Midnight Wedding Page 7

‘Look,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘I’m willing to help but don’t push me.’

  Holly stared, affronted. He ran an impatient hand through his hair.

  ‘I know you don’t trust easily,’ he said in level voice. ‘OK. I accept that. I even accept that you need to know something about me before you take my advice.’

  ‘Advice? Huh! Orders, more like.’

  He ignored that. ‘You may not recognise the names on my CV but believe me they are the great and the good in the disaster relief world. Now, this evening Ramon and I have to go to a reception where a fair number of them will be. So the practical solution is for you to come too.’

  Holly could hardly believe her ears. ‘You want me to go out with you?’

  Jack looked down his nose. ‘Not on a date. This is strictly business from my point of view. You can use it to—er—take up my references.’

  Holly glared at him, searching about in her mind for the most blistering thing she could think of to tell him exactly what she thought of his practical solutions.

  In the end, and to her dismay, all she came up with was a heartfelt cry, ‘What will I wear?’

  Jack was supremely uninterested. ‘Nothing grand. Business suit will do.’

  In spite of herself, Holly gave a choke of laughter. ‘Like I have a business suit!’

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘No, of course not. Well—’

  ‘I can do a little black dress,’ she offered.

  ‘Show me.’

  She did. It was cheap stretchy satin, long-sleeved and short-skirted. Holly surveyed it ruefully.

  ‘I bought it when I got a job playing in a band. Dublin, that was. It scrunches up to nothing but the creases just fall out when you shake it.’

  She demonstrated.

  Jack nodded. ‘It’ll do.’

  It did more than that. When he and Ramon were waiting in their tuxedos, he did not recognise the poised woman who walked into the hotel lobby. Golden-brown hair was piled into a loose coronet, revealing a graceful neck and a spectacular cascade of multi-coloured earrings. The crease-resistant dress clung.

  ‘Yes!’ said Ramon in purely masculine appreciation.

  Jack did a double-take. This was no teenage scruff in a bargain-basement dress. This was total confidence.

  For some reason, it shook him. He had seen Holly Dent, Lansing, or whatever her name was, as variously combative, truculent and terrified. On every occasion he had been struck by her vulnerability, her youth. The sexy siren was a revelation. Not, he found, a welcome one.

  He did not admit it. He went through the whole evening on a sort of frozen courtesy that intimidated hosts and other guests alike. The only person it seemed to have no effect on was Holly Dent.

  ‘Aren’t you ever pleasant to people?’ she said, after he had speared a persistent editor with an icy put-down. ‘The man was only doing his job.’

  Jack shrugged. ‘It’s not important.’

  ‘Well, pardon me for breathing,’ said Holly, outraged.

  Jack stopped dead in his tracks. ‘That guy,’ he told her, ‘is a waste of my time.’

  ‘And I thought you believed in the brotherhood of man,’ she mocked.

  ‘Man, maybe,’ said Jack unwarily. ‘Let a woman loose with a camera and the world goes mad.’

  Holly was confused. ‘What woman?’

  He was regretting letting that out. ‘Oh, just some photographer who turned up at the current site. She works for him.’

  ‘And you don’t like her because she’s a woman?’ Holly shook her head. ‘Your prejudices are showing.’

  ‘I like her fine. I don’t like her cute ideas.’

  Holly grinned. ‘Woman shouldn’t have ideas, right? Anyone ever told you you’re a dinosaur?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then they should have.’

  ‘Not because I don’t want to do a fashion shoot!’ said Jack, goaded.

  Holly blinked. ‘Fashion? A fashion shoot?’ She did not believe it. She started again. ‘This photographer wanted you to be a sort of male model?’ she said gropingly.

  Jack was scanning the room again. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fashion in what, for heaven’s sake? Civil servant chic?’

  That made him look at her. Jack stared in the blankest astonishment.

  ‘What?’

  Not pleased, thought Holly with quiet satisfaction. A glass of white port had given her a slight pounding in the temples and an agreeable sense of irresponsibility. Not pleased at all; what would happen if she wound the screw tighter?

  ‘Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it?’ She made a large gesture which spilt some of the wine on the velvety carpet. ‘I’ve been checking your CV, like you told me. It sounds to me as if what you do is write papers for committees and go to meetings.’ It was clear that she was not impressed.

  There was an incredulous silence.

  ‘I put up emergency housing after natural disasters,’ Jack said at last. His voice was clipped. ‘Meetings are the price I pay for the funding.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’ But she did not sound it and she knew it.

  He shrugged again. ‘No need to apologise.’

  She took his arm. It was meant to be placating. It did not have the desired effect.

  Jack froze. And Holly, after a startled double-take, withdrew her hand with a laugh that was too bright and altogether unconvincing.

  ‘Why are you glowering?’ she said, trying to make a joke of it and not quite succeeding.

  He looked at her with dislike. ‘I am not glowering.’

  ‘Are, too.’ She sipped the port, laughing at him over the top of the glass.

  She must have been a better actress than she thought. Jack seemed convinced. At least, he did not point out that her laughter was hollow.

  ‘Are you always this irritating?’ he asked in a goaded voice.

  Holly chuckled with real amusement at that. Irritating was better than horribly self-conscious any day of the week. ‘I try.’

  ‘Then I’m astonished your family want you back.’

  As soon as he said it, he wished it unsaid. Even before the light died in the lively little face. He saw memory come back and could have kicked himself.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said that. My turn to apologise.’

  There was a tiny pause.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  But she was subdued for the rest of the evening. When they got back to the hotel she refused to go into the bar with the two men and left them with a monosyllabic goodnight.

  ‘Damn,’ muttered Jack under his breath.

  Ramon ordered a couple of brandies and they took them to a table under a parlour palm. The bar was still half full.

  Ramon got straight to the point. ‘What are you going to do about her?’

  ‘What can I do? The obvious solution is for her to marry me.’

  Ramon wisely did not comment.

  Jack shifted irritably. ‘She just can’t make up her mind if she wants my help or not.’

  ‘What sort of help are you offering?’ Ramon asked practically. ‘If marriage is off, I mean?’

  Jack shifted his shoulders irritably. ‘I haven’t thought. A job, perhaps. Contacts, people who will find her a place to stay and something to do. Maybe even legal advice. I don’t really understand how—’

  ‘Look out,’ said Ramon. ‘Here she is.’

  She was threading her way through the tables. As she got to them, they saw that her face was perfectly white. Jack surged to his feet.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Brendan,’ she said, as soon as she got to them. ‘He was here. Here.’

  She thrust a paper towards Jack. Her hand was shaking so much that the little message fluttered like a fan. Jack twitched it out of her fingers and stuffed it in his pocket. He put an arm round her shoulders, sending a casual look round the room.

  ‘I don’t see him.’

  ‘He’s coming back,’ said Holly. She looked sick.

&nb
sp; Jack urged her to the door. ‘Then let’s get out of here. Coming, Ramon?’

  They went to her room. Jack steered her into a seat and cast a quick eye down the black scrawled message. Brendan did indeed say he would be back, bringing legal reinforcements.

  He sat down, regarding her with frowning concern.

  ‘This is France. He’ll find he can’t just kidnap a person of your age against her will.’

  Her hand lay on a little occasional table. The charms on her bracelet rattled against the wooden surface as she trembled. Jack put a strong hand over hers.

  ‘You’re your own person. You can deal with him,’ he said, suddenly calm and not dictatorial at all.

  Ramon said, ‘He’s right.’

  She swallowed. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘We’ll be with you.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I can’t.’

  Jack did not waste time arguing. ‘Then I’ll get you a lawyer—’

  ‘I’ve tried that.’ Her mouth was shaking. ‘The only guaranteed way to get away from the family is marriage. Anything else—’ Her voice shook. ‘It could stay in the courts for months and in the meantime he would have the right to—to—’

  ‘Why are you so afraid of him?’ Jack demanded softly. ‘You’re not afraid of anyone else.’

