Counterfeit Bride(24)

'You look cross, little cousin. Has some clumsy fool stamped on your  foot?' Ramon had suddenly materialised at her side, and beyond him she  could see Luis advancing through the crowd.

She smiled swiftly. 'It's nothing. Dance with me, Ramon.'

He looked taken aback. 'But Luis...'

'Oh, he won't lack for partners, and you've hardly been near me all  evening,' she protested with almost a pout. She put out a hand and  traced some of the embroidery on his sleeve. 'I shall begin to think you  dislike me as much as your mother and sister do/

Nombre de Dios,' Ramon muttered, looking suddenly anguished. 'They do not-I do not-I-oh, very well, let us dance.'

Luois had stopped and was watching them, she knew, and quite  deliberately she allowed her hand to slide from Ramon's shoulder towards  his collar, smiling radiantly into his face as she did so.

He looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. 'Nicola, I beg of  you! Is this some game? I warn you, it is a dangerous one. Luis is my  cousin and my friend, but his anger can be formidable.'

'But you're a wonderful dancer, Ramon.' She looked at him through her  lashes. 'I am sure my-husband wouldn't grudge me these few minutes of  pleasure at my own party.'

'If you think that, then you do not know him at all,' Ramon said  bluntly. 'Let me take you to him, Nicola. Please do not provoke him  further.'

'Spoilsport!' She pulled a face at him. 'Very well, if you're so frightened of him.'

'I am more frightened for you than for myself. Do you wish to begin your married life with a beating at his hands?'

'He wouldn't dare,' she said defiantly.

He gave her a despairing look. 'If you believe that, then you are  forgive me-a fool. Anyway, the dancing will end soon. It is nearly time  for the firework display, and when that starts it is the custom in our  family for the bride to-to retire.'

'I've no intention of doing anything of the sort. I want to see the  fireworks. This is supposed to be my party, and I shall enjoy every last  minute of it,' Nicola said coolly. 'Customs like that belong to  history, not the present day, anyway.'

Ramon's pleasant mouth set in a line which indicated that he would not  be averse to starting off the prescribed beating with a box on the ears  on his own account.

In a carefully neutral tone, he said, 'That is an argument which should  more properly be directed to your husband, my cousin, señora. I will  take you to him.'

Luis was lounging against one of the pillars of the terrace, glass in  hand, as they approached. He straightened and smiled, but the smile did  not reach his eyes.

Ramon said, 'I have brought you your errant bride, amigo. It seems she  does not care for some of our customs.' He took Nicola's hand from his  arm and placed it firmly in that of Luis before moving off.

Luis raised her hand to his lips. To a casual onlooker it would have  been a charming, gallant gesture, but then a casual onlooker would not  have seen the cold rage in his eyes.                       
       
           



       

He said, 'And which of our conventions do you wish to flout now, chica?'

Her heart thudding painfully, Nicola said, 'Ramon told me that I would  be expected to leave before the fireworks display. He said it was a  family custom--but I don't see why I should do so.'

He shrugged. 'Stay, then. It was designed originally to spare the  blushes of the bride, I believe, but no one who has witnessed your  conduct tonight, clinging round my cousin's neck like a puta, would  believe you had any blushes to spare.'

He let her hand fall and walked away, leaving her standing there, the  colour fading from her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye she could  see curious glances being cast at her, some of them slightly censorious,  and, what was worse, Dona Isabella bearing down on her, bristling with  self-righteousness. Nicola took a deep breath, picked up her skirts and  fled through the laughing, chattering groups, along the terrace and into  the house.

Maria was waiting in her room. Nicola allowed her to unhook the wedding  dress and take it away, and then to the girl's obvious chagrin told her  that she could go.

From the noise of explosions, the flashes of light and colour, she  guessed the fireworks had begun. She could hear laughter and applause as  she sat in her long waist slip and scrap of a bra and looked at herself  defeatedly. Luis didn't need to beat her, she thought. He could take  the skin from her by his tone of voice alone. And she had stood there  like a fool. Why hadn't she accused him in turn?

