.

  The thought brought him up with a jolt.

  God, he realised, horrified. In the flurry of the past few weeks he had completely forgotten to tell Luisa about the wedding and the changes in his life!

  The sudden realisation left him raking his fingers savagely through his hair and wondering how on earth he was going to find a free moment to call her. How could he have been so thoughtless and remiss? He glanced over at Nena, realising, much to his surprise, that she had occupied his mind fully from the moment he’d first set eyes on her, and that since that day he’d barely thought about Luisa. But it would be discourteous and callous of him to allow the woman with whom he’d spent the better part of his leisure time over the past couple of years to learn of his nuptials in the press.

  Strangely, his initial idea of maintaining Luisa on the side as his mistress seemed out of the question after last night. He shifted sideways and crossed one leg over the other. Merely recalling the previous evening’s activities was causing an embarrassing change in his physical state.

  Stop it, he ordered himself. Stop acting like a teenager with a hormonal overdose. He tried desperately to think of things that would dampen his ardour. But nothing sufficed to completely do the trick.

  That night they stayed at Thurston Manor. Nena made it plain that they would be sleeping in separate bedrooms. Ramon was about to protest, then with a flash of insight realised that maybe she needed to be alone at this difficult time, and so he shut up.

  Don Pedro had driven down from London to join them, and together they sat through a desultory dinner. No one was very hungry. Nena could barely eat a bite, her thoughts concentrated on her grandfather’s room upstairs, where she’d spent the better part of the afternoon, sitting quietly in the chair next to the bed, stroking Don Rodrigo’s frail white hand and praying that a miracle would occur to save him.

  Despite her initial desire to sweep him off to hospital she had listened to her mother-in-law’s words when Doña Augusta had gently suggested that perhaps her grandfather was happier where he was.

  Later Ramon spoke to her in similar terms, and in spite of a profound desire to flout him—since she felt he was in a way responsible for her absence—and to whisk her grandfather onto a helicopter and off to hospital, she listened to the painful truth.

  ‘Nena, I know how difficult this is for you to accept, but I think you must face the fact that the end may be close at hand,’ Ramon said to her when they were alone in the hall. He made no attempt to take her hand or approach her, and stood several feet away.

  ‘But he can’t be that ill. There must be a solution,’ she repeated for the hundredth time. ‘Surely something can be done.’

  ‘You heard the doctor, querida,’ he said, gently but firmly. ‘There is not much that can be done except keep him as comfortable as possible.’

  At that Nena turned, her eyes full of tears, and ran up the stairs while he watched her, his bronzed hand fixed on the newel post, sensing that it was better to leave her be.

  Again Ramon wanted to query the separate bedrooms issue. Not because he planned to have sex with her but because, he realised, he wanted to hold her—take her in his arms and give her the comfort he knew she so desperately needed. But, seeing how distant she’d become, he kept quiet. There would be time enough to console her once Don Rodrigo had passed on to a better world and when Nena realised the full truth of it. How wise the old gentleman had been to foresee the situation so clearly, he reflected. Soon it would be up to him to give his wife the kind of support she would need.

  Still, the night alone would give him an opportunity to make the much needed phone call to Luisa, and once he was in his room Ramon braced himself, punched the quick-dial on his cellphone and waited while it rang over in Buenos Aires.

  ‘Dígame.’

  He heard Luisa’s musical, throaty voice on the line and, surprisingly, did not experience the usual reaction.

  ‘Lu, it’s me,’ he said automatically.

  ‘Really, querido? And where might you be?’

  ‘In England.’

  ‘I see. If rumour has it right, you have been quite a busy boy of late.’ Her voice was as icy as the waters of Antarctica.

  ‘Look, Lu, I should have called you earlier, told you what was going on. But somehow I just didn’t get around to it.’ He closed his eyes and grimaced, imagining Luisa’s livid face.

  ‘So it’s true,’ she said, after a small hesitation.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is.’

  ‘And you didn’t even have the decency to call me and tell me personally?’

  ‘I’m afraid I forgot.’

  ‘You forgot. Well, Ramon, that is just wonderful. We spend two years having a white-hot affair, which has been splattered all over the press, and you simply “forget” to tell me that you’re getting married. My congratulations,’ she added frigidly.

  ‘Lu, it’s all my fault, I know, and I should have told you—of course I should. I could kick myself for not ringing you, but—’

  ‘But what? Your child bride was taking up too much of your attention?’ she asked sweetly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And she’s not a child, she’s—’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Ramon. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you. You deserve to be hung, drawn and quartered—and, believe me, if you were anywhere close by I’d do something a hell of a lot worse.’

