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SOLO slammed the receiver down, and glanced across the hotel room to where Tina sat sprawled in an armchair. ‘Where the hell can she be?’ He ran a hand through his hair, and paced the room. ‘I’ve been calling all day every day since I arrived. I rang at night, knowing it was early morning in England, and sure I’d catch Penny before breakfast, or Brownie, even James—someone should have answered. I’ve called or had someone call for me every hour since, and nothing.’
‘You have only been away three days. Why the panic?’ Tina asked, watching Solo stride back and forward the length of the sitting
room of his hotel suite. ‘It’s not like you to get ruffled over a lady, even if she is your wife,’ Tina couldn’t resist teasing him. Solo, her usually coolly controlled, stony-faced boss, now looked anything but. He was definitely cracking up and it had nothing to do with work.
For three days he had dealt with the result of a fire in a luxury block of apartments he owned. Luckily no one had been hurt, but the occupants had been evacuated. But Tina guessed his stress had everything to do with his very beautiful young wife, Penny.
‘You don’t understand.’ Solo walked to the bar and poured a shot of whisky into a crystal glass, and, lifting it to his mouth, he downed it in one gulp, then threw himself down on the sofa. ‘You saw how Penny and I parted—she would not even get us a cup of coffee,’ he said flatly.
‘She was taking her brother to school,’ Tina prompted. She did not know Penny well, but she did know Solo had been a lot more hurt than he’d pretended when the girl had finished with him years ago. When she had seen Penny again in Solo’s office a few weeks ago, she had been surprised and worried Penny might hurt Solo all over again. It seemed she’d been right.
‘No. She didn’t have to take James to school, that was just an excuse. Penny was mad at you and me,’ Solo opined bluntly. ‘Because I let her think we were having an affair. Why else would I kiss you on the lips when you arrived?’
‘You what?’ Tina jerked up in the chair. ‘My husband would have something to say about that, never mind it would be incest. What on earth possessed you to let your wife think such a thing? Do you want to lose the girl?’
‘No…I don’t know.’ Solo rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. ‘Pride, jealousy, anger, or just plain stupidity, I guess.’ He looked across at Tina. ‘You might as well know it all. We didn’t break up four years ago because Penny had another man in her life, but because a friend of hers that lived in New York had filled her head with gossip about me, and scared her off. Including the rumour you were my mistress.’
‘My God!’ Tina jumped to her feet. ‘The poor girl thinks you have been having an affair with me for years.’ Moving to sit on the sofa beside Solo, she reached for his hand, adding, ‘You better tell me everything from the beginning.’ And he did.
A long time later Tina looked at Solo. ‘Let me get this straight. The first time you met Penny you decided to marry her because she would make the perfect wife. She said she loved you and then you got the hump when she dumped you because she was scared. The second time around you bullied her into marrying you by threatening her with bankruptcy. Yet the sex is great. That strikes me as odd, and maybe the girl still does care about you. Do you love her?’
Solo reared back. ‘I don’t believe…’ He stopped and nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Have you told her?’
‘No.’
‘And you wonder why she does not answer the phone.’ Tina sighed. ‘Really, Solo, if you want your marriage to work, if you want to keep Penny, you are going to have to show her you love her, and I don’t mean with money or jewels, or even great sex. You have to open your heart, reveal your own pain and insecurities and trust her.’
‘It is too late, she has obviously left me to go heaven knows where.’ Solo sighed.
‘You can appear to be a very cold, intimidating man with your private collection of art as your only company. But a sculpture will not keep you warm in bed at night, and I know you’re capable of great love. Find Penny and tell her.’ Tina stood up. ‘One thing you are not is a defeatist. I’ll have the jet put on stand-by; get washed and get going. I can wrap up here.’
Solo stopped outside the vicarage and looked up at the house. There was still a light on. He didn’t care if it was after midnight; he had checked out Haversham Park, and the house was empty—this was his only hope. The vicar’s daughter was Penny’s best friend and she lived in London. Solo wanted the address and telephone number.
He hammered on the door, and waited. The vicar opened the door and Solo demanded to know where his wife, Brownie or any of his household was. The vicar insisted Solo have a drink, told him Brownie was on her annual holiday. As for Penny and James he had no idea, but refused to give him Jane’s phone number at this time of night. Late-night calls were frightening to young women living on their own.
Solo had to mask a cynical smile. The vicar obviously was not part of the mobile-phone and text-message generation. He only parted with the address when Solo gave him his solemn promise he would wait until the morning before driving to London.
Solo returned to the house and the bedroom he had shared with Penny, and spent the early morning hours preparing what he would say to her, and wondering what he would do if Jane didn’t know where Penny was and he never found her.
Penny heard the bell ringing, and rolled out of bed. She glanced at the sleeping James on his little camp-bed, and smiled. He thought leaving home was a great adventure, and today because it was Saturday they had planned with Jane to drive out to the zoo.
Slipping on a towelling robe, she tightened the belt and hurried past Jane’s bedroom, downstairs and across the hall. It was probably the postman, maybe a parcel as it was Jane’s birthday on Monday.
Penny opened the door. She closed her eyes, and opened them again, her heart hammering in her chest. Yes, it wasn’t a dream; it was Solo.
‘You.’ she exclaimed, surveying him with wide-eyed amazement. She noted the feverish glitter in his pale eyes that seemed sunken in their sockets, with deep dark circles around them. His black hair fell in rumpled curls over his brow, and he badly needed a shave. His sartorial elegance had deserted him, apparently along with his voice. A tee shirt advertising a certain South American beer hung over his well-worn black jeans.
‘What are you doing here?’ Penny swallowed hard.
‘I could ask you the same question,’ Solo replied, and, stepping forward, he reached around her waist, propelling her backwards into the hall, and shut the door behind him. His face expressionless, he looked around the shabby hall. ‘Not quite Haversham Park.’ Suddenly all his practised speeches deserted him and he was angry. ‘What do you think you are playing at? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for four days. Where is James?’
Penny pulled free of his restraining arm, and determinedly tightened the belt of her robe. She told herself he was bound to find her sometime. She would have preferred later, rather than sooner. But it did not change her decision one bit. ‘James is upstairs in bed, it is barely seven, and I’ve left you.’ She stuck her hands into her pockets, curling them into fists, and lifted her chin. ‘And I am not coming back—I want a divorce.’ Penny expected him to explode in rage, but he didn’t.
Solo’s anger deserted him like a spent balloon. His worst fear was realised, and his heart ached as he looked at her. She was wearing a towelling robe, his robe, and it gave him a crumb of hope to know she had taken something of his with her. The over-large lapels were gaping open, revealing the soft swell of her firm breasts. Her magnificent hair was hanging in a tumbled mass down her back. She looked brave and beautiful and incredibly desirable.
His gaze fixed on her luscious mouth, he lifted a hand, and then, taking a deep breath, let it fall to his side. Hauling her into his arms and ravishing her mouth was not an option. She wanted to leave him again… He had taken the one perfect thing in his life and destroyed it, because of his stupid pride, his inability to show the slightest sign of weakness towards anyone.
