by Helen Brooks
She sank to the floor, her legs finally giving way as the storm of weeping overtook her, her moans like the cries of a wounded animal that had no hope.
She had just been learning to live without him, to accept that her life would never be one of fulfilment in the family sense—as a wife and mother—and now the pain was as raw and lacerating as it ever had been in the early days.
How long she lay there she didn't know, but when at last she rose, her face sticky and damp, there were no more tears left—only a cold, chilling emptiness in the pit of her stomach as she recalled his last words to her and the look on his face as he had uttered them.
CHAPTER THREE
'What's the matter with Keith today?' Marjorie pulled a face as she bent over Marianne and whispered in her ear, 'He's like a bear with a sore head; I've never seen him like this. Is it because you were late back last night?'
'I don't think that helped,' Marianne said quietly as the wafer-thin model straightened again, and they both looked to where Keith was bawling at June and Guy, his face turkey-red.
'He makes my Tony seem like a positive angel,' Marjorie drawled softly. 'And that's hard to do, believe me. Well, we live and learn. I had no idea Keith had it in him.' She glanced down at Marianne again, who was setting up the equipment, her face pale and sombre. 'He's crazy about you, you know,' she added quietly.
'Marjorie, please… ' Marianne raised anguished eyes. 'That doesn't help. I could never think of Keith in that way.'
'Sorry.' There was a pause, and then, 'Mind you, if I had the choice of Keith or that hunk you went off with yesterday there'd be no contest He was absolutely gorgeous. Old flame?'
'Sort of.' Marianne's voice was dismissive but it didn't work.
'You were careless to let that one escape,' Marjorie said softly, her beautiful almond-shaped eyes bright with curiosity. 'Is he married? The best ones usually are,' she added resignedly.
'Marjorie, I've got to do this.' Marianne kept her head bent to the task in hand. 'Okay?'
'I get the message: mind your own business, Marjorie,' the other girl said good-naturedly. 'But if he's not married and you want to introduce us… ?' she wheedled hopefully.
'It was a one-off, Marjorie; I probably shan't be seeing him again,' Marianne said as calmly as she could through her screaming nerves. Much more of this and she would say something she'd regret.
'Pity.' The model sighed deeply. 'Great, great pity.'
The morning had started badly and got progressively worse, and by lunchtime Keith's bad temper had affected everyone, making the very air tense and volatile, which made it all the more awkward when, just as they were packing up, Marjorie called across, 'Marianne, you know that one-off? He's going for double.'
'What?' She straightened and turned as she spoke, and then froze, her heartbeat going haywire, as she saw the tall, dark figure watching them from the road as he leant indolently against the side of his car, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans and sunglasses hiding his eyes. How could one man look so—so gorgeous?
They had been filming on Tangier's three-mile-long white sandy beach, the atmosphere enhanced by several grazing camels and the two barefoot, curly-haired Moroccan children tending the animals; they had been delighted to pose for the cameras for a few dirhams. Although the May sun had been pleasantly warm at first, for the last two hours it had been blazing down out of a cloudless blue sky with the temperature steadily soaring. Marianne felt hot and dirty and sticky, and the last person—the very last person in all the world—she wanted to see at that moment was Hudson de Sance.
'Did you arrange to meet him here?' Keith had moved to her side when Marjorie had drawn everyone's attention to the brooding figure watching them so intently, and now Marianne turned to look at the slight Englishman, rubbing her hand across her damp forehead as she did so. This was all she needed—Keith throwing a wobbly.
'No.' She had a thudding headache, she was tired, and she had never felt more like a bone between two bridling dogs, and she was blowed if she was going to explain further. She'd had enough.
'Do you want to talk to him?' Keith asked stiffly, his nose, cheeks and forehead scarlet from the sun and his thin, stringy legs, in the wide khaki shorts he was wearing, boyishly innocuous.