  Ramon shuddered, then smiled. ‘Lu,’ he said, his tone cajoling, ‘you know that even though it’s over between us I’ll always adore you.’

  ‘Hmm. Don’t try and cajole me with your golden tongue, Ramon Villalba.’ But she relented a little and laughed all the same. They were, after all, two of a kind—sophisticated jet-setters who knew the rules of the game and could remain friends.

  The rest of the conversation was inconsequential and when it was over Ramon rang off, relieved. After reading a while he turned off the light to go to sleep.

  He might have been considerably less at ease had he known that Nena, upon leaving her grandfather’s room, had passed Ramo
n’s closed door and overheard a single phrase that had left her running, anguished and furious with him and herself, to her own apartment.

  I’ll always adore you.

  The words throbbed like cymbals in her ears. How could he? How could he make love to her, call her those endearing names one night, and the next be telling another woman that he would always adore her?

  Nena threw off her dressing gown and climbed miserably into bed. This was the saddest, most awful time of her life. Her grandfather was no better and she was slowly coming to terms with the inevitable outcome. And now just as she’d been telling herself that perhaps there was something to be said for his insistence that she marry and not be left out in the world all on her own, she had overheard those dreadful words.

  Well, she consoled herself, huddling under the covers and blowing her nose determinedly, it was probably better to know the truth and not make a complete fool of herself again, as she had the previous night.

  But that was it.

  From now on she would insist they sleep separately. Ramon was obviously a very talented actor. But now she had been well and thoroughly alerted. And, she reflected, throwing a pillow furiously out of the bed, she would do well to heed the warning that inadvertently she’d been privileged to overhear.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THREE days later, at three thirty-eight a.m., Don Rodrigo passed away. Nena, who had barely left his side for the past seventy-two hours, finally collapsed from emotional exhaustion and, laying her head on her grandfather’s still chest, cried her heart out. It wasn’t just losing him, but also all that had changed, all that would change for ever in her life. In the space of three weeks she’d been thrown into a tailspin, and now her one point of gravity, her grandfather, was gone.

  It was thus that Ramon found her when he came quietly into the room two hours later.

  ‘Nena—oh, my God,’ he muttered, hurrying to her side and laying his hand on her head to stroke her hair. ‘I’m so sorry, amor mio, so dreadfully sorry.’

  After several minutes he forced her to sit up, to move her stiff limbs, to take her eyes off the wax-like figure lying motionless in the bed.

  The nurse, who had tactfully remained out of sight until the moment was over and Nena had said her final goodbye to her grandfather, came forward. Ramon, his arm firmly gripping her shoulders, shepherded her from the room.

  ‘You must rest,’ he insisted, guiding her in the direction of her bedroom. Then, seeing that she could barely walk from exhaustion, he scooped her into his arms and carried her, as he would a child, then deposited her gently onto the bed.

  ‘Now let me cover you,’ he murmured, pulling back the covers and sliding her legs under them before tucking her in and sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes seemed vacant, her limbs numb. But he knew that for now all he could do was try and soothe her to sleep.

  Nena’s eyes closed, and after several minutes she glided into an exhausted sleep. Somewhere through the haze of her mind and soul the gentle movement of Ramon’s fingers massaging her neck and stroking her hair reached her. But it barely registered. Only when she woke several hours later and found him still seated next to her, dressed, his hand on her shoulder, having fallen asleep against the pillows, did she become fully aware of his presence.

  Nena sat up, careful not to wake him. Despite her antipathy, and her anger at the words she’d heard him say the other night, she could not help but be touched by this unselfish display of solidarity. A rush of sudden affection swept over her and gently she tried to accommodate him better.

  Ramon shifted towards the centre of the bed and instinctively pulled his legs up onto it. Then, as naturally as though they’d been sleeping together for years, he flung an arm across her and drew her close, murmuring something indistinguishable in his sleep.

  For a moment Nena held her breath and lay stiffly, a prisoner in his grip, unwilling to wake him. Then, hearing the regular breathing and certain he really was asleep, she slowly relaxed, closed her eyes once more, and willed reality to stay away for as long as possible.

  She felt strangely warm and protected in her husband’s arms. Maybe he had told another woman he adored her, and maybe this was all fake, she conceded, but right now—just at this crucial moment—she needed the human companionship and warmth that he was offering, albeit in sleep.

  At ten o’clock Doña Augusta decided to check on Nena. Peeping round the door she was surprised to see her lying in her son’s embrace. Both were fast asleep. Her face broke into a soft smile, lessening some of the tension of the past few hours. Then gently she closed the door behind her and descended the stairs to find her husband.

