Page 8 of Claiming His Wife

Everything had happened so quickly her throbbing head was still going round in ever accelerating cir­cles.

Yesterday they'd driven away from the finca, the vast Las Colinas Verdes estate, leaving behind Dona Elvira and the aunts, who had looked as if they didn't know what had hit them, Delfma, who knew very well what had hit her and hated it very much indeed, and a suitably chastened and contrite Roy.

Roy had hurriedly assured her in a last-minute un­dertone that he would work his socks off on the es­tate to make up for what he had done, adding gruffly, 'Don't worry about me. I've got my head straight­ened out. Just concentrate on making a go of your marriage this time, sis. Roman's crazy about you; he's been unbearable to be around since you went away.'

Which only went to show that working under the hot Spanish sun had sent her twin brother completely loopy.

They'd arrived in Seville in the sweltering after­noon heat and booked into a hotel where, to her knee-sagging relief, she'd been given a room of her own, complete with a four-poster bed and wonderful views of the Giralda. Then, before she'd had time to unpack her meagre belongings, Roman had knocked on the door, insisting on taking her to a surprisingly elegant boutique off the pedestrianised Calle Sierpes.

The sheer, rather stark grace of the dark-haired woman who had approached them had made Cassie sit up and take notice. The discreet decor, the clever lighting, the single garment on display—a simple cream silk suit with a designer label to die for— shrieked serious money.

'I need something practical,' Cassie had muttered at Roman, mentally digging her heels in. One or two cotton skirts, trousers and tops plus comfy sandals— stuff that could be bought cheaply at the market, not wickedly expensive designer gear. She hated the thought of being beholden to him to that extent.

A lazy look into her hot and mutinous face, the slight raising of one sable brow, and Roman had smoothly taken over. But when the pile of garments which had been brought out for his inspection and approval had reached mountainous proportions, Cassie had snapped, 'Enough!'

So here she was, with enough beautiful, expensive clothes to last her a lifetime packed into the boot of the Mercedes, driving away.

In warmth of the following morning, her head throbbing sullenly after another sleepless night, her body tense with the misgivings that were accumulating with re­morseless rapidity and her mind buzzing with un­answered questions.

One of which was answered as they headed out of Jerez, making for the coast, through the gently un­dulating vineyards, miles upon miles of them beneath the vast blue sky.

'You're taking me to Sanlucar?' She could hardly believe it. Was he too insensitive to realise that the beautiful stone house, almost a mini-palace, in the old quarter of the historic port, was the last place she wanted to have to see again?

He spared her a mild sideways glance. 'You didn't want to stay on the estate, the house in Jerez is being redecorated, and I remembered how delighted you were with this area, the house. So, yes, we shall make our home in Sanlucar.'

He was talking as though it would be a permanent arrangement. 'For three months,' she reminded him stiffly, the memories she'd thought she'd success­fully buried rising up to the surface of her mind to torment her.

He'd brought her to the house in Sanlucar for their honeymoon. She'd fallen in love with the place on sight and had told him as much. The tall rooms, the time-touched, lovingly tended antiques, the perfumed courtyard where water played in the ancient stone fountain and white doves called from the top of the walls where pale lemon roses arched in graceful pro­fusion.

And it had all gone wrong, every single thing; in­stead of staying for several weeks, they'd left after three days. She'd been weeping silent tears of shame and hopeless inadequacy as they'd driven away and his gorgeous, beloved face had been stiff with Spanish pride. From that moment on he had virtually ignored her existence.

Had he brought her here to humiliate her? Was that another part of her punishment? Probably. A year ago he would have been incredulous, furious, when he'd received that note telling him she was leaving him. No one—not even a despised, unwanted wife—could turn their back on him and hope to get away with it.

And now she was being punished for it.

The large stone house overlooking the mouth of the Guadalquivir was deserted, the elegant, high-ceilinged rooms silent. Roman said, with no partic­ular inflexion whatsoever, 'The caretaker and his wife are on leave. I thought it best to give them extra time off under the circumstances. So we fend for ourselves for a week or two. In view of your recent independence, I'm sure you won't find that a prob­lem.'

'None at all,' she answered blandly. 'Housekeep­ing will help pass the time.' Not for the world would she let him see that their isolation worried her, that the thought of sharing his bed—as he had stipulated—horrified her, made her feel almost as if she were prostituting herself.

Her amber eyes were expressionless as they locked with his. He had married a naive, vulnerable dreamer. Three years on she had her feet firmly on the ground, an adult woman toughened by harsh ex­perience. It was something he was going to have to learn.

She said stiffly, 'I'll leave you to dispose of the luggage.' Heaps of it littered the shady hall. 'Is there a phone still in the small salon? I need to call Cindy.'

'That's already been taken care of.' He was watch­ing her narrowly. 'She was delighted to hear we would be living as man and wife again,' he told her, a thread of cruelty hardening his voice. 'You have nothing to say to her that has not already been said.'

'I think,' she said calmly, ignoring the flutter of nerves that notched her heartbeats up a gear, 'that I'm the best judge of that.' She turned her back on him and began to walk away. Never again would he tell her what to do and expect her to submit in the old mindless fashion. She had moved on. She had changed.

But she was actually shaking as she dialled her friend's number, fine tremors that ruffled the surface of her skin and sent mini-icebergs bobbing through her veins. Standing up to Roman instead of taking the much easier option and acting like a doormat was strangely exhilarating. She felt as if she were step­ping blindfold into unknown, scary territory.

'Dolls and Dames, how may I help you?' The sound of Cindy's bright voice curved Cassie's mouth in a wistful smile. She could hear the chatter of cus­tomers in the background, the hypnotic beat of the latest chart-topper, and she wished ferociously that she was back there, in the thick of things, getting on with her own life.

'It's me,' she said. 'I'm sorry about what's hap­pened—Roman said he'd already spoken to you. Look, Cin, about my job and the flat—' Would they still be waiting for her at the end of three months? 'I'll be back, I promise, I—'

'Stop fussing,' Cindy inserted blithely, her voice raised against the background noise. 'And for heaven's sake don't apologise. It's the best news I've heard in a long while. The only person who isn't celebrating because you and Roman have got back together is Guy. He looks like he's won the lottery and lost the ticket! My poor brother hoped to move in on you after you and Roman divorced, so now he's stuck in the mother and father of sulks. But don't you worry yourself about that, or anything, you hear me? Enjoy your second honeymoon—Sanlucar, Roman told me—and come back to clear your per­sonal stuff from the flat when you feel like it. And don't worry about dropping me in the you-know-what because I hired a school-leaver yesterday—sev­enteen and sassy. She stepped right into your shoes as if they'd been hand-made for her.'

Glumly, Cassie gave up. Obviously, to save face, her estranged husband had intimated that the sup­posed reconciliation would be of a permanent duration. He had lost her a job she enjoyed and her home. However loudly she might protest that she wouldn't stay in Spain a minute longer than three months, her friend wouldn't believe her.

'I had no idea Guy felt that way,' she said disbelievingly when she was able to get a word in. 'You have to be wrong. We've been friends for ever. Just friends,' she insisted.

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