In Bed with Her Ex

CHAPTER SEVEN

POLITELY they walked each other off the floor, slowing suddenly as they came within sight of the table. ‘Oh, no!’ Marcel groaned.

Cassie didn’t need to ask about the newcomer. A woman in her thirties, tense, angular and furious, sat next to Henri, hectoring him as only a wife would have done.

‘You found another floozie fast enough. I’ve been watching you dance with her.’ Her eyes fell on the blonde bombshell approaching the table on Marcel’s arm, and an expression of contempt overtook her face. ‘And here she is.’ She rose and confronted Cassie.

‘Got another one, have you? Finished with my Henri, think this one’ll have more money? That’s how your kind operate, isn’t it? Find out what they’re worth and move from one to the other.’ She glared at Marcel. ‘Don’t fool yourself. When she meets a man with more cash you’ll be history. Don’t suppose you know what it’s like to be dumped, do you? Well, you’ll find out with her.’

The air was singing about Cassie’s head. How would Marcel respond to these words that seemed to home in on his own experience with such deadly accuracy?

His reply amazed her.

‘Good evening, Madame Lenoir. I am so glad you could join your husband.’

‘Join him? I’m going to get rid of him for good. I saw him dancing with her, and what an exhibition that was! Now she can have him.’

‘You are mistaken, madame,’ Marcel said coolly. ‘Mrs Henshaw danced with your husband only out of courtesy. She is with me tonight, and I would prefer it if you did not insult her.’

‘Oh, would you? Well, I’d prefer it if—’

She got no further. Scenting danger, Henri started to draw her away, apologizing frantically. When they had gone there were sighs of relief. Monsieur Lenoir indicated for Cassie to sit beside him but she’d had as much as she could stand.

‘Forgive me,’ she said, ‘but I’m rather tired. I just want to go to bed. I’ll be at work first thing tomorrow morning. Goodnight.’

She was backing away hastily as she spoke, giving Marcel no chance to object. Not that he wanted to, she thought. He must be glad to be rid of her.

In her room she stripped off, showered and dressed for the night. Her pyjamas were ‘Mrs Henshaw’, plain linen, loose trousers, high buttons.

Stick to Mrs Henshaw in future, she thought. You could argue that Cassie hadn’t been a success.

Or you could argue that she’d been so much of a success that it had put the cat among the pigeons.

She paced the floor, too agitated to sleep. Everything that had happened this evening had been unexpected. She’d coped with surprise after surprise, and the biggest surprise of all had been Marcel’s defence of her.

But it hadn’t been personal, she thought with a sigh. Only what conventional courtesy demanded. If only …

There came a sharp knock on her door.

‘Who is it?’ she called.

‘Me.’ It was Marcel. He tried the door, rattling it. ‘Open the door.’

She did so. Instantly his hand appeared, preventing her closing it if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t want to. This moment had been too long in coming, and now she was ready for it with all guns blazing.

He pushed in so fast that she had to back away. His eyes darted around the room.

‘I’m alone,’ she said ironically. ‘Henri left tamely with his wife. He didn’t come flying back to me, whatever you think.’

‘You’ll pardon me if I don’t take your word for that.’

‘No, I won’t pardon you,’ she said. ‘I’m not a liar. There’s nobody here but us.’

He ignored her. He was opening doors, looking into the bathroom, the wardrobe. Her temper rose sharply.

‘Look at me,’ she said, indicating her dull attire. ‘Do you think any woman entertains a lover dressed in clothes like this?’

‘That depends how long she means to wear them. When she knows he’ll rip them off her as soon as possible—’

‘Is that what Henri wanted?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘He didn’t say.’

‘He didn’t need to. It’s what he wanted and every man in thet room wanted. That’s the truth and we both know it.’ ‘Now, look—’

He turned on her in swift fury. ‘Don’t take me for a fool!’

‘But you are a fool,’ she raged. ‘The biggest fool in creation. Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Locking the door so that we’re not disturbed. Since the conversation is getting down to basics, I have things to say to you.’

‘I think we both have things to say.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, and they’ve waited too long, Mrs Henshaw.’

