The Last Illusion. Diana Hamilton
his—he had forced her to stay here when all she had wanted was his agreement to end formally a marriage that must be as distasteful to him as it was to her.
‘Only two place settings?’ Charley ran light fingers over the white damask cloth that covered the circular table. ‘Olivia not with you at the moment?’ He had already accepted that her physical appearance had changed, and now she had to show him that her whole attitude had changed. She was in control of her life and her destiny, was a fully adult woman and not an overgrown, sheltered child. So to begin with she could show him that she could mention that woman’s name without having hysterics!
He paced towards her and pulled out a chair, an eloquent black brow drifting upwards as he instructed softly, ‘Sit. Olivia has not visited Cadiz, to my knowledge, for a long time. Wine?’
She didn’t believe him, but wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of arguing. In any case, it didn’t matter. The wine he gave her was a wonderfully smooth twelve-year-old Rioja, and even before Sebastian had seated himself opposite, lighting the candle in the centre of the table and slotting the protective glass covering in place, Teresa was with them, a grinning Pilar bringing up the rear, both bearing huge covered dishes.
She was, Charley recognised, being given the works. There were three delicious salads to dip into: pimentos with anchovy, artichoke hearts with tuna, and a Sevillana—lovely crisp lettuce, sweet fresh tomatoes, tarragon, olives and hard-boiled egg. Then came the utterly delicious legacy of the Moors—spinach with almonds and raisins, spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg. And who would resist Teresa’s sizzling hot giant prawns, cooked in chilli and garlic-flavoured olive oil? Charley couldn’t, though she knew Greg would have frowned on such lavish excess.
The relaxing setting, the superb food and wine—not to mention Teresa’s careful attendance—had helped her to unwind, to forget the vexed question of what she was doing here in the first place and remember that she’d been too uptight to eat any breakfast, or anything on the plane coming over, and only when Teresa and Pilar finally withdrew did she forget the sensual delights of the palate and come back to her senses with a bang.
Subdued, misty lamplight played across the table, on the ivory-toned fabric of Sebastian’s jacket, on the lean, olive-toned fingers as they deftly stripped the peel from an orange, leaving his face shadowy and mysterious. And although she knew that the fruit was far more juicily sweet and delicious than any that could be bought back in England, Charley shook her head and clamped her lips together as he offered her a segment.
Greg would have forty fits if he could see her now. And she wouldn’t blame him. Everything, just everything, was a celebration of the senses: sight, sound, taste and scent, a sybaritic pandering to all that was sensual. It was a setting fit for high romance, certainly not a setting the down-to-earth Greg would have been comfortable with.
But it was nothing but an illusion. Unconsciously, Charley sighed, and Sebastian said harshly, ‘Missing your portly lover, Charlotte? Wishing he were here in my place?’
‘Naturally,’ she came back at once, stiffening her spine defensively. It wasn’t the truth, though.
She missed Greg, of course she did, missed his common-sense attitude and straightforward character. But she couldn’t wish him here. He didn’t go a bundle on illusions. He liked to know what he was getting. A meal like this, in such a setting, would have made him uneasy. He would have preferred a well lit room, two courses of solid English fare—not this relaxed dipping about all over the place—and a decent half-pint of real ale to go with it. That she had—up until now, of course—wholeheartedly enjoyed it all would have annoyed him, because her enjoyment would not have been something he could have shared.
‘Are you in love with him?’
The question was posed with perfect seriousness, but he leaned forward, into the pool of light, and the sultry eyes were mocking. She met them warily, not knowing how to answer. She had been ‘in love’ before, and it had nearly driven her out of her mind. What she felt for Greg in no way resembled the extravagant, profligate passion that had made her a willing slave to this dark devil’s merest glance.
He’d made her an addict, destroyed her self-respect, made her incapable of thinking of anything or anyone but him. So no, what she felt for Greg was nothing like that. And neither did she want it to be! Never again would any man enslave her to such a degrading extent.
But she wasn’t about even to try to explain, to tell him that she had agreed to marry Greg because he would make a good father for the children they both wanted to have some day, because he was steady and sensible and he respected her, and allowed her to respect herself, and would never, ever try to overwhelm her. He wouldn’t know how to begin. So she said baldly, ‘None of your business. The only thing that need concern us is the ending of our marriage.’ She finished the wine in her glass, congratulating herself on putting him in his place. And, just to let him know that he needn’t think he’d got the upper hand just because she’d agreed to stay, she pronounced airily, ‘I might decide to leave in the morning. I could always file for a legal separation.’
‘Which would take twelve months, leaving you no better off than you are now—without my formal agreement to a divorce,’ he pointed out drily. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t bother if I were you. You’re no more in love with your accountant than I am.’ He refilled her glass, right to the brim, and she knotted her brows at him.
‘Clairvoyant, are you? How can you possibly know what I feel—?’
‘I know far more than you give me credit for, mi esposa.’ His voice had the cutting edge of steel. ‘You may wonder what you are doing here, why I should allow you within miles of my home. Let me tell you...’ Lean fingers beat softly against white damask. ‘You once accused me of a deed so shameful that I vowed to have revenge, to make you, too, taste the kind of pain that turns the soul to iron. That is why I had you watched, had your every movement reported back to me.’
Silenced, Charley stared into the glowing darkness of his eyes, her mouth going dry. Revenge was a hateful word, walking down the years, biding its time, waiting for the right, the most devastating opportunity. Was that why she was here now, neatly trapped in this elegant, sumptuous web?
And she had walked right into it. But she wasn’t afraid. Why should she be? He could do nothing to her except make her wait for another year before she could be completely rid of him.
Her eyes never wavering, she gave a tiny shrug and twisted the stem of her glass between her fingers. ‘Bully-boy tactics don’t suit you, Sebastian.’ Then she took the fight right back to him. ‘I accused you of two shameful deeds, or had you forgotten? Which one of the two made you throw your money away on the expense of having me watched? Killing your own brother, or carrying on your affair with Olivia after we were married?’
He ignored her taunts, merely watched her. His half-hooded eyes boring into hers as if he could reach right into her soul, his fingers stilled now, lamplight playing on those darkly beautiful features, making a shifting, unreadable mask of them, a mask she suddenly ached to tear away with frenzied fingers.
She was beginning to shake inside. He alone could make her do that. But she wasn’t going to let him have that effect on her. She wouldn’t tolerate it. She lifted her glass to her lips and swallowed, and reminded him coldly, ‘If you recall, you didn’t refute either accusation. Because you couldn’t?’ If, at the time, he had even attempted to, she would have been only too happy to listen, pathetically eager to believe whatever he said, even then, even after Olivia had told her the truth. She had been bewitched by him.
But he had said nothing, not a single word to defend himself against either accusation.
‘Did I need to?’ Inflexible Gaditano pride spiked every syllable, and his eyes were coldly expressionless as he leaned back into the shadows. ‘I think the fact that you came here in person, instead of putting your request through a solicitor, speaks for itself.’ His velvet voice dropped, softening hypnotically, sending shivers down her spine. ‘Had you really believed me capable of the shameful deed of murder, you would not have come near me—let alone agreed to stay with me. That