Читать книгу Night Of Shame - Miranda Lee - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

THE night was cold outside. Sydney in August was still nippy, and often windy. Spring was nearly a month away.

Judith shivered as they hurried down the front path and over to the waiting grey Mercedes. It was all very well for Raymond to dismiss Alexander from his mind. Judith’s mind had never been that kind. She’d tried to dismiss him over the last seven years, but had never really succeeded.

Now he’d been forcibly thrust to the forefront of her thoughts again but he wasn’t even the same man she remembered. How on earth had he gone from being a small-time farmer to a high-powered real-estate man in only seven years? It seemed impossible. Unless he’d inherited money.

Or married it...

The thought of Alexander marrying had never occurred to her before, which was crazy. Why shouldn’t he be married? The man was now thirty-two years old.

She ached to ask Raymond if he was aware of Alexander’s marital status, but knew it would be too revealing a question. Her own inner churnings over the matter were revealing enough as it was. Why should she care if he was married or not? She hated the man, didn’t she?

Raymond drove as he always did. In silence. He needed to concentrate, he’d told her the first night he’d taken her out to the ballet—about a year ago. And she always obliged by not indulging in any distracting chatter.

Normally, she found this quite relaxing, but tonight it gave her too much time to think. What would have happened, she agonised, if Alexander’s sister hadn’t told her the truth? Would she have run after Alexander when he hadn’t shown up as promised? What excuse would he have made not to have any more to do with her? Guilt?

Perhaps. Probably. And she would have believed him. Her own guilt had been crushing.

Her head whirled and her thoughts tumbled on. What would have happened, too, if Simon hadn’t followed them that night and caught them in the act? Judith didn’t believe Alexander’s intention had been to cause Simon’s death. She believed he had come to the house that first day intending to have things out with his supposed best friend. She’d witnessed his tension during that first hug.

But then he’d spied Judith, stupid, smitten Judith, standing there drooling open-mouthed over him, and his plan had immediately changed from open confrontation to devious revenge. He would seduce Simon’s silly fiancée, maybe even make her pregnant, as Simon had Karen. He would destroy Simon’s happiness, uncaring if he destroyed hers at the same time.

Ruthless, he’d been, in his vengeance. Quite ruthless.

Admittedly, there’d been evidence of some regret afterwards. He’d seemed genuinely distressed by Simon’s death. But it had been too late then, hadn’t it? Too late for Simon. Too late for herself...

Judith’s stomach churned as she thought of all she’d suffered at his hands. God, but she hated him, hated him with the same kind of passion which had once filled her with desire. The only desire she had now was to see him in hell—the same hell he’d consigned her to all those years ago!

‘We’re ten minutes late,’ Raymond pronounced as he turned the Mercedes into Margaret’s street, a very fashionable address in Hunter’s Hill.

‘We’ll still be the first ones here, Raymond,’ she said, knowing from experience that when people said parties started at eight most of the guests turned up at nine, or later.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the lovely old two-storeyed home Raymond had bought and presented to Margaret as a wedding present, the absence of other cars at the kerb or in the driveway confirming Judith’s opinion that they were the first arrivals.

‘Mr Fairchild doesn’t know I’m your fiancée, does he?’ she asked as they made their way up the steep front steps.

‘I certainly never told him,’ Raymond replied. ‘And there are no photographs of you on my desk. You know I don’t go in for that kind of sentimentality,’ he said firmly, and rang the doorbell.

Judith frowned at this last remark as they waited silently for the doorbell to be answered. Were all men as practical and pragmatic as Raymond? Was sentiment a strictly female prerogative?

Surely not, she decided. Simon had been a very warm and sensitive man. It had been the first thing she’d noticed and loved about him.

Judith herself felt things very deeply and was quickly moved to sympathy for the plights of others. That was why she’d decided to be a nurse in the first place. Unfortunately, however, sometimes she felt things too deeply.

After she’d completed her training as a nurse, she’d worked in the Aids ward for a while, but had finally had to request a transfer to a general ward after breaking down once too often. She’d been just too heartbroken at her patients’ suffering and their lack of any real hope.

Over the years she’d learnt to control her emotions better, especially in public, but she was still a softie underneath, crying copious tears at sad movies. Letters from her mother or her sister could start her off, as did pictures of neglected and abused animals in newspapers. She usually hid her tears, however, turning to her toy friends for comfort rather than real people.

