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Marigold thought quickly, and then said, ‘Bertha? It’s Marigold. I was calling to speak to Flynn but I’ve just remembered, he’s with Celine, isn’t he? I’d forgot
ten. It’s been a hectic day with one thing and another and I’m not thinking straight.’
‘That’s all right, dear.’
She hadn’t denied it. She hadn’t denied it. ‘I’ll call him on his mobile later,’ Marigold said hurriedly before Bertha could start chatting. ‘I’m in a mad rush. Goodbye for now.’
She put down the phone without waiting for Bertha’s reply and then sat staring at the receiver blankly. She hated him. She really, really hated him.
She looked up the number of his London flat and dialled slowly. It was the answer machine on the other end of the line but she had expected that. She spoke clearly and concisely when the bleeps stopped. ‘Flynn? It’s Marigold. I hope you had a nice evening, you and Celine. Oh, just one more thing. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. OK? And for the record I never did trust you, so don’t think you fooled me for a minute. I don’t want to hear from you or see you again. Goodbye.’
She put down the phone, blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and burst into tears.
CHAPTER NINE
MARIGOLD didn’t know at what point she eventually fell asleep, but she had cried herself dry by the time she fell into bed at gone midnight and was exhausted in mind, body and spirit. Nevertheless, she tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before drifting off into a troubled slumber.
When the telephone began to jar her back to consciousness it took some time for the insistent tone to register. She finally surfaced, pulling herself up in bed and reaching for the receiver as she tried to focus blurry eyes on her alarm clock. Five o’clock in the morning?
And then, as a furious male voice bit out her name, it all came flooding back and she remembered. Flynn and Celine!
‘What the hell is that message supposed to mean?’ Flynn sounded more angry than she had ever heard him.
Marigold desperately tried to gather thoughts that were still buried in layers of cotton wool. ‘I would have thought it was pretty obvious,’ she managed fairly smartly, considering her heart had just jumped up into her throat at the sound of his voice.
‘You know about Celine?’
Marigold blinked, unable to believe her ears for a moment. He wasn’t even going to try to deny it? Perversely that made her madder than ever. ‘Again, I would have thought that was obvious,’ she said icily.
‘Then what was with the crack about a nice evening?’ he snarled savagely. ‘And me fooling you?’
She had never heard him like this, not even when he had thought she was Emma. He obviously didn’t take kindly to being caught out. ‘I said you didn’t fool me,’ she reminded him cuttingly.
‘You also said you didn’t want to see or hear from me again a few hours after promising to become my wife,’ he grated, ‘so what the hell is this about? And don’t say you think it’s obvious because it damn well isn’t, not to me. I’ve been up for twenty-four hours and I’m not in the mood to play games, Marigold.’
Games! He thought this was a game, did he? And he had obviously only just got in. ‘You told me you were at the hospital last night,’ Marigold said, refusing to let her voice quiver. ‘So?’
‘So I saw a clip on TV of Celine arriving in London,’ Marigold said tightly. ‘You were with her. And Bertha said you were with her last night.’ Well, she had in a way.
‘Wait a minute, let’s get this straight. You said you knew about Celine?’
‘I do. There was a programme about the fashion awards, all very glitzy and glamorous,’ Marigold said scathingly.
‘And you think Celine was there last night?’ There was the briefest of pauses. And then his voice had changed to a soft, icy tone when he said, ‘And you phoned Bertha to see if I was with Celine at this do? Is that right?’
‘Yes.’ There was something wrong here. Her stomach curdled with horrible premonition.
‘You could have called me on my mobile, or phoned the hospital if you wanted to talk to me direct, Marigold.’
‘You…you weren’t at the hospital.’
‘Did you check? Before you talked to Bertha?’ he asked, still in the quiet, deadly tone which was sending chills of foreboding all over her body.
‘No.’
‘I wasn’t worth one phone call.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she protested faintly.
