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Answers stirred in the deep recesses of his mind but he silenced them. They were too dangerous to acknowledge.
CHAPTER FOUR
CAREFULLY, TALIA SAT herself down in the wide leather first-class seat on the plane, feeling tense and strained. Luke had taken the window seat and had immediately snapped open his laptop. He was taking as little notice of her as he had when she’d joined him in the First-Class Lounge, where he had merely glanced at her and nodded briefly.
Inside her chest she could feel her heart thudding. Seeing him again, even knowing who he was and what he had done, was still an ordeal.
But it’s an ordeal I’m going to have to bear. I have to bear it just as I have to bear everything else. Because I don’t have any choice in the matter.
She didn’t—and she knew she didn’t. She had known all through that gruelling twenty-four hours Luke had allowed her to make her decision that there was only one answer she could give. She had to take his job offer. If it was the only way to stop herself and her mother being summarily evicted from the Marbella villa she had to take it. That was all there was to it.
And when she’d broken the news to her mother she had only felt that decision reinforced.
As she fastened her seat belt she deliberately made herself remember the expression on her mother’s face when, on her return from Switzerland, she’d sat down on her mother’s bed and told her that they could stay on in the villa for the time being. As her mother’s fearful and haggard face had lit with relief Talia had gone on to tell her the exciting news that she’d been offered an interior design job. The only downside was that it would take her to the Caribbean for a fortnight.
Her mother’s expression had faltered momentarily, then she had rallied. ‘You mustn’t worry about me a bit! Maria will look after me while you’re away. And it’s just what you need—a chance to use your talents! I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time—it won’t be all work, will it? Oh, I do envy you!’ Maxine Grantham’s eyes had softened. ‘It’s such a romantic place, the Caribbean! Of course your father never liked it...’
Her voice had wavered for a moment, and then she’d become momentarily reminiscent.
‘I had a boyfriend once, you know, when I was a teenager. He talked of sailing to every island there—’ She had broken off, then made her tone suddenly hopeful. ‘Oh, my darling, perhaps you’ll meet someone special there! Oh, that would be too wonderful! To be romanced beneath a tropical moon!’
Talia had changed the subject, but she’d not been able to banish her mother’s words from her head.
‘Romanced beneath a tropical moon...’
Memory had struck her again—but they were memories of what had never happened. She had never flown off with Luke that morning after their searing night together—never fled with him as she had so longed to do.
She had felt her thoughts shift and rearrange themselves. If she took this job with him, flew to the Caribbean... Hope, like a beguiling spirit, had welled within her. Was it possible? Could it be possible...?
Could I have a second chance with him? Dare I hope for the romantic escape we should have had?
She had felt hope strengthen, take wings. Longing had filled her.
Yet now, as she sat beside him on the plane, only anguish filled her. Her mother’s words mocked her. Indeed, her own longings were mocking her.
At her side, Luke was focussed on his laptop, a faint frown of concentration between his eyes, clearly not paying the slightest heed to her presence. She felt the anguish stab at her. She knew she must subdue these dangerous, forbidden thoughts that came unbidden, but they were impossible to banish—especially the one thought that lingered, with a temptation that she felt clinging to her like a fine mesh of gold.
What if being in the Caribbean with Luke could bring them together again? What if what had happened after that party could happen again? What if he turned to her now and, instead of cold indifference, she saw in his eyes the warmth she longed for...?
‘Champagne, madam?’
A stewardess was hovering with pre-flight drinks. With a start, Talia shook her head, taking an orange juice instead. Luke merely waved the tray away, not even looking up. That ache of anguish came again, silencing the pointless flare of hope that had fluttered so uselessly just a second ago.
With a silent sigh, she reached for her paperback, wanting her thoughts silenced, wanting to be diverted by something—anything that might get her through what lay ahead.
Hope was impossible—only torment was certain. Torment and regret.
I threw it away. I threw away my chance of seizing the happiness he promised me. And I walked out back to my prison.
The print in the paperback hazed and blurred. But what use was it for her to weep for what she had done? She had had to do it—nothing else had been possible.
Bleakly, she went on reading, numbing herself as best she could through the long flight. Luke barely spoke to her, and she was grateful—and yet his silence hammered nail after nail into her, showing her just how great was the distance between them.
No trace of intimacy. No trace of anything at all.
The same impersonal indifference continued once they had landed, and Talia spent the journey from the airport gazing out through the window of the chauffeur-driven car they’d climbed into.
The lush green of the island entranced her, along with the vivid glow of the setting sun, and when, after forty minutes or so, the car wound its way along a paved drive to draw up at a large house, she was happy to get out and gaze around her, feeling the humid warmth engulf her like a soft cashmere shawl after the chill of the climate-controlled car interior.
