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“The big difference between you and me, Ms Erickson, is I don’t have to work. You envy me. I know you do. I can’t blame you. I’ve got everything you want. Everything you’ll never get.” She spoke quite threateningly. “Remember, I’m watching you.”
From long practice, Sonya was able to keep a rein on her own temper. “Do you suppose that bothers me?” she asked coolly.
Colour mottled Paula’s cheeks. “It should! I’m in a position to make things go rather badly for you.”
“I’m supposed to take that as a threat?”
“Take it any way you like,” Paula said sharply. “Doesn’t it make you happy you’ve got poor old Marcus wrapped around your little finger?”
“Happy? It makes me ecstatic.” Sonya felt reduced to black humour. “Is that want you want to hear?”
Paula sucked in her breath, looking aghast. “So you admit it! I think it’s absolutely loathsome what you’re doing. You’re nothing but a gold-digger.”
“You should stop listening to gossip, Paula. And might I remind you I’m a guest here, just like you.” How did she get rid of this woman? She was fully aware she was looking into the face of raw jealousy. Jealousy was a malignancy. It ate into the soul. “Do you think we might call a truce here and now, Paula?” she suggested, in a conciliatory voice. “You surely can’t want a scene? You’ll be upsetting Lady Palmerston.”
“Like you’re not?” Paula challenged, fiercely affronted by the suggestion they were equals. “Rowena and Holt are right onto you. That’s why you’ve been invited. So they can keep an eye on you. Holt told me. He tells me everything. We all know who’s doing the upsetting.” Paula stepped nearer. Oddly there was a smile on her face.
A warning should have lit up like a neon sign. Sonya knew in an instant she had backed up dangerously close to the edge of the pool. But the speed with which she pitched backwards into the water stunned her. Gulps of it went down her throat. The pool water was surprisingly cold, to her shocked body near freezing. It closed over her head, locking her in its shining blue depths. The impact drained her whole body of strength. Panic flooded into her brain. She was flailing helplessly.
Her inner voice kicked in, giving her orders.
Lift up your arms. Kick your legs. Stroke upwards. Come on. You can do it.
She felt her sandals slide off her feet. Her clothes, even her long hair, were holding her down. With a huge effort she shot to the surface, water streaming off her head. She had time to catch an agonised half-breath, then she went down again, her heart pounding. This time she had the sense to clamp her mouth shut.
The embarrassing part was, she couldn’t swim. How humiliating was that? She had never learned like any four-year-old Australian child how to swim.
Poolside, Paula, in tears now, was screaming for help. Sonya could hear the scream reverberating underwater. Paula hadn’t pushed her. Paula hadn’t touched her. Paula had simply manoeuvred her nearer the edge. Her high heels and loss of balance had done the rest. She couldn’t possibly drown. There were too many people around. Anyone who said the drowning process was euphoric had it all wrong.
Next thing she knew a solid body was in the water with her. A strong arm arced out and grabbed her. The arm easily reeled her in. She clung to her rescuer, barely seeing him with the water in her eyes. But she knew who it was even before their heads hit the surface.
David.
Her chin was at water level.
“Spit it out. Spit the water out,” he ordered, gripping her tight. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
She did as she was told.
“Good girl. You’ll be fine now.”
“Oh, my God!” She couldn’t help herself. She moaned. Other guests crossed her vision. All wore anxious faces. No one was laughing.
“It’s all right, Sonya,” David assured her. “You can’t swim?”
Instead of answering his question she found herself saying quite tartly, “I wasn’t planning on going in the water.”
His smile flashed. “Good. You sound more like yourself.”
A young man called Raymond, who had been very attentive to Sonya during the afternoon, crouched over, reaching out an arm. “I’ll take her from here, Holt.”
“Thanks, Ray.”
While Raymond and another young man hauled Sonya out of the water, Holt dived to the bottom of the pool to retrieve Sonya’s high-heeled sandals. Then when he surfaced he passed them to a distressed Rowena while he heaved himself out. He had rid himself of his own shoes before taking his unscheduled dive.
