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‘You’ll have to fill in the details of your account,’ he said.
She did so, too bewildered to argue, and in a moment it was done.
‘Now, you just give the money to Dave and it’s finished,’ Marcel said.
‘Actually, I give it to Laura. That way the bills get paid. He’d just be off down the pub.’
The contempt in her voice was plain. With more relief than he cared to admit, Marcel realised that Dave didn’t have the place in her life that he’d suspected.
Dreaded?
‘Thank you,’ she said as she completed the transaction. ‘I don’t know how to—’
‘Let’s be clear. I’ve come to your aid for entirely selfish reasons. I want your whole attention and I won’t get it if you’re worried about money.’
‘But you gave me so much.’
‘Three months’ wages in advance. Now you’ll have to work for me whether you want to or not.’ ‘I’ve already said I will.’
‘Yes, but you might have changed your mind.’ His lips twisted. ‘It’s my opinion that women are notoriously unreliable about sticking to their word. So I’ve taken you prisoner. I’m sorry if you object.’
‘I don’t. I’m grateful. Laura needs all the help she can get.’
‘By help you mean cash. Is that why you live in that shabby little dump?’
‘What would you expect? Should I be revelling in the lap of luxury?’
It took him a moment to reply and she had the satisfying feeling that she’d caught him off-guard.
‘I wouldn’t know, would I?’ he asked at last.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘How could you?’
‘I think we both need a good stiff drink and a large meal,’ he said. ‘The best restaurant seems to be the one on the roof, and so let’s head up there.’
The restaurant had two halves, one with a glass roof, one with no roof at all. As the weather was clement they settled here with a magnificent view over London. In the distance the setting sun blazed crimson as it drifted slowly down the sky.
‘It’s like watching a fire that you don’t have to be afraid of,’ she said in wonder.
‘Is there such a thing as a fire you need not fear?’ he asked.
He spoke lightly, even casually, but she thought she sensed tension beneath the tone.
Only because you’re listening for it, said her inner voice sternly. Be careful of getting paranoid.
‘What did you say?’ Marcel asked.
‘Nothing, I—’
‘It sounded like, “Sometimes paranoid is best.”’
‘Nonsense.’ She laughed edgily. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘I thought you did. Ah, here’s the waiter. Time for a celebratory supper.’
He ordered the best of everything, including champagne and caviar, seeking her opinion, deferring to her as if she were a queen.
Until your usefulness is ended, Smith reminded her in her mind.
Get lost! she told him.
‘What’s so amusing?’ Marcel asked, looking at her curiously. ‘You suddenly started to smile in a very mysterious way. Share the joke.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Ah, a private joke. They’re often the most interesting.’
‘Only while they stay private.’
‘I see. All right, I’ll back off—for the moment.’
Suddenly she came to a resolution. Clenching her hands beneath the table where he couldn’t see, she said, ‘There’s something I meant to ask you,’ she said.
‘Go on.’
‘When I fell against the tree, I thought I heard you call me Cassie. Who is she?’
He didn’t reply at once, only looked at her strangely, as though trying to make up his mind. With sudden devastating insight she saw herself through his eyes—the severe clothes, the flattened hair, the steel-rimmed spectacles. She could even hear his thoughts. How could I ever have thought this was her?
‘Just a girl I once knew,’ he said at last. ‘And you confused me with her? Am I like her?’ ‘Not at all,’ he said instantly. ‘The way she looked, the way she dressed—she gave herself to the world, at least—’ ‘Yes?’ she urged when he didn’t go on. ‘Nothing.’
‘She gave herself to the world, meaning I don’t?’ ‘I think you prefer to withdraw and hide deep inside yourself.’
She laughed. ‘That’s one way of putting it. You said I looked grim and forbidding, and recently someone said I looked like a prison wardress.’
‘To your face?’
‘No, he didn’t realise that I could hear.’ ‘You sound remarkably cheerful about it. Most women would be hurt or offended.’ ‘I’m not most women.’
‘Indeed you’re not. I’m beginning to understand that.’
‘In my job it’s an advantage if people think I’m dreary. They ignore me and overlook me, which is useful. You learn a lot when people have forgotten you’re there.’
‘But you’re not at work every hour. What about the rest of the time?’
She gave a carefully calculated shrug. ‘What rest of the time? Life is work, making a profit, turning everything to your advantage. What else?’
‘You say that but you don’t live by it, otherwise you wouldn’t let your family bleed you dry.’
She shrugged. ‘Their needs just mean that I have to make twice as much profit, be twice as determined to manage life my way. Eventually I’ll make so much money that I can afford to help them and become a financial tyrant.’
‘It has to be a tyrant, does it?’
‘They seem to be the kind that flourish best.’
‘Some people think there are other things that matter.’ He was watching her.
‘Some people are losers,’ she observed.
‘They certainly are,’ he said slowly. ‘No doubt about that. But not us. That’s true, isn’t it?’
‘That’s definitely true.’
The champagne arrived. Marcel filled both glasses and raised his. ‘I think we should toast ourselves. To us and what we’re going to achieve.’ They clinked.
‘I’m looking forward to the moment when you see La Couronne.’
‘Am I going to?’
‘Yes, I think we should head there as soon as possible. My lawyer here can deal with the formalities. When you’ve seen what there is in Paris you’ll be better placed to take charge in London.’
‘I must warn you that my French is very poor.’
‘Really? I thought such an efficient lady must be an expert.’
