Читать книгу Mandate For Marriage - Catherine O'Connor - Страница 7

FIONA suddenly felt giddy. The room spun as the realisation that she was actually already bankrupt whirled inside her head. The word rushed through the enveloping darkness of her mind. She swayed slightly before Grant’s arms wrapped around her and carefully lowered her on to a chair. She sank back, her mind in confusion, her face devoid of all colour. Grant turned away, his eyes closing as he exhaled a long breath. Then he moved quickly away from her. She watched him silently, knowing he was angry with her, but she was too confused to understand. He strode to the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Fiona asked, troubled; for a brief fleeting moment she allowed herself to need him. She didn’t want to feel that destroying loneliness ever again, especially not now.

‘To get some water,’ Grant snapped, not attempting to conceal his irritation or frustration. ‘You look as if you need it.’

She could hear the distant chinking of glasses and the slamming of cupboard doors. Shakily Fiona pushed herself into an upright position as she heard Grant return. She took a swift glance at his face: his features were set uncompromisingly and Fiona regretted her hasty words—yet it was true; she knew now that everything else had been a game and she was just an innocent pawn. She shuddered at the thought of her own naïveté; did she honestly expect a sophisticated man of the world, wealthy and important, to be interested in her? A plain, ordinary girl with the love of the country seeped deep in her bones? Surely she had learned her lesson with Mark? He, too, had been hungry to become part of the family firm. She had come to believe that Grant was the same; he too had always wanted the company. His trip to Scotland had been with the sole aim of acquiring a distillery. His family were looking for ways of diverting their funds into the new European market. She had given him the golden opportunity, falling for his plausible act. She had really believed he loved her, her foolish heart ruling her head.

Fiona accepted the glass of water gratefully, sipping it slowly. She hadn’t wanted this, a show of weakness. She had wanted to be strong, to prove to him that she didn’t care about him, but she couldn’t. It was all too much. She hoped the water would steady her frayed nerves as she tried to understand why Grant had changed his mind. She hadn’t wanted to lose control of the family company, but in the face of losses Grant had become her only option. What had gone wrong back home? She sensed it was something more personal than the distillery. She wrapped her fingers around the glass, aware that its coldness matched the chilling atmosphere in the room.

‘What’s going on, Fiona?’ Grant demanded heavily in an attempt to control his patience and control.

‘I knew things weren’t good. Our bank has been getting very twitchy lately,’ she admitted, quietly keeping her eyes firmly on her water to avoid his penetrating gaze. ‘I tried to raise more money from elsewhere, but with no luck. In the end, I was relying on you—no one else has shown interest,’ she confessed, almost ashamed. ‘But I didn’t realise I was bankrupt! Andrew…’ She faltered. She hated being this dependent upon Grant, like some damsel in distress waiting for her knight to save her. She felt the growing rebellion inside her, yet he was her only chance of survival and she was willing to do anything in order to keep the bank from foreclosing now. A puzzled look darted across Grant’s face but he quickly masked it.

‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. There was a knowing gleam in his eyes as he watched the startled rise of Fiona’s head.

‘Do you?’ asked Fiona. In spite of her effort to reply calmly, her voice sounded expectant, her mind still muddled but grateful for any ray of hope. ‘You said yourself it isn’t viable; why should anyone want to buy it?’ she said mournfully, as she saw her dreams being torn apart.

‘I thought you wanted to keep it as a family concern, concentrate on producing a single malt?’ he asked. Fiona nodded her head in silence; she was too choked to speak. That had always been her dream—to produce one of the finest single malts, to mature it for many years till it became as smooth as a French cognac.

‘Well?’ demanded Grant, as if he were irritated by her silence and her hopeless attitude of defeat. Her head shot up again, this time with a sudden show of defiance.

‘It was a dream, a little girl’s dream, but the adult world just wasn’t interested. It just wasn’t a viable proposition.’ She threw his words back at him, unable to keep the pain and bitterness from her voice.

‘It was more than a dream, Fee. It was a damn good idea. What the hell has been going on?’

‘You’re a little late with your concern, aren’t you?’ she flared back at him, remembering how he had left her alone after all his promises. She fought hard to rid her mind of the empty pain she had felt then! The vivid blue irises of Grant’s eyes darkened to navy at her accusation.

‘Still looking for someone to blame, and it’s always me, isn’t it?’ he ground out. His remonstration made Fiona avert her head. She knew there was a grain of truth in what he said, yet he had made such promises and, like a stupid child, she had believed him.

‘It’s not a case of blame; it’s no one’s fault,’ she admitted grudgingly.

But Grant snapped back immediately, ‘Where’s Andy?’

‘Andy! Andy! I suppose he is to blame, is he?’ she retorted, aware of Grant’s anger, and it fuelled her own, her expression freezing as she remembered the arguments that they’d had about Andrew Farr. She knew Grant was jealous of Andrew; his whole attitude was dangerous towards him. And it had been Andy who had warned her about Grant, and she had foolishly ignored his advice.

‘What do you think?’ he asked quietly, controlling the possibility that the issue would build into a shouting match.

Fiona frowned and sighed. She watched him warily; his very presence seemed to dominate the room. She didn’t want to argue, she wanted this settled, but he seemed determined to force it.

‘I don’t know what you have against Andy—’ she began, but Grant interrupted immediately.

‘Don’t you?’ His tone was low and grim, and heavy with sarcasm.

Fiona ignored his interruption, but a telltale flare of pink flushed across her cheeks as she recalled with a sudden flash of memory the difficult situation she had been caught in. If only Grant had listened, let her explain, but he was so quick to condemn, to see Andrew’s faults so clearly mirrored in her.

‘He has been very loyal, taking care of the firm, taking on new staff—’

‘Taking care of the firm!’ Grant interjected forcefully. ‘If he’s taken care of the firm, why is it in the mess it’s in now?’

‘He’s tried hard to help steer the distillery through hard times,’ countered Fiona. Why did Grant never listen? Andy had worked so hard. She had relied on him totally during the first few months following Grandad’s stroke, and he had been the rock she had so desperately needed. ‘It doesn’t appear to have worked,’ acknowledged Grant smoothly. Her eyes fastened on him and she felt a stab of hostility at his cool arrogance.

‘But he tried his best! He stayed here, remained faithful and loyal, which was more than you did!’ Fiona shouted, her eyes wide with anger. There was a fleeting sense of danger, as if she had foolishly run to the edge of a high cliff and now tottered at its very edges. She saw him change, his face becoming hardened, his features cold as if chiselled in marble. Instinctively Fiona drew away, her mind barely registering anything other than a wish to take back what she had just said. She flinched as his powerful hands fell on to her slim shoulders.

‘I’ve been faithful and more loyal than perhaps you deserve,’ he growled at her, his white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. He was about to say more, but instead he turned away in disgust. Fiona stared, aware of the still volatile feelings that he was barely controlling. She wanted to say something but any words just died on her lips.

‘I’ll try to sort something out with the bank to give us more time,’ Grant said, his voice heavy with emotion.

Fiona tried to smile her thanks but the immense gratitude she felt upset her; the last thing she wanted was to become dependent on his help. Their relationship was complicated enough without adding to it. She remained silent, trapped in an inner struggle; she had wanted to tell him how much she needed his assistance immediately, but now the moment had passed. She wondered how he would have reacted—with anger or relief, she thought, staring into his broad back till he turned suddenly and faced her. There was a speculative gleam in his eyes.

‘Look, you go home, make us some dinner. We can have a proper talk then,’ he ordered, as he pulled her to her feet. Fiona stiffened.

‘Home?’ she echoed in a small voice, watching him warily; surely he couldn’t be serious? A cold chill ran down her spine.

‘Yes, home,’ he nodded, ignoring her obvious reluctance, and pushed her gently towards the door with a smile.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked anxiously. She had to know, but was already certain that he was about to confirm her worst fear.

‘Where do you think?’ he replied with irritation.

‘You can’t…’ Fiona began, but the grim look on Grant’s face silenced her.

‘Is there something I’ve missed?’ he asked, his tone heavy with sarcasm. ‘We are still married, aren’t we?’ he continued, his voice low and tightly controlled.

‘Yes, we are,’ she answered, unable to keep the bitterness from colouring her reply. ‘But that can soon be remedied.’ She faltered as his gaze narrowed sharply at her words, adding a sudden watchfulness to his expression.