No, she didn't want to talk to him, but when did someone not wanting to do something ever stop Hudson de Sance if he wanted it? she asked herself grimly. 'Not particularly, but it will be easier in the long run,' she said flatly, watching his shrug and angry grimace as he flounced away with a stab of very real irritation before guilt swamped her.
He was only behaving like this because he liked her, she told the little voice in her mind that had pointed out—with devastating and clear honesty—that Hudson would never behave so petulantly and childishly. She could imagine Hudson being coldly sarcastic with a supposed rival, perhaps even aggressive if he thought the occasion warranted it, but indulging in the tantrums and querulous, peevish behaviour they had been forced to endure that morning? Never. It simply wasn't in his nature, she admitted silently.
She tried to ignore her crumpled, grubby appearance as she slowly walked over the hot, powdery sand towards the road, but it was a little difficult, especially as she could see, the nearer she got, that Hudson was his normal impeccable self—his jet-black hair slicked off a forehead that was tanned a deep golden brown and his short-sleeved dark blue shirt crisp and crease-free.
'You've been working hard, I see.' It could have meant anything, spoken as it had been in an expressionless drawl and with the lethal, piercing grey eyes hidden behind dark glass, but she bristled instantly, feeling it was a comment on her appearance.
'Yes.' It was a snap, and she tried to moderate her tone as she continued, 'Did you want to see me?' It was a stupid question.
His voice acknowledged the fact as he said, 'How intuitive of you.'
It would have been better if they had never met again, she thought miserably, than for them to be reduced to this cold war of words. She could understand him hating her; the letter itself had been bad enough, but after what Michael had told him…
She was unaware her shoulders had slumped wearily with her thoughts, or that her face was pale with exhaustion under the big straw hat she had pulled on as protection against the fierce Moroccan sun, so when he said, his voice soft, 'Have you finished here?' she looked at him warily, mistrusting the sudden mellowing.
'Why?' she asked suspiciously, her back straightening.
'Just a yes or no will suffice.'
'It probably would, but it's not as simple as that,' she said testily. 'We can't work through the heat of the afternoon, but Keith wants to take some shots of the girls in evening wear later when the sun begins to set and it's a few degrees cooler.'
'So you are finished for the moment,' he stated quietly. 'Good. In that case you can accept a lift back to the hotel with me.' The dark eyebrows quirked as he smiled mockingly.
It was said so tongue-in-cheek, it wasn't meant to be taken seriously, and she frowned at him as she said, her voice tart, 'And how long would it take this time?'
'A drive-and-a-picnic long?' he drawled easily, completely unabashed by her fierceness. 'The goodies are all onboard.'
'I don't think so.' She glared at him, more to hide the thudding of her heart and the sudden weakness in her legs than anything else. He had sought her out again—for whatever reason.
'You'd prefer me to carry you off kicking and screaming?' he asked casually. 'Is that wise?'
'You wouldn't dare.' She glanced quickly over her shoulder to the others, her gaze taking in the long stretch of beach dotted here and there with holiday-makers intent on making the most of the sun, along with the ever hopeful vendors of knick-knacks made of ornamental brass and copper, and others selling rugs and leather goods.
'No? Try me.' It was cool and threatening. 'You think your boyfriend would try to rescue you from the dragon?' he continued sardonically. 'Funny, but I don't see that guy as a white knight myself.'
'I don't know why you are doing this,' she said shakily, 'but even you must see it's pointless. Anything between us was finished two years ago—you admitted that yourself last night—'
'Wrong.' He straightened against the car as he spoke, removing the sunglasses so the full force of the deadly grey gaze was exposed, his eyes cold and glittering in the golden sunshine. 'You walked out on an agreement, Annie, and in my book that makes it far from finished,' he said levelly. 'Now, are you going to tell that bozo that you're occupied this afternoon, or do I have to do it?'
'I will.' He was right; they had to get this sorted out once and for all—she owed him that at least. But she couldn't tell him the truth, so she would have to lie—again. And she had been foolish last night, very foolish, in contesting Michael's fabrication about another man. He hadn't believed her, but it had been enough to get that formidable lawyer's brain ticking over—which was probably why he was here today, she told herself wretchedly.