‘I know a few words—very limited—’
Mon seul amour, je t’aime pour toujours—
Words of passionate adoration that she had learned from him, and repeated with all her heart. To please him, as a surprise, she’d started to learn the language properly, but their parting had come before she could tell him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said now. ‘There are so many English tourists in Paris that I insist that all my employees speak the language.’
‘How long will I need to be in Paris?’
‘Several weeks at least. Is that a problem?’
‘No, but I shall need to sort out my affairs here. Perhaps I can take tomorrow off to make my arrangements.’
‘Very well. Do you have other relatives? I assume you have no children since your sister and her family take so much from you. But what about Mr Henshaw? Does he have no claims?’
‘None,’ she said shortly. She held out her glass. ‘Can I have another champagne?’
When Marcel had filled her glass she rose and went to the edge of the roof, leaning on the wall and looking down at London, where the lights had come on, glimmering in the darkness.
Mr Henshaw had never existed, although there had been a husband, one who still haunted her nightmares. She tried never to think of him and mostly succeeded, with that inner control that had become her most notable characteristic. But now events had brought him back so that he seemed to be there, infusing the air about her with fear and horror.
And there was no escape.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_71fab7df-5a56-5ead-9c77-c88a40602dff)
LIFE with Jake had been a nightmare. He’d set his heart on marrying her and pestered her morning, noon and night. She’d refused, clinging to the hope that Marcel would come looking for her. Even after the agony of their last meeting she thought it might happen. He would suffer, lying in the darkness for long, sleepless nights, and during those nights the memories would come back to him. He would relive the joy of their youthful love, and at last he would realise that such love could never end in the way that theirs had seemed to. Then he would search for her, rescue her, and they would be together again.
But it hadn’t happened. Days had become weeks, weeks passed into months and the silence stretched ahead endlessly. At last she’d faced the truth. Marcel hated her. For him she no longer existed. There would be no reunion, no hope of future happiness.
In this state of despair all energy had seemed to leave her. She no longer had the vigour to fight, and when Jake had marched in one day, seized her hand and slid a magnificent engagement ring onto it, she simply stared and left it there.
After that he was shrewd enough to move fast, arranging the wedding for the soonest possible date and never letting her out of his sight. In only one matter did she find the strength to oppose him, declaring that she would not be married in church. It must be a civil ceremony only. She refused to insult any religious establishment with this mockery of a wedding. Jake didn’t care. As long as he claimed her it didn’t matter how.
The ring he gave her was a spectacular creation of diamonds and sapphires, clearly designed to be a trophy. It was Jake’s proof that he owned her.
The three years of her marriage were strange and haunted. He swore a thousand times that he was madly in love with her, and she came to believe that, in his own way, he was. He was cruel and egotistical, grasping whatever he wanted and careless of whom he hurt. But, like many selfish brutes, he had a sentimental streak. Cassie had a hold on his heart that nobody else could claim, and he took this as proof of his own humanity.
It gave her a kind of power, and she discovered that power could be enjoyable, especially when it was all you had. Jake’s eagerness to please her was ironic, but she could use it to make him give money to charity. She supported two particular charities, one for children, one for animals, and for them she extracted as much as she could from Jake.
Afterwards he expected to be repaid. ‘Now you’ll be nice to me, won’t you?’ he’d say, and she would yield to the night that followed, trying not to show her revulsion. What Jake called ‘love-making’ was so horribly different to what she had known with Marcel that it came from another universe, one where she had to endure being slobbered over and violated.
At first she tried to pretend that she was back in the arms of her true love, but the contrast was so cruel that she gave it up in sheer self-defence. Otherwise she would have genuinely gone mad.
It was almost a relief to become pregnant, and have an excuse to banish Jake from her bed. Slightly to her surprise he accepted her decision without argument. At the thought of producing the next generation his sentimental streak was asserting itself again, and he withdrew to protect her.
And now she could at least feel that life held out some hope for her. She would have a child to love, a purpose in life.
But after five months she miscarried. No doctor could tell her why. There had been no accident, no trauma. It had simply happened, leaving her staring into a blank future.
Hope came from an unexpected source. By chance she discovered that Jake had been playing around.
‘It’s not my fault,’ he defended himself. ‘It’s months since we could … well, it’ll be different now.’
‘Yes, it’s going to be different,’ she agreed. ‘I’m divorcing you.’
His howls of protest left her unmoved, and so did his threats.
‘If you want to destroy me, Jake, go ahead. What do you think is left to destroy? Do your worst. I don’t care.’
Perhaps it was the thought of how many of his disreputable secrets she’d learned that warned him to be cautious. But something made him cave in. Before he could change his mind she hurled back at him every expensive gift he’d ever given her, including the engagement ring. Then she moved out the same day.
He made one last attempt to persuade her to remain his wife. When that failed he tried to get her to accept a financial settlement.
She agreed to very little for the sake of her family, but took nothing for herself. ‘If I live off your money you’ll still think you control me,’ she told him. ‘And I want to forget that you ever existed.’
He paled. ‘You’re breaking my heart,’ he choked.
And he meant it, she thought afterwards. Oddly enough, this unpleasant man had a heart to break, where she was concerned.
But it left her untouched. She no longer feared him. All she felt was a heady sensation of power at having brought him down.
She rejected his name, calling herself Henshaw because it had been her mother’s maiden name, and using the ‘Mrs’ because she thought it made her sound older and more serious.
