Living With The Enemy. Laura Martin

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СКАЧАТЬ so that she didn’t have the strength to look away. His expression—cool, impassive, almost distant—gave no clues as to what he was thinking. It was unnerving and Lucy didn’t know how to handle it.

      ‘You’re young,’ he asserted firmly. ‘You’ve got a future. ’

      ‘You think so?’ Alex Darcy had a disconcerting way with him, Lucy decided. He wasn’t overly sympathetic, he wasn’t particularly friendly, yet she suddenly had an overwhelming need to unburden herself, to tell him things that she had spoken about with no one else. ‘At times...’ She swallowed, fixing her gaze on the sunlit greenery of the terraces. ‘At times,’ she repeated slowly, ‘I feel ancient inside, like an old, old woman.’

      There was a silence. It lengthened to embarrassing proportions. Oh, goodness! Lucy thought wearily. What did I have to tell him that for? If he says something kind now, she told herself, I’ll cry; I know I will.

      Maybe he read her mind, for there was no trace of compassion or sympathy in his tone when he next spoke. ‘We all feel old on occasions,’ he replied crisply. ‘Life has a habit of wearing even the most resilient down—weakening the strongest.’

      ‘Not you.’

      ‘Why not me?’ Alex shook his head, dark eyes smouldering like hot coals in his face. ‘You’d be surprised.’

      ‘Would I?’ Lucy frowned. ‘Tell me, then,’ she added firmly. ‘When have you not been able to cope?’

      ‘Plenty of times.’ His voice was terse, his reply abrupt. