Читать книгу Wicked Surrender: Ruthless Awakening / The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress / The Timber Baron's Virgin Bride - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 7

RETREAT was impossible, of course. There were people behind her, and she was being carried forward by their momentum. Towards him.

And then a voice beside her said, ‘It’s Rhianna Carlow, isn’t it? Lady Ariadne from Castle Pride. This is a bit of luck. May I have a quick word?’

Rhianna turned quickly to the newcomer, youngish and thin-faced, his brown hair slicked back, his smile confident, but her relief was short-lived.

‘I’m Jason Tully,’ he went on. ‘From the Duchy Herald. May I ask what you’re doing so far from London? They’re not planning to shift the new Castle Pride series down to Cornwall, are they?’

‘Not as far as I know.’ She could handle this, she thought, making herself smile back, every nerve in her body tinglingly aware that Diaz Penvarnon was standing only a couple of feet away. ‘Although that would be lovely, of course. But I’m actually here on a private visit.’

She was careful not to mention it was a wedding, in case her presence there was enough for him to rouse the rest of the press pack and bring them homing in on Polkernick Church.

Which would no doubt be interpreted as her deliberate attempt to upstage the bride, she thought bitterly.

‘I see.’ He signalled to an older stouter man, carrying a camera, then looked past her to the train. ‘So, are you travelling alone, Rhianna? You don’t have a companion?’

‘I’m on my way to see friends,’ she returned, not daring to look at Diaz and see his reaction.

‘Sure.’ Jason Tully grinned again. ‘I guess you know it’s just been announced that your co-star Rob Winters has split up with his wife? I’m wondering how you feel about that?’

Ah, so that’s who you were expecting to see following me off the train, you little weasel.

She suppressed an inward groan.

‘No, I hadn’t heard that,’ she returned steadily, aware that Diaz was absorbing every word of the exchange, brows lifted cynically, that other people were halting to stare—and listen. ‘And if it’s true I’m—sorry. However, I’m certain that it’s a temporary difficulty which will soon be resolved.’

‘But you and Rob Winters are pretty close?’ he persisted. ‘Those were some very torrid love scenes you played in the last series.’

‘Yes,’ Rhianna said. ‘We played them. Because we’re actors, Mr Tully, and that’s what we’re paid for.’

And you will never know, she thought, how true that is—for me, anyway.

She added, ‘And now—if there’s nothing else…?’

‘Just a picture, if you don’t mind.’ He looked at Diaz, standing in silence, his hands on his jean-clad hips. ‘And you are?’

‘Miss Carlow’s driver.’ Diaz stepped forward and took the bags from her unresisting hands. All of them, she realised too late, including her handbag, with her money, return ticket and everything else.

‘I’ll be waiting in the car—madam,’ he added, as he turned away, heading for the exit. Leaving her staring after him.

‘We only came down here to do a story about the delay in track repairs,’ Jason Tully announced jubilantly as Rhianna recovered herself, posing obediently for the camera. ‘This is a real bonus.’

Your bonus, she thought. But my can of worms.

‘Have a nice visit,’ he added as she began to walk away. ‘I hope you enjoy yourself with your—friends. When you meet up with them.’

The innuendo was unmistakable, and she rewarded it with another dazzling smile, wishing that she could knock him down and jump on him.

He’ll be on to the nationals as soon as he can get his mobile phone out of his pocket, she thought bitterly as she left the station. I only hope that idiot Rob is staying with his parents in Norfolk, and hasn’t chosen to go to ground somewhere, in true dramatic fashion. Or nowhere west of Bristol, anyway.

But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had her own problems to deal with. The most major of which was standing beside his Jeep, his face bleak and hostile, his pale eyes brooding as he watched her walk towards him.

Her mouth felt dry, and her hands were clammy. If there had been anywhere to go she’d have turned and run. But that wasn’t possible, so she’d have to fall back on sheer technique.

Treat it as stage fright, she thought. Then go on and give a performance. The kind that saves the show.

‘Mr Penvarnon,’ she said, her voice cool and detached. ‘What a surprise. I thought you’d be on the other side of the world.’

‘You hoped,’ he said, as he opened the passenger door for her. ‘Was that why you decided to ignore my advice?

Her brows lifted. ‘Is that what it was?’ she asked ironically. She climbed into the vehicle, making a business of smoothing the skirt of her plain café au lait linen dress over her knees. ‘I thought I was being threatened. And I don’t respond well to threats.’

‘But you deal very well with inconvenient questions from reporters, I notice,’ Diaz said smoothly. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t use that coy old cliché, We’re just good friends, when he was quizzing you about your involvement with Robert Winters.’ He paused. ‘So, what is he? Your consolation prize for missing out on the man you love?’

Her heart seemed to stop, but she managed to keep her voice level.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Both Rob and his wife are genuinely friends of mine, but Daisy and I are closer because we met at drama school. And the reason they’re having problems is that she wants to stop work and have a baby, whereas he sees them as some starry theatrical couple on a smooth and uninterrupted ride to the top. I see no reason to mention that to the press, local or national.’

She paused, drawing a swift breath that she tried to keep steady. ‘And I’m telling you this only because I’m sick of the implication that any other woman’s man is fair game as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Your protest is touching,’ he said, as the Jeep moved forward. ‘But the evidence is against you.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps it’s genetic.’

‘If you mean like mother, like daughter,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you just say so? I have no objection. Because I know that whatever my mother did it was for love, and that I am no different.’

‘Slow curtain,’ he said sardonically, ‘and tumultuous applause. I loved the authentic quiver of sincerity in the voice, sweetheart. You could make a living in straight drama without needing to take your clothes off on television. But perhaps you enjoy it.’

He paused. ‘Incidentally, how did this good friend of yours react to the sight of you cavorting naked with her husband?’

She shrugged. ‘She thought it was funny.’

Even now she could remember being in Daisy’s kitchen, the pair of them hooting with uncontrollable laughter as they waited for Rob to come back with their Indian takeaway.

‘Do you know how long it took me,’ Daisy had asked tearfully, ‘to put concealer on his bum because he thought he was getting a spot?’

‘He didn’t mention that.’ Rhianna shook her head, hiccupping. ‘He just kept c-complaining about the draught on the set.’

‘He does that when we’re in bed,’ said his loving wife, wiping her eyes. ‘Invariably at the wrong moment. He’s terrified of catching a cold. Some people have champagne in their fridges. We have gargle, bless him.’

God, but they were so right for each other, Rhianna thought. Rob—his ambition and talent battling his anxieties. Daisy—serenely grounded.

Their love for each other had been unquestioned and unquestioning—until Daisy’s biological clock began ticking away.

If they were now separated it had to be a glitch, she told herself passionately, because they belonged together in a way she could only observe and admire. And, if she was honest, envy.

‘So what are you doing here, Rhianna?’ Diaz’s voice broke harshly across her thoughts. His hands were gripping the wheel so fiercely that the knuckles stood out. ‘God knows there isn’t a soul that wants you at Penvarnon—apart, I suppose, from Carrie. In her case, love is indeed blind, or she’d have seen you a long time ago for the treacherous, self-serving little madam you really are.’

‘Heavens,’ she said. ‘What a turn of phrase. If we ever need a scriptwriter for Castle Pride I’ll recommend you. Unless, of course, you’re planning an alternative career as a cabbie?’

‘You didn’t really think I’d risk Simon coming to meet you from the train?’ he said softly. ‘Because my poor trusting Carrie would have let him do it if I hadn’t stepped in.’

‘Dear me,’ she said lightly. ‘Is he so little to be relied upon?’

‘No.’ His voice hardened. ‘You are. You’re the loose cannon around here. The snake in the grass. And don’t think I’ll let that slip my mind even for a minute.’

They were outside the town by now, and he swung the wheel suddenly and sharply, pulling the Jeep on to the verge at the side of the road and bringing it to an abrupt halt.

‘And this isn’t more advice,’ he went on. ‘It’s a warning to be taken seriously.’

He drew a deep breath. ‘You probably have every red-blooded man in Britain lusting after you, but that’s not enough for you—is it? Because you didn’t learn your lesson five years ago. You had to make another play for Simon, and this time it worked.’

He paused. ‘But, sadly for you, the Rhianna effect didn’t last. You can’t have been too pleased when the stupid bastard came to his senses just in time, and realised what was genuine and worthwhile in his life, and how easily he could have lost it. After all you’re irresistible—according to the television company’s publicity machine.’

His voice roughened. ‘You betrayed the best, most loyal friend you’ve ever had in order to bed Simon, just to prove that you could. But on Saturday she’s still the one he’s going to marry. And you will say nothing and do nothing to jeopardise that in any way. Do I make myself clear?’

‘As crystal.’ She stared straight ahead of her through the windscreen. ‘Tell me—did Simon receive a similar lecture, or was this fascinating diatribe designed for me alone?’

‘I didn’t need to have another go at him,’ he said. ‘Simon is subdued enough already. And he’s made it clear that he bitterly regrets the criminal stupidity of putting his entire future on the line, however potent the temptation. I recommend you keep out of his way,’ he added grimly.

‘No problem,’ she said. ‘It’s not as if we’ll be sharing a roof for the next two nights, after all. And if you’re concerned about the daylight hours, why not ask the Hendersons if they’ll move out of the flat and put me back in the stables—the servants’ quarters—where I belong?’

‘When,’ he said harshly, ‘did you ever belong anywhere at Penvarnon?’

She should have expected it, but for a moment Rhianna felt her throat close in shock.

But I never wanted to be there. She wanted to say it aloud. Shout it. Not once. And I left as soon as I could. If it wasn’t for Carrie, I wouldn’t be here now. And once these next few ghastly days are behind us, you’ll never—ever—see me again.

But she remained silent. Because he would no more believe her now than he’d done in the past, so there was no point in hoping.

She simply had to deal with the present pain, and face the uncertainty of the future. Both of which she would accomplish alone.

Then his hand moved. The engine roared into life and the Jeep moved forward.

Taking them to Penvarnon.

‘Alone at last.’ Carrie’s laughter had an edge to it, and her hug was fierce. ‘Oh, Rhianna, I’m so thankful that you’re here. Wasn’t it ghastly downstairs just now? You must have noticed.’

‘You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife,’ Rhianna conceded drily as she returned the hug. ‘But I attributed that to my arrival.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ Carrie returned. ‘Besides, no one cares about a lot of old nonsense that happened years ago. Not any more.’

Don’t they? Oh, God, don’t they? What makes you so sure? Because I can think of one person at least who hasn’t forgotten a thing. Or forgiven…

She was still shaking inside, she thought, as she had been throughout the remainder of that taut, silent drive to the house. Seated beside him, hands clamped in her lap. Staring at nothing.

Still shaking when she reached for the door handle almost before the car had stopped on the wide sweep in front of the main entrance and swung herself recklessly, desperately, out on to the gravel.

She’d thought—imagined—just for a moment that Diaz had very quietly said her name, and in that instant had been tempted to turn and look at him.

Only to see Carrie, almost dancing with excitement at the top of the shallow stone steps, while Henderson, very correct in dark trousers and a linen jacket, came down to collect her luggage. So she’d walked towards the house instead.

And as they’d moved inside she’d heard the car drive off—fast.

Swallowing, she now applied herself to the task in hand—hanging the dress carrier in the elegant wardrobe and unzipping her travel bag. ‘So, what’s the problem?’

Carrie sighed. ‘Just that the bell seems to have gone for round fifty in the battle of the mothers. Dad says it’s like Waterloo—”a damned close-run thing”—then disappears to the golf club. His answer to everything these days,’ she added, with an unwonted hint of bitterness.

‘Well, you can’t expect him to take a passionate interest in hemlines, flower arrangements and tiers on the cake.’ Rhianna tried to sound soothing. ‘He probably thinks it’s his duty just to keep quiet and write the cheques. Besides,’ she added, ‘knowing that he’s going to have to give you away very soon now and watch you disappear to Cape Town must be preying on his mind, too. Maybe he needs time and space to deal with that?’

‘It’s going to be hard for me too,’ Carrie admitted unhappily. ‘Oh, Rhianna, Simon and I—we are doing the right thing, aren’t we?’

Rhianna’s heart lurched. ‘In what way?’ She tried to sound casual.

‘The new job. I sometimes get the feeling that Simon’s having second thoughts about it. He’s been so quiet over the past few weeks. Yet when I ask him he says everything’s fine.’

Rhianna bent over her case, letting a swathe of waving mahogany hair hide her sudden flush. ‘Then probably everything is,’ she said constrictedly. ‘And don’t forget that it’s only a job, Carrie, not a life sentence. If it doesn’t work out, you move on.’

‘I suppose so. But Diaz probably wouldn’t be too pleased about that.’

‘And is the maintenance of his goodwill really so vital?’ She tried to speak lightly. ‘Or just a habit?’

‘Well, he has been incredibly kind,’ Carrie said. ‘After all my parents could never have afforded a place like this, and Diaz has let us live here all this time.’ She sighed. ‘Although that’s coming to an end quite soon, as I expect he told you.’

‘No.’ Rhianna straightened. ‘No, he didn’t mention it. But we’re hardly on those terms.’

‘Oh.’ Carrie looked at her, dismayed. ‘I thought maybe things had improved a little in that quarter—especially as he offered to fetch you from the station. Simon volunteered, naturally, but Diaz reminded him he was supposed to be getting his hair cut in Falmouth, and said he’d go instead.’

‘Yet another of his many acts of kindness,’ Rhianna commented unsmilingly. ‘So, what’s happening about the house?’

Carrie shrugged. ‘Apparently he’s coming back here. To settle, would you believe? Mother thought, from something he said in passing, that he might be getting married, but there doesn’t seem much sign of it. No announcement, and he certainly isn’t bringing anyone to the wedding. In fact he may not even stay for it himself. Not with his new toy to play with.’

‘Toy?’

‘His boat.’ Carrie rolled her eyes. ‘Windhover the Wonder Yacht. Or that’s how Dad describes it. Like the best kind of floating hotel suite, but powered by a massive engine and moored down at Polkernick. He brought it round from Falmouth the day before yesterday and he’s sleeping on board, which has saved Ma having hysterics over the bedroom arrangements here, because usually it’s all change when Diaz comes to stay, and as he wasn’t expected there’d have been uproar.’

‘Of course,’ Rhianna said. ‘The master must have the master bedroom—however inconvenient.’

But at least this boat might keep him at a distance, she thought. Maybe that’s where he was driving off to just now? I can but hope.

‘Well,’ Carrie said tolerantly, ‘you can hardly blame him for wanting his own space. It is his home, after all, even if he hasn’t spent that much time here in the past. And now, to Ma’s horror, he wants it back, and she’ll have to give up being Lady of the Manor.’ She grimaced. ‘Which she’ll hate.’

But she’ll go down fighting, Rhianna thought, remembering Moira Seymour’s bleak gaze meeting hers a short while ago, from the sofa in the drawing room where she’d sat, poised and chilly as ever, in a silence that had been almost tangible.

‘Ah, Miss Carlow.’ The cut-glass voice had not changed either. ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey?’ She’d added coldly, ‘Caroline tells me she has put you in the primrose room.’

All the attics full, are they? Rhianna had asked silently. The oubliette filled in?

However, she’d smiled, and said, with her best Lady Ariadne drawl, ‘It sounds delightful, Mrs Seymour. I’m so glad to be here.’

Then she had turned, still smiling, to the woman sitting opposite. ‘Mrs Rawlins, how lovely to see you again. You’re looking well.’

Not that it was true. Widowhood had put years and weight on Simon’s mother, and given her mouth a sour turn.

‘I hear you’re making a name for yourself on television, Rhianna?’ As opposed to soliciting at Kings Cross, her tone suggested. ‘I find so few programmes of any substance these days that I tend to watch very rarely, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Rhianna had echoed gently.

‘Tea will be served in half an hour, Caroline,’ her mother had said. ‘Please bring your guest to join us,’ she’d added, after a brief hesitation.

Rhianna had been glad to escape upstairs to the designated ‘primrose room’, which turned out to be as charming as its name suggested, its creamy wallpaper and curtains patterned with sprigs of the tiny flowers, and the bed covered in a pretty shade of leaf-green.

Moira Seymour might not be her favourite person, but Rhianna couldn’t fault her choice of décor.

Now, she said slowly, ‘Your mother’s bound to find leaving here a wrench. But it’s an awfully big house for two people.’

