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Therefore, by one of those lightening and complicated equations so familiar to the female mind, she was very quickly able to work out that Aimee plus silence equalled unrequited love—which, when added to physical frustration plus male pride, added up to marriage to her. And that equation, when totalled with her own sum of total love for Silas, plus insecurity, plus jealousy, plus uncertainty, equated to the chemical effect of a lighted match being dropped straight into a keg of gunpowder.
The result was immediate and explosive.
‘You just married me because you can’t have her, didn’t you? She rejected you, and so to make her jealous you pretended to be engaged to me! Well, I don’t care how many sexy videos you made with her, she’s—Silas!’ Julia protested as he started to stride away from her.
‘What the hell is this?’ Silas demanded angrily as he turned to look at her. ‘You’re my wife, not a federal judge, and besides…’
‘Besides what? You’ve only had sex with her?’
Silas couldn’t believe his ears. Did Julia really think that he…? Aimee DeTroite was a head case—totally off the wall and dangerous with it.
‘Look, Julia, just ease off on the histrionics, will you? I married you—’
‘And you shagged Aimee—the whole world knows that, and most of it has seen the video,’ Julia told him nastily.
The vicious slamming of the door as Silas brought their argument to an end shuddered through the whole villa.
Dorland’s party would be starting in half an hour, and it was time for her to go over to the marquee—even though she hadn’t made things up with Silas, Julia realised miserably.
All the time she had been getting ready she had been hoping he would walk into the bedroom. But he hadn’t, and her own pride would not let her go in search of him. After all, she had done nothing wrong.
She looked at her watch. She couldn’t delay any longer. Even so she still dawdled in the villa’s entrance hall, and dropped her bag on the tiled floor to alert Silas to her presence just in case he did want to make amends, but her husband maintained an obstinate absence and silence.
She must not start howling now, Julia warned herself as she opened the villa door, and she blinked fiercely, firmly straightening her shoulders.
Silas removed his frowning concentration from the e-mail he had just received on his BlackBerry for long enough to watch as Julia hurried away from the villa. She was wearing a long black dress that clung sensually to her body. Round her hips she had wrapped what looked to Silas very much like the Herme`s scarf his mother had given her for her birthday, and over that she had fastened a heavy belt set with turquoise stones. The whole effect was very Julia, Silas decided.
His frown disappeared and his mouth started to turn up at the corners. She would look stunning in the Maharajah’s jewels, and she would probably devise some innovative way of wearing them that would shock the purists rigid. The sound of his own laughter startled him, and then made him frown slightly as he put down his BlackBerry.
There was no getting away from the fact that Julia had the most extraordinary effect on him. By rights he ought still to be angry with her, but instead he was laughing—and he was tempted to drop the BlackBerry and race after her. She was the most ridiculous, infuriating woman there could possibly be, aggravatingly sunny-natured and welded to those rose-tinted glasses through which she seemed to view humanity. She was illogical and stubborn and sometimes just plain crazy. And she made him feel…
Feel? He did not ‘feel’ things. He analysed and dissected them; he applied practical reasoning to them—just as he had applied practical reasoning to their marriage. But how could you apply practical reasoning to a woman who wanted to know if a multiple orgasm counted as one or not; a woman who referred to your penis as a ‘gorgeous, sexy hunny-bunny of a shag shaft,’ cooing the words in between stroking and kissing it; a woman who asked you in all seriousness if you thought that, if she whispered a few words to them, ‘all the sperm in your baby gravy’ would paddle like mad to make her pregnant.
Practical reasoning and Julia were poles apart—at opposite ends of any scale—which was why she needed him to keep an eye on her. And that, of course, was the only reason why he was going to get showered and changed and go and join Dorland’s ridiculous ego fest of a party.
It was nearly midnight, the party had been going on for hours, and she still hadn’t seen any sign of Silas—even though she had spent what felt like the whole night looking for him.
‘Julia.’ She stiffened as she saw Nick approaching with a group of louche-looking young men—the sons of some of Dorland’s older guests, Julia recognized, most of whom looked rather the worse for drink.
‘I’ve brought a few of your admirers over to say hello to you.’
The boys—for they were little more, Julia decided—blushed and brayed and generally behaved as male teenagers do under the influence of drink and raging hormones.
‘Are you enjoying the party?’ Julia asked them in a kind voice, at the same time looking round discreetly to see if she could spot Silas anywhere.
‘Any one for more champagne?’ Nick demanded, revealing the unopened bottle he was carrying.
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Julia refused, showing him her already half-full glass.
‘Rubbish—of course you want some,’ Nick insisted, taking it from her and turning away to put it on a table while he opened the bottle, then filling it and topping up everyone else’s glasses. ‘Here you go.’
Julia took a polite mouthful of the drink and tried to keep up her smile as the men gathered around her, making drunken attempts at wit and charm.
‘Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got great tits?’ one of the boys asked her.
Pretending she hadn’t heard him, she moved slightly away from him. She finished the champagne and put her glass down on a nearby table, wanting to get away.
‘Is that Silas over there?’ Nick asked Julia, and watched in satisfaction as she turned her head to look where he was indicating, towards the marquee.
In the darkness on the other side of the large people-packed stretch of gardens that separated him from Julia, Silas frowned as he saw her with Nick and a group of young men. As he watched, she put down her glass and seemed to be trying to edge away from the group.
She had her back to him, and something about her stance made Silas think of a young fox surrounded by out-of-control baying hounds. Blayne was obviously saying something to her, because she suddenly turned her head to look in the opposite direction from the table. Behind her back, one of the group of young men refilled her glass while another dropped something into her drink.
Anxiously, and oblivious to what was happening, Julia continued to look in the direction Nick had indicated, even though she could see no sign of Silas.
‘Julia!’ Even though he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear him, Silas still called out her name in sharp warning as he started to thrust his way through the crowd towards her.
‘Come on, Jules—drink up,’ Julia heard Nick urging her affably, as he proffered a second glass of champagne. Reluctantly she turned to face him, taking a polite sip. ‘I really have to go now,’ she told him. ‘Dorland will be wondering where I am.’
‘Oh, but we aren’t going to let you go yet—are we, boys? Come on, drink up. That’s right.’
There was a look in Nick’s eyes that was quite frightening, Julia saw uncomfortably. A mixture of excitement and cruelty that made her desperately want to get away from him. And the boys with him, although no doubt charming as individuals, in their present overheated and drunken state reminded her far too much of hungry, mob-minded pack animals.
Nick was already holding on to her arm now, and the boys were pressing much closer to her than she liked.
Anxious to get away from them without any unpleasantness, Julia took a gulp of her champagne.
‘Come on—you’ve got to drink it all. Hasn’t she, lads?’ She could hear Nick speaking, but oddly the words seemed to be
reaching her from a distance. Even more oddly, her mouth seemed to be going numb, whilst her body felt heavy and all she could see were blurred images.
She was being sucked down into a vortex of darkness. Darkness and harsh mocking laughter, whilst hands reached for her and tugged at her clothes.
‘What have you given her?’
Silas was standing cradling Julia’s inert body in one arm, Nick’s blood crimsoning the knuckles of his free hand, whilst Nick himself lay where he had fallen, in a tangle of wrought-iron chairs and pot plants, nursing his bruised jaw. The least drunk of the young men were rapidly sobering up, and looking white-faced with fear.
‘Liquid X—you know, GHB,’ one of them volunteered, shamefaced. ‘Couple of doses, I reckon, ’cos Nick put some in too.’
Nick glowered at Silas silently.
