An Affair to Forget (7 page)

“
Just close your eyes,” she heard him say, and she obeyed, grateful for the strength of his leg against hers, the masculine smell of his body. Turning her face into the angle of his shoulder and his neck she genuinely believed that he was right; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

When
at last the plane levelled and the bumping eased she sat up abruptly, embarrassed and confused, dragging her hands free so that she could smooth her hair. The turmoil the plane had just come through was being mirrored in her own confusion.

Gareth
grinned down at her, openly amused by her embarrassment. “That was cosy… almost like old times. Feeling better?”

She
gave a shaky laugh and began to moisten her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, then stopped as she saw his green eyes following the movement. Gareth, of course, would see it as a sensual act, not one of fear.

“
It’s at times like these I agree with the ancients who said that man was never meant to leave the ground,” she confessed. “Weren’t you scared… even a little bit?”

One
eyebrow rose slightly. “Why should I be afraid? The way I see it, the pilot’s as anxious to reach the ground in one piece as I am, and where he goes, I go. Besides” – his gaze travelled over her with open masculine appraisal, lingering at the opening of her blouse – “I was enjoying myself too much to think about danger.”

She
reddened, and wrenched her head away from him so that she could gaze out of the window, beyond the placid, middle-aged man in the window seat. He didn’t change, she thought angrily, staring at an expanse of deep blue water below, creaming into white against the jewelled island spread out as though arranged there for her approval.

A
few minutes later she was descending the steps, blinking in the brilliant sunlight. After the air-conditioned plane Tenerife felt like a warm blanket.

Sam
was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. “You seemed to enjoy the descent.”

“
Enjoy it? I was terrified.”

“
Really?” His voice was cool. “You were practically on Sinclair’s lap at one point.”

“
For goodness’ sake, Sam, he was only trying to stop me from making a fool of myself. And I didn’t ask him to sit beside me, remember.”

“
I don’t know that; I wasn’t there.”

“
Exactly, you weren’t there.”

“
I’m sorry, love.” He put an arm about her and hugged her to him. “I’m just feeling a bit edgy now that we’re here. If we don’t get Vicki and Sinclair to agree over this play I’ll have lost a wonderful chance.” He dropped a swift kiss on her cheek. “Here we go, my darling… and here’s to a successful outcome.”

They
had to wait on the sun-baked tarmac for Gareth. Several passengers had left the plane and gone over to the small open bus waiting to take them to the terminal building before he appeared, lingering to talk to the flight attendant, who dimpled back at him.

“
Can’t resist the chance to charm women, can he?” Sam murmured.

As
he came down the steps Gareth, his jacket slung over one shoulder and his shirt open at the throat, took time to look up at the clear blue sky and across to the low hills behind the buildings. A faint breeze caught at his black hair and ruffled it about his forehead as he loped unhurriedly to where Sam and Morrin were waiting for him.

Standing
there, in the circle of Sam’s arm, Morrin sensed a pang of real fear. She had built up a good life for herself, a happy life. And she knew, without a doubt, that the man moving down towards her had the ability and, despite his kindness during the plane’s bumpy descent, the ruthlessness to destroy everything she had, if he so chose.

Seven

An elderly Spaniard greeted them smilingly in the airport foyer, introducing himself as Jaime and explaining in thickly accented English that he and his wife Maria looked after Vicki Queen’s villa.

To
Morrin’s relief Gareth elected to sit in the front of the car. The drive to the villa took about an hour, and firstly took them through barren landscape seared with angry orange and red rock and soil. Then, after they had driven through the bustling port of Santa Cruz, they reached the lush side of the island. Here, vines, trees and flowers fought to cover every inch of the rich soil. The flowering plants cascaded down walls as white as snow to pour their reds and yellows, pinks and blues, on to the dusty ground. Orange and lemon trees grew in little walled gardens, scarlet Christmas Stars splashed colour across the sunny landscape and proud exotic Bird of Paradise flowers raised their bright orange heads above shorter blossoms.

Soon
the banana plantations appeared, with most of the short plants carrying bunches of ripening fruit. It was a paradise overlooked by Teide, the volcano that had shaped this beautiful island. Craning her neck, Morrin glimpsed its snowy peak now and then through the cloudy shawl it wore that day.

Vicki
Queen’s villa was one of a colony of deceptively plain white houses clustered on a hillside by the sea near Puerto de la Cruz. Each house was surrounded by tall trees, guaranteeing privacy, and across the road the sea pounded and raged on a natural bay guarded by tall cliffs and floored by black silky volcanic sand. The strength of the waves seemed out of place on such a hot, sunny day, but Jaime explained that they were the aftermath of a storm that had hit the island, causing the cloud layer they had flown through.

“
There’s nothing like a good storm to clear the air, is there?” Gareth said lightly, turning in his seat to beam at Morrin as the car turned into a courtyard where Jaime’s wife Maria was waiting at the door to greet them.

The
house was square and solid, with brown shutters. The interior was spacious and cool, tiled underfoot and furnished in the beautiful Spanish style, the wood gleaming from years of careful polishing. The walls were bright with paintings and hanging plants and in the lounge, two wide shallow steps down from the hallway, Vicki Queen herself waited to receive them.

There
was no other word for it, Morrin decided, as their hostess advanced on Sam, hands outstretched. She wore a scarlet caftan cut low in front to show off her magnificent breasts, and her long black hair hung loose, rippling down her back like a waterfall. Her face and elegant bare feet were coffee coloured and she wore no make-up. She was taller than Morrin, almost Sam’s height, and quite flawlessly beautiful.

If
Morrin had not already known that the actress was in her late twenties, she would have thought her a good eight years younger. Vicki’s small fine hands were scarlet-tipped, and as she put her arms about Sam’s neck the wide sleeves of the caftan fell back, exposing rounded tanned forearms.

“
Darling…” Her voice was husky and rich. “How wonderful to see you again!”

“
And you, Vicki.” He kissed her on both cheeks then held her back so that he could see her. “How are you, my dear?”

“
Divorce,” Vicki said sweetly, “becomes me, don’t you think?” Then she turned to Gareth, her bright eyes scanning his face. “So… this is the clever man who wrote
Charlotte
Dreaming
.”

How
could any man, including Gareth Sinclair, resist this woman, Morrin thought bleakly. If she wanted to play Charlotte she would, and Morrin would have to get used to the idea of seeing a lot more of Gareth… unless, once again, she ran away from a job she loved.

She
watched as Gareth took Vicki’s hands in his, studying her openly. Under his gaze she seemed to grow lovelier and more sensuous, her own eyes roaming boldly over his face, his throat, the smooth chest visible below his partially unbuttoned shirt, then back to his face. It was a meeting between two supremely self-confident people, and Morrin almost felt like an interloper.

Flicking
a sidelong glance at Sam she was surprised to see a mixture of expressions flitting over his face as he watched the two people he had been so anxious to bring together. There was approval at Vicki’s obvious interest, and yet there was resentment there as well. Something like the same look he had worn earlier when he waited at the foot of the plane steps for Morrin. She realised with surprise that although he needed Gareth Sinclair, Sam didn’t like the man much.

“
I approve of him, Sam,” Vicki said at just that moment.

Gareth
laughed. “Sorry, I’m not for sale, though I’m always interested in considering a good offer,” he told her. “But the best offer at the moment would be a shower and a drink, in that order. The small talk can wait.”

“
Of course, you must all be tired, and hot. And you must be Morrin.” Vicki finally noticed her.

“
Yes, I am.”

“
Sam’s right hand.”

“
And a very good right hand, too,” Sam put in.

“
Good. He needs looking after, don’t you, darling?” Vicki released Gareth’s hands in order to link arms with Sam, turning him so that the two of them faced Morrin as a unit. “Now… you must be anxious to freshen up. Sam, I’ve put you in the room next to mine, and you’re in the guest house, Gareth. We’re having dinner tonight in a good restaurant in Puerto. I’ve booked a table. Come along. Oh, Maria,” she added as an afterthought to the maid, still waiting quietly in the background, “perhaps you could show Miss – er – Morrin to her room while I see to the others.”

In
the small room with its two narrow windows, one looking out to a side pathway bordered with bright flowers, the other overlooking the front courtyard, the road beyond, and the sea on the other side of the road, Morrin dropped her jacket on the bed and tried not to let Vicki’s attitude get to her. The actress had made it very clear in those first few moments that Morrin was merely Sam’s assistant and nothing more.

Three
days at the most, she told herself as she unpacked. Three days, and then Gareth would be off skiing with Alison and she and Sam would be back in London. If all went as Sam hoped, Vicki would probably be with them, but at least, in London, Morrin would not have to spend too much time with the actress.

Although
her room was small it was cool and pleasant, and fragrant with the scent of sun-warmed flowers from the garden. She could hear the sea’s deep boom as she unpacked. A tray of fruit juice had been placed on the table by the window, and she drank thirstily before stripping her clothes off and stepping under the shower. Exhausted by the journey, the nerve-racking descent through the clouds, and the strain of dealing with Gareth, she stood for some time beneath the cool spray, letting it wash out fatigue and tone up her skin until it tingled.

When
she finally emerged, it was to find that the air was so warm that by the time she had towelled and combed her wet hair it was almost dry. She put on a light dressing-gown and, on an impulse, took her copy of
Charlotte
Dreaming
from her bag before settling down on the bed. She had read the book so often that she almost knew it by heart, but now that she had met Gareth again she felt the need to look at it once more.

She
was fascinated by the fact that it was quite unlike his other three books. For one thing it was set in England, whereas the others had been set abroad. And this one was about a woman… a woman with a strong love of honesty and justice, a woman who had been forced to fight hard to preserve these principles in the world she found herself in.

Charlotte,
the main character, was striking. In her own way she could be quite ruthless when necessary, yet at the same time she showed compassion towards those who deserved it.

This
book wasn’t like Gareth at all, Morrin thought for the hundredth time as she leafed through it, reading her favourite sections. To her, it seemed to have been written by someone who totally understood the frustration that a woman like Charlotte would feel when she found herself trying to survive in a world ruled solely by men. Charlotte had been born early in the century, and her life had been nothing like the pampered existence enjoyed by the women in Gareth’s world.

Morrin
put the book down and stared at the ceiling, trying to understand the man who had written it. There had been no hint, when she worked for Gareth, that this book was brewing in his mind, and yet he must have started it not long after she left Yorkshire. Not long after visiting his grandmother… and Cass, Morrin reminded herself. Cass, the schoolteacher who had made up her mind as a child to marry him. Cass was clearly determined and single-minded. Could she be the real Charlotte?

She
was still puzzling over the mystery when she fell asleep.

Maria
woke Morrin two hours later with tea and an invitation to join the others in the lounge when she was ready. She brushed her hair until it shone and fretted over which dress to wear; then, realising that even if she was clothed in beaten gold she couldn’t compete with Vicki Queen, she pulled out a full-skirted, sleeveless dress of cream cotton with a round neck. Cream sandals and a brown chiffon scarf about her throat completed the outfit, and she kept her make-up and perfume light.

She
made her entrance nervously and was relieved when she went down the two shallow steps to the lounge to find that Sam, in an off-white suit over a dark shirt, was alone there, a cigarette in his hand as he studied the paintings.

His
face lit up when he saw her. “You look marvellous.” He kissed her, and she clung to him for a moment. “What would you like to drink?”

She
opted for orange juice and he poured it out then led her to a divan. “Now the hard work begins. Since you’re the pessimist of our partnership, you’d better give your views first.”

“
I don’t have any, yet.”

“
You still don’t think we’ve got him, do you?” he pressed, watching her closely. “I’m willing to bet that you’re wrong. I’m even prepared to increase my offer to him if necessary.”

“
Sam, you won’t win Gareth Sinclair round with money. He’s involved in a family business… he’s a wealthy man.”

“
How do you know that?”

She
blinked at him, suddenly realising that she had been on the point of giving herself away.

“
Well, I – I –”

“
Obviously, your assistant makes it her business to know everything about the people you’re interested in, Kennedy,” Gareth said from the French windows. “Very efficient. Who did you steal her from?”

Sam
snatched at the chance to cover up his confusion at being overheard. “Believe it or not, she was out of a job when I found her.” He got up as Gareth came into the room. “Can I get you a drink?”

“
I can manage, thanks.” Gareth went to the cocktail cabinet as though he was the host in his own home. “That’s quite surprising,” he went on as he mixed himself a drink. “Who on earth let a treasure like that go?” He turned and smiled at Morrin, a smile that said that this time he had saved her, but next time things might be different.

“
I don’t know. Morrin hates talking about the past.”

“
Perhaps it’s not worth discussing.” Gareth had changed into a crisp white shirt with a dark green cravat tucked into the neck. His trousers and velvet jacket were also dark green, and his hair had been brushed.

Moving
about the room, drink in hand, he picked up a book from the table, letting it drop back onto the polished surface after a swift glance.

“
That’s the copy I sent Vicki of
Charlotte
Dreaming
,” Sam said. “As she’ll tell you herself, she loved it from the first page.”

“
I’m flattered.” Gareth’s gaze swung from Sam with startling speed, trapping Morrin before she could look away. “And what did you think of my book, Morrin?” he challenged.

“
Now you’re talking to a real fan,” Sam’s voice boomed out, every word clear, every word damning. “Morrin’s read it from cover to cover about… oh, I don’t know how many times. Haven’t you, darling?”

“
Now that’s interesting,” Gareth purred. “I didn’t think it would be your style, Morrin. I thought you’d – ” he had recalled the exact phrase she had used in the plane – “you’d only glanced over the book.”

“
Oh no.” Sam seemed determined to make things worse. “It was Morrin’s interest in it that first attracted my attention. She carried it about with her everywhere. She must be one of your greatest fans.”

“
In that case I would be fascinated to hear just what you thought of the book, Morrin. Please?” Gareth added winningly as she hesitated.

She
looked at him, leaning on the back of a tall carved walnut chair, and wanted to throw her glass at him. Criticism had always interested Gareth, but not praise. He squirmed when people gushed about his writing and for that reason he tended to avoid meeting his readers in groups. On the few occasions she had attended a public speaking engagement with him she had seen him hide his true self behind a polite, studious expression. She could see it spreading over his face now, like a mask, only his eyes betraying his wicked delight at having caught her out in a lie.