‘Really?’ he drawled, sounding frighteningly soft yet dangerous. ‘Somehow I don’t think that will be necessary.’ His certainty provoked Fiona to her very limits.

‘What?’ she challenged, with a toss of her head, and blazing with defiance. ‘Surely you can’t expect…’ She stopped, unable to continue. It was too painful to mention his adultery and his plan to take over the company. He had failed to do the latter anyway, she thought suddenly, puzzled again by his sudden change of mind.

‘Of course I expect to return to our home. Why shouldn’t I?’ Grant’s eyes suddenly deepened to the bluest of blues and his face was set starkly.

‘I think the marriage is over, finished. It’s no good raking over old coals.’ Fiona tried to ignore the building emotion on Grant’s face and stiffening of his strong body at her words, but she trembled as he moved closer.

‘Over?’ he repeated. ‘It’s hardly even started!’ He studied her body with unconcealed hungry interest. Fiona tensed under this blatant scrutiny, but she was determined to make him understand she couldn’t allow him back into her home. She was all too aware of her vulnerability where he was concerned.

‘Let’s go out to dinner. We can discuss matters then,’ Fiona offered, trying to keep the atmosphere light and already dreading the moment when she would have to tell Grant the truth of what she knew. He ignored her remark, his jaw tightening at her suggestion; a muscle jerked suddenly at his temple and Fiona’s eyes skittered towards it.

‘We made a commitment,’ he answered her drily. ‘I expect us to keep to it.’

‘Commitment?’ Fiona laughed cynically. ‘We were married less than three days before you left for America,’ she reminded him.

‘Left?’ Grant declared savagely. ‘Or driven?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Originally you were coming with me—a quaint custom called a honeymoon. You know, it’s something newlyweds do,’ he growled. He took her roughly into his arms. Their eyes met in mutual coflict, hurt and angry, and it was Fiona who first broke the deadlock.

‘Honeymoon?’ she echoed. ‘It would have been a farce, an empty sham, a lie!’ she countered, pulling herself away from his arms, as the haunting memories of how it should have been filled her mind.

‘If anyone is an expert, Fee, it’s you,’ he whispered. ‘Self-deception leading to self-denial,’ he mocked, pulling her back to him, till she fell agamst his hard chest. She reacted to his touch as she felt his familiar heat warm her.

‘You didn’t always find my touch so repulsive,’ Grant murmured, low and husky. A sudden shiver of anticipation ran the length of Fiona’s spine, and her stomach twirled in agitation. A telltale ache deep within her very being warned her of her body’s betrayal, but she was already too defenceless to move. Grant’s masterful hands stroked the length of her with slow rhythmic movements, as his soft lips claimed hers. She began to tremble as she responded to his expert caresses. She welcomed his kiss and, as the tip of his tongue gently edged the contour of her lips, teasing them apart, she parted them and invited him in. She felt drunk—giddy with excitement, breathless with desire—at his very touch. He inflamed within her an inner passion that made her grow increasingly hot. Her breasts were swelling with desire against the firmness of his chest, and his kisses became more forceful. Fiona could sense his growing need for her and her own willingness to comply. Yet some warning voice echoed deep within her numbed brain: she knew she should put a stop to what they were doing, but each stroke of his fingers increased her desire for him. Each probing kiss seemed to prevent her from uttering a sound. Instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer to her, clinging to him as her tongue moved seductively in his mouth. Deep in the pit of her stomach came pangs of hunger that demanded satisfaction. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his body next to hers and, without realising it, acknowledged she had missed him so much. Slowly they drew apart. Her eyes were darkened with arousal and she rested against him, savouring the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His strong arms wrapped around her slim frame, holding tightly as if he never wanted to leave go.

‘Fee, my Fee,’ he whispered huskily, as he stroked the thick bob of her hair. She lifted her head to look at him; the warm slumberous look in his blue eyes caused a gentle smile to curl her lips before the realisation of what she had done dawned. She lowered her vision immediately, struggling from his arms.

‘I think I’d better go,’ she said abruptly, wanting to put as much distance as she could between them. Now she wanted to be free of him, to erase all the pain and bitterness she felt, yet when she had been in his arms, she was transported back into a dream-world where only they existed. He sensed her alarm and dropped his hands to his sides. A grudging smile of acceptance was on his lips.