For a moment she didn’t speak. Then she said quietly, ‘Are you sure that’s what you want to call me?’

‘I don’t want to call you anything. I’d rather not have to endure the sight of you. I thought you were safely out of my life, just a bitter, evil memory that I could kick aside. But now—’ He checked himself and looked her up and down, breathing hard with the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

‘It is you, isn’t it?’ he said at last.

It was the question he’d promised himself not to ask, because that would be a sign of yielding. But now he knew there had never been a choice.

‘It is you,’ he repeated.

‘You’ve known that all along.’

‘I thought so—sometimes I wasn’t sure—it didn’t seem possible that you could be—’ He broke off, breathing harshly. ‘I’ve tried not to believe it,’ he said at last.

‘So you didn’t want it to be true?’

‘Of course I didn’t,’ he said with soft violence. ‘Why should I want to meet you again? I can still hardly comprehend—what evil design made you come after me?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she cried angrily. ‘I didn’t seek you out. I went to see Marcel Falcon. Until I saw you I had no idea it was the man I’d known as Marcel Degrande. If I had known I’d never have gone to that meeting. When I recognised you I ran away as fast as I could.’

‘But you turned back.’

‘I didn’t mean to. At first I ran into the garden, but to finally escape I had to come back through the hotel and I met you coming out. Don’t you understand? I didn’t want to see you again. There was just too much—’

Suddenly the words choked her, and she turned away with a helpless gesture.

‘Yes,’ he growled. ‘Too much. We could never have met peacefully.’ He took hold of her and twisted her around.

‘Don’t turn your back on me. You flaunted your charms tonight, and I endured it, but no more! Did it please you to taunt and jeer at me?’

‘I wasn’t—’ She tried to free herself but he gripped her more tightly.

‘Don’t lie. You knew exactly what you were doing to me, wearing those—those—you know what I mean. What kind of twisted pleasure did it give you? Or don’t I need to ask? You played your games, the way you’ve always done—’

‘I never played games with you,’ she said desperately.

‘Oh, but you did. You just weren’t so frank about it in those days. Sweet, loving little Cassie, wide-eyed and innocent, honestly in love. And I believed it. Until I discovered that you were heartless, incapable of honest love. That was a useful lesson. Once learned, never forgotten. That’s the Cassie I knew. So tell me, who is Mrs Henshaw?’

‘She’s who I am now,’ she cried. ‘At least I thought so. I thought Cassie had died a long time ago.’

‘But tonight she rose again, didn’t she? Because some creatures never die. You showed me that nothing had changed, and stood back laughing at the result. I hope I didn’t disappoint you.’

‘Can that be true?’ she challenged him. ‘That nothing has changed?’

She heard his swift intake of breath, saw the wild look in his eyes and knew that she’d hit a nerve. He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. So she answered for him.

‘Of course it isn’t true, Marcel. It can’t be true.’

‘You said yourself that Cassie hadn’t really died,’ he reminded her coldly.

‘But she’s not the same Cassie. She’s seen things she never thought to see, things she didn’t want to see, but can’t forget. She’s trapped in her own memories. What about you?’

His terrible expression was her answer. It was the look of a man struggling to get free, knowing he was doomed to fail.

‘I can cope with memories,’ he said. ‘But from some things there’s no escape.’

‘If you’re accusing me of pursuing you, I’ve already explained—’

‘I’m not. Not the way you mean.’

She had pursued him in dreams and fantasies, visions and nightmares. He’d tried to drive her off, crying out that he hated and despised her—that if they met again he would take revenge. But her ghost laughed at his rage, jeered that she was stronger than he, and haunted him so relentlessly that when she’d actually risen before his eyes it was as though he’d summoned her by the force of his will.

He knew he shouldn’t tell her this. It would give her too much power, and her power was already alarming. But he couldn’t stop himself saying, ‘You were always there. A million times I tried to make you go, but you wouldn’t. Now you’re really here, and I’m no longer a callow boy to let you trick me and run.’

‘Why must you think the worst of me?’ she cried.

‘Haven’t I reason? Didn’t you desert me when I was almost at death’s door?’

‘No, I didn’t desert you,’ she cried. ‘I did it for you—’

‘Surely you can think of something better than that,’ he sneered.

‘It’s true. I had no choice.’

‘You’re lying and it’s not even a clever lie. Anyone could see through it.’

‘Listen to me—’ she screamed.

‘No, you listen to me. I hate you, Cassie, or Mrs Henshaw, whoever you are today. I shall hate you as long as I live. There’s only one thing about you that I don’t hate, and it’s this.’

He pulled her hard against him and looked down into her face. She felt his hands move away from her shoulders to take her head, holding it in the right position so that she couldn’t resist. She knew what he was about to do, but nothing could prepare her for the feel of his lips on hers after so long.

‘Marcel,’ she gasped.

‘You’ve been trying to drive me insane all evening, and now you’ve done it. Are you pleased? Is this what you wanted?’

It was exactly what she wanted and only now did she admit the truth to herself. All her anger and defiance had been heading for this moment, trying to drive him to take her into his arms. Her body, her senses and, if she were honest, her heart, had been set on this, and if he’d resisted her it would have been an insult for which she would never have forgiven him. A sigh broke from her, and her warm breath against his mouth inflamed him more. He deepened the kiss with his tongue, seeking her response, sensing it, driven wild by it.

Her arms seemed to move of their own accord, gliding up around his neck, holding, drawing his head fiercely against hers, sending him a message with her lips and tongue.

But suddenly he drew back as though forcing himself with a great effort.

‘Tell me to stop,’ he growled. ‘Tell me. Let me hear you say it.’

‘How can I?’ she said huskily. ‘You never took orders from me.’

‘You never needed to give me orders. I did what you wanted without you having to say it.’

‘You were always so sure you knew what I wanted,’ she murmured, looking up with teasing eyes that were as provocative as she meant them to be.

‘You never complained.’

‘Perhaps I was afraid of you.’

‘You?’ he echoed in a voice that was almost savage. ‘Afraid of me?’

‘Perhaps I’m afraid of you now. I’m in your power, aren’t I?’

‘Then tell me to stop,’ he repeated with grim emphasis.

For answer she gave him a smile that tested his self control to the limit. She felt the tremor go through him, and smiled again.

‘Tell me to stop!’ he said desperately.

‘Do you think you should stop?’ she whispered.

‘Damn you! Damn you!’

His hands were moving feverishly, finding the buttons of her pyjamas, wrenching them open, tossing the puritanical jacket aside. He touched her breasts with his fingers, then his lips, groaning softly so that his warm breath whispered over her skin, sending a frisson of delight through her.

She was aware of him moving towards the bedroom, taking her with him, but then all sensations merged until she felt the bed beneath her. He raised his head to gaze down at her and she instinctively began to work on his buttons, ripping them open even faster than he had ripped hers.

It was dark in this room and all they could see of each other was their eyes, fierce and gleaming with mutual desire. And then the moment came. After so many years they were one again, moving in a perfect physical harmony that defied their antagonism. The old memories were still alive, how to please each other, inflame each other, challenge, defy, infuriate each other. And then how to lie quietly in each other’s arms, feeling the roar die away, leaving only fulfilment behind.

She could barely make out his features, but she sensed his confusion. For once in his life, Marcel was lost for words. She gave him a reassuring smile.

‘Would you really have stopped if I’d asked you?’ she murmured.

A long silence.

‘Let’s just say … I’m glad you didn’t ask me,’ he said at last, slowly.

She waited for him to say more. Whatever the past, they had suddenly discovered a new road that could lead back to each other. Surely now he would have words of tenderness for her?

Full of hope, she reached out, brushing her fingertips against his face.

But he drew back sharply, stared at her for a moment, then rose from the bed like a man fleeing the devil.

‘No,’ he said softly, then violently, ‘no!’

‘Marcel—’

‘No!’ he repeated, then gave a sudden bitter laugh. ‘Oh, mon dieu!’ He laughed again, but there was no humour in it, only a grating edge.

‘Look at me. How easily I … well done, Cassie. You won the first battle. I’ll win the others but it’s the first one that counts, isn’t it? Did you hear me on the dance floor tonight, saying I waited for no woman? That has to be the biggest and stupidest piece of self deception of all time. All those years ago I waited for you—waited and waited, certain that you would come in the end because my Cassie loved me. Waited … waited …’ He broke off with a shudder.

So the past couldn’t be dealt with so easily, she thought. She must tell him everything, help him to understand that she’d had no choice but to save him from harm. But surely it would be easier now?

‘Marcel, listen to me. I must tell you—’

But he couldn’t hear her. He’d leapt up and was pacing about, talking frantically, lost in another world. Or perhaps trapped in a cage.

‘Once I wouldn’t have believed it possible to despise anyone as I’ve despised you. In those days I loved you more than my life, more than—’ He stopped and a violent tremor went through him. ‘Never mind that,’ he said harshly.

‘I guess you don’t want to remember that we loved each other.’

‘I said never mind,’ he shouted. ‘And don’t talk about “each other”. There was no love on your side, or you could never have done what you did.’

‘You don’t know what I did,’ she cried.

‘I know that I lay for days in the hospital, longing to see you. I was delirious, dreaming of you, certain that the next time I opened my eyes you’d be there. But you never were.

‘I called your mobile phone but it was always switched off. The phone in your apartment was never answered. Tell me, Cassie, didn’t you ever wonder why I vanished so suddenly? You never wanted to ask a single question?’

She stared. ‘But I knew what had happened, that you’d had an accident and were in hospital. I told you that in my letter.’

‘What letter?’

‘I wrote, telling you everything, begging you to understand that it wasn’t my fault. I put it through your door—I was sure you’d find it when you came home. Oh heavens! Do you mean—?’

‘I never read any letter from you,’ he said, and she was too distracted to notice how carefully he chose his words.

‘Then you never knew that I was forced to leave you—I had no choice.’

He made a sound of impatience. ‘Don’t tell me things that a child couldn’t believe. Of course there was a choice.’

‘Not if I wanted you to live,’ she cried. ‘He said he’d kill you.’

‘He? Who?’

‘Jake Simpson.’

‘Who the hell—?’

‘I’d never heard of him either. He was a crook who knew how to keep his head down. People did what he wanted because they were scared of him. I wasn’t scared at first. When he said he wanted me I told him to clear off. You were away at the time. I was going to tell you when you got home, but you had the accident. Only it wasn’t an accident. Jake arranged it to warn me. He showed me a picture of you in hospital and said you’d die if I didn’t drop you and turn to him. I couldn’t even tell you what had happened because if I tried to visit you he’d know, and you’d have another “accident”.

‘I went with him because I had to. I didn’t dare approach you, but I couldn’t endure thinking of you believing that I’d played you false. In the end I wrote a letter and slipped it through your letter box. Obviously you never got it. Perhaps you’d already left by then. Oh, if only you could have read it. We’d still have been apart, but you’d have known that I didn’t betray you, that I was forced to do what I did, and perhaps you wouldn’t have hated me.’

She looked at him, standing quite still in the shadows.

‘Or maybe you’d have hated me anyway. All these years—’

‘Stop,’ he said harshly. ‘Don’t say any more.’

‘No, well, I guess there’s no more to say. If I could turn back the clock I’d put that letter into your hands and make you read it and then perhaps I wouldn’t have been such a monster in your heart—’

‘I said stop!’ he shouted.

She came to a sudden resolution. Reaching up from where she was sitting on the bed, she took his hand and urged him down until he was sitting beside her.

‘You don’t know whether to believe me or not, do you? Everything about us is different—except for one thing. Very well. If that’s the only way I can make you listen to me, then that’s the way I’ll take.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You’ve implied that I’m a bad woman who’ll use her physical charms to get her way with you. Well, maybe you’re right. After all, I know now that I can do it, don’t I?’

‘What are you saying?’

‘That I’ll do what I have to. Maybe you know me better than I know myself. Perhaps I really am that unscrupulous. Maybe I’ll enjoy it. Maybe we both will.’

As she spoke she was touching his face. She knew she was taking a huge risk, but there was no other way. At all costs she would soften him, drive the hostility from his eyes.

To her relief she could feel him softening, feel the hostile tension drain from him, replaced by a different kind of tension.

‘Hold me,’ she whispered.

He did so, reaching for her, drawing her down to stretch out on the bed, or letting her draw him down. Neither of them really knew.

Their first encounter had been entirely sexual. This one was on a different plane. No words were spoken, but none were needed. In each other’s arms they seemed to find again the things that had been missing the first time—sweetness, warmth, the joy of the heart.

Afterwards they held each other with gentle hands.

‘We’ll get there,’ she promised. ‘We’ll find a way, my darling, I promise we will.’

He didn’t reply, and she suddenly became aware that his breathing was deep and steady. She turned her head, the better to see his face, and gave a tender smile as she saw him sunk in sleep.

It had always been this way, she remembered. He would love her with all the power and vigour of a great man, then fall asleep like a child.

‘That’s right, you sleep,’ she murmured. ‘Sleep and I’ll take care of everything.’

Slowly her smile changed. Now it was one of triumph.

In the twilight world that came just before awakening she relived a dream. So many times she’d fallen asleep in his arms, knowing that he would still be there in the morning. Sometimes she’d opened her eyes to find him looking down at her adoringly. At other times he would be sunk in sleep, but always reaching for her, even if only with his fingertips. It was as though he could only relax with the assurance of her presence.

And me, she thought hazily, knowing he would be there meant that life was good. She opened her eyes. She was alone. He was gone.

She sat up, looking around frantically, certain that there was some mistake. The room was empty. Hurrying out of bed, she searched all the rooms but there was no sign of him. Marcel had stolen away while she slept.

But he’d vowed to keep her a prisoner. The outer door would be locked.

It wasn’t. It yielded at once and she found herself looking out into an empty corridor. Something about the silence was frightening.

She slammed the door and leaned back against it, refusing to believe that this could have happened. Last night they’d found each other again, not totally but enough for hope. They should have spent today talking, repairing the past. Instead he’d walked out.

But he might have fled through caution, she thought. Don’t judge him until you’ve spoken to him.

She dressed carefully. Cassie or Mrs Henshaw today?

Finally she settled on a mixture, restrained clothing as befitted her job, but with her hair flowing freely. He would understand. A quick breakfast and she was ready to face whatever the challenge was.

The door to Marcel’s apartment was opened by a middle-aged woman with a friendly face.

‘Bonjour. I am Vera, Marcel’s secretary. He has left me instructions to be of service to you.’

‘Left you—? Isn’t he here?’

‘He had to leave suddenly. For what reason he did not say. I’m a little surprised because he has so much to do, and he didn’t even tell me where he was going.’

So that was that. He was snubbing her, escaping to some place where she couldn’t follow. Perhaps she should simply take the hint and leave, but that seemed too much like giving in without a fight. How he would triumph if he returned to find her gone. Grimly she settled down to work.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LAURA Degrande had settled contentedly in a small house in the suburbs of Paris. It wasn’t a wealthy district, but she always said life was better without wealth. Her marriage to Amos Falcon had not been happy, and the only good thing to come from it was her son, Marcel. He would have kept her in luxury, but she refused, accepting an allowance that was comfortable, but no more, despite his indignant protests. It was the only blot on their otherwise affectionate relationship.

Her face lit up when he appeared at her door.

‘My darling, how lovely to see you. I was thrilled to get your call this morning. What is it that’s so urgent?’

Hugging her, Marcel said, ‘I need to look through some old stuff that you stored for me.’

‘Have you lost something?’

‘You might say that. Are the bags where I left them?’

‘Still in the attic.’

‘See you later.’

He hurried up the stairs before she could answer, and shut himself away in the little room, where he began to pull open bags and boxes, tossing them aside when they didn’t contain what he wanted. When Laura looked in he turned a haggard face towards her.

‘There’s something missing—a big grey envelope—I left it here—it’s gone—’

‘Oh, that. Yes, I found it but there was only rubbish inside, shreds of paper that you’d obviously torn up. I thought they should be thrown out.’

‘What?’ The sound that broke from him was a roar of anguish. His face was haggard, desperate. ‘You threw it out?’