  There was so much to be attended to—funeral arrangements, the gathering afterwards. Nena was incapable of handling such responsibilities in her present state, and with the natural grace of habit Doña Augusta took over. The relieved servants turned to her for their instructions, instinctively bowing to her well-bred automatic sense of command, glad to delegate responsibility.

  And so it was that when Nena and Ramon finally woke and blinked into each other’s eyes, downstairs nothing had been left to chance.

  As soon as she became conscious of her situation Nena wriggled and tried to escape.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Ramon said, pulling a hand through his tousled hair. ‘You’re too tired to get up. You need to rest, Nena.’

  ‘I have to get up. There is so much to do—so much to take care of. Grandfather would have expected me to be on board, whatever my feelings,’ she answered, feeling her limbs stiff with tension and trying to stretch.

  ‘Here, let me give you a massage.’ Not waiting for an answer, Ramon turned her peremptorily on her tummy and began kneading her shoulders. ‘I—’

  ‘Shut up and relax,’ he commanded in an authoritative tone. ‘You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re all wound up. And, as you said, there is much to be dealt with.’

  Too tired to argue, Nena gave way, experiencing a thrill as her muscles began to relax. She closed her eyes and let him work on her back, down and down, unable to do more than let out the odd sigh from time to time, exhale and allow the tension to dissipate as his hands pressed exactly the right pressure points, the ones that were aching. Then all at once the massaging turned to caressing, and still she didn’t move. When his hands slipped from her lower back to her bottom she lay totally still, allowing him to follow the rounded curves without protest.

  Slowly Ramon slipped his hand under her nightdress, stroking her thighs lightly, relaxing them, unable to resist the temptation or the powerful tug that drew him to this woman, to her body, her mind and soul. He needed to enter her, feel her, to let her know that she was not alone, that he was here for her, to cherish and protect her, to help expedite the pain. Wasn’t that, after all, what he had promised to do?

  His hand reached further, until he parted her thighs and let his thumb roam, and a thrill of delight coursed through him when he felt the delicious wetness that told him more than words could just how much she needed him. Leaning over, he kissed the back of her neck and stroked her intimately, hearing the tiny moan, feeling her buttocks arch up to meet him.

  Nena let out a long sigh. Part of her protested inwardly while another craved more. And she could do no more than submit to his caresses. Then, when she let out an involuntary cry of pleasure and relived once more that same wonderful release she’d experienced several days earlier, Ramon turned her around.

  She saw the raw passion written in his eyes and gasped, felt him all but tear her nightgown from her, then arched back as he thrust deep within her, joining him in a tempestuous encounter, perfectly rhymed, an intuitive dance of which both seemed to know the steps. He was gripping her small waist, pulling down on her hips, delving into her core, as though determined to drive away sorrow, death and the anguish of the previous hours, to let life take hold. Then once again they crashed together in that rollicking surf before falling, embracing among the sheets and into another much needed bout of sleep.
/>   ‘I think we should return to Buenos Aires,’ Ramon said several days later.

  ‘But I don’t think that’s a good idea at all,’ Nena protested, thinking suddenly of the woman whom he’d told he adored. Surely she must be there in Buenos Aires, waiting for him? Maybe, she reflected bitterly, that was why he was in such a hurry to go.

  It was a lowering thought that made her remember all too clearly the lovemaking of the past days. Ramon had not left her bed again, had insisted they sleep together, and because she was too overwhelmed by the events going on about her, and because—although she hated to admit it—the feel of his arms about her was so wonderfully comforting, and his body next to and inside hers was so incredibly reassuring, she’d conceded.

  Now the truth came ramming home and she sat bolt upright in her chair and looked at the floor.

  ‘Why don’t you go to Buenos Aires, Ramon? I have nothing to do there. Plus, I need to wrap up so many things here—see people, take care of some of Grandfather’s affairs. I wasn’t able to talk to many of his friends at the funeral, and I need to write thank-you notes and—’

  ‘Nena, that’s ridiculous and you know it. We met with all your grandfather’s legal advisors yesterday. And I will be dealing with the Carvajal interests from now on, you know that. As for thank-you notes—well, we have perfectly good writing paper in BA.’

  ‘I don’t see why we have to go,’ she said stubbornly, the thought of going back to Argentina clouded by all she knew awaited him there—principally Luisa, too much to handle.

  ‘I would have thought it was obvious,’ he answered firmly. ‘I have my companies to deal with, my hacienda. My businesses to run as well as yours,’ he added with a touch of humour. ‘Why are you so reluctant to go?’