Rowena and Marcus were on hand, both looking upset, holding up towelling robes. One pink. One navy. “Here, dear girl, put this on,” Rowena urged, holding out the pink robe with such kindness tears sprang to Sonya’s eyes. Marcus was busy helping his nephew into the navy robe, which David used to towel over his water-sleeked dark head.
“Come into the house,” Rowena bid Sonya quietly. “We’ll get you dry.”
Sonya began apologizing. “I’m so sorry for spoiling such a lovely day, Lady Palmerston. I was standing too near the edge. I slipped. I can’t swim unfortunately.”
“I’ll teach you,” Ray called out with enthusiasm. Even sopping, Sonya looked glorious. A real erotic turn-on. The silk shirt was plastered to her high breasts, revealing peaked nipples and darkish pink aureole.
“Poor old you!” Camilla moved in closer to rub Sonya’s back consolingly. “But look at it this way. You’re not the first person to take an unexpected header into that pool. Paula should have known better. Where is she anyway?” Camilla turned her glossy head.
“I expect she’s upset,” Sonya heard herself saying, modestly pulling her soaked shirt away from her breasts.
“Like we all care!” Camilla whispered in Sonya’s ear. “Want me to come with you?”
Sonya tried a smile. “Thanks, Camilla, but I’ll be fine once I’m out of these wet things.”
Inside the house Marcus studied Sonya very intently. “I do so wish that hadn’t happened to you, my dear. You slipped?”
He appeared so shaken, Sonya reached out a gentle hand to stroke his cheek. “A silly accident, Marcus. Not to worry.”
“I wish I could believe that.” His distinguished face looked decidedly unhappy.
“It was an accident, Marcus,” she stressed, painfully aware she was dripping pool water all over the floor. “Let it go.”
Marcus glanced over to where Rowena, head bent, was having a few quiet words with David. “I’ll get you home,” Marcus said.
“But you’ve been so enjoying yourself,” she protested. “It’s been a lovely afternoon. I like to see you so relaxed. You would have to call your chauffeur back.”
Marcus shook his head. “That’s not a problem. It’s his job.”
Rowena walked quickly over to them. “I’ve suggested to David he take you home, Sonya. He wants to go now. He’ll take you if you’re happy with that?”
David too moved back towards them, addressing his uncle. “It’s no problem, Marcus, to drop Sonya off. I expect, like me, she wants to go. Your chauffeur will take a good thirty minutes to make the return journey. Rowena would like you to stay on a while longer.”
Sonya began to finger comb her long wet hair. “Yes, please stay, Marcus,” she urged, though Marcus looked most undecided. “The last thing I want is for a silly accident to ruin your day. I’ll ring you this evening. Promise.”
“Please,” Marcus answered.
So it was arranged.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY were out on the open road, the big car moving soundlessly except for the soft purr of the air conditioning. Neither of them had said anything for a full five minutes but all sorts of sparks were flying, each trying to envision what was on the other’s mind. Sonya was wearing a brand-new pink tracksuit Lady Palmerston had provided her with. David’s tracksuit was pearl grey. Obviously outfits like theirs were kept on hand for guests.
“I have an idea that wasn’t an accident.” David was the one to break the silence, his expression on the grim side. He had seen through Paula’s Academy-Award-winning performance.
Sonya shook her head. Her hair was billowing madly from the dip in the pool water, but it was almost dry after a few minutes with a hairdryer. Lady Palmerston’s Filipina maid, Maria, had attended her, taking charge of her wet clothes, except for her bra and briefs, which had been popped in the dryer so she could put them back on. “Entirely my fault,” she said.
“Camilla told me you were standing with Paula.”
“You can safely rule out any push.” She had seen the accusation in Camilla’s eyes, heard it in her voice, so it wasn’t difficult to guess what Camilla had told him.
“Can I now?” he asked, tersely shooting a quick glance at her.
“What happened to Paula anyway? Surely you didn’t leave her behind?”
“Paula came in her own car. She went home in it too. Very upset, or so she made it appear.”
“Poor Paula!” she dryly commiserated.
“Give me a break! “ he retorted. “Paula pushed you.”
“Paula never laid a finger on me,” she said firmly. “Though I certainly didn’t make that spectacular jump on purpose. Paula and I had a few words. It made me less cautious around the pool.”