‘True,’ Carrie agreed. ‘But an even bigger one for a determined bachelor like Diaz. Unless, of course, he does intend to bite the bullet and become a family man.’ She paused. ‘Did you ever see him with anyone in particular? The times you ran across him in London, that is?’

Rhianna stared at her. She said jerkily, ‘Did he tell you we’d met there?’

‘He mentioned you’d been at some bash together.’ Carrie shrugged. ‘Something to do with insurance?’

‘Apex, the company sponsoring Castle Pride.’ Rhianna nodded. ‘But it was a very crowded room, so I didn’t notice if he had a companion.’ My first lie.

‘And you were both at a first night party for a new play, weren’t you?’

‘Perhaps. I don’t recall.’ Rhianna was casually dismissive as she put away the last of her things. She looked at her watch. ‘Now, I suppose we’d better go down to the promised tea. But you’d better explain to me first why the swords are crossed and the daggers drawn. I thought Margaret Rawlins and your mother were friends?’

Carrie sighed. ‘They were never that close,’ she admitted. ‘You see, the Rawlins’ cottage was originally a second home, and Ma doesn’t approve of such things. Cornwall for the Cornish and all that—even though she and Aunt Esther were both Londoners. And the fact that Mrs Rawlins has now moved down here permanently hasn’t altered a thing.’

‘But that can’t be all, surely?’

‘No.’ Carrie pulled a face. ‘When we began discussing wedding plans Margaret opted out completely. Said that whatever we decided would be fine with her. So—we went ahead.’

‘Except she changed her mind?’ Rhianna guessed.

‘And how,’ Carrie said fervently. She began to tick off on her fingers. ‘We agreed on the guest lists ages ago, but each time we put the numbers in to the caterers she came up with someone else who simply must be invited. That’s probably why she’s here today—with yet another afterthought. And that’s not all. She thought the charge for the marquee was extortionate and insisted we get another quote from a firm she knew, with the result that someone else hired the one I really wanted. Then, last week, Margaret asked with a sad smile if “Lead Kindly Light” could be one of the hymns, because it was “my poor Clive’s favourite.”‘ She shook her head. ‘It’s beautiful, I know, but hardly celebratory. Besides which, all the Order of Service booklets were printed ages ago.’

She took a deep breath. ‘There—that’s off my chest. Until the next instalment, anyway. And I know there’s going to be one. I feel it.’

‘Oh God.’ Rhianna looked at her with fascinated horror. ‘Couldn’t Simon have a word with her?’

Carrie sighed again. ‘I asked, but Simon’s very defensive about his mother. Says she’s still mourning his father, which I’m sure is true, and that we must make allowances—especially as we’ll be moving so far away.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, as I said, he seems in a world of his own these days.’

‘Oh?’ Rhianna picked up her brush and stroked it carefully through her hair, meeting her own watchful gaze in the mirror. ‘In what way?’

‘Like nearly missing today’s hair appointment, for one thing,’ Carrie said ruefully. ‘And a few times lately I’ve arranged to ring him at his flat, only he hasn’t been there. Says he forgot, and has stuff of his own to do, anyway.’

‘Probably hung over after his stag night and doesn’t want to admit it,’ Rhianna said lightly.

Carrie stared at her. ‘But his stag party was ages ago. He went to Nassau with a bunch of guys from work. They got this special deal and stayed for a couple of extra days. Surely I told you?’

‘Yes,’ Rhianna said. ‘Yes, of course you did. I’m an idiot.’

How could I forget? How could I possibly forget the trip to Nassau, when it was only a couple of days later that I found out about the baby?

She put down the brush, aware that her colour had risen swiftly, guiltily, again.

‘I keep telling myself that it doesn’t matter,’ Carrie went on. ‘That it will all be over soon and Simon and I will be on our own, making a new life for ourselves. That I’ll look back and laugh at all these niggles. Only…’

‘Only just for now you’d like to punch Mrs Rawlins’ lights out,’ Rhianna supplied briskly. ‘Perfectly understandable—even commendable.’

‘Oh, Rhianna.’ Smiling, Carrie slipped an arm through hers. ‘Thank heavens you’re here. Nothing is going to seem as bad from now on.’

Oh, God, Rhianna thought, her stomach churning as they went downstairs. I just hope and pray that’s true.

Her uneasiness increased when the first person she saw in the drawing room was Diaz, lounging in a chair by the open French windows, glancing through a magazine. The new toy, apparently, wasn’t as compelling as she’d hoped.

As they came in he rose politely and smiled, but his eyes, slanting a glance at Rhianna, were as hard a grey as Cornish granite. She made herself walk calmly past him, choosing a deep easy chair where he’d be out of her sightline.

But not, unfortunately, eliminated from her consciousness. She was still as aware of him, of his silent, forbidding presence, as if he’d come to stand beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

She had also placed herself at a deliberately discreet distance from the sofas, where the two mothers were ensconced opposite each other—tacitly acknowledging her position as the outsider in this family gathering, but not so far away that she didn’t notice there was now a large, flat box beside Margaret Rawlins and wonder about it. But not for long.

‘Caroline, dear,’ Mrs Rawlins said, as her future daughter-in-law obediently took a seat beside her mother. ‘I was thinking the other day of that old rhyme, “Something old, something new…” and I remembered the very thing. I wore it at my wedding and kept it ever since—thinking, I suppose, that one day I’d have a daughter. But that wasn’t to be, of course. So I’d like you to carry on the tradition instead.’

She lifted the lid of the box and carefully extracted from the folds of tissue paper inside a mass of white tulle, layer after layer of it, and a headdress shaped like an elaborate coronet, each of its ornamental stems crowned by a large artificial pearl.

It looked, Rhianna thought dispassionately, like something the Wicked Queen might wear in a remake of Disney’s Snow White. Only not as good.

In the terrible silence that followed, she did not dare look at Carrie.

Eventually, Carrie said slowly, ‘Well, it’s a lovely thought, but I wasn’t actually intending to wear a veil, just some fresh flowers in my hair. Didn’t I explain that?’

‘Ah, but a bridal outfit is incomplete without a veil,’ said Mrs Rawlins brightly. ‘And although I’m sure your dress is very fashionable and modern, I know Simon is quite old-fashioned at heart, and he will like to see you in something rather more conventional too.’

She paused. ‘You’ll have to be very careful with the coronet, of course. It’s extremely delicate, and one of the stems is already a little loose.’

Rhianna found herself looking at Margaret Rawlins with fascination and some bewilderment. She recalled Simon’s mother as a perfectly pleasant woman, a good cook and devoted to her family, who had joined in all the local activities with open enjoyment.

So how on earth had she come to turn into the Control Monster?

As for her comments about Simon…

Was it ‘old-fashioned’ and ‘conventional’ for a bridegroom to have been sleeping with someone else for the past three months? Telling that someone else that he loved her? Inventing that special deal in the Bahamas in order to be with her for a few stolen days? And eventually committing the overwhelming error of making her pregnant?

My God, she thought, a tiny bubble of hysteria welling up inside her. What a truly great tradition to uphold.

She glanced at Carrie and saw her looking anguished, while Moira Seymour’s mouth was tight with outrage.

And then the door opened, and Mrs Henderson came in pushing a laden trolley. The tension, perforce, subsided—if only temporarily.

It helped that it was a superb tea, with plates of tiny crustless sandwiches, a platter of scones still warm from the oven, accompanied by a large bowl of clotted cream and a dish of homemade strawberry jam, together with a featherlight Victoria sponge and a large, rich fruitcake.

Mrs Rawlins fussed endlessly about getting the veil back into its protective wrappings before any of it was served—much to Rhianna’s regret. A well-aimed cup of tea would obviously have solved that particular problem for good.

So she’d have to think of something else.

As she returned her tea things to the trolley, she casually picked up the coronet and carried it over to the French windows, as if to examine it more closely.

‘Oh, do be careful.’ Mrs Rawlins’ voice followed her. ‘As I’ve said, one of the stems is very fragile.’

‘So it is, but I’m sure I can fix that,’ Rhianna said brightly, as her fingers discovered that the stem in question had actually become partly detached from the base.

Well, I’m already the least favourite guest, she thought, so what have I to lose? And she gave it a sharp and effective tweak, before gasping loudly in dismay and turning contritely back to the owner.

