Midnight Wedding Page 16

  Her body revolted against the pain. With a small cry Holly turned away and was comprehensively sick.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AND that seemed to answer the question, whatever it was.

  Jack slid the robe from the back of the door round her naked shoulders and waited until she had finished. Then he wiped her face very gently with a warm flannel. His hands were quite impersonal.

  He took her back to the four-poster. She noticed that the coverlet was smooth. He must have straightened the tangled bedclothes before he came to look for her.

  The consideration in that simple action moved Holly oddly. Once again, tears prickled against her eyelids. She rubbed them away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t know why I’ve started crying all the time. It’s not like me.’

  ‘Stress,’ he said briefly.

  He watched her get into bed without touching her again. She turned to him.

  ‘Jack, I’m sorry. I mean—earlier.’ She was floundering and the shadowed face did not help her. ‘I never meant—’

  She did not know what she meant. Except I love you. Hold me. And she couldn’t say that. She gave up.

  ‘We both got carried away,’ Jack said coolly. ‘No harm done.’

  It was like a slap in the face.

  Holly called on all her reserves of pride. ‘I suppose not,’ she managed.

  He gave a short nod. ‘As long as that’s understood.’ He sent to the door. ‘Sleep well. I’ll be down the hall if you want me.’

  And he was gone.

  It was the start of the strangest month in her life. He treated her with friendliness. Sometimes it almost felt like intimacy. He talked about his life, his work, the distant family he hardly saw, the friends he counted on. He even talked over his plans with her—only they never, ever included her. And he never once mentioned Susana.

  It must hurt, thought Holly, seeing another woman in the house he had bought for the love of his life. She tried to say as much but he did not—or would not—understand her.

  ‘You’ve brought the old place to life. Never apologise for that. In fact, I think we should revive the old swimming pool as well, don’t you?’

  It was the first time that he had suggested anything like a shared project. Holly warmed.

  ‘I didn’t know there was one.’

  He laughed at her, the dark eyes lighting in the way she loved.

  ‘That’s because your excavations haven’t got as far as the orchard yet. I’ll get a man in to clear it.’

  He did. And to Geoff, who drove the digger, and Kevin, his assistant, they must have looked the most united couple, Holly thought. He was unfailingly courteous. More than that, he lavished things on her, encouraging her to buy clothes and books and CDs she would normally have rejected as way beyond her means.

  For her part, Holly consulted him on everything, waved him off without complaint when he had to travel, met him with pleasure when he returned.

  And they said goodnight, every night, at the top of the stairs.

  Holly had never slept so badly or been so jumpy. Her digestion stayed queasy, though she hid it from Jack. He was not in a mood to notice much anyway, she thought. He was concentrating on a report for the Paris committee and treated her with polite detachment.

  So outwardly she stayed calm, working long hours in the garden. She continued with her music but the primary school broke up for the summer and that blocked one of her escape routes. Jack persuaded her to go to coffee with the local gentry but that was hard work. The driving lessons used up time and her instructor was soon talking about putting her in for her driving test. It was hard to tell but she thought that Jack was pleased.

  He was even polite about the article in Elegance when it arrived. Watching anxiously, Holly thought she detected a wince from time to time, presumably when he found the account of their falling in love at first sight.

  ‘I’m sorry. She rather got away from me,’ Holly said.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Journalists always have an angle they want to play.’ He smiled, but his eyes were unamused. ‘At least she’s stopped asking for photographs with my kit off.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She turned up at Ignaz and decided I was a Man of Action, God help me. For a time, every other e-mail I got was from her, suggesting themes for a photo shoot. Haute couture interspersed with the odd frolic in a waterfall, from what I remember.’

  Holly gulped. She could feel her face heat at the thought. And then remembered something.

  ‘That man we met at the dinner in Paris,’ she said. ‘You said his colleague wanted you to model. I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Of course you did. You didn’t believe it. You said, “Model what? Civil servant chic?”’ said Jack. The smile still did not reach his eyes.

