The Marriage Takeover. Lee Wilkinson

her chin, she met his eyes, and saw in their depths a gleam of triumph, of satisfaction.

      It was almost immediately masked. But she knew without a shadow of doubt that he had got exactly what he wanted.

      Remembering her premonition, she gave a shiver, suddenly convinced that, for some obscure reason, this whole thing had been carefully planned, that both she and Alan had been ruthlessly manipulated.

      Such a notion had obviously never crossed Alan’s mind. He tended to be inward-looking, self-absorbed, and she guessed that a lot of the byplay had gone over his head.

      Off the hook, looking eager and excited once again, he turned to Lang and remarked, ‘I heard through the media that you’re considering putting money into the Rio Palos Dam project…’

      As they drank their coffee, the two men talked business, while Cassandra tried hard to dismiss her fears. No doubt when she’d had a good night’s rest she would be able to think clearly and laugh at her own foolish fancies.

      Alan had slept during the interminable flight, but Cassandra, still new to flying, and perturbed about the visit, hadn’t even managed to doze. Tiredness was making her skin feel as though it was drawn tight over her facial bones, and there was a dull ache between her eyes.

      Making a great effort, she sat straighter and tried to concentrate on the conversation, but after a while she began to feel oddly light-headed, the male voices seemed to ebb and flow, and waves of fatigue washed over her.

      ‘You look absolutely shattered.’ Lang Dalton was on his feet by her side. ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’

      ‘I think I will, if you don’t mind.’ To her own ears her voice sounded dazed and befuddled.

      As she rose, Lang pulled out her chair and said, ‘I’ll see you to your room.’

      ‘Thank you, but there’s really no need,’ she assured him.

      Alan stood up and, a shade abstractedly, kissed her on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, then, darling. I’ll see you in the morning before I go.’

      Leaving the two men to resume their discussion, she made her way through a house that was pleasantly cool and airy, full of evening sun and the scent of flowers.

      Though she made a conscious effort to walk straight, from time to time she staggered a little, like someone who was inebriated.

      As soon as she reached her room she put on her nightdress, cleaned her teeth, and, falling into bed, went to sleep the instant her head touched the pillow.

      Some sound disturbed her, and she stirred and groaned. She had slept very heavily. Her head was muzzy and her throat dry.

      Struggling to open eyelids that felt as though they’d been fastened shut with Velcro, she saw a strange room with bright sunshine filtering through the light muslin curtains.

      For a few seconds she was utterly confused and disorientated. Then memory opened the floodgates, and along with recollection came a rush of anxiety, a return of the foreboding she’d expected sleep to banish.

      Though she couldn’t begin to guess at the reason, she remained convinced that, while making sure Alan went to LA, Lang Dalton had contrived that she should remain here… And, to all intents and purposes, of her own free will.

      He was a brilliant tactician, she thought broodingly. Having put her in a position where her pride insisted she couldn’t take it, he had tauntingly offered her a chance to change her mind.

      Well, that had been a mistake on his part, she decided abruptly. Even if it made her look foolish, she was going to take it!

      She would make the excuse that she had resolved to seize this opportunity to see something of LA, in case it was going to be her future home.

      Once the helicopter had dropped her, she could book herself into a hotel for the night. There would be no need for her to go anywhere near Seguro House. That way no one could accuse Alan of mixing business with pleasure.

      Lang Dalton had said the helicopter would be ready ‘first thing in the morning’. What time was it now? A glance at her watch only served to confuse her; she had omitted to adjust it to the time difference.

      So how long had she got? At a guess she must have nearly slept the clock round, so probably not long, she thought with sudden urgency. But all she needed to do was throw a few things in her overnight bag before Alan knocked. She could always skip breakfast.

      Jumping out of bed, she hurried to the bathroom.

      Having showered and dressed at top speed, and pulled a brush through her long hair, she began to pack some changes of clothing and a few essentials. She had barely finished when she heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter.

      Just in the nick of time, she thought with relief. Any second now Alan would be knocking at the door.

      But no knock came, and it took a moment or two of stunned disbelief before the unwelcome fact finally sank in that the engine noise, rather than approaching, was moving away.

      No, no, it couldn’t be. Alan wouldn’t leave without seeing her, without saying goodbye.

      Her heart suddenly racing, she pressed a button set into the side of the nearest arch, and the glass panels slid aside.

      Hurrying out onto the patio, she shielded her eyes from the brightness and looked up into the cloudless sky. The helicopter, silver against the deep blue, was heading south-west towards the coast and the urban sprawl that was Los Angeles…

      ‘Good morning.’ Lang Dalton’s low-pitched, attractive voice made her jump. ‘You’re up and dressed earlier than I’d expected.’

      Bare feet leaving wet prints, he was coming towards her, tanned and fit-looking, wearing well-cut navy swimming trunks, a towel slung around his neck. His thick blond hair was wet and rumpled, a single lock falling over his forehead.

      ‘That isn’t…?’ Her voice shook betrayingly, and she stopped speaking abruptly.

      Following her gaze to where the helicopter had become a rapidly dwindling speck, he said, ‘I’m afraid so,’ adding with a kind of mocking concern, ‘You look upset. I do hope you hadn’t changed your mind about going?’

      ‘No, I hadn’t changed my mind,’ she lied jerkily, and felt almost sure that he didn’t believe her. ‘But Alan promised he’d…’ Once again she was forced to stop.

      ‘See you before he left?’ Lang finished for her. ‘You’ll have to forgive him. He didn’t have a moment to spare. In fact he was forced to go without any breakfast.’

      A drop of water ran down his lean cheek and he lifted the towel to wipe it away before continuing, ‘The helicopter arrived over an hour early. Some last-minute problem had cropped up that meant McDowell, my pilot, was needed back in LA urgently.’

      But surely Alan could have found just a few seconds to say goodbye?

      As though reading her thoughts, Lang went on smoothly, ‘Brent and I agreed that as you were obviously jet-lagged it would be a shame to wake you for what would have necessarily been a very brief farewell.’

      Brent and I agreed… Cassandra bit her lip vexedly. Reading between the lines, what it amounted to was that to make sure she didn’t change her mind and take advantage of his offer Lang Dalton had tried to prevent Alan from waking her.

      And Alan, no doubt feeling uncomfortable about leaving her, and possibly fearing some kind of last-minute reproach, had taken the easy way out.

      Aloud, she said, ‘How thoughtful of you both.’ And, feeling caught, trapped, wondered despairingly how she was going to get through the next two days.

      But somehow she would have to, and with the best possible grace…

      As though applauding her unspoken decision, Lang smiled at her, and said briskly, ‘However, as you are awake, you’ve time for a swim before breakfast.’