The Bride Of Santa Barbara

Sinking back into her chair, Beth stared at him with a defeated expression. Arguing with Daniel Pryor was obviously like trying to swim the wrong way up Niagara Falls or scratch your way through solid rock with your bare fingernails. You could do nothing but lose. With a strong feeling of unreality and the first fluttering pangs of excitement she picked up his Biro and notepad and began to make a list.

‘A dozen sewing machines,’ she said. ‘Dressmakers’ dummies, cutting boards, scissors, pins, lots of coloured threads, chalk...’

Daniel’s eyes narrowed in amusement.

‘There,’ he said. ‘It’s not so painful, is it? And you won’t even need to do any of the sewing yourself. These women have all worked as wardrobe mistresses in Hollywood. They’re the best there is. All you’ll have to do is tell them what you want.’

A fresh wave of panic washed over Beth.

‘But I don’t know how to tell anyone what to do,’ she protested. ‘I’ve never done this kind of thing before. I’ve always had to do all the work myself except for a little bit of help from Warren. I wouldn’t know where to begin with bossing people around.’

‘Then you’d better learn fast,’ ordered Daniel crisply. ‘I’d say your career is on the verge of taking off like a rocket. So I suggest you just hang on and enjoy the ride.’

Twenty minutes later Daniel’s valet, Benson, arrived back from the city with half a dozen carrier bags full of clothes, far more that Beth would ever have thought necessary for a three-day period. Daniel picked up the bags and led her through to the guest wing where he showed her into a vast bedroom decorated in Spanish style. Dropping the bags unceremoniously on the bed, he looked at his watch.

‘Be as quick as you can,’ he warned. ‘Wendy and the girls will be here soon.’

When the door had closed behind him, Beth emptied the bags out on to the bed. Her eyes opened wide in amazement. Benson had bought enough clothes for a three-month holiday rather than a three-day working stint. There was hand-embroidered French underwear, three cotton nightdresses, a bikini, shorts, T-shirts, half a dozen pairs of shoes ranging from blue trainers to black evening shoes, a tracksuit, a dressing-gown, three day-dresses and a smart business suit in pale blue linen. In addition a waterproof bag held a selection of toiletries and make-up. Shaking her head in disbelief, Beth chose a pair of blue and yellow checkered shorts with a matching pale blue top and leather sandals.

When she was dressed, she took the expensive hairbrush from the toiletries bag and brushed her blonde curls into some kind of order. Then, staring at herself thoughtfully in the huge mirror above the dressing-table, she applied some make-up. A light beige foundation, a hint of blusher on her cheeks, a coral-pink lipstick and a touch of blue eyeshadow to bring out the colour of her eyes. ‘I’ll bet this is the weirdest “wedding-day” anyone ever had,’ she muttered to herself.

Just at that moment there was a knock at the door and she hurried to answer it. It was Daniel.

‘Are you ready, Beth?’ he asked. ‘Wendy and the girls are here.’

She followed him along the hallway, her sandals scuffing lightly on the brown terracotta tiles. Turning a corner, he flung open a door and revealed a spacious ballroom more than forty feet long. Beth’s mouth fell open at the scene of frantic activity that faced her. On the opposite side of the room the French doors were open and two workmen in blue overalls were staggering in, carrying a heavy sewing cabinet. Eight or nine other sewing cabinets were already set up along the room and some of them already had sewing machines in place. At the far end of the room a woman with ginger hair was pushing a couple of full-sized mirrors on castors into place. Next to them was a noticeboard covered in black hessian. The hum of conversation was reverberating around the room, but Daniel raised his voice above the uproar and addressed the woman with the ginger hair.

‘Wendy, could you come here, please? I want you to meet Beth.’

The woman turned round and her homely features split into a wide smile. She was covered with freckles as heavily as if they had been sprinkled on with a chocolate shaker. Her purple shorts and top were already festooned with the tools of her trade. A tape measure hung around her neck and a wrist pin-cushion studded with bright red and yellow and blue pins was attached firmly to her left wrist. She hurried across the room to meet them, both hands outstretched.

‘Oh, Daniel!’ she cried. ‘This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in weeks. Hi, Beth, how are you? I’m Wendy Fulton. Now, what do you want us to do?’