It had been weakness on her part, because she couldn't bear him to think ill of her when he was here, face to face, in front of her, but he had to. It was the only way and she knew it There was no future for them—there never had been; anything they might have shared had been dealt a fatal blow eighteen months before she'd met him when her mother had married Michael. Any lawyer's wife—but especially Hudson de Sance's—couldn't have the slightest shadow hanging over her reputation or credibility. If she had stayed with him then she would have been a millstone round his neck, dragging him down. And nothing had changed. However much she wished it had.
Keith was straight-faced and tight-lipped when she explained she was going for a drive with Hudson, but, in view of the fact he had told them all earlier they had the afternoon off, he couldn't very well object. Nevertheless, he made her feel incredibly guilty, yet again, as she left the others—Marjorie slipping in a sly wink and thumbs-up sign when Keith wasn't looking—and returned to the car.
It wasn't fair, she told herself silently as she reached the road. She had never, in all the months she had been working for him, encouraged this attention by so much as a word or gesture he could misconstrue. In fact for the last little while in particular she had tactfully made it clear—on numerous occasions—that she wasn't interested in anything of a personal nature.
'Didn't like it much, did he?' Hudson's deep voice couldn't hide his satisfaction—not that he tried to, Marianne thought nastily—and she glared at him angrily as she settled herself in the passenger seat of the beautiful sports car.
'Is that why you asked me? To get under Keith's skin?' she snapped accusingly. 'I consider that pathetic in the extreme.'
'Would I?' The wicked grey eyes were laughing at her, which made her all the madder. How could he get under her skin so quickly?
'You know darn well you would,' she bit back sharply.
'Annie, your lack of faith in the nobleness of my actions is like a sword-thrust into the heart.' He eyed her mockingly.
She said something rude which surprised them both, and then clapped her hand over her mouth as she turned bright pink. 'Oh, you horrible man… '
'Er, excuse me, but it was you who just swore, and very succinctly too, I might add,' Hudson murmured drily, his mouth curving as he noted her distress. 'I don't know who has been teaching you such dreadful phrases, but if we weren't so far from the hotel I'd take you back and wash out your mouth with soap and water,' he added with righteous disapproval.
'I don't normally… I mean… ' She was floundering, and if it hadn't been for the fact that she looked as though she was going to burst into tears he would have let her continue for a little while longer.
'Relax, Annie, I've heard a lot worse,' he said softly, unable to keep all amusement out of his voice. He worked with women who could utter the most extreme profanities without turning a hair, let alone blush at the mild swear word she had uttered.
That had been one of the things that had bowled him over two years ago—her gentle innocence in a world that he knew, only too well, was neither gentle nor innocent. Only she hadn't been, had she? All amusement fled as the thought hammered home. She'd played him for a sucker and then calmly walked away when things had got too hot She'd chosen the other man over him.
He felt the red-hot rage that always accompanied such thoughts grip his mind and shoot down to his stomach, causing powerful muscles to clench and contract as he fought the anger.
And then she had disappeared—so completely that even he, with all his contacts, legitimate and otherwise, had been unable to find her. How long had she been with this other guy? And what had gone wrong with the marriage plans? Had he dumped her? Was that it? Or had she got bored with him too? Damn her…
'How long are you staying in Tangier?'
Her voice brought him back from the darkness but it took a moment or two for him to get control sufficiently to reply, his voice cool and hard, 'As long as it takes to complete my business here.' It was cold and succinct, and certainly not a prelude to further conversation.
'Oh.' It wasn't really an answer but the temperature had dropped about twenty degrees since she had got into the car, and she couldn't nerve herself to say anything more.
It was another twenty minutes before Marianne spoke again, and then simply because the silent, brooding mood within the car had brought her to screaming pitch and she couldn't bear it a minute more without breaking.
