A Heartless Marriage. HELEN BROOKS

jacket, incongruous against the mass of furs and silk shawls that filled the rest of the ladies’ cloakroom, when Vivien’s smooth white hand touched her arm imperiously. ‘Bigger fish to fry?’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ Leigh had never liked Vivien, having had the misfortune to work with her on more than one occasion in her early days in London when she was working part-time as a photographer’s assistant in order to be able to eat while she followed her dream to paint, and now she turned to face the taller woman with frank distaste on her heart-shaped face. ‘I don’t understand.’

      ‘I just bet you don’t.’ Vivien’s hard slanted eyes were poisonous. ‘What’s your little game, then? I’ve made a few enquiries and that’s Raoul de Chevnair you were talking to, isn’t it? You don’t seriously expect me to believe that a multimillionaire playboy like Raoul de Chevnair would ever notice a little nobody like you, let alone marry her!’ She laughed spitefully, her face mocking.

      ‘I don’t expect you to believe anything, Vivien,’ Leigh said coldly, her shoulders straight and her face mirroring her opinion of the beautiful blonde more effectively than words ever could have done. ‘Now would you mind moving out of the way? I’m going home.’ Her voice was glacial.

      ‘Yes, I would mind, actually,’ Vivien drawled slowly, her mouth pulled into a thin red line and her eyes shooting daggers. ‘You haven’t answered my question, Miss Leigh Wilson! Doesn’t sound much like Mrs de Chevnair to me!’

      ‘Then, as my husband said a few minutes ago, that’s your problem.’ Leigh pushed past the willowy figure, taking her completely by surprise. ‘Goodnight, Vivien.’

      Once outside the cloakroom in the large woodpanelled hall, she leant against the wall for a moment and took a deep breath. Already! Raoul had only been back in her life five minutes and already the women were gathering like bees round a honeypot. But he wasn’t back in her life! She seized on the thought and repeated it to herself firmly. She wouldn’t let him be.

      When she had crawled from his presence, crushed and broken, all those years ago, she had felt that life was a deep black abyss that would never hold a spark of joy or contentment again. And it hadn’t at first. She had fled back to London, hiding herself in the careless anonymity of the big metropolis, unable to think or eat or sleep for weeks-and then one spring morning a ray of sunshine had caught a spider’s web on the window of her grubby little bedsit and the urge to paint had resurfaced. And with it she had gradually clawed back her selfrespect, making a new life for herself, taking charge of her affairs, growing into a person whom, if she didn’t actually like, she could live with. And over the years she had settled into the new woman who had been reborn out of the scorching devastation, content with her light sunny little flat with its bird’seye view of London and her peaceful solitary life. A tranquil life in the cool valley after the cruel heat of the mountaintop. And now he was back! Her heart pounded so violently for a moment that she felt faint. Why-after all this time? She had made it clear to him when she’d left that everything between them had been burnt to ashes, that there was nothing left. So why now, just when everything was beginning to happen for her?

      She levered herself carefully off the wall and walked sedately to the heavily carved oak front door, opening it quietly and slipping through quickly with a sigh of relief that she had got away so easily. She felt shell-shocked, bruised.

      The warm summer air was filled with the city perfume of petrol fumes and dirt but she didn’t care; she had got used to London in all its moods now, appreciating the obscurity of town life, the nameless oblivion, hugging it to her like a hard-won prize. She was just Leigh Wilson, budding artist; that was all.

      The night was black without a shred of moonlight to lighten the darkness, and the old-fashioned wrought-iron street lamps gave a discreetly small circle of light into the elegant, quiet, expensive avenue. As she stepped down the narrow circular steps into the empty street she clucked disapprovingly to herself. She should have called for a taxi before she left. She wasn’t thinking straight, but then it was hardly surprising!

      ‘Leigh?’ As one of the tall shadows across the dimly lit expanse detached itself she gave a little start of surprise, swiftly concealed, and then she was staring into Raoul’s dark face again and he wasn’t smiling. ‘Can I give you a lift?’ He indicated a long, low, sleek white monster on wheels a few yards away. ‘Please?’

      Please? This wasn’t the Raoul she knew. The Raoul she had lived with for eighteen glorious, mind-boggling months had never said please to anyone in his life. ‘I don’t think so.’ She stared at him nervously. ‘I don’t want to be difficult, but—’

      ‘Then don’t be.’ As he cut into her words the arrogant forcefulness curled the muscles in her stomach. This was the Raoul she knew, riding roughshod over everyone else, cutting through any small talk, intent only on getting his own way. The veneer was just that-a light covering to hide a mind of steel. ‘I intend to talk to you, Leigh, so you might as well get it over and done with now.’ He smiled coldly. ‘You never were one for putting off unpleasant duties, were you?’

      There was something of the satyr about him, she thought painfully; there always had been. Perhaps that was what had attracted her once, but not any more! Now she could see him for exactly what he was and it disgusted her.

      ‘Is it really necessary?’ She still didn’t move from the last step. ‘Can’t our solicitors sort it out?’

      ‘No, they damn well can’t!’ He took a long deep breath and spoke more quietly. ‘I don’t want solicitors meddling in my affairs. Now be a good girl and come and talk to me for a few minutes while I take you home. Kingston Gardens, isn’t it?’

      She looked at him in surprise and took a step forwards in spite of herself. ‘How do you know where I live?’

      ‘I told you, I know more about you than you think,’ he said smoothly, his deep rich voice and faint accent giving the words a sensual overtone that brought the blood rushing into her cheeks. ‘First it was a bedsit in Baron Place, then a shared flat with a Miss.’ the dark brows wrinkled ‘…ah, yes, a Miss Angela Hardwick, and for the last two years a flat of your own in Kingston Gardens.’ He folded muscled arms.

      ‘Have you been spying on me?’ she asked weakly. ‘I don’t believe this.’ A flood of burning anger replaced the stunned amazement his words had caused. ‘How dare you? How dare you, Raoul? I—’

      ‘Shut up and get in the car,’ he said brusquely, the patience for which he was not renowned running out suddenly. As he took hold of her arm a shiver of apprehension trembled down her spine-or was it excitement? She bit on her lower lip till it hurt. She mustn’t let him see how he affected her. She hated and loathed him but he might mistake it for something else. She would listen to what he said, coolly and calmly, and then that would be that. And he was right. She might as well get it over and done with now.

      The interior of the car was as magnificent as the outside, soft white leather seats and thick grey carpet, a sexual experience on wheels, she thought balefully. How in keeping. How very in keeping!

      ‘Do take that frown of disapproval off your face,’ he said lazily as he joined her. ‘You’ll have deep lines before you’re forty at this rate and I don’t intend to spend a fortune on face-lifts as you get older. My wife will grow old gracefully.’

      ‘What?’ She swung round to face him, big brown eyes incredulous, hardly able to believe what she had heard. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

      ‘Us,’ he replied easily. ‘I’m talking about us.’ He urged the big car into purring life, drawing out of the parking space and joining the main stream of traffic at the end of the avenue, seemingly totally relaxed and faintly amused.

      ‘There is no “us”,’ she said sharply as she turned to look out of the window at the brightly lit shops and restaurants they were passing at incredible speed. He was driving too fast but then he always had. It had been a mistake to get in the car. The big, powerful, muscular body so close to hers was bringing back too many unwelcome memories, memories that caused her cheeks to