Читать книгу Mills & Boon Modern February 2014 Collection - Ким Лоренс, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 40

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE DISTANT RUMBLE of thunder echoed Leila’s troubled thoughts.

Had she thought it would be easy? That Gabe’s icy heart would melt simply because he’d revealed all the bitter secrets he’d carried around with him for so long? That he’d instantly morph into the caring, sharing man she longed for him to be?

Maybe she had.

She glanced out of the window. Outside, the tame English skies were brewing what looked like the fiercest storm she had witnessed since she’d been here. Angry grey clouds billowed up behind St Paul’s Cathedral and the river was the colour of dark slate.

She had tried to reassure herself with the knowledge that, on the surface, things in their marriage were good. Better than before. She kept telling herself that, as if to accentuate the positive. Gabe was teaching her card games and how to cook eggs, and she was learning to be tidier. He massaged her shoulders at the end of a working day and they’d started going for country walks on the weekend. Her pregnancy was progressing well and she had passed the crucial twelve weeks without incident. Her doctor had told her that she was blooming—and physically she had never felt better.

Her job, too, was more fulfilling than she could ever have anticipated. At first, Leila had suspected that most of the staff at Zeitgeist had been wary of the boss’s wife being given a plum role as a photographer, but none of that wariness had lasted. According to Alastair, her outlook was fresh; her approach original—and she got along well with people.

Her photos for the spa campaign had confounded expectation—the expectation being that it was impossible to get an interesting shot of a woman wrapped in a towel.

But somehow Leila had pulled it off. Maybe it was the angle she had used, or the fact that her background had equipped her to understand that a woman didn’t have to show lots of flesh in order to look alluring.

‘And anyway,’ she had said to Gabe as they were driving home from work one evening, ‘these spas are trying to appeal to a female audience, not a male one. Which means that we don’t always have to portray women with the not-so-subtle subtext that they’re constantly thinking about sex.’

‘Unlike you, you mean?’ he had offered drily.

She had smiled.

Yes, on the surface things were very good.

So why did she feel as if something was missing—as if there was still a great gaping hole in her life which she couldn’t fill? Was it because after that awful disclosure about his mother, Gabe had never really let down his guard again? Or because her expectations of a relationship were far more demanding than she’d realised? That she had been lying to herself about not wanting his love in return, when it was pretty obvious that deep down she craved it.

There were moments which gave her hope—when she felt as if they were poised on the brink of a new understanding. When she felt as close to him as it was possible to feel and her heart was filled with joy. Like the other day, when they had been lying in bed, she’d been wrapped in his arms and he’d been kissing the top of her head and the air had felt full of lazy contentment.

But then she’d realised that for the first time she could feel the distinct swell of her belly, even though she was horizontal at the time.

With an excited little squeal, she’d caught hold of his hand and moved it to her stomach. ‘Gabe. Feel,’ she’d whispered. ‘Go on. Feel.’

She knew her husband well enough to realise that he would never give away his true feelings by doing something as obvious as snatching his hand away from her skin, as if he’d just been burned. But she felt his whole body tense as he made the most cursory of explorations, before disentangling himself from her embrace and telling her that he had to make an international call.

So what was going on beneath the surface of that cold and enigmatic face? Leila gave a sigh. She didn’t know. You could show a man love, but love only went so far. Love couldn’t penetrate brick walls if people were determined to erect them around their hearts. Love could only help heal a person if that person would allow themselves to be healed.

Gabe made her feel as if she’d wrested every secret from him and that he found any more attempts at soul-searching a bore. Maybe she just had to accept that this was as good as it got. That the real intimacy she longed for simply wasn’t going to happen.

But that didn’t mean she was going to stop loving him.

She turned away from the thundery skyline to where he was lying sprawled out on the leather sofa, and her heart gave a little twist.

She could never stop loving him.

‘Gabe?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I was wondering if we could give a party?’

He looked up and frowned. ‘What kind of party?’

‘Oh, you know—something revolutionary. Invite some people along, give them food and drink, maybe play a little music. That sort of thing.’

‘Very funny.’ Stretching his arms above his head, he gave a lazy yawn. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’

She drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, we’ve never really had a wedding party, have we? I mean, we had that lunch with Sara and Suleiman, but that was all. And I’ve become quite friendly with Alice and a few of the others from work, so I’d quite like to invite them. And then there’s my brother. I’d quite like to see him.’ She wriggled her shoulders. ‘I’d just like a bit of a celebration before the baby comes. Some kind of acknowledgement that the wedding actually happened.’

He didn’t answer straight away.

‘As long as it’s not here,’ he said eventually. ‘But if you want to hire a hotel or a restaurant, then that’s fine by me.’

‘Oh, Gabe,’ she said, and walked back across the room to hug him and when she stopped hugging him she could see that he was actually smiling.