And Hudson would just love that, she thought bitterly as she turned to glance at the dark, handsome face that had been at the forefront of her mind for two years. He was a brilliant strategist—as many an outwitted and broken criminal would testify—and when that attribute was added to a razor-sharp brain and ruthless determination it made him an adversary to be reckoned with. And that was what she was now to him, she reflected miserably—an adversary. It was as cold-blooded as that.
'How long will it take? To… to get where we're going?' she asked quietly. 'You do realise I can't go too far?'
'Worried?' His tone wasn't pleasant and neither was his face.
'Worried?' She forced a laugh that wasn't as confident as she would have liked. 'Don't be ridiculous; of course I'm not worried. But I have to get back for the shoot this evening, that's all. I happen to be working out here, in case you haven't noticed.'
'I'll deliver you back in good time, Annie, never fear,' he drawled mockingly. 'But in the meantime what could be more pleasant than two old friends enjoying some time together?' He glanced at her and his smile was one of hard, satisfied contempt as he saw the fiery colour flood her face. 'We're going to one of the larger weekly markets, actually; it was recommended as worth seeing by a friend of mine,' he continued expressionlessly. 'But we'll stop in a moment and have a bite to eat. You look in need of sustenance.' The last comment was very dry.
What he really meant was that she looked like something the cat had dragged in, Marianne thought unhappily, resisting the impulse to reach forward and peer into the little mirror above her head. She knew that already—she didn't need Hudson de Sance to rub it in, especially with him looking as cool as a cucumber.
She knew what he wanted from this meeting—to dot the i's and cross the t's with regard to any question marks he might still have about her abrupt departure two years ago. That formidable lawyer's brain wouldn't rest until it was satisfied.
But oh—she caught her breath as a shaft of pain so acute as to be paralysing speared through her—how could she say what she had to say when she still loved him so much? The last two years had been a day-by-day exercise in quelling all emotion and dealing ruthlessly with any weakness her feelings induced, and she had thought, foolishly, that she was beginning to win. But the moment she had seen him again she had known she was as smitten as ever—more, if possible, she corrected bitterly. She should have known you didn't recover from falling in love with Hudson—it was an incurable disease. She shut her eyes briefly and prayed for strength.
They ate in the shade of a little oasis of eucalyptus trees some way from
the road, the air hot and heavy and quite silent. She didn't ask from where he had obtained the small picnic-basket full of mouthwatering delicacies, or the deliciously iced fruit drink that was so thirst-quenching—all her energy and resources were taken up with telling herself she had to be strong against the insidious attraction of the man watching her so intently.
'You can take the hat off now.' He had been lying on one elbow for some minutes on the thick blanket he had brought from the car, and now he reached over to where she was sitting and tweaked the big straw hat off her head, taking her completely by surprise.
'Don't!' She made a grab for the inoffensive article, painfully aware that the neat, cool knot on top of her head that had been so tidy early that morning was now in tumultuous disarray, but he was too quick for her.
'It's shady here.' The grey eyes skimmed the cascade of pale golden curls that had worked loose from the severe restraint to tumble in silken strands about her neck and cheeks. 'You might as well take those grips and things out,' he suggested softly. 'Most of your hair is down already.'
'I don't want to,' she snapped hotly, knowing she must look as though she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. 'And may I have my hat back, please?' she asked severely.
'No.' Suddenly he was grinning at her, and she could have hit him as he continued, 'It's a monstrosity of a hat, and doesn't do a thing for you. You were never meant to wear hats, Annie.'
'The only tiling I wanted it to do for me was to keep my head covered, and it did that quite well,' she retorted tightly. 'Now, if you don't mind… ?' She glared at him as she held out her hand.
'I do mind.' He rolled closer so that he was almost touching her, and smiled up at her derisively as she stiffened. 'I mind very much. I like seeing your hair loose, like a cloud of spun gold. You used to wear it like that all the time in the old days.'
'It's not suitable when I'm working,' she said primly.