Furiously she blinked back the tears which for some unaccountable reason  were pricking at her eyelids. Soon, when the display was over, those  guests who were not being accommodated overnight in the guest wing would  be leaving. Luis would say goodbye to them as a courteous host, and  then, angry or not, he would come to her room. She didn't want to be  found skulking at the dressing table in her undies.

Quickly she undressed and showered, then reluctantly donned the  exquisite nightdress waiting for her. She brushed her hair, then on an  impulse looked in her jewellery case and pinned the silver butterfly  among the tawny silk strands.

She was just going to close the drawer when she saw the letter her  mother had sent on. She wasn't in the mood for Tess's usual brand of  cheerful chat, but on the other hand she didn't want to sit here,  waiting for Luis and becoming twitchier by the moment, so she tore open  the envelope and extracted the thin sheet of paper inside. The envelope  had been typewritten, but she knew the writing oa the letter as soon as  she saw it. It was Ewan's.

She felt sick suddenly. Ewan writing to her? It couldn't be possible!  She unfolded the paper and began to read, her heart thumping slowly and  painfully.

'My dearest Nicola,' she read, 'I expect I'm the last person you ever  thought to hear from again. After the things we said before we parted,  I'm amazed I have the guts to write to you at all, but I can't stop  thinking about you, and all we meant to each other once.

'You probably don't know that I've been a widower for over six months.  Greta was killed in a road accident. Her car skidded on some ice and  went out of control on a bend. It was a shock, naturally, but I won't  pretend it was the end of the world for me. Frankly, our marriage wasn't  working out, and we'd discussed separation just before she had the  accident. You know how fast she always used to drive. I always thought  it was out of character, as she was quite a stick-in-the-mud in other  ways.

'I was a fool to let you go--I've known that for a long time. I'm  beginning to get my life together again now, and I want you back in it. I  know I treated you badly, darling. Forgive me, and tell me that we can  start again. Don't let one mistake ruin both our lives a second time.  The way you used to feel about me, there must be something left in spite  of all the hurt. Write to me, Nicky. Tell me you love me still, I need  you. All my love, darling, Ewan.'

Nicola sat stunned, the words dancing crazily in front of her eyes.  Ewan-Greta-could it be true? Breathing shakily, she read the letter  again, then crumpled it into a ball and thrust it back into the drawer  which she slammed shut.

She looked at her white-faced image in the mirror. Ewan, she thought  incredulously. Ewan was free and wanted her. And lift: had played her  its cruellest trick of all by allowing her to know this tonight of all  nights. Her stifled laugh sounded like a sob, and she lifted her hands  to her head, trying to get her thoughts into some kind of coherent  order.

But Ewan- Zurich-everything that had happened there between them seemed light years away, like a half-remembered dream.

Ewan, she thought. Ewan, whom she loved, and who had hurt her so that she would never love again.

Desperately she tried to conjure his face up in her mind. Brown hair,  curling slightly, blue eyes always smiling, a deep cleft in his chin,  she thought feverishly. But that wasn't the image that she saw. The man  in her imagination was as dark as night itself, the planes and angles of  his face, harshly carved, with strength and pride in its lines. And his  eyes did not smile, but looked at her with bitter scorn.                       
       
           



       

Oh God! She got up from the dressing stool and began to walk round the  room, her hands pressed to suddenly heated cheeks. What did it all mean?  Ewan had been her love, her only love. He had broken her heart. How  could she have forgotten so soon?

The answer was a sombre one. Because Luis had made her forget. From the  moment she had met him, he had occupied her thoughts to the exclusion of  everything else. Each time he had kissed her, and God knew they had  been few enough, each caress had been indelibly printed on her memory,  making her ache with longing. Ewan hadn't been able to awaken half the  dormant passion which the first brush of Luis' mouth on hers had brought  searingly to life.