Читать книгу A Heartless Marriage - HELEN BROOKS, Helen Brooks - Страница 6

‘IT’S been a long time, Leigh.’

As the deeply caressing, velvet-smooth voice with its faint tinge of a French accent spoke just behind her Leigh’s blood froze. She had known this would happen one day but had been unable to prepare herself for it, in the same way that she couldn’t control the snaking shiver that crept down her spine as the unmistakable voice touched a spot deep inside her.

‘Hello, Raoul.’ She turned slowly as her mind raced, without attempting to smile, to meet the full force of that piercing ice-blue gaze that had once had the power to take her to heaven or hell. ‘Five years, in fact.’

‘And two months?’ He looked devastatingly handsome, more so, if possible, than the last time she had seen him. He was just the same and yet. different. The intervening time-span had carved a few lines around his eyes and mouth but they merely added to the tanned perfection of a face that was stunningly beautiful in its complete maleness.

The strong straight nose, aristocratic chin and warm, sensual mouth would have been a masterpiece if captured in oils, and the wild shock of thick black curly hair that she recalled had been groomed into a more sedate style that added extra emphasis to the darkly lashed, wicked blue eyes.

‘You see, I remember.’ He, too, was making no attempt to smile or lighten the situation, and a sudden little dart of resentful anger at his cool selfpossession turned the soft brown of her eyes slatehard. He was just the same after all! Just as arrogantly cold, just as casually cruel, just as’You are well?’ Now the dazzling white teeth flashed in acknowledgement of her nod. ‘That is good.’

‘And you?’ This was ridiculous, she thought helplessly, to stand and talk in polite cliches as though they were distant acquaintances renewing some tenuous connection, when really—

‘I too am well.’ The vivid blue eyes wandered lazily over her flushed face, lingering for a moment on the tremulous, soft mouth before travelling to the rich dark brown hair that hung down below her shoulders. ‘You have grown your hair. I like it this way.’ The touch of hauteur caused her chin to rise a fraction.

‘Thank you.’ I shall scream in a minute, Leigh thought desperately as she felt the blood begin to sing in her ears. She hadn’t felt so exposed, so vulnerable, in years. Five years, in fact. She knew her hands were clamped together as though in a vice, the knuckles white with tension, but she couldn’t have unwound them to save her life. She steeled herself to meet those piercing eyes again and forced a polite smile to her lips. ‘Are you in England on business?’ she asked coolly.

‘In a way,’ he smiled easily, obviously totally unaffected by her presence anyway, Leigh thought bitterly. ‘I suppose you could call it that.’

‘Oh…’ She couldn’t think of another thing to say; her mind had suddenly gone blank. ‘Well.’ She glanced round helplessly as she took a small step backwards. ‘I’d better be—’

‘I hear you are doing very well at your painting now, Leigh.’ As her eyes snapped back up to his she searched his face for mockery and found none. Instead she found interest, and something else. Something that made her breath catch in her throat and her head swim. He had no right to look at her like that! No right at all. ‘You are just as beautiful as I remember.’ His voice was husky and for a moment the memories flooded in in vivid painfulness. How many times had she woken from a night spent in his arms to hear him say she was beautiful? That she was his treasure? That he would never let her go?

‘I’ve never been beautiful, Raoul,’ she said coldly as she forced the hurt from her voice.

‘You have, to me, always.’ She really couldn’t take much more, she thought wildly. She had looked forward to this occasion for weeks, knowing that there would be many prestigious artists among the throng of idle rich that always attended Nigel Blake’s little ‘gatherings’ as he liked to call them. Nigel prided himself on getting just the right mixture of up and coming artists and wealthy influential titles to make his parties the talk of London. There had been more than one struggling artist who had been set on the road to fabulous wealth by a commission at one of Nigel’s ‘do’s.

‘I need to talk to you, Leigh.’ As Raoul placed his hand on her arm she actually jolted with the shock of it. An electric current more dangerous than anything harnessed by man shot through her body and she took a step backwards, her eyes enormous.

‘I’m sorry, Raoul,’ she said quickly, appalled he could still affect her so violently, ‘but I don’t want to talk to you.’

‘Now that isn’t kind.’ Was that some kind of dark amusement she saw in those ice-blue eyes? ‘I’ve been a patient man, Leigh, but there are still matters we need to discuss. Surely you can understand that?’

‘What do you mean?’ She stared at him, mesmerised by his audacity.

‘Oh, come, come.’ The accent was more pronounced now and those magnetic eyes drew her into him just as they had always done. ‘You didn’t think we would always remain in some sort of timeless limbo? You surely knew there would be a day of reckoning?’ He smiled with slow cruelty.

‘Well, Leigh, honey.’ As the harsh American female voice sounded in her ear Leigh breathed a sigh of relief. She had never expected in her wildest dreams that she would ever be pleased to see Vivien James but just at this precise moment the tall willowy blonde was an answer to prayer. ‘It’s not fair to monopolise all the talent!’ Leigh had heard the outrageous come-on before but Vivien always counted on the fact that the man in question hadn’t, and now she glided seductively close.

‘I’m Vivien.’ The six-foot model stuck out a slender hand for Raoul to shake as she wriggled an invitation no man could ignore.

‘Of course you are.’ Raoul was a few inches taller than the beautiful blonde, his long lean body and big broad shoulders giving an impression of even greater height, and Leigh noticed, with a stab of apprehension, that his handshake was cursory and his smile tight. She knew the signs. He suffered fools badly.

‘Well, I do suspect Leigh has been holding out on us,’ Vivien gushed prettily. ‘They say the quiet ones are the worse, don’t they?’ She laughed throatily, totally sure of herself and of the beauty that had taken her monthly salary into six figures in the last two years. ‘Don’t tell me you’re an old friend?’ She pouted provocatively as she touched Raoul’s arm.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Raoul said quietly, his eyes cold.

‘No?’ Vivien’s predatory eyes gleamed, dismissing Leigh’s presence with regal indifference as she edged forward, almost elbowing the other woman out of the way. ‘What, then?’

‘Leigh’s husband, as it happens.’ There was a positively diabolical glint of satisfaction in those cold blue eyes as they noted the stunned surprise on the carefully made-up face, the mouth an O of bewilderment.

‘You’re joking.’ Vivien stared at Raoul, her eyes flicking over the tall lean body and film-star good looks before moving on to Leigh’s medium height, slightly plump frame which housed a pretty but totally unpretentious face, the straight brown hair and large brown eyes ordinary by anyone’s standards. ‘I don’t believe you. You can’t be married to her!’

Her meaning was clear and as Leigh flushed painfully Raoul’s face darkened. When he next spoke his voice was cutting, the accent as sharp as glass. ‘Then that is your problem, yes?’ He had taken Leigh’s arm as he spoke, his attitude both protective and proprietorial, moving her away from the other woman into a quiet corner of the crowded room.

‘Let go of me.’ As she shook off his hand the urge to lash out was paramount, but she took a long, deep breath before facing him again, the anger that was coursing through her body giving her the courage to look deep into the piercing eyes without flinching. ‘Why did you tell her that? And why are you here? I don’t want you in my life.’

‘I’m aware of that.’ He was standing quite still now, the total lack of movement disquieting. ‘Nevertheless, it is the truth. You are my wife, Leigh.’ Her skin prickled helplessly as he turned her to face him with her back to the room so that her face was shielded from curious eyes. ‘And don’t look like that. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘You aren’t going to.?’ Her voice trailed away in a tight bitter laugh that turned his face into stone. ‘What could you do to me that you haven’t already done, Raoul? I loathe you, I detest you. If you were halfway decent you would have given me a divorce as soon as I left you.’

‘I didn’t want to.’ His arrogance made her blink. ‘Why didn’t you file for one later?’

‘Why?’ She stared at him. ‘You really want to know? Because I wanted to shut even the slightest thought of you out of my mind. I wanted to pretend that you didn’t exist, that our marriage had never happened.’ It wasn’t the whole truth. A divorce had been almost unimportant compared to the excruciating step she had taken in leaving him in the first place. She had known she would never marry again. He was too hard an act to follow. ‘I expected you to contact me anyway.’ She raised her chin slightly. ‘Is that why you are here now? To ask for a divorce? This meeting isn’t by accident, is it?’

‘No, it is not.’ His eyes were slicing into her.

‘What’s her name?’ she asked coldly. ‘Surely Marion isn’t still around?’ She forced herself to say the hated name.

‘I don’t intend to discuss our private affairs here,’ Raoul said tightly, ‘but suffice it to say I am not here to ask for a divorce. How soon can you leave?’

‘How soon can I.?’ For the second time in as many minutes she was speechless. ‘You don’t seriously think I’m going anywhere with you, do you? For all you know, I’m with someone.’ She waved distractedly at the crowded room.

‘Are you?’ The glittering eyes challenged her, his mouth twisting in a faint smile as she tossed her head without replying. ‘I thought not. Jeff Capstone is in Scotland, isn’t he?’ It was a cool statement of fact and delivered with icy disdain. ‘You see, I know more about you than you think.’ His eyes never left her face for an instant.

She stared at him in amazement as seething resentment turned her brown eyes black. ‘How dare you?’ Her voice, though low, was full of scathing contempt. ‘Just who do you think you are?’ She couldn’t believe the pretentious insolence.

‘I thought we had established that.’ He smiled coldly. ‘I am your husband.’

‘In name only,’ Leigh lashed back quickly as her heartbeat raced.

‘I’m quite prepared to rectify that if you’d care to oblige?’ His eyes were mocking. ‘I seem to remember we were good together once.’ The blue eyes were insultingly familiar.

‘We were?’ Her mouth curled scornfully. ‘Are you sure it was us you are thinking of? There have been so many women in your life, Raoul, I’m surprised you can remember any one liaison.’

At last she had hit him on the raw. She saw it in the arctic frost that turned the vivid blue eyes rapiersharp and the way his big body froze into stillness. ‘You were not a “liaison”, Leigh,’ he said furiously. ‘You were, you are, my wife!’

‘It was a pity you didn’t remember that when it counted,’ she said simply. ‘Goodbye, Raoul.’

She had turned and left him before he realised what was happening and as she crossed the room she half expected to feel a restraining hand on her shoulder but nothing happened. She wanted to run away, to find a safe little hidey-hole where she could lick the wounds that she’d thought had healed but which were as raw as the day he had gouged them into her heart-but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. How had he found her? Why was he here? More to the point, why was she here?

She looked through the high, beautifully worked arched doorway into the next massive room full of London’s elite-high society at its best, with the odd bearded aesthete to keep Nigel’s precious balance right-and groaned inwardly. When she had first begun to be noticed, two years ago, she had decided then that the power game was not for her. She would succeed or fail on her paintings, not on her connections, but when the prized invitation had dropped through her letterbox she had been unable to resist. The urge to see first-hand one of Nigel’s famous soirees had been too tempting. Curiosity! Well, now she was paying for her weakness in a way she had never anticipated in her darkest nightmares.

‘Everything all right, sweetie?’ As Nigel drifted by without waiting for an answer, his long sequinned smock in outrageous contrast to the tight bright red trousers, she bit her lip hard. She had been here two hours. She had been seen by the right people and now she couldn’t stand it another minute. A careful glance backwards told her Raoul was nowhere to be seen, now was the moment to escape. She had to get away, break free.

‘Off already, darling?’ She was just slipping into her jacket, incongruous against the mass of furs and silk shawls that filled the rest of the ladies’ cloakroom, when Vivien’s smooth white hand touched her arm imperiously. ‘Bigger fish to fry?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Leigh had never liked Vivien, having had the misfortune to work with her on more than one occasion in her early days in London when she was working part-time as a photographer’s assistant in order to be able to eat while she followed her dream to paint, and now she turned to face the taller woman with frank distaste on her heart-shaped face. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I just bet you don’t.’ Vivien’s hard slanted eyes were poisonous. ‘What’s your little game, then? I’ve made a few enquiries and that’s Raoul de Chevnair you were talking to, isn’t it? You don’t seriously expect me to believe that a multimillionaire playboy like Raoul de Chevnair would ever notice a little nobody like you, let alone marry her!’ She laughed spitefully, her face mocking.

‘I don’t expect you to believe anything, Vivien,’ Leigh said coldly, her shoulders straight and her face mirroring her opinion of the beautiful blonde more effectively than words ever could have done. ‘Now would you mind moving out of the way? I’m going home.’ Her voice was glacial.

‘Yes, I would mind, actually,’ Vivien drawled slowly, her mouth pulled into a thin red line and her eyes shooting daggers. ‘You haven’t answered my question, Miss Leigh Wilson! Doesn’t sound much like Mrs de Chevnair to me!’

‘Then, as my husband said a few minutes ago, that’s your problem.’ Leigh pushed past the willowy figure, taking her completely by surprise. ‘Goodnight, Vivien.’

Once outside the cloakroom in the large woodpanelled hall, she leant against the wall for a moment and took a deep breath. Already! Raoul had only been back in her life five minutes and already the women were gathering like bees round a honeypot. But he wasn’t back in her life! She seized on the thought and repeated it to herself firmly. She wouldn’t let him be.

When she had crawled from his presence, crushed and broken, all those years ago, she had felt that life was a deep black abyss that would never hold a spark of joy or contentment again. And it hadn’t at first. She had fled back to London, hiding herself in the careless anonymity of the big metropolis, unable to think or eat or sleep for weeks-and then one spring morning a ray of sunshine had caught a spider’s web on the window of her grubby little bedsit and the urge to paint had resurfaced. And with it she had gradually clawed back her selfrespect, making a new life for herself, taking charge of her affairs, growing into a person whom, if she didn’t actually like, she could live with. And over the years she had settled into the new woman who had been reborn out of the scorching devastation, content with her light sunny little flat with its bird’seye view of London and her peaceful solitary life. A tranquil life in the cool valley after the cruel heat of the mountaintop. And now he was back! Her heart pounded so violently for a moment that she felt faint. Why-after all this time? She had made it clear to him when she’d left that everything between them had been burnt to ashes, that there was nothing left. So why now, just when everything was beginning to happen for her?

She levered herself carefully off the wall and walked sedately to the heavily carved oak front door, opening it quietly and slipping through quickly with a sigh of relief that she had got away so easily. She felt shell-shocked, bruised.

The warm summer air was filled with the city perfume of petrol fumes and dirt but she didn’t care; she had got used to London in all its moods now, appreciating the obscurity of town life, the nameless oblivion, hugging it to her like a hard-won prize. She was just Leigh Wilson, budding artist; that was all.

The night was black without a shred of moonlight to lighten the darkness, and the old-fashioned wrought-iron street lamps gave a discreetly small circle of light into the elegant, quiet, expensive avenue. As she stepped down the narrow circular steps into the empty street she clucked disapprovingly to herself. She should have called for a taxi before she left. She wasn’t thinking straight, but then it was hardly surprising!

‘Leigh?’ As one of the tall shadows across the dimly lit expanse detached itself she gave a little start of surprise, swiftly concealed, and then she was staring into Raoul’s dark face again and he wasn’t smiling. ‘Can I give you a lift?’ He indicated a long, low, sleek white monster on wheels a few yards away. ‘Please?’

Please? This wasn’t the Raoul she knew. The Raoul she had lived with for eighteen glorious, mind-boggling months had never said please to anyone in his life. ‘I don’t think so.’ She stared at him nervously. ‘I don’t want to be difficult, but—’

‘Then don’t be.’ As he cut into her words the arrogant forcefulness curled the muscles in her stomach. This was the Raoul she knew, riding roughshod over everyone else, cutting through any small talk, intent only on getting his own way. The veneer was just that-a light covering to hide a mind of steel. ‘I intend to talk to you, Leigh, so you might as well get it over and done with now.’ He smiled coldly. ‘You never were one for putting off unpleasant duties, were you?’

There was something of the satyr about him, she thought painfully; there always had been. Perhaps that was what had attracted her once, but not any more! Now she could see him for exactly what he was and it disgusted her.

‘Is it really necessary?’ She still didn’t move from the last step. ‘Can’t our solicitors sort it out?’

‘No, they damn well can’t!’ He took a long deep breath and spoke more quietly. ‘I don’t want solicitors meddling in my affairs. Now be a good girl and come and talk to me for a few minutes while I take you home. Kingston Gardens, isn’t it?’

She looked at him in surprise and took a step forwards in spite of herself. ‘How do you know where I live?’

‘I told you, I know more about you than you think,’ he said smoothly, his deep rich voice and faint accent giving the words a sensual overtone that brought the blood rushing into her cheeks. ‘First it was a bedsit in Baron Place, then a shared flat with a Miss.’ the dark brows wrinkled ‘…ah, yes, a Miss Angela Hardwick, and for the last two years a flat of your own in Kingston Gardens.’ He folded muscled arms.