‘Oh, heavens, it’s come off altogether now.’ Her voice quivered in distress. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Rawlins. I can’t believe I could be so clumsy.’

‘Let me see it at once.’ Margaret Rawlins was on her feet, her face furiously and unbecomingly flushed. ‘Perhaps it can be repaired.’

‘I doubt it very much.’ Diaz had risen too, unexpectedly, and was crossing to Rhianna’s side, taking the mutilated object from her hand. ‘It looks seriously broken to me. But it’s probably better for this to happen now instead of during the ceremony. That would have been really embarrassing.’ The smile he turned on the agitated Mrs Rawlins was charm personified. ‘Don’t you agree?’

‘I suppose so,’ the older woman returned after a pause, lips compressed. ‘But I don’t know what Simon will say when he hears.’

Rhianna stared down at the carpet, as if abashed, her long lashes veiling the sudden flare of anger in her eyes. Simon, she thought grimly, has other things on his mind to worry about.

Fussily, Mrs Rawlins picked up the box with the veil. ‘You had better take this upstairs, Caroline—before there’s another accident,’ she added, with a fulminating glance at Rhianna.

‘Yes,’ Carrie said without enthusiasm. ‘Yes, of course.’ She glanced appealingly at Rhianna, who picked up the cue and immediately followed her.

‘You’re a star,’ Carrie said simply, tossing the box onto the bed in her room. ‘But what the hell am I going to do with a thousand yards of dead white tulle when I’m wearing ivory satin? Look.’

The dress was lovely, Rhianna thought instantly as it was removed from its protective cover and displayed. A simple Empire line sheath, needing no other adornment but Carrie’s charming figure inside it.

She considered. ‘What flowers are you wearing in your hair?’

‘Roses,’ Carrie said. ‘Gold and cream, like my bouquet.’ She took the veil from the box and lifted it up. ‘But they won’t be substantial enough to hold a weight like this.’

‘Then we’ll just have to make it manageable.’ Rhianna paused. ‘Got a sharp pair of scissors handy?’

‘Oh, God,’ said Carrie. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Cement my reputation as the arch-vandal of the western world,’ Rhianna told her cheerfully. ‘Simon’s mother will never speak to me again, of course, but that’s a small sacrifice to make.’

Besides, she would have far more powerful reasons to hate me—if she knew…

She took the veil from Carrie and placed it on her own head, studying herself in the full-length mirror. ‘Heavens, it swamps me—and I’m taller than you. However, if we just use one layer we’ll be able to see your hair through the tulle, and the flowers will help too, of course. Besides, if I’m careful, it can all be sewn back together afterwards,’ she added, grinning, and gave Carrie an encouraging push towards the door. ‘Now—scissors and sewing kit.’

Left alone, she picked up the dress with immense care and held it in front of her to see the whole effect. She’d use the veil’s shortest tier, she thought, as it would only reach Carrie’s shoulders and therefore wouldn’t detract from the lovely simplicity of the dress itself.

At least she hoped so. After all, she’d had enough costumes practically re-made on her to know what worked and what didn’t, she thought drily.

Then paused, staring at herself, suddenly stricken, as she asked herself what she was doing. Why was she taking this trouble over a wedding that shouldn’t even be happening? How she could be helping her friend marry a man who had already betrayed her so terribly?

Especially when there was no guarantee that it would never occur again, she thought bitterly. That Simon would suddenly become repentant and faithful.

But he was the husband Carrie had always wanted—had set her heart on from young girlhood. Had waited for. And this wedding was going to be the culmination of all her sweetest dreams.

The image in the mirror was suddenly blurred. Rhianna lifted a hand and quickly wiped away her tears before they could fall on the precious satin. Besides, she thought she heard a movement in the passage outside, and she couldn’t risk Carrie coming back to catch her weeping.

Nor could she take the dream of her friend’s whole life and smash it. She would have to keep the secret. Pretend she had no idea there had been a hidden love affair. No baby so soon and so finally eliminated from the equation.

And no dream for me, either, she told herself, pain twisting inside her as she put the dress gently back on its padded hanger and covered it.

Out of all that had happened, she thought, that was the hardest thing to bear. Knowing that she had nothing left to hope for.

And having to live with that knowledge for the rest of her life.