Hesitantly Beth began to explain. In a moment Wendy interrupted her to find a sketch-book and some coloured pencils. Beth sat down and began to draw and talk at the same time, with a sense of rising excitement. Was it really possible that they might achieve this incredible feat? Her eyes met Daniel’s and he gave her a faint smile. She caught her breath and then smiled back at him uncertainly.

‘Just call Blair’s down in the city if you need any fabric sent up,’ he told Wendy. ‘I’ll be in my study if you need me. And make sure this young lady gets some sleep some time tonight, won’t you?’

And with that he slipped away.

Beth had never worked so hard in all her life. Nor had she ever known that work could be so exhilarating. For the next few hours she was so busy that she scarcely had time to breathe. Under her direction the twelve women traced out patterns, cut fabrics and sewed together garments with a speed that amazed and enthralled her. And as the day wore on her secret conviction that Daniel Pryor was stark raving mad slowly began to give way to the wild hope that he might be a genuine miracle-worker. By seven o’clock in the evening, when the second shift of dressmakers came on duty, several garments were already completed. And more were laid out in pieces on the floor or pinned to the dressmakers’ dummies. When Benson came into the ballroom to announce that dinner was being served in the dining-room, Beth was too excited to join the others.

‘I’ll just stay on here and keep working,’ she said. ‘I’m really not hungry but if you could send me in something to drink I’d be grateful.’

Ten minutes later the English butler returned with a glass of lemon mineral water, a toasted chicken sandwich and salad on a tray. Beth smiled warmly at him, gulped down the mineral water and left the sandwich for a moment while she went to check on some problems. For the rest of the evening time flew by as she cut out fabric, drew coloured sketches or hovered anxiously behind the sewing machines, directing the workers. At the back of her mind she noted absently that Benson had switched on the overhead lights and that the garden outside was growing dark, but she was absolutely stunned when a sudden burst of laughter in the corridor outside the room announced the return of the first shift of workers. The ginger-haired Wendy came back into the room and stopped dead with a reproving clicking of her tongue.

‘Oh, Beth!’ she exclaimed reproachfully. ‘Are you still here? Don’t you realise it’s three o’clock in the morning?’

‘What?’ cried Beth. ‘I don’t believe you.’

She was crouching on the floor over a cutting-board and, as she tried to rise to her feet, a sudden cramp locked the muscles of her leg so that she had to hobble around painfully, squealing and massaging her calf. Wendy gave an exasperated groan and came to her aid.

‘Daniel will be furious if he hears that you’ve been running yourself as hard as this,’ she said. ‘Come on, sit down for a minute, honey, and let me massage it. When did you last eat?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Beth vaguely, giving a low gasp of pain as Wendy kneaded the cramped muscle. ‘I had a chicken sandwich earlier on.’

Wendy’s glance tracked across the room to the plate containing a large toasted sandwich with a single bite taken out of it.

‘Oh, did you?’ she demanded drily.

Beth grinned, showing fugitive dimples. ‘Well, I meant to,’ she said. ‘Oh, that leg is much better. Thank you, Wendy.’

Wendy hauled her to her feet. ‘Look, why don’t you go to bed now?’ she demanded. ‘You look really bushed.’

‘I know,’ admitted Beth ruefully. ‘But I can’t bear to leave until I know that suede jacket is safely finished. That’s the one I’m really praying over.’

Wendy took her arm and propelled her firmly towards the door. ‘Well, if you won’t go to bed, at least lie down in the conservatory for a while. And take some fresh food from the kitchen with you. I’ll come and call you when the jacket’s done.’

Beth stretched, feeling the ache in her shoulder and conscious of the sudden throbbing in her head. ‘All right, I think I will,’ she agreed.

Ten minutes later she ambled wearily into the back of the house and uttered a soft exclamation of delight. The room covered the full width of the house and was illuminated by concealed lighting hidden among the plants. As Beth pressed the light switch, a soft golden glow filled the entire room, revealing a luxuriant jungle of plants. There were huge tubs of tuberous begonias, pink and white and yellow. Baskets filled with trailing blue lobelias hung from the ceiling and the walls were lined with thickets of mauve hydrangeas. Every gap was filled with the brilliantly coloured foliage of coleus plants, pink and yellow and amazing shades of burgundy. The air was heavy with the scent of lilies and somewhere she could hear the sound of running water. Investigating further, Beth found a little grotto tucked away in one corner looking almost like a natural rock pool with its delicate ferns and mosses and a fountain rippling into a pool filled with goldfish.

