A Spanish Passion: A Spanish Marriage / A Spanish Engagement / Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Nurse

And she’d have to pass. Javier had made no secret of his dislike and distrust of her wild friends. She laid the invitation back on the pile of post awaiting Javier’s return and the wall-mounted phone rang as she was reaching for a carton of fruit juice from the fridge.

Javier!

Her stupid heart gave its all-too-familiar lurch. He always phoned from his hotel room at around this time when he was working away, a state of affairs that had become far more frequent over the past three months.

Checking up on her? What else? Certainly not for the pleasure of hearing her voice!

‘How was your day?’

‘Fine.’ Her reply was just as predictable, as was the potted run-down that he always expected her to give. Reminiscent of a father asking a child what it had done at school all day.

‘The usual Thursday afternoon meeting,’ she told him dully. He’d been instrumental in getting her on the committee of a charity working with the homeless, and she’d found the work challenging, absorbing and deeply rewarding, but the enthusiasm was missing from her voice today as she enlightened him. ‘We’re in the throes of organising a late autumn fund-raising thrash; you’ll have to dragoon your wealthy friends into buying tickets. They’ll cost an arm and a leg.’

Acid in her voice there? Probably.

During the first months of their paper marriage she’d been introduced to his circle of high-flying friends. Sophisticated dinner parties mostly, the spiky chatter way over her head, an odd overheard remark about child brides and the common sense of marrying for money even if one did already have simply oodles of one’s own, dahling.

She’d been put under the microscope and had endured it with outward serenity to please Javier. She hadn’t gone off on one—

‘I thought I’d be able to make it back in time to go to Wakeham as usual on Saturday morning.’ She tuned in to what he was saying.

She could hear voices in the background, the husky sound of female laughter. He was entertaining. People he’d met while checking up on progress at the site? Or was the husky woman his regular travelling companion? she wondered on a sickening surge of jealousy.

‘But something’s come up, so I’m afraid I’ll be stuck here in Cannes until some time next week. So,’ he came out with the next stock question, ‘what are you doing this evening?’

As if he cared! She swallowed hard on the rising bubble of rage. Stuck in Cannes—oh, what a terrible shame! Throwing a party in his hotel suite—oh, how absolutely dreadful for him! No doubt being hit on by some fascinating full-blown woman—oh, she could weep for him, poor darling!

Zoe bit back the sarcastic comments and instead of telling the boring truth—ironing, reading or watching something on TV; what else was she to do?—she fibbed tightly, ‘I’m going out. Hitting the town and seeing what turns up. See you next week, then.’ And cut the connection and burst into tears.

By the time she’d used the last tissue in the box Zoe was struggling to pull herself together. She had to get right down to face a few unpleasant facts. Such as it was time she started living in the real world and stopped inhabiting a dream that had no chance of coming true.

For the last eleven months she’d been sweetness and light, never complaining, not even when he’d grown more and more remote, his eyes turning to brooding charcoal whenever he happened to look at her, regularly jetting off to sites all over the world. Leaving her to—

Miss him so badly she ached all over.

Instead of getting despondent over the way things were turning out, she’d gritted her teeth and clung onto her new maturity, thrown herself into her charity work, planned the welcome-home dinner she’d cook, stored up amusing anecdotes to entertain him with, shopped for the restrained and classy clothes she knew he preferred his women to wear…

His women!

He was a highly sexed male animal. Sophie—or had it been Glenda?—had actually and hatefully boasted of that fact during a session of babysitting holiday duties. She hadn’t wanted to hear that, she remembered, had been physically sick with jealousy.

Had he found a new woman to satisfy his needs? That would explain his increasing absences, wouldn’t it? The woman whose husky laughter she’d heard in the background only minutes ago! While his wife sat meekly at home, untouched, pure and properly behaved!

Well, not any more! It was time she cut free, saved herself a load of heartache. Acknowledged finally that what she had hoped for would never happen. Javier would never see her as a real woman, a woman he could fall in love with. To him she would always remain in permanent childhood, a self-inflicted duty. Something he would put up with until she came into her inheritance and could be trusted to behave sensibly!

Her golden eyes sparking rebelliously, her stomach churning sickly with a horrible mixture of jealousy and hopelessness, she punched in the Wakeham Lodge number and when it was picked up launched straight in.

‘Ethel, I’ll be driving down tomorrow. No, Javier won’t be with me, he’s working in France. I’m going to a local wedding on Saturday —you remember Guy and Jenny? And I’ll probably stay at Wakeham until the middle of next week.’

And Javier, returning to an empty apartment, could make what he liked of that. As for her, she was going out. This sham of a marriage was over.