“So, then, it was a planned manoeuvre?”
“I never said that at all.”
“You’re being very gracious,” he offered.
“It comes very easily to me.”
“Those aristocratic genes for sure,” he pointed out sardonically. “Anyway, I must apologize.”
She half smiled. “I enjoy hearing you apologize.”
“I thought you might. What were you talking about anyway?”
She stared through the window at the beautiful day. People were out and about in their numbers, enjoying the sunshine and their naturally beautiful city with its magnificent blue harbour. They were passing a small park, a lovely sanctuary of mature shade trees and broad stretches of lush green grass. Children were playing around a central fountain, others had claimed the swings, attended by their doting parents. One little girl in a pretty dress patterned with delicate wildflowers waved joyfully at her. Sonya waved back, a tender smile on her face.
“You, would you believe?” she said and gave a faint laugh.
He groaned, shooting her another quick glance. She looked ravishing with her white-gold mane draped like luminous curtains around her face and falling down her back. The pink of the tracksuit was perfect against her white skin. “So are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
He responded with a crooked smile. “If I say please?”
She shook her head. “You don’t need to know. But I will tell you this. She believes I’m a gold-digger. Her words, echoing yours.”
“A woman as beautiful as you doesn’t have to do a damn thing. Much less dig,” he said crisply. “Marcus is one thing. But why would I come into the conversation?”
“My dear David,” she answered with supreme nonchalance, “the woman would kill for you.”
“I assume you’re joking?” There was a decided edge to his voice.
“You should have a word with her,” she suggested. “It’s not every day a girl has two Wainwrights to choose from. She said I was—wait for it—after you as well!”
“She didn’t.” He almost cringed. It was up to him now to put Paula straight. It hadn’t worked before. It would now.
“Paula is suffering,” Sonya pointed out, not without empathy. “If you don’t love her, maybe you should put her out of her misery? Or is it the mother you’re worried about? I understand she’s the mother from hell.”
He laughed. “Who told you that?”
“As if I’d reveal my sources!”
“Raymond.” He hit on the answer. “Did he ask for your phone number?”
“He’s coming into the shop. He’s very attractive. I liked him.”
“He obviously loved you.” His tone was openly goading. “Isn’t that sweet? I’m so enjoying mixing with the megarich.”
He slotted the Mercedes smoothly between two little runabouts. “This will give the neighbours something to talk about,” she said.
“Aren’t you going to ask me up?” He turned his handsome face to her.
“I dare not,” she said sharply.
He gave her a smile that would make the strongest-willed woman go weak at the knees. “Oh, come on, Sonya. Do you get many visitors?”
“Not too many.”
“At the very least you can make me a cup of coffee. I want to see where you live.”
“You know where I live,” she said, in an off-putting tone. “In fact you never even asked for directions.”
“Let’s get out,” he suggested.
“If you must.”
The voice of caution kicked in. This is going to be very, very tricky.
The apartment complex wasn’t the top end of the market, or anywhere near it, but it was attractive, a contemporary design, well maintained, and in a quiet suburban street. There were only four floors. Sonya’s apartment was at the top. There was no one in the lift. Sonya didn’t look at him on the way up. She was worryingly off balance, but determined to hide it. She knew if he touched her—even her hand—everything would change. So he must not touch her. And she couldn’t afford to be too friendly. Her involuntary physical reactions to him were depleting her supply of self-control. There could be no winners here. Not him. Certainly not her. For her there would be punishment of some kind.
They were inside the small two-bed apartment. Sonya had filled it with the sort of things that reminded her of her early life.
Holt looked around with pleasure. “You decorated this yourself?” He had already guessed the answer. “Where did you get all the old pieces?”
She watched in some wonderment as he moved around the living room. David Wainwright here! She almost felt like bursting into emotional tears. She had been so lonely. Marcus, lovely man that he was, couldn’t hope to fill the sad void in her. But David! She berated herself for her weakness. “I picked them up from demolition yards, jumble sales, second-hand shops.” She managed to sound perfectly calm. “It’s amazing what people part with. I had to work on all my finds, of course. I love timber.”
“So do I. This appeals to me greatly.” He ran a hand over the back of a carved chair with very fine finials. It looked Russian.
“I’m absolutely delighted.” She purposely spiked her tone.
Keep it light. Don’t deepen the connection.
The living-dining area was the usual open plan, he saw. There was a galley-like small kitchen with granite bench tops and good stainless-steel appliances. The balcony had been made a relaxing green haven with luxuriant plants. But what she had done to an ordinary space was what impressed him.
“This has a lot of character.” A beautiful scrap of tapestry had been used to cover the top of the cushion on its seat. “Not our sort of character where the emphasis is generally on exploiting the natural light, the sunshine and the indoor-outdoor lifestyle. This is a glimpse into a different world. Neo-Gothic maybe?” He glanced across the room at her, his eyes touching on her face and lissom body.
“There’s that,” she agreed. “I like the way the timbers gleam so darkly against the white walls. The white-tiled floor I managed to cover with a really good rug, as you can see. That set me back a bit but it was worth it. I don’t own the apartment. I rent it.”
“And the big painting on the wall?” His interest was truly captured.
“Mine,” she said. “Anyone can paint flowers.”
“No, they can’t!” He moved nearer the painting, an oil reminiscent of the Dutch school: dark background, lightly touched with green and mauve strokes, with massed flower heads, roses, peonies, lilies, others, taking up the entire central canvas. “This is very painterly,” he said with genuine admiration.
“I can’t resist flowers. I used a palette knife.”
“Aren’t you clever! “ He was giving the painting his full attention. “Who taught you?”
“Oh, a relative,” she said evasively.
“As forthcoming as usual?” His black eyes mocked. “You know, you could make a good living as an artist, Sonya. I could help you.”
“You think that preferable to my capturing your uncle’s heart and along the way a good slice of his fortune?” she retorted more sharply than she had intended. But she was made nervous by how easily he was getting under her skin. If he stayed too much longer she didn’t think she could withstand his powerful aura. The very last thing she wanted was for a man to turn her whole world inside out. Contact was too dangerous. He would never give her what she needed. He would eventually marry some beautiful young woman within his own circle. She knew there would be a long list for him to choose from.
He sensed her concealed agitation. “Is that what you really want, Sonya?” The force of his gaze pinned her in place.
“What I want is perhaps something I will never get,” she said enigmatically. “Now would you excuse me for a moment? I want to get out of this tracksuit.” From the moment she had met him, every instinct had warned her not to allow him to come close. She knew she couldn’t deal with emotions that could not be contained.
“Take your time,” he called after her as she started to move down the narrow passageway. “I’m going to take a look at your books.” He crossed to the large timber bookcase that stood against the end wall. It was jammed with books. “German, French, Russian, Hungarian, how weird is that?” he called after her. “No need to be in a rush to tell me.”
“See how much you can work out on your own,” she threw ironically over her shoulder.
When she returned she was wearing a long turquoise and lime-green dress that hung from shoestring straps over her bare shoulders. The bodice clung lovingly to her breasts, then fell in a fluid drop to her ankles. She wore little silver ballet shoes on her feet. Obviously she had run a brush through her hair, but the great thing was she had left it loose. “What languages do you speak?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes from her. She looked so beautiful, so strangely innocent, he had to suck in his breath.
“A few.” She moved quickly into the kitchen. There would now be a high barrier between them.
“You read Goethe and Schiller in the original? I saw that wonderful monument to them both when I was last in Germany. Then you have the French collection. A well-thumbed Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, Victor Hugo, Dumas, Gautier among others. A lot of Hungarian literature, Janos Arany, Kazinczy, Molnar, a very old chronical of Magyar affairs.”
“You know perfectly well I have Hungarian blood.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” he lightly jeered. “Hungarian accent according to Rowena. Norwegian surname. Norwegian ancestry? What’s the big secret anyway? What is it you’re frightened of giving up? There has to be a better way, Sonya. Your manner, the extreme reserve, only adds fuel to the fire. It’s as if you didn’t exist up until five years ago.”
“Maybe I’m on the run from villains,” she suggested, preparing the coffee.
He shot her an impatient look. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t trust me one bit.”