‘Have you been spying on me?’ she asked weakly. ‘I don’t believe this.’ A flood of burning anger replaced the stunned amazement his words had caused. ‘How dare you? How dare you, Raoul? I—’

‘Shut up and get in the car,’ he said brusquely, the patience for which he was not renowned running out suddenly. As he took hold of her arm a shiver of apprehension trembled down her spine-or was it excitement? She bit on her lower lip till it hurt. She mustn’t let him see how he affected her. She hated and loathed him but he might mistake it for something else. She would listen to what he said, coolly and calmly, and then that would be that. And he was right. She might as well get it over and done with now.

The interior of the car was as magnificent as the outside, soft white leather seats and thick grey carpet, a sexual experience on wheels, she thought balefully. How in keeping. How very in keeping!

‘Do take that frown of disapproval off your face,’ he said lazily as he joined her. ‘You’ll have deep lines before you’re forty at this rate and I don’t intend to spend a fortune on face-lifts as you get older. My wife will grow old gracefully.’

‘What?’ She swung round to face him, big brown eyes incredulous, hardly able to believe what she had heard. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Us,’ he replied easily. ‘I’m talking about us.’ He urged the big car into purring life, drawing out of the parking space and joining the main stream of traffic at the end of the avenue, seemingly totally relaxed and faintly amused.

‘There is no “us”,’ she said sharply as she turned to look out of the window at the brightly lit shops and restaurants they were passing at incredible speed. He was driving too fast but then he always had. It had been a mistake to get in the car. The big, powerful, muscular body so close to hers was bringing back too many unwelcome memories, memories that caused her cheeks to burn and her eyes to glitter as she sternly repressed the aching fluttering in the pit of her stomach. He even smelt the same! That delicious and wickedly expensive aftershave that had always rendered her helpless in his arms. She brought her knees together tightly. She was immune to him now. She was!

‘Oh, but there is, kitten.’ The use of the old pet name jarred piercingly into her heart. ‘There always will be.’

‘I want to get out.’ Her hands were clenched together now and she ground her teeth silently as a low laugh rippled through the car. ‘Do you hear me, Raoul?’

‘No way, my love.’ She steeled herself to look at him and then wished she hadn’t. The profile was so familiar, so devastingly, painfully familiar. She had forgotten just how breathtakingly handsome he was, how enigmatically in control, how altogether electric. It wasn’t fair that one man should have so much going for him. It wasn’t just his looks, compelling though they were; there was a dark magnetism, an inner vitality that accentuated every aspect of the lean hard body and tanned face until the aura in which he moved was all-absorbing. ‘You’re nearly home now.’

Even as he spoke he pulled off the main thoroughfare which led to the huge block of flats where she lived and into a narrow, deserted sidestreet that was dark and unlit. ‘Now then.’ As the engine died a sense of danger shivered down her spine. This was Raoul, Raoul her husband, the man who knew her more intimately than any other human being ever would, the man who had almost destroyed her once and had let her go almost casually. The feeling of exhilaration that had had her in its grip since the party died, and pure undiluted fear took its place. Was she strong enough to withstand his devious fascination now? She had never understood him and had no idea why he had sought her out after all this time but she sensed instinctively that it wasn’t an impulsive decision.

She had been right in her initial impression that he had changed. The old Raoul had never had such a hard light of cold purpose in his eyes. He was the same but he was different: older, menacingly determined, altogether more dangerous. She prepared herself for what he was going to say. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t like it, she was suddenly quite sure of that.

‘Leigh.’ As he spoke her name he bent towards her, the fingers of one hand threading into her thick silky hair as the other wrapped round her waist, drawing her into him in the close confines of the car before she had time to resist.

‘Don’t!’ Even as she spoke his mouth took hers and in the first moment of contact she knew, with a frantic silent scream, that the old magic was there. She couldn’t evade him, there was nowhere to go, and, bent over her as he was, his body had trapped her more securely than any chains. The kiss shot through the nerve-endings all over her body in an explosion of sensation, moulding, drawing her, emptying her of everything but him. She tried to fight it, to jerk her head away, but he was too strong for her and then, as the kiss became deeper and he plundered that intimate territory she had never given to anyone else but him, she didn’t want to resist. The dizzy, helpless submission his passion had always induced rose like a phoenix from the ashes, sensual, powerful, accelerating her heartbeat and causing her to strain towards him, revelling in the feel, the smell of him as he fitted her into his body until she could feel every inch of his hard frame.

