The Abby Green Modern Collection. Эбби Грин
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the object of everyone’s fascination a reluctant look, anger still bubbling through her. She had to admit that he was the most handsome man in the room. He stood head and shoulders above everyone and with that physique…again her insides cramped with nerves and anticipation. Finally, after what seemed like more torturous hours, he leant down, his mouth close to her ear, sending a little shock wave through her.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
She nodded mutely. Time was up, no more waiting. Tonight he would demand payment…take her body and, she was afraid, her soul too. And she couldn’t say a thing.
She suddenly felt absurdly vulnerable and alone, her anger dissolving. What could she say, anyway? As she followed him through the crowd, stopping every two seconds for people to say goodbye, she thought a little hysterically of what she might say if given a chance: how six months ago, on the day of their date, Tom, her beloved stepfather had informed her of his plans to take Caleb over and ruin him. And how, if Maggie didn’t co-operate with his plans to keep Caleb occupied, he would beat Maggie’s mother so comprehensively that—in Tom’s succinct, devastating words, ‘I’ll put her in hospital’.
She could tell him how she’d racked her brains for a way out…but had known, no matter what she did, even if she’d gone to the police, that he’d still make her mother pay. Because, you see, he’d been doing it for years. Once, in her youthful naïvety, Maggie had gone to the police. Tom hadn’t punished her…No, it had been her mother who’d suffered, even though she’d claimed a random mugging to protect Tom. Classic bullying, abusive tactics. He had been very cunning—you could never see the bruises. They had always been well hidden.
She could tell him of how, before Tom’s bombshell, she’d been ridiculously excited at the thought of going on the date with him, had even bought a new outfit. But then…that was when Tom had forced her to go to that shop, had bought that excuse for a dress instead. And had informed her of her role in his awful macabre play.
She could tell him how she’d been so filled with guilt that she couldn’t go through with sleeping with him, that was why she’d stopped…She’d been on the verge of actually telling him everything, somehow trusting that, maybe for once, her mother could be protected.
Maggie was not in Monte Carlo any more; she was back in that hotel room, the memories rushing back with sickening clarity, and she was powerless to escape them. She was on that bed, the sheet pulled around her shaking, half naked body as Caleb stood in front of her, pulling on his clothes. ‘Maggie, you’re a fool. You think I didn’t know exactly what you had planned?’ He gave a harsh laugh as he pulled on his shirt. Maggie felt an icy stream washing through her, the defensive words of explanation dying on her lips.
‘I heard your stepfather. His exact words were, “That step-daughter of mine will do anything and she wants Cameron; she’s with us”. So you see, Maggie, I’ve known for days now that you’ve been cooking up this little plan…very hammy, though. And the outfit? I’ve seen classier ones on women who tout for business on the streets.’
Maggie could feel her insides contracting, pulling inward as if to protect herself from the cruel blows. Her voice was dry and raspy when it came out. ‘But…I never knew…I—’
‘Save it, Maggie. You knew all right. I even have the evidence.’
And she watched as he found his jacket and took out a small envelope, throwing the contents at her. Photos. Lots of them—of Tom and her on Oxford Street, going into the shop, emerging with the bag. Getting into his car. And from these deceptive angles it looked to all the world as though she were the eager accomplice…
She looked up with huge wounded eyes, ‘But when, how…?’
He was almost dressed, not even looking at her any more. ‘I had you followed for the day, just to see for myself. And what a pretty picture those photos paint, don’t you think?’
‘But…you’ve known…you knew all along, for the past—’
‘Yes, Maggie, I’ve known since practically the first day we met. So all those shy, innocent glances, the blushes, were for nothing. Entertaining, but for nothing.’
‘But how could you, I mean, why did you…do it?’ She didn’t know why she was still speaking, couldn’t understand what protective part of her hadn’t kicked in yet.
He came close to the bed and she had to look up. His face was coldly impassive. Shut. ‘Because, Maggie, I desired you. I wanted you. And I knew I could have you. You were offering yourself on a plate, for God’s sake…’ He came down close to her, hands on either side of her body, where she could see the utter disgust and contempt in his eyes. ‘We both know I could still have you now…’ he flicked a derisory glance up and down ‘…but I can’t be bothered. Because, believe me, I never want to see your face again.’
And he walked out of the room without a backward glance. Maggie sat on the bed for a long time, the cold seeping into her bones as she felt something within her shrivel up and die.
By now they were at the entrance to the function room but Maggie wasn’t even aware. She was locked in her own private hell of memories. Caleb looked abstractedly at her hand in his—it was icy cold. Then he looked at her face. She was so pale that he felt a jolt go through him. When he called her name she didn’t respond. Something was very wrong. He lifted her into his arms and strode out of the building. In the car he held her close to his body. He knew that, whatever it was, she wasn’t faking it. No one could fake that.
Back at the hotel, he carried her again, all the way from the car up to the suite. Once inside he poured a glass of brandy and sat her down, making her swallow it. He could see the effect of the alcohol hitting her system; her eyes flared and she coughed. And then she started to shake uncontrollably. He pulled her into his body, waiting until the shaking subsided. Finally he could feel her pull away slightly and he let her go. She looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.
‘What…what happened?’
She could see a light of rare concern in his eyes and wondered faintly what had put it there, while also having the wits to wish desperately that he was really concerned for her.
He brushed her hair back with a gesture that was almost tender, confusing her even more. ‘I think you fainted…without fainting. I’ve seen it before. It’s like a state of shock.’
Maggie dimly remembered following him out of the function room but for the life of her couldn’t remember anything else. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why…I’m sorry…’
‘Don’t be,’ he said abruptly. ‘Why don’t you get ready for bed? You should sleep.’
She nodded her head and went into the bathroom. She felt exhausted, as if she’d run a marathon.
Caleb went out to the balcony and stood leaning on the same wall that Maggie had earlier. He shook his head. How could she be feeling such grief for that odious man? For that was what it was, must be. Yet, for all that she was, all that her stepfather had been, he shouldn’t have underestimated the fact that she was bound to be in mourning. They had been family, after all. His cynical brain kicked into gear. Perhaps it was also the delayed shock of finding out that Tom’s millions weren’t going to be hers after all. That thought made something cold settle into his chest.
He went to the door of the suite and looked in. Maggie lay curled up on the bed, already asleep.
WHEN she woke the next morning Maggie’s head throbbed. She was alone in the bed. A note on the pillow next to her caught her eye:
I’m at a meeting but will come and meet you for lunch on the terrace at twelve-thirty. Caleb.
She checked the bedside clock. It was ten a.m. Sinking back on to the pillows, fragments of the previous night came back. Like water dripping