“How can I when you make yourself one-hundred-percent inaccessible? What sort of life have you had?”
He sounded as though it really mattered to him. That shook her. Her body was filling with shivery sensations.
“You must have had lovers?” How had they ever let her go?
She looked up very quickly from what she was doing, green eyes frosted. “Why make it sound as if I had a brigade of them? The truth is, I don’t like men all that much.”
“So you keep the ones you consider dangerous at a distance. It’s the why I want to know. There’s got to be an answer.”
“Distance is effective,” she said, pressing the button on the coffee machine.
“Generally speaking women who want distance don’t give off high-octane sparks,” he said dryly. “Not to men anyway. You do, Sonya. You know it. I know it.”
She felt the heat that rushed into her cheeks. “How do you know I don’t already hate you?”
“Okay, tell me,” he invited. “Do you?”
She kept her eyes down. “Black or with cream?”
“All right, don’t answer me,” he said as though it was just what he expected. “Black, two sugars.”
“Something with it?”
“No, thank you, Sonya. For God’s sake come from behind that counter. There’s not a lot of danger out here.” How could he claim that, when the atmosphere was potentially explosive?
She gave him a cool look. “This is where I make the coffee.”
“Looks more like you’re barricading yourself in.”
“I definitely am not.”
“You definitely are,” he contradicted.
“Well, we’re enemies, aren’t we? In a manner of speaking, of course.”
He considered. “It might surprise you, Sonya, but I’m not gunning for you.”
“What else would you call it?” She came around the counter, carrying the tray set with coffee things.
He stood up to take it from her, the brief touch of his hands on hers enough to soak her in warmth.
“On the coffee table, please,” she said, trying to regain her habitual cool. “I hope it’s the way you like it.”
“What I’d like is for you to sit and talk to me,” he said very seriously.
“I fancy our talk would turn into an interrogation.” She shrugged. “You know my name, age, occupation, my address. What else do you need?”
“I have to say—plenty.” His tone hardened somewhat. “You’re getting yourself into something here, Sonya, as I’ve already warned you. You should be prepared. You told Marcus you’d ring him this evening.”
“I will. No need to make it sound like a duty.” She sat down on the opposite sofa, leaving her coffee on the table.
“Do you fully understand how much he cares for you?” he asked.
“Well, I care for him,” she replied with a touch of aggression. “His humour, his gentle nature, his generosity, the brilliance of his mind. There aren’t many men as gentle and courtly as Marcus. I feel safe with him.”
“Will you marry him if he asks you?” He put it to her bluntly.
Her emerald eyes flashed fire. “Are you really entitled to an answer?”
“Please don’t be cute.”
“Cute? Cute? You must be crazy!” Tempestuously she leapt to her feet, her hair flying. “I am not like that. Why don’t you answer my questions.”
“I might if you sit down again.” He was having difficulty keeping his own emotional balance. He felt desire coiled deep within him like a tempting serpent. It was imperative he keep his distance, adjust his moral compass in the right direction.
“So don’t make me angry.” Sonya sank down again, reaching for a silk cushion as if she might throw it at any moment. “My question: are you serious about your Paula or are you just stringing her along?”
That rankled. “Paula and I go back a long way.”
“No doubt to the cradle.” She gave a tiny mocking yawn. “Only it’s you who should be paying attention. You’re not behind the door handing out unsolicited advice, so I tell you as a favour, she’s madly in love with you.”
He gave her a long, intense look. “Does this mean I’m under some sort of obligation to return her love? I’ve never told her I was. I am not stringing her along as you’re suggesting. In my experience one only has to press a woman’s hand for her to start hearing wedding bells. I’ve dated a lot of attractive women. Not so many of late, I’m afraid. I’m too damned busy.”
“Why wouldn’t you be, as your father’s heir?” she commented. “Why does Paula Rowlands want to hurt me? Why would she say such words? I very much resent I’m ‘after’ you. One would think it was a hunt.”
“In a way it is.” He gave a brief laugh. “We’re all out there looking, searching, hunting for a soul mate.”
“And you’ve rejected everyone so far?”
He levelled an intense stare at her. “Haven’t you?”