‘I think there’s quite a lot of fire left in our marriage; it’s not all old coals,’ he remarked. Fiona snatched up her bag. She wanted to remind him about the file of figures, but somehow her confidence failed her.

‘I’ll book a table at Jeanie’s for eight o’clock,’ she said despite the thudding of her heart, and he nodded his head in agreement. Fiona fled the office, her pulses leaping at the scorching memory of his kiss. She put her fingers to her swollen mouth, touching it tentatively. It was a hopeless situation: they had parted amid angry, hurt exchanges and she knew now that the whole marriage had been a farce—even her wedding-day had been marred. The vivid image of Mari flashed in her mind, her arms twined fiercely around Grant’s neck as she hung on to him with a possession that made Fiona sick. Andy had made a final plea to her before the wedding to wait and think about it, but she had been too besotted with Grant to realise Andy was telling the truth. And yet, she had had doubts—niggling fears that all was not right—but she had put them down to bridal nerves.

It was only during the reception, when faced with Grant’s adultery, that she had finally accepted Andrew’s word—which Mari’s behaviour had been quick to confirm. She remembered the tense atmosphere, Grant’s face contorted in anger as she became distant with him, so great was her sense of betrayal. Fiona shuddered; she wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t help reacting to him. Sex, she concluded grimly, that was all it was, but somehow, when she was in his arms, it seemed so much more than that. She took a deep, satisfying breath. It was good to be outside in the cool, fresh air, to let the wind blow away all her worries and doubts. It was beautiful today, the sky clear and blue. The sun was still pale, almost a watery yellow, but its gentle rays were already beckoning the buds awake. It was the first dry day in weeks and it finally looked as if winter was drawing to a close.

Fiona stepped out briskly across the car park; she had left her car at home because she enjoyed the walk and, somehow, despite the terrible situation she was in, her heart felt lighter than it had done in months. It’s the spring air, she joked to herself, as she jumped over a small grey stone wall and walked across the fields.

Grant watched her from the window: her chestnut bob of hair moved rhythmically with every step she took. Then he turned and rapidly pushed the file back into his briefcase before locking the door and leaving the offices.

Fiona couldn’t believe she had slept so long. It was after five before she awoke and sleep still seemed to hang heavily on her shoulders. She lazed in a bath for some time, till she heard someone downstairs. She wrapped the towel quickly around her damp body—surely he had not come so soon? She swallowed nervously as she made her way to the door, opening it slowly as her ears strained to listen. She peeped over the banister, pushing her damp hair from her face as it fell into her wide eyes.

‘Who’s there?’ she called hesitantly, her throat dry with fear. She had never grown accustomed to being alone and she was still afraid of the slightest sound.

‘Only me!’ called a grey-haired old lady, straining her tiny frame to look up at Fiona.

‘Gran!’ she sighed in exasperation. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’ She breathed with relief at the smiling face.

‘Oh, don’t exaggerate! I’ve made some bread and brought you some fresh eggs across.’ She grinned wickedly, before adding, ‘No doubt you’ll be having company for breakfast.’

Fiona frowned. ‘You’ve heard,’ she said stiffly, feeling uncomfortable at the way her grandparents could not understand her decision.

‘Of course, the moment Mrs Gaygill saw his car from the post office window, she was on the phone, and a good job too, because you weren’t going to tell me,’ Gran said in a slightly hurt tone.

‘There’s nothing to tell, Gran,’ Fiona replied resignedly. ‘He doesn’t want to buy the company——’ she began.

‘Good, that’s one problem solved.’

‘It isn’t good, Gran——’ Fiona tried to explain, but was instantly silenced.

‘Of course it is! Wasn’t all this nonsense about him leaving and going to America because you thought he wanted the company?’ she demanded.

‘There’s more to it than that, Gran. It just wouldn’t work. You can’t just marry people you hardly know and expect it to work,’ she said patiently, not wishing to hurt her dear Gran’s feelings. She had been a mother to Fiona since her own parents had died when she was just ten years old. She loved and respected her dearly, even if she did seem out of touch with the harsh realities of life.

‘You can, if you love each other,’ her grandmother countered briskly, smiling at Fiona’s doubtful expression. ‘Where is he now?’ she asked, suddenly looking around as if she expected him to materialise.