Raymond would be embarrassed if she ever blubbered all over him. It was as well, Judith decided now, that she was to keep her own bedroom after they were married. At least there she had Peter to blubber all over. He didn’t mind one bit!

‘For pity’s sake stop worrying about Fairchild,’ Raymond snapped suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. ‘He might not even turn up. You know how people are about parties these days.’

Judith’s heart leapt momentarily at the possibility that she still might escape the awful prospect of coming face to face with Alexander again. But somehow she didn’t think fate was going to be that kind.

‘He’ll show up,’ she muttered.

Raymond shot her a sharp look. ‘You promised you wouldn’t make a scene.’

Judith sighed. ‘I won’t, Raymond. But I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled about seeing him again.’

‘Just don’t do or say anything that might jeopardise my business dealings with him.’

Judith fell silent, hurt by Raymond’s total insensitivity towards her feelings on this matter. It showed her just where she rated with the man she’d agreed to marry. She would always play second fiddle to his business. She would never come first. Never.

Judith’s unhappy thoughts were scattered by the opening of the front door and the appearance of Margaret’s sleazily handsome husband. Admittedly, Mario did cut a fine figure of a man in the black silk-blend dinner suit he was wearing, but there was something infinitely repulsive about his oily, slicked-back hair and slightly feminine features, not to mention his overly effusive manner.

‘Ray! Judy! Marge will be so pleased you’re finally here.’ His Latin accent was attractive but his penchant for nicknames annoyed Judith to death. ‘It wouldn’t do for the guests of honour to be too late, would it?’

He babbled on as he ushered them both into the hallway. The central heating, rather stuffy after the crisp air outside, enveloped Judith, causing beads of perspiration to break out on her forehead. She drew a tissue from her purse, dabbing nervously at her face.

‘Here, Judy,’ he said, stepping round behind her. ‘Let me take your jacket. You look hot.’

With one swift movement, deft fingers removed the security of her jacket. Judith glanced apprehensively over her shoulder, only to see two lecherous dark eyes raking over her bosom. She flushed under Mario’s lustful stare and turned to Raymond for sanctuary. Swiftly linking her arm through his, she was about to bustle him into the large living room on their left when she was halted by the sight of Margaret floating down the stairs towards them in lavender chiffon.

Dear Lord, what an unattractive woman she was!

Her looks were similar to her brother’s, but where he could be described as tall and lean Margaret was skinny and shapeless. Raymond was able to carry off a long face and large nose with distinction. On his sister, they looked horsy. The down-turn of a sour mouth didn’t improve things, either.

‘How naughty of you to be late, Raymond, love,’ she said brushing her brother’s cheek with a kiss before flicking cold eyes over Judith. ‘My, that’s a daring little dress you’re wearing tonight, Judith.’

‘She has the figure to wear it,’ Raymond retorted, surprising Judith with his defence of her. In the past, Margaret’s snide remarks had seemed to go right over his head. She smiled her gratitude at him but he didn’t smile back, his eyebrows bunching together as he scowled down at her cleavage.

Judith’s heart leapt when the front doorbell rang behind her, but it wasn’t Alexander who was ushered in. It was a couple she didn’t recognise. Frankly, she didn’t recognise any of the people who arrived over the next hour, other than Raymond’s secretary, who came on her own. A widow in her early forties, Joyce was a pleasant but rather plain woman who had worked for Raymond for eons and was devoted to him.

Judith found herself introduced to distant relatives of Raymond’s she’d never met before, then half a dozen business associates and their wives, plus several sophisticated couples who were part of Margaret and Mario’s social set.

They all gave Judith a thorough once-over, and once again Judith got the impression she was found wanting as a bride-to-be. Too young for Raymond, their eyes seemed to say. And far too flashy.

But Judith was beyond caring what any of them thought. She stood by Raymond’s side near the marble fireplace, smiling plastic smiles and sipping champagne while her whole attention was riveted on the doorway which led back to the front hall. She was watching and waiting for Alexander to arrive, dreading it, yet desperate for it at the same time. There was nothing worse than waiting for something awful to happen. Far better to get it over and done with.

But Alexander didn’t arrive. Nine o’clock came and went. The introductions dried up and the party settled into full swing. More champagne flowed. Finger food was served from circling trays. The tone of the background music changed to a dancing beat.