Leila threw herself into a frenzy of organisation. She booked the award-winning wedding room at the Granchester Hotel and hired a party planner who came highly recommended by Alice.

The party’s colour scheme of gold and indigo was chosen to reflect the colours of the Qurhahian flag and the cuisine was intended to offer delicacies from both cultures. A group of barber-shop singers had been booked for a cabaret spot at ten and dozens of fragrant crimson roses were on order.

Responses soon came flooding in. Everyone at Zeitgeist who’d been invited said yes. Sara and Suleiman were going to be there and also Sara’s brother. Even Murat accepted his invitation, much to Leila’s pleasure and surprise. It seemed that everybody wanted to attend the wedding celebration of a desert princess and a man known for never giving parties. Leila bought a new dress for the occasion—a gorgeous shimmery thing with threads of silver running through a grey silky material, which reminded her of the mercurial hue of Gabe’s eyes.

She took off the day before the party but Gabe was tied up with wall-to-wall meetings all morning.

He was frowning as he kissed her goodbye. ‘I’ll meet you for lunch,’ he said. ‘And for goodness’ sake—calm down, Leila. You’re wearing yourself out with this damned party.’

Something in his tone had made her tilt her head back to look at him. ‘You do want this party, don’t you?’

For a moment there was silence and his smile was faintly rueful as he shook his head. ‘I never said I wanted it, did I? I agreed to it because it makes you happy.’

She stared at the door as it closed behind him.

Wanting to make her happy was a step forward, she guessed—even if it made her feel a bit like a child who needed to be placated with a new toy. Like a spoilt little princess who’d stamped her foot and demanded a party. The same spoilt princess who had finally remembered to throw away her apple cores and to remember that there wasn’t a squad of servants poised to tidy up after her.

In an effort to subdue her sudden feeling of restlessness, she decided to try a little displacement therapy. Walking over to the concealed wardrobe, she pulled out her new skyscraper grey heels, which were jostling for room with the rest of her shoes. She really was going to have to ask Gabe to give her more cupboard space, since she had far more clothes than he did. Or maybe she should just do the sensible thing and acquire some for herself.

She practised walking around the bedroom in her new shoes and decided that they didn’t hurt a bit. Then she jigged around a little and decided they would be fine to dance in. And in spite of all her reservations, she felt a soaring sense of excitement to think that she might get to dance with her husband for the first time ever.

Pulling open one of the wardrobe doors which Gabe rarely used, she was relieved to find it almost empty. She could shift some of her clothes in here. She took off her shoes and bent down to place them neatly on the rack at the bottom, when she noticed the corner of a drawer protruding, spoiling the otherwise perfect symmetry of the wardrobe’s sleek interior.

She wondered what drew her eyes to the manila colour of an envelope inside, but it was enough to make her hesitate. Was that why she didn’t immediately push the drawer shut, but slowly open it as curiosity got the better of her?

She didn’t know why her heart was beating so fast, only that it was. And she didn’t know why her husband should have wedged an envelope in some random drawer when he kept all his paperwork in the bureau in his study next door. Fingers trembling, she flipped open the top of the envelope because she could see that inside there were photos. Photos of a man. A stranger, yet...

Her heart missed a beat as she pulled out another photo. This time there were two men and one she recognised instantly because it was Gabe. But of course she recognised the other man too, because his features were unmistakeable.

High, slashed cheekbones. Piercing pewter eyes and dark golden hair. She swallowed. Two men standing outside what looked like a Parisian café. One of them her husband and the other very obviously his father.

But Gabe had never met his father! He’d told her that. She remembered the way his mouth had tightened and the bitter look which had darkened his eyes as he’d said it.

The envelope slipping from her fingers, Leila slid to her knees. He had met his father. There was photographic evidence of it right in front of her eyes. He had told her that this marriage would be based on truth, but it seemed that it was based on nothing but a tissue of lies.

Lies.

She felt the acrid taste of bile rising up in her throat and in that moment she felt utter defeat, wondering how she could have been so blind. So stupid. They didn’t have love, no matter how much she wanted it—and now it seemed that they didn’t even have trust either.

But she had ignored all the signs. She had blithely done what women were so good at doing. She had refused to listen to all the things he’d told her, because it hadn’t suited her to listen. He’d told her that he didn’t do love but she had thought—arrogantly, it seemed now—that she might just be able to change his mind.

And in that showy-off way, she had decided to throw a party which he clearly had no appetite for—he’d even told her that, too. She was planning to dress up in her new, shimmery party frock and her slightly too-high grey shoes and to explode into the flower-decked wedding room of the Granchester and make as if it were all okay. As if she were just like every other bride—happy and contented and expecting a baby. But she wasn’t, was she?