‘I left him at the offices. He’s going to try and sort something out, then we’re going out to dinner,’ Fiona admitted reluctantly, knowing exactly how Gran would translate this behaviour.

‘There!’ Gran said, smiling triumphantly. ‘I know you two can work things out. Just give him a chance, Fiona; you can be a little unforgiving at times,’ she reminded her softly, and Fiona felt a stab of pain. She remembered how she had blamed her parents for dying, blamed her grandparents for still being alive, and ultimately blamed herself for surviving the terrible crash.

‘I’ll see, Gran,’ she lied, determined not to change her mind.

‘And wear something pretty. That navy suit you wore today, Mrs Gaygill said it made you look like a nun!’ Gran informed her in a friendly but crisp voice, before disappearing again.

Fiona sighed. Much as she loved living in a small community, it did have its drawbacks, and Mrs Gaygill was certainly one of them. Fiona went back into the bedroom and stopped. She stared at the double bed as if seeing it for the first time, and then hastily diverted her attention to what she was going to wear. She sighed as she opened her wardrobe doors looking for something suitable for such an occasion, but somehow nothing sprang to mind. She changed her clothes several times; a dress looked too formal, her skirts were all too short and she was frightened of giving Grant the wrong impression. Finally she settled for a pair of black stretch ski-pants with a soft lambswool jumper in a cool off-white. She pulled a pair of high-heeled ankle boots on her tiny feet and decided she looked fine—casual but chic. She brushed her hair without enthusiasm, letting it fall heavily against her pale oval face. She frowned; she certainly didn’t look too good: her eyes lacked any sparkle, dark lines drooped under her eyes. Half-heartedly she applied a little blusher and flicked a bright red lipstick across her mouth. She would have to do, she thought, as she picked up her bag and went downstairs to wait for him.

She tried sitting still, flicking through a magazine but no story seemed to interest her. The television, too, seemed garish and uninteresting. She turned it off and began to pace the room. This is ridiculous! she chastised herself. You’re behaving like a schoolgirl on her first date. She could hear her heart pounding and it increased still further as the sound of a car horn beeped outside. Fiona walked stiffly to the door; she was determined to stay calm, to remain immune to Grant’s potent brand of sexuality.

He was standing leaning casually against the car door. Even in the shadows, it was pointless to deny that he was a formidable man.

‘Hi, Fee,’ he said huskily, allowing his eyes to caress her body with an intimacy that unnerved her. She was going to answer, but suddenly her mouth seemed painfully dry, and she merely smiled by way of reply. He looked magnificent, even taller in the black dinner suit he was wearing. The pristine whiteness of his shirt emphasised his deep golden tan, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with an electric blueness that excited her. She refused to invite him in, so slipped out immediately, closing the door behind her. He strode over to the other side of the car, his feet beating out a tattoo on the flat frosty path, and Fiona followed reluctantly. He opened the car door with a flourish and Fiona slipped past him, keen to avoid any personal contact. Grant’s eyebrows rose in amusement as he closed the door with a faint click. He got into the car on the driver’s side.

‘Not forgotten anything?’ he asked warmly and seductively and already playing havoc with her emotions. Fiona hugged her bag tightly across her waist, as close to her as she could. It was her only defence against him, like a shield to protect her.

‘No, nothing,’ she answered, aware of the tremor in the voice, and she wondered if it had been a wise decision to go out to dinner with him after all. He leant over and Fiona caught the scent of pine in her nostrils. She wanted to draw back and turned her head to look out into the blackness of the night. Her face flushed as a torrent of feelings leapt within her.

‘Fee,’ Grant whispered, his warm breath caressing her neck and sending shivers of delight through her body. He pulled her chin gently towards him and pressed his hot lips against her own till they melted together. Her mouth opened in welcome and her lips clung to his, hungry for his touch. Her arms crept around his neck and, for a moment, she kissed him back with a desire and longing she had not thought possible. But, inevitably, she pulled away suddenly and tried hard not to see the look of rejection in his eyes. She turned swiftly, aware of the hot pinheads that pricked against the back of her eyes. This was going to be far harder than she thought, she decided as she gazed miserably out of the car, staring aimlessly at the raindrops that had started falling silently down the pane.