The more sedate guests found chairs and sofas while the young at heart spilled from the main living room into the large family room beyond, where they could dance on the polished wooden floor. Raymond and Judith settled in a corner of the lounge room, along with Margaret and Joyce, while Mario was off dancing and flirting as usual.

Judith wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or not by Alexander’s non-appearance. There was a tight pain in her chest from holding herself in anticipation of seeing him again which was not at all relaxing. When the sound of the doorbell came again—at least fifteen minutes after the last arrival—she suddenly felt faint. This was him. She just knew it.

‘Perhaps that’s our errant Mr Fairchild,’ Raymond whispered in her ear as Margaret rose and went to answer the door. ‘I sincerely hope so.’

Judith felt Joyce’s eyes on her as she waited in stiff silence for Margaret’s return. Why was Raymond’s secretary staring at her like that? she wondered. Did she look as pale as she felt? And as petrified?

Please, God, don’t let me still feel what I once felt for him, she prayed as she waited. I couldn’t bear it.

She stared blankly down into her half-empty glass of champagne, flinching when Raymond abruptly got to his feet.

‘Alexander!’ he boomed in a hearty greeting. ‘You made it. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’

‘I had a business dinner I couldn’t get out of,’ came the deeply timbred reply. ‘I came as soon as I could get away.’

A shudder ran through Judith at the sound of that voice. So utterly male. So impressively mature. It hadn’t changed one bit.

Her eyes slowly lifted, following the length of his tall frame, which was casually yet elegantly encased in a beige woollen suit and a black crew-necked sweater. Shock rippled through her when her gaze reached his face, for there he had changed.

Never a classically handsome man, the years had etched a brutal harshness on his already sharp features, and he looked every one of his thirty-two years. His once longish, wavy black hair was cut very short on top, the sides slicked ruthlessly back. His skin was weathered and deeply tanned. There were deep lines around his mouth, crow’s-feet around his eyes and a smattering of grey at his temples. He looked tough as teak, and every inch the ruthless bastard she’d always believed him to be.

Hard black eyes suddenly met hers, and for a moment he stared at her in total astonishment.

‘Judith?’ he said, his voice a shocked rasp.

Judith was speechless as she gazed up at him. Nothing had changed, she realised with a sinking heart and a rapidly escalating dread. Nothing...

‘You know Judith?’ Margaret said, her thin eyebrows arching in surprise.

‘Mr Fairchild’s an old friend of Judith’s,’ Raymond supplied into the decidedly thickening atmosphere. ‘They haven’t seen each other in years. No doubt you’re somewhat surprised to find you already know my fiancée, Alexander. I know Judith was a bit taken aback when I dropped your name this evening, weren’t you, darling?’

‘Indeed I was,’ came her amazingly calm reply. It showed Judith she was far more capable of handling the situation than she would ever have expected. Inside she was a mess, but it didn’t show on the outside, she realised with enormous relief.

‘How are you, Alex?’ she asked with cool composure, a light smile playing on her lips. ‘You’re looking fit and well. Raymond tells me you’ve gone into real estate.’

‘That’s right.’

Judith gained some satisfaction from seeing that her adversary was far more rattled than she appeared to be. His nostrils had flared wide at the revelation that she was Raymond’s fiancée. Now he was frowning as though he could hardly credit his misfortune in meeting up with her again.

‘How did you and Judith come to be friends?’ Margaret insisted on knowing. ‘Goodness, I hope you’re not some long-lost love come to claim Raymond’s fiancée at the last moment,’ she added, with a dry little laugh.

Judith felt sick at this ironic remark. Love had never come into it. Not even on her side. She could see that now. Her feelings for Alexander were exactly the same as they’d been seven years ago. It was lust, not love. One look, and her body still snapped to attention, craving the chemistry only he could evoke. Yet she loathed the man. How perverse could one get?

‘Hardly,’ Alexander drawled. ‘Judith was once engaged to my best friend.’

‘Really?’ Margaret was all ears. ‘I had no idea you were engaged before, Judith. Did you know she was engaged before, Raymond?’

‘Yes, of course I did,’ he snapped. For once, he was looking at his sister with irritation. ‘Judith doesn’t like to talk about it. Her fiancé was tragically killed in a road accident a couple of days before the wedding.’