Maybe she could have been that bride. Maybe she could have settled for sex and affection and companionship, without the magic ingredient of love. She knew that plenty of people were happy enough with that kind of arrangement. But not lies. Because lies were addictive, weren’t they? You told one and you might as well tell a million.

The walls felt as if they were closing in on her, even though they were made of glass. But claustrophobia was all in the mind, wasn’t it? Just like trust.

She scrabbled around and found a sweater and pulled it on, because suddenly she was shivering. Shivering as if she’d caught a violent bout of flu. She grabbed her handbag and took the elevator downstairs and the porter she’d seen on her wedding day was there.

She rarely saw him these days, because usually she was rushing past with Gabe, or because they took the elevator straight down to the underground car park. It was as much as she could do to flash him a smile, but something on her face must have alarmed him for he rose to his feet, a look of concern on his face.

‘Everything all right, Mrs Steel?’

The unfamiliar use of her married name startled her but, with an effort, Leila pinned a smile to her face. ‘I’m fine. I just want some fresh air.’

‘Are you sure? Looks like rain,’ he said doubtfully.

Yes. And it felt like rain, too. Inside her heart, it felt as if the storm had already broken.

She started walking; she didn’t know where. Somewhere. Anywhere. She didn’t really pay attention to the route she was taking. She wasn’t used to the streets of London, but she didn’t care. A reckless gloom came over her. Maybe it was best that she got used to these streets now, so that when she was living on her own she would have a better idea of the geography of the city.

The rain began to fall. Slowly at first and then harder and more relentlessly, but Leila barely felt it, even though after a few minutes she was soaked right through. During the gaps between the loud thunderclaps above her, she could hear her phone vibrating in her handbag, but she ignored it.

She walked and walked until the riverbank became unfamiliar and the houses and shops less glitzy and much closer together. She saw people with angry dogs straining at their leashes. She saw youths huddled in shop doorways sheltering from the rain, dragging cigarette smoke deep into their lungs.

She didn’t know how long she’d been walking when she found a café. Her wet hair hung in stringy rat’s tails as she sat dripping in a steamy corner and ordered a mug of strong tea. Her phone began to ring and, uninterestedly, she pulled it out. She saw that it was Alice and that she had four missed calls—three of them from Gabe.

She pressed the answer button. ‘Hello.’

‘Leila, is that you?’ Alice sounded frantic.

‘Yep. It’s me.’

‘Are you okay? Gabe’s been going out of his mind with worry. He says he hasn’t been able to get hold of you.’

Leila stared at the steam which rose from her mug like smoke from a bonfire. ‘I’m fine,’ she said tiredly. ‘I just needed some fresh air.’

‘Leila.’ Alice’s voice now dipped to soft and cautious. ‘Where are you?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does. You sound...strange. Let me send a car for you.’

‘No.’

‘Then at least tell me where you are,’ pleaded Alice. ‘Just to put my mind at rest.’

Wearily, Leila looked down at the laminated menu and gave the name of the café. She would leave before Alice had a chance to send anyone, which was clearly what she had in mind. But her feet were aching and she was cold. Like, really cold. As if somebody had taken her bones and turned them into ice. So she just sat there as the minutes ticked away and the chatter of the other customers seemed to be taking place in a parallel universe.

She felt hungry, too. Hungry in a way which was unfamiliar to her and she knew that this was the baby speaking to her. Finding herself unable to ignore the unfamiliar cravings of her body, she ordered a white bread sandwich stuffed with thick slices of cheese and smothered in a sharp and pungent brown chutney.

She fell on it with an instinctive greed which seemed beyond her control and that was how Gabe found her. He walked into the humble café, his face sombre and his dark golden hair so wet that it looked almost black. Raindrops were running down over the high slash of his cheekbones and for one crazy moment it looked almost as if he were crying.

But Gabe didn’t do tears, she reminded herself. Gabe didn’t do emotions because he didn’t feel. Gabe’s hurt and pain had made him immune from the stuff which afflicted normal human hearts, like hers.

He walked straight over to her and leant over the table. Holding on to the back of a chair, he seemed to be having difficulty controlling his breathing and it was a moment before he could ice out his incredulous question.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Leila?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m eating a cheese and pickle sandwich.’ She finished chewing a mouthful which now tasted like sawdust and stared at him. ‘Anyway, I thought you were in meetings.’

‘I cancelled them when I didn’t hear from you. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.’

‘So Alice said.’

‘So Alice said,’ he repeated, and then his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you care?’

At this, she put the rest of the sandwich down on the plate but her hands were still trembling as she met the accusation in his eyes.

‘Don’t I care?’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I did. I cared very much. But I realise now how incredibly stupid I’ve been. I mean, how could I possibly think that ours was a marriage worth saving? You told me that our relationship was to be based on truth and you lied. A loveless marriage I could just about live with, but not lies, Gabe. Not lies.’

And with that, she pushed back her chair and ran out of the café.