  Both the men were staring at her as if she were a specimen in a laboratory. And she was too out of control even to resent it! Holly shut her eyes.

  ‘He drowns me.’

  There was an incredulous silence. Even with her eyes shut she could feel the two men looking at each other. Despising her.

  Jack said in the infuriatingly reasonable tone of his, ‘Then marry someone who doesn’t drown you, if that’s what it takes. And stop running away.’

  Holly’s eyes snapped open. The trembling increased.

  ‘You mean, marry you.’

  Their eyes locked. A muscle worked in his jaw.

  ‘If that’s what it takes.’

  Five years of making her own way and avoiding situations she knew she could not handle screamed at Holly to say no. Perhaps if he had not suddenly turned away she would have done. Perhaps if he had not released her from that commanding gaze she would have done. Perhaps if he had not found her jacket and put it so carefully round her shoulders…

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’

  He held the denim round her like a comforting cloak. The trembling changed.

  Say no! Say no!

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS all so easy after that. Crazily easy, in Holly’s opinion. Surely it shouldn’t be that easy to throw away your life on an unthought-out impulse? She even said so to Jack as they sat opposite each other on the train going under the English Channel.

  He shrugged. ‘What do you expect?’

  ‘But marriage.’ She shivered superstitiously. ‘There should be more—hurdles.’

  He laughed and leaned towards her. For a moment Holly thought he was going to touch her. She held her breath, wanting it, not wanting it, not knowing…

  But he had seen the way she tensed. His face hardened.

  ‘You want someone to forbid the banns? Brendan Sugrue, maybe?’

  Holly flinched ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Do it or don’t do it. But take responsibility for your own choices, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I do.’ She straightened indignantly, forgetting her superstitions. ‘I always have done.’

  ‘Then stop cowering and tell me what sort of ring you want.’

  ‘I don’t cower,’ said Holly disgusted. ‘I merely—’ Her ears caught up with her. ‘Ring? What ring?’

  ‘If you turn up in Sugar Island without a ring, no one will believe you’re engaged to me,’ said Jack.

  Sugar Island was where they were going to be married. Her heart lurched at the thought.

  She found he was looking her up and down deliberately. He did not say No one will believe it anyway. Holly felt her colour rise.

  ‘Does it matter what they believe?’ she demanded, belligerent to hide her confusion.

  ‘I’ve sworn a declaration for both of us. If we don’t look like a conventional couple, people will start asking questions,’ he pointed out.

  Holly glared at him for an impotent moment. Then she gave a husky laugh as if it was punched out of her.

  ‘I loathe you when you’re being reasonable.’

  ‘That figures,’ said Jack, smiling.

  Was it the too bright light as the train went through the tunnel or did the smile really not reach his eyes?

  In London he took her to a magician’s cave of jewels in a back alley. Holly was too intimidated by all the mineral glitter on show to offer an opinion. In the end Jack pointed impatiently to a large diamond.

  ‘Go with the dinosaur’s choice,’ he said to her with faint acidity.

  Holly tried not to show her reluctance as he slid it onto her finger. The ring felt as heavy as handcuffs. And the pulse in his wrist against her own felt like a steam hammer. Startled, she looked up.

  But Jack did not notice. Or did not want to notice. He was already turning away, bringing out his credit card, ignoring her. Again.

  Jack, Holly thought, concentrated all his attention on one thing at a time. Usually it was not her. Part of her was grateful for that, of course. But part of her was piqued that he found it so easy to ignore her.

  She said so.

  He was setting a brisk pace down a narrow street but at that he stopped and looked down at her. The strange eyes narrowed to slits.

  ‘You want me to concentrate on you?’

  Holly felt as if someone had inserted an icicle down the neck of her shirt and she had only just realised it.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘That’s what you meant.’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘As it happens, I agree with you.’ He started walking again. But he did not take his eyes off her disturbed face. ‘We’re overdue a long talk. For instance—when did Miss Lansing turn into Miss Dent?’

  That damned flute case! She should have known that he would not believe her story about a stage name. Silently Holly damned her own carelessness and sought for an answer he would believe.

  ‘Was it, for example, when you left Smallville, USA?’

  She glared.

  ‘It’s not so hard to work out,’ he told her, amused. ‘But that passport is genuine. I checked.’

  Her heart did a somersault. ‘You’ve been checking up on me?’

  ‘I swore a legal oath that you were free to marry me,’ he reminded her softly. ‘Of course I checked.’

  She reminded herself that she had never actually told him a lie.

  ‘So are you satisfied?’

  His eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I think you already know the answer to that.’

  She felt challenge roll out at her like a huge wave. It was not his tone, nor the way he looked at her. It was the way he stood, impatience barely curbed; and the ring on her finger. Oh, help, thought Holly. Her heart began to race. Oh, help.

  And then he let her off the hook. ‘But we can talk about it later. Now we have to find you a room for the night.’

  He did that, as he did everything else, with minimum fuss, maximum efficiency and absolutely no consultation of her wishes at all. It was like being caught up in a tornado. You were whirled round at a hundred times your normal speed, while he just surged on. He never broke into a sweat and he was absolutely unstoppable.

  And unreadable. Holly just had no idea what he was thinking, ever. Even when he took her to his house on the edge of the Welsh Marches and it turned out to be a castle, he was still as much of a stranger as he had ever been. She went through the ancient house while he worked in his study and she did not find so much as a book or an old photograph to give her a clue about who he really was.

  When he said goodbye to her at Gatwick Airport, Holly felt lightheaded
with the sheer strangeness of it all. She knew nothing more about him than she had after reading his CV. He seemed to want to hide himself from her deliberately.

  Was she crazy, marrying him?

  She was still asking herself that as she stood outside the luxurious cabin he had booked for her, with the sounds of the Caribbean night filling her skittering mind. Her loosened hair wafted about her bare shoulders in a sham caress. She shivered. She had never felt so alone.

  Two days’ residence on Sugar Island and she was qualified to marry Jack in an island ceremony. Jack had arranged it all, even down to employing Paula Vincent to take charge of the arrangements until he arrived on the island.

  Half the time Holly felt as if she was caught up in a dream. No one had ever made her feel as safe as Jack had in that moment when he put that jacket round her. And no one had ever made her feel so insecure.

  Which brought her here, alone under strange and brilliant stars, suddenly realising that she had reached a turning point in her life. Footloose and free was never going to be quite enough again.

  ‘And I thought I knew all the ways there were to be frightened,’ Holly said aloud.

  Paula Vincent stuck her head out of the French windows that led into the cabin.

  ‘Sorry?’

  Holly jumped. However alone she felt, Paula had met her off the plane and stuck to her side like a bodyguard ever since.

  ‘Nothing. Just talking to myself,’ Holly admitted with a grimace.

  Paula nodded. Her dark eyes were kind. ‘Who can blame you? But there’s really no need to worry.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  Holly rubbed her chilly arms. Paula looked remorseful.

  ‘I’ll get you a shawl. That dress was never designed for a wedding at midnight. Sorry!’

  She disappeared into the cabin.

  Holly’s smile was twisted. Paula was right to claim responsibility. If it were not for Paula Vincent, Sugar Island’s own wedding consultant, Holly would not be standing here bare-shouldered, with soft cream skirts stirring gently about her ankles. She would be in her habitual trousers and T-shirt. Maybe she would have added a smart-but-casual jacket that she had bought to get her through interviews and airport arrival lounges. Until today she had not worn a long dress in years.

  A sea-scented breeze curled up the slopes of sugar cane from the beach. Palm leaves rattled. Cicadas sawed. And beyond, steady as the pulse of the world, there was the beat of the surf on the unseen beach.