‘Oh, how nice,’ she breathed, sinking into a conveniently placed chaise-longue and pulling up a bamboo table. She had been too tired to make herself a fresh meal, but she drank some lemonade straight from a can and ate the remains of her chicken sandwich and the salad. A large slice of Black Forest cake made a delicious dessert and she was asleep even before she had finished licking the last smear of chocolate from her fingers. How long she slept she didn’t know, but she dreamt that Warren was lifting her and carrying her away, except that in the dream Warren was far stronger and more tender than he had ever been in real life. It was only when her bare legs brushed against a damp hydrangea, spilling a shower of cold droplets over her skin, that she came awake with a start and realised that it was not Warren who was holding her. It was Daniel Pryor. With a startled gasp she tried to struggle free.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘Put me down!’

He did as she asked, but did not release her. His left arm remained tensed around her body, supporting her, and she could not help being disturbingly conscious of his nearness and warmth. Panic jolted through her and she tried urgently to twist away.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked in a puzzled voice. ‘Are you still dreaming? You look terrified.’

His arm tightened around her.

‘No!’ she choked. ‘I’m not. I’m awake! It’s just that...’

She paused and a shudder went through her. How could she possibly admit to herself, much less to him, that his mere presence was sheer torment to her? She inhaled sharply, feeling her senses swim at the spicy scent of his aftershave, mingled with the subtle aromas of the conservatory. Against the dark outlines of the plants his body seemed to loom over her, huge, primitive, vaguely threatening. And yet mysteriously she felt drawn to him so powerfully that her heart accelerated and her breathing grew fast and shallow. Her eyes dilated in alarm as he stepped towards her.

‘It’s all right,’ he murmured soothingly. ‘You’ve just woken in a strange place and lost your bearings. But you’re quite safe. Trust me.’

His hands moved up and gripped her shoulders, kneading the tense muscles until she gave a soft groan and relaxed under his touch. Swaying slightly, she let herself rest against him. It felt wonderful to rest her head against his chest and let go of all her exhaustion and worry. But that momentary weakness was her undoing. As her cheek brushed against his shirt, she heard him catch his breath. Sleepily she looked up at him and their eyes met. She saw that he was watching her with a passionate urgency that both thrilled and appalled her. His intense, searing scrutiny took her breath away and she dropped her gaze, but her entire body still seemed to throb with awareness of him. Dizzy with longing, she sensed the exact way that his chin was brushing against the top of her head, his breath was fanning her hair and his hard, warm chest was pressed against her cheek. He was taller than Warren and more powerfully built, with massive shoulders and lean, muscular thighs. Yet it wasn’t just his physique that set him apart from Warren, it was the air of power and authority that radiated out from him. Insanely, Beth wondered what it would be like to be kissed by a man like that. Darting him a fleeting, troubled glance, she tried half-heartedly to break away, and a moment later she had her answer.

With a muffled oath he caught her against him, holding her so tightly that she could feel his furiously beating heart. Then his lips came down on hers with a passion that shocked and enthralled her. Never had she been kissed like this, and she responded as if she had been born for this moment. His kisses were violent and devouring, as if he wanted to possess her, body and soul. Yet they awoke an answering need deep inside her and she kissed him back with equal frenzy. Glorying in his arrogant male strength and power, she arched her back and swayed sinuously against him. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her lips parted in a quivering invitation. Flame seemed to leap through every cell of her body at his urgent, demanding touch. And when he hauled her against him so hard that she could not mistake his fierce masculine arousal she gave a soft whimper deep in her throat. With an answering groan, he buried his face in her hair and nuzzled her sensually. Tremors of excitement prickled through her body as his lips travelled down the column of her throat in a trail of feather-light kisses. She shuddered, unable to bear the exquisite torment and yet wishing it would go on forever. In that moment their entire being seemed to melt and flow together in pure paradise.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Daniel murmured hoarsely. ‘I feel I want to drown in your sweetness.’

The words were like a dash of cold water in her face. Jerking herself free, Beth stepped back a pace. The memory of Greg with his honeyed tongue and dark, caressing eyes rose like a spectre to haunt her.

‘Leave me alone!’ she cried, backing away from him. ‘I’m not some gullible teenager to be taken in by a smooth line. Save your flattery for someone else!’

And, turning blindly away, she made a rush for the door. He caught her before she reached it and seized her by the wrist. Not hard, but with enough force to make her miserably sure that he was in control.