She couldn’t believe she had been without the touch, the feel of him for five years. Like an addict who thought she had conquered the habit only to find its pull stronger than ever, she shuddered desperately against him, his obvious arousal firing her to new heights of ecstasy.

He seemed gripped by the same sort of madness, murmuring incoherently against the softness of her mouth, his lips moving frantically over her face and throat as his body trembled against hers, a storm of pent-up emotion devouring the long lean body until the tremors that were shaking his limbs reached through to hers.

‘You’re mine, you’re still mine, you’ll always be mine.’ As his voice, urgent and filled with a mad exultation, pierced the spinning whirlwind that had her in its grip, she froze in his arms, a biting wave of humiliation and shame breaking over her head and draining the colour from her face.

‘No!’ As she wrenched her face from his she jerked sideways savagely, hitting her shoulder against the door of the car without even feeling it. It wasn’t going to happen again. She wasn’t going to be swept into his orbit like a mindless robot that could only function when its master pressed the switch. She was autonomous now, she didn’t need him any more, she wouldn’t need him! She had survived without him for five years; it couldn’t all be lost now. She had to fight him.

‘Leigh, listen to me—’

‘No!’ She knew she was almost hysterical but that didn’t matter, all that mattered was convincing him that he had to leave her alone, that she was her own person now, not a plaything to be brought out at convenient moments. ‘Don’t you touch me again, Raoul, not ever again. I mean it, I hate you! I’ll always hate you!’ She was shouting and in the enclosed space the words bounced off the metal with deafening ferocity, and as she struggled to open the door she was aware of him leaning back into his seat, his face hardening into cold mocking lines.

‘A simple “no” would have sufficed,’ he said quietly. ‘You really didn’t have to pretend that you enjoyed what was obviously a grievous ordeal.’ He was laughing at her! In the same instant that the mocking words registered on her bruised mind her hand shot out with savage force to hit him hard across one tanned cheek, the sound deafening.

‘Leigh!’ He punched her name into the space between them as his hands shot up to hold hers, restraining her with just enough force for the mad pounding in her head to ease and the enormity of what she had just done to break into her consciousness. She shut her eyes against the look on his face, leaning back against the soft leather as she felt the strength drain from her body, leaving her quivering and silent. ‘Consider yourself most fortunate,’ he grated through tight-clenched teeth. ‘There is no other woman on this earth who would get away with that twice.’

Twice? As her eyes opened to meet his the memory of their last encounter was there as clearly as if it was yesterday. Marion’s long, golden looselimbed body sprawled on the bed-their bed-her long golden blonde hair spread out across the pillow like a silky veil and the big green eyes bright with triumph as they caught sight of her standing whitefaced in the doorway. Her clothes had been scattered round the bedroom floor as though discarded in a frenzied game of tag, and as Raoul had emerged from the en suite, magnificently and in the circumstances inexcusably naked, she knew with a sick feeling of despair exactly who the beautiful blonde had been playing with.

‘Leigh?’ Raoul had begun to speak, his eyes flying from her drowning eyes to Marion in one lightning glance, but she had blown his words away with the impact of her hand across his mouth. She shut her mind to the scene that had followed. She had dissected it too often as it was.

‘I’ll take you home.’ As her eyes refocused on his face he let go of her hands, placing them into her lap as though she was old and helpless, which was exactly how she felt. She had been almost twenty when she had left him. After eighteen months of heaven on earth she had been plunged into a dark void that was indescribable, and just for a minute, a crazy minute, she had forgotten that tonight. But never again.

She glanced at him as he manoeuvred the powerful car out of the narrow street and into the lights again. This time her head must, must rule her heart! She couldn’t let herself become this man’s plaything again, his little toy. She was a grown woman now, not a child bride; she had shaped and woven her own life into the pattern she required of it and her independence was the most precious thing she owned.

I hate you, Raoul, she said silently as the car purred its way through the traffic, I hate you, I do! So why was it that for the first time in five years she felt alive again?