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There’d been some troubling moments in the night, she remembered painfully. Her mind had been invaded by disturbing images of weeping, unhappy girls, Carrie and Daisy among them, their faces blotched and swollen with emotion. And another, her expression haggard, the velvet dark of her pansy-brown eyes red-rimmed with tears.
That one most of all, she thought, moving restively.
Her reverie was interrupted by a tap on the door, and Enrique came in with a tray holding a cafetière, cup and saucer, and a cream jug.
‘Buenos dias, señorita,’ he greeted her respectfully, just as if he hadn’t had to unlock her door to gain entry. ‘It is fine today, with much sun, and the sea is calm. The señor hopes that you will join him for breakfast presently.’
A number of responses occurred to Rhianna, most of them occupying a position between fury and obscenity, but she reminded herself that Enrique was only obeying orders, and managed to confine herself to a quiet, ‘Thank you.’
Alone again, she leaned back against her pillows and considered. A fine day, she thought. Wasn’t there a saying about “Happy is the bride that the sun shines on”?
Oh, let it be true, she begged silently and passionately. Let Carrie’s happiness be unclouded, and maybe that will justify this whole hideous business.
In a few hours’ time the wedding would be over, anyway, and if there had ever been a time for intervention it was long past.
She could only hope and pray that Simon had been sincere when he’d claimed Carrie was the one he really wanted all along. But his straying could hardly be dismissed as a temporary aberration when it had left such misery in its wake.
Cape Town should be far enough away to give the pair of them a totally fresh start. No chance of embarrassing or agonised encounters in the street or at parties there. No startled recognition in theatre bars or restaurants.
London’s a village, she thought. Sooner or later you bump into everyone. As she knew to her cost…
Stop thinking like that, she adjured herself fiercely. Today’s going to be quite tricky enough, and you need to be on top of your game, so stop right now.
She turned determinedly to the coffee, which was hot, strong and aromatic, and she could almost feel it putting new life into her.
A shower helped too, even if the limitations of her wardrobe became all too apparent immediately afterwards.
With a mental shrug, she picked out the white cut-offs and the green and white striped shirt she worn on the beach at Penvarnon the previous day, and slid her feet into espadrilles.
She brushed her hair back from her face with unwonted severity, securing it at the nape of her neck with an elastic band which had begun its life round the folder containing her train ticket and seat reservation.
The return portion would now remain unused, of course, she thought. wondering ironically if the train company would deem being kidnapped as a valid excuse for a refund.
Another item, she told herself, to be added to the cost of my stupidity.
Biting her lip, she walked to the door. When she tried it this time, however, it opened easily, and, drawing a long, deep breath, she went out and up the companionway to join her captor.
She found Diaz on the sun deck, where a table and two folding chairs had been placed. He was casual, in shabby cream shorts and a faded dark red polo shirt, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he studied some very small item of hand-held technical gadgetry, which probably contained, she reflected, his bank statements, his address book and details of his business commitments for the next ten years.
And she thought how much she’d like to throw it overboard.
At her approach, however, he switched it off and rose courteously to his feet.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I hope you slept well.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But that was hardly likely—under the circumstances.’
His brows lifted quizzically. ‘Because you’ve been under a certain amount of tension lately? Is that what you’re saying?’
She thought of the anguished phone calls, the bitter outbursts, the threats of self-harm, and all those other truly sleepless nights, punctuated by harsh, heart-rending sobbing. All culminating in the final acknowledgement that Simon had gone, and all hope had gone with him.
She looked past him. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘One of those situations where ignorance is definitely bliss.’ His tone bit. ‘But you’re a really splendid actress, my sweet,’ he went on, after a pause. ‘Because when I came in to check on you, just after dawn, I’d have sworn you were flat out. I thought I even detected a little snore. How wrong can anyone be?’
She shrugged. ‘I’d say the field was wide open.’ She sat down, determined not to show her inner disturbance at the thought of him watching her sleeping, and unfolded her table napkin. ‘But you seem to have insomnia problems too, if you were lurking around in the small hours.’ She gave him a small, flat smile. ‘Conscience troubling you, perhaps?’