  Holly blinked. ‘I’d forgotten that, too.’

  ‘I hadn’t.’ He turned another couple of pages. ‘You were right.’

  ‘Rita Caruso doesn’t think so.’

  And nor do I.

  ‘Rita Caruso doesn’t let truth get in the way of a good story,’ he said drily.

  She managed not to wince but it was an effort. Fortunately, he was too absorbed to notice.

  ‘And now I shall be Jack the Romantic until people forget. Let’s hope none of the papers pick it up.’

  But of course they did. Worse than that, someone, maybe at Brendan Sugrue’s instigation, made the connection with missing heiress Holly Lansing. Suddenly Jack was less a romantic hero than a fortune hunter of the worst kind.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Holly, nearly in tears at a particularly cynical article. The office was sending them press cuttings daily by then.

  Jack shrugged. ‘Sticks and stones. It will pass.’ He considered her frowningly. ‘You’re looking pale. Is this getting you down? Do you want to come to Paris with me when I deliver my report?’

  Holly held her breath. ‘Why?’

  He hesitated. ‘At least that way you wouldn’t be alone here if some newspaperman tracks us down to the house.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was so disappointed she could have screamed. ‘I don’t think so, thank you. Running away isn’t a great idea. At least, it hasn’t done me much good so far. I’m better off staying here.’

  She did not look at him. The temptation to fling herself into his arms and beg him to love her was too great.

  His face was masklike. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  The silence between them stretched as taut as piano wire.

  If only, Holly thought in frustration, he was not so handsome that every lady photojournalist in the western hemisphere wanted to do the same thing! She might have stood a chance. All right, Susana was the love of his life. Holly couldn’t fight that. But Jack couldn’t mourn her for ever. Eventually he would want—well, second best. A home. Some affection. Holly could give him that. But the trouble was the competition. The world was full of women queuing up to comfort Gorgeous Jack.

  Her nails curved into her palms until they hurt. ‘I do,’ she said with unmistakeable sincerity.

  So he went alone.

  As soon as he had gone, Holly wished she had answered differently. But then the mail brought the morning’s press cuttings and she could only be glad that she did not have to face him. According to a mid-West journalist, clearly briefed by Brendan, Holly had led a life of unbridled excess from the moment she left the family roof.

  ‘Revolting,’ she cried, flinging the cuttings away from her. She felt as if something slimy had crawled over her skin.

  It upset her enough to put her off breakfast. It even disrupted her normally confident driving lesson.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked her instructor, worried.

  ‘Yes, I’m…’

  But she felt so dizzy that she braked to a halt and leaned, white-faced, against the driver’s window.

  The instructor was a nice man. He was concerned. ‘I’m getting you to hospital,’ he said, and allowed no argument.

  Th
e hospital staff, in a lull between emergencies for once, were friendly but faintly scornful. They took tests, promising the results in twenty-four hours. But really there was not much doubt. It was pretty obvious.

  Holly summoned a taxi and drove back to the castle in a daze. She felt stunned.

  Jack did not call from Paris. There was nothing unusual in that. But that night, sitting in the garden with all the windows open so she would hear the telephone ring, Holly felt abandoned.

  Not that she knew what she would say to him if he did call, she reminded herself. How was she going to put it? There is a possibility that we could have a problem? I know we said this was a marriage of convenience but I’m afraid something inconvenient has come up? No, impossible!

  And most impossible of all was the thing that her whole being was screaming at her to tell him: I need you.

  She slept worse than ever.

  The next day brought no test results and no phone call from Jack either. The following morning he called. Holly’s heart misgave her. She listened to him talking to the answering machine.

  ‘Hi, Jack here.’

  No greeting; no asking after her welfare; certainly no affection. His voice sounded hard. Oh, God, he must have seen all those lying articles. Why didn’t he say so?

  ‘Report over and I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m bringing the office with me—two girls, three guys will need beds. We’ve got something to celebrate.’

  He rang off. She hugged her arms round herself, suddenly cold.

  ‘Have we?’ Holly asked the clicking machine.

  The next call gave her the answer.

  She went into overdrive. It was a long time since she had given a party but she remembered Donna’s preparations easily enough. She made a list and got on the phone.

  In the end she decided she needed a boost to her confidence before she could face Jack’s guests. So she paid her first visit to the hairdresser’s in five years. It all took much longer than she’d expected, so when the cab brought her home she saw cars already in the drive. For a moment she was shaken by panic.

  I can’t face Jack among a lot of strangers. I just can’t.

  But she had no choice. She shot into the house and did her best to brace herself.

  There was a long tiger-striped muslin shirt with a matching bikini in the wardrobe. The ensemble had cost so much that it hurt her even to think about it. It had been a desperation buy at a show mounted by the amazingly expensive local boutique in support of a village charity. Her hostess had made it clear that Mrs Jack Armour was not going to get away without a handsome contribution to funds and Holly, who had not had a swimsuit for five years, had bought the only thing she thought she needed.

  Now, looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered if it had been a mistake. Oh, it was gorgeous, all right. Sophisticated and sexy and gorgeous.

  And I’m not, thought Holly.

  But it was the only thing she had to swim in. And maybe it was camouflage she needed. So she squared her shoulders and went out into the garden to join the party.

  Jack must have brought bottles of drink down with him after he’d asked all the guests. There was normally little alcohol in the house. Now, however, there was a tray of glasses and bottles on the wooden table under the willow. Armour Disaster Recovery were sitting by the poolside with fluorescent cocktails in their hands, watching for the arrival of the mystery woman.

  Holly made it a good one.

  She came out onto the terrace, sunhat in hand, huge sunglasses covering her eyes, and posed against the ivy-covered wall. Just long enough to get their attention. Then she waved and ran lightly down the steps. Whatever her reservations about the outfit’s sexiness, it made her look good, she knew.

  She went straight to Jack.

  He looked down at her. There was not a vestige of feeling in his face. She thought: He’s read those articles.

  ‘Hi, darling.’ When she was nervous her voice went husky. It must have sounded to them all like the last word in sexy intimacy.

  She stood on tiptoes and kissed him slowly on the mouth. It was quite deliberate. He could not turn away from her if he wanted all his friends to think they were the ideal couple, after all.

  Jack’s mouth moved under hers, once. Just a fraction, but it moved. Then he lifted his head and looked down at her. Chilled to the bone, Holly thought: Read them and believed every word.

  As always, she could not read his expression for certain. But the others had no fault to find. At least one member of the party—a woman—sighed enviously.

  Well, thank God for that, thought Holly. She turned to them, hands spread eloquently.

  ‘Hi, everybody. Glad to see you could get away from the office on this beautiful day. The prospect of a swim just too good to resist?’

  ‘You can say that again.’ That was patronising Louise. Pretty, patronising Louise.

  Holly tensed. ‘Well, it’s good to see you all,’ she said lightly. ‘I have a conscience about being the only one using the pool on a day like this.’

  She sat down on the moss-covered bank that bordered one side of the pool and looked covertly at Louise. Was she the reason that Jack had brought the whole team down? He always spoke of her with fondness and Holly knew how much he respected her work. She did not think Louise was a replacement for Susana, but she was attractive and her sophistication went deeper than tiger swimwear.

  Holly looked at Jack, grateful for the masking sunglasses. It was surprising how deep jealousy could stab, even in a relationship like theirs.

  He mixed a bright green cocktail and gave it to her. His lips were smiling. But the smile did not reach his dark eyes. It never did when he looked at her these days. It had not since Ignaz. That stabbed too.

  But he was offering an explanation of his unexpected behaviour. Concentrate, Holly told herself.

  ‘Spontaneous celebration,’ Jack said in his deep voice. ‘We got the EU contract.’

  Holly was not going to admit she did not know what the EU contract was about. Whatever it was, it had the others all beaming. She raised her glass to them in a toast.

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a real feather in Jack’s cap,’ said Louise, looking at the tall man with admiration.

  And why not? thought Holly, curbing another uncivilised spasm of jealousy. He was the woman’s boss. He was successful and generous to his staff. And they had just won an important contract. Besides which, as a man he was a fireball. No one knew that better than Holly. It was no wonder if pretty Louise looked at him as if he were the god Apollo come down to earth.

  What was more, Holly reminded herself, that was Jack’s business and Jack’s alone. By the terms of their agreement Holly had no right to object or even to comment on what he did in his private life. She thought Jack would have forbidden her to be hurt by it as well if it had ever occurred to him that she could be hurt.

  These days, of course, they were both of them pretending that she was immune to anything he did. Sometimes Holly had even believed it. Until today, and the news that had made her face the truth she had known in her bones all along.

  She was in love with him. More, she thought she had been in love with him from the first moment in Paris. Even their duelling had been a sort of intimacy. She loved him! And she wanted him to love her. Which was hopeless when he loved a shadow from his past. How did a real woman fight the allure of a shadow?

  It was terrible to feel so distraught and have to maintain a bright social face. She tried to be interested in the conversation.

  ‘It was Jack who convinced Commissioner Durango,’ chimed in one of the men. ‘I set out the technical specs but it took Jack’s sweet talk to convince them.’

  ‘Well, congratulations to Jack,’ said Holly, raising her glass to him too.

  She did not mean to sound waspish but that was the way it came out. She saw the others look uncomfortable and could have kicked herself.

  But Jack had it in hand. ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he s
aid lightly. ‘Discussion of boring work ends here.’

  Holly picked up the hint with the horrible ease. If you lived a lie you got used to covering up the holes.

  ‘Great,’ she said gaily. ‘What are you doing to celebrate?’

  Jack looked at her. ‘We thought we’d party,’ he said with deliberation. ‘Here.’

  And he let his eyes drift over her as if they partied together every day—and fell into mutual and voluptuous coupling every night afterwards. A faint colour rose under Holly’s tan. Oh, yes, Jack was good at lying too. Except that it was not—wholly—a lie.

  For half a heartbeat there was a silence that seemed to slice through Holly’s nerves to the wincing core of her. Then she recovered. Living a lie gave you a quick recovery time.

  ‘Wonderful. I love spur-of-the-moment parties.’

  It was not true. Any more than it was true that he wanted to make love to her or that this was a real marriage.

  But they believed it. They expected no less. It went with the wild child reputation Brendan had given her and that, she was beginning to fear, Jack had come to accept.

  ‘I told them you’d enjoy it.’ His voice was warm, lazily amused, indulgent. Only his eyes were blank.

  She stretched out long tanned legs in front of her and pretended to sip her cocktail.

  ‘Great. Why don’t we swim first and then barbecue?’ She had borrowed one from the doctor’s wife. ‘Then dance out here as long as it stays warm.’ The sound system came from the pub landlord, whose son had spent a happy couple of hours rigging it up and selecting CDs to make the place jump. So much friendly support had to be repaid. ‘I’ve asked a few neighbours to join us.’

  ‘I knew I could leave it to you,’ Jack said idly. ‘You’re the party expert.’

  Holly’s heart sank. She did not let it show.

  ‘Fortunately it’s the night for it. Have you all brought something to swim in?’

  ‘Not like yours,’ said Louise ruefully.

  Holly looked down. So the tiger stripes were doing the business, Holly thought cynically. Or maybe it was the long tanned legs, the soft cloud of hair streaked to an artistic and expensive tawny, or the suite of gold chains she wore on her wrist.