Nearly midnight, and the wedding party was still going full blast. Lights strobed, moody blues and purples, couples dancing to the frenetic music. There were mostly young people left, the older guests having called it a night a couple of hours ago, the newlyweds having left for their honeymoon well before that.

Jenny had looked fantastic in her beautiful wedding gown. The adoration between the couple as they’d exchanged their marriage vows had been real enough to reach out and touch.

So different from her own wedding, almost a year ago. Zoe’s eyes misted as her throat tightened. She swallowed hard. She wouldn’t look back to the futile, juvenile hopes she’d harboured at that time. She would not! It was time to move on. Tonight was the start of the process.

And she’d been having fun, hadn’t she? Of course she had!

In the early evening, after the wedding breakfast, she’d changed here at the White Boar hotel from the summery suit she’d worn to the church service into a flirty scarlet chiffon dress with a dipping halter neckline, a narrow waist and a short flared skirt that made dancing a pleasure, freeing her movements. And it had been great to catch up with friends she hadn’t seen for a year.

Pleading aching feet, she’d rid herself of the latest batch of would-be partners, excused herself when they’d shown the inclination to linger. She’d had fun but it was time to get back to Wakeham and spend the next few days considering her future, walking the dog and generally chilling out.

Placing her glass of iced water on one of the small tables that bordered the banquet hall, she felt hard fingers bite into her wrist.

‘Been avoiding me, Zo? Given hubby the slip?’

Oliver. As the answer to both questions was obvious and affirmative she didn’t bother to answer. Just, ‘Let go of me, please.’

He didn’t. Simply tugged her closer. He was sweating. He looked drunk. It had been over twelve months since she’d last seen him. In that time his pretty-boy features had grown blurred, his waistline hinting at an incipient paunch. Shock stilled her tongue; in any case it was pointless to tear him off a strip for that vile message he’d sent with those horrible flowers. It all seemed part of a different life…

‘Nothing to say to an old mucker?’ Whisky fumes soured his breath. ‘Ever wondered what you’d missed when you turned me down?’

‘Never!’ The more she tried to pull free, the harder his fingers gripped. And no one was taking any notice. Dim lighting and everyone absorbed in dancing to something slow and smoochy now, locked together, clinging, totally oblivious.

‘Then what say I show you?’ His free hand dived beneath her halter top, hot and sweaty, squeezing, hurting. Her raised knee didn’t have time to connect in self-defence before he had her off balance, thrust back against the wall, a heavy thigh pushed between her shaking legs, his hands all over her, making her want to retch.

And then, like a miracle, she was free, Oliver hurtling backwards, falling against one of the tables. She was panting, her breath coming in shallow frightened gasps. Her eyes felt so dazed she could scarcely see. She forced them wide. Was she facing a knight in shining armour or an even greater threat?

Javier!

Big, dark and coldly furious.

Relief washed through her in huge convulsive waves. Levering herself away from the wall, she laved her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and shakily blurted the first thing that came into her head. ‘I thought you said you wouldn’t be back for days.’

‘Obviously.’ His voice was dryer than a Saharan wind. The background music picked up in tempo. Oliver, she noted, had scuttled away. Javier said, ‘Out!’ and jerked his head in the direction of the doorway.

Glad to, Zoe headed for the exit to the hotel foyer, her scarlet skirts swaying around her long legs, aware of his eyes pinned on her. She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life, and as soon as they reached the well-lit foyer, the relative silence, she turned to him, the colour she’d lost starting to steal back into her face. ‘Thanks. I’ll just fetch my things.’

She sounded breathless, she knew she did; she had hardly been able to get those few words out. Her whole body was shaking with reaction. She turned jerkily towards the lift that would take her to the room she had changed in after the wedding breakfast, unprepared for his, ‘Not now. I want you out of here.’

His words felt like bullets in his throat. Anger and hostility burned in his brain. He had never lifted a finger against a woman in his life, never wanted to. But now he wanted to turn her over his knee and paddle her delightful backside! But he would never betray his honour by doing any such thing.

An insistent hand on the small of her back was sufficient to guide her unresistant body out through the main doors, into the quiet night. There was nothing quiet about his thoughts. How long had Sherman and his wife been mauling each other, propped up against that wall? How long before the two of them would have sneaked away to somewhere more private?

‘Get in.’ He opened the passenger door of his Jaguar. Zoe lifted her head to look into his face. All hard angles and sharp planes, his eyes like lasers. She had never faced such savage anger before. Her throat went dry. No knight to the rescue. More like an avenging angel.

She shivered as the night air cooled her overheated skin, pulling herself together, remembering that he was no longer part of her life. ‘I’ve got my own car.’ The Lotus, parked right beside his, he couldn’t have failed to see it. ‘The keys are in my hotel room. I’m going back to get them and check out. You can’t tell me what to do, not any more. The stupid farce of our marriage is over.’