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Apart from a bookcase and a wall-mounted TV set, that was all. There were no pictures or ornaments to personalise it, as if she was reminding herself that it was not her home, and that she was just—passing through.
But she hadn’t expected to be giving it up quite so soon, she thought, biting her lip as she carried her case through to the bedroom, and emptied it again, this time on purpose.
She found the balled-up nightgown and took it to the kitchen together with her coffee-stained dress which she’d exchanged for her bathrobe. Wrapping them both in carrier bags, she buried them deep in the garbage bin.
She washed her hands, then filled the kettle and set it to boil. She needed food too. Something to dispel the scared, hollow feeling inside her. There was a menu from a Chinese takeaway fastened to the fridge with a magnet, and she decided to order in once her packing was done. Not that there was much of it, apart from working gear. Pitifully little, in fact.
She supposed she’d have to buy a trousseau. Wasn’t that what brides did? Except she wasn’t a bride in the accepted sense—just part of a deal. But even that imposed certain practical obligations as well as those of an intimate nature that she didn’t wish to contemplate.
Leaning against the worktop, she said slowly and clearly, ‘I am going to be the wife of Zac Belisandro, one of the wealthiest men in Europe. I shall wear designer clothes, be hostess at his parties and appear at the kind of events I only read about in magazines at the hairdresser’s.’ Then waited in silence for her head to explode.
When it signally failed to do so, she made herself a mug of strong tea and went back to the bedroom, emptying the contents of the fitted wardrobe and drawers into the school suitcase she’d never bothered to replace.
No more choices, she thought. She’d take everything and probably keep none of it.
It was all done, and she was finishing her tea and glancing down the takeaway menu when her doorbell pealed abruptly.
Nicola, she thought resignedly. And she still couldn’t think what to say to her. How to explain the most bizarre decision of her life.
She was still trying to come up with an opening gambit when she opened the door, and Adam walked in.
‘So you are here,’ was his irritated greeting. ‘They said at Jarvis Stratton that you had a day off, but when I called round earlier, I got no answer. What’s going on?’
Dana, about to close the door, turned instead to face him. ‘Shouldn’t that be my question?’
‘Ah.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘So you’ve heard what I’m planning.’
‘Planning,’ she repeated. ‘It’s past that stage surely. I suppose you’re here to say goodbye.’
‘There’s plenty of time for that.’ He was recovering fast. Smiling. ‘OK, maybe I should have said something.
‘Mea culpa. But I’ve just made myself a small fortune, so put on your glad rags and we’ll go out. Paint the town crimson.’
‘Thank you,’ Dana said. ‘But, no.’ She hesitated. ‘You wondered where I was today.’
He shrugged. ‘What does it matter? You’re here now.’
She said steadily, ‘Actually, it does matter quite a lot. You see, Adam, I went down to Mannion this afternoon—to congratulate you on being its legal owner at last.’
‘Oh, God,’ he said and burst out laughing. ‘And instead you found dear Cousin Zac, master of all he surveys. I thought you were looking a bit blue. Did he throw you out?’
No point in beating about the bush, she thought, drawing a deep breath. ‘On the contrary, he asked me to stay—as his wife.’
The laughter stopped abruptly. He said, ‘You are joking—right?’
‘Wrong.’ Her mouth felt dry. ‘Zac proposed to me and I—I accepted him.’ She lifted her chin. ‘We’re engaged.’
A silence. Then Adam said, cold and quietly, ‘You sly, conniving little bitch. You money-grubbing greedy tart. It’s that bloody house. You’re fixated on it—would do anything to get it—just like your lying crackpot of a mother.’
Dana felt the blood draining from her face. She stared at him, shocked into silence, unable to produce a word in her own defence, if indeed there was anything to say.
‘I knew I couldn’t trust you,’ the relentless voice went on. ‘But I thought you’d learned your lesson seven years ago. Clearly, I was wrong.’
He paused. ‘What I can’t get my head round is how the hell you’ve got him to marry you. Why he hasn’t just screwed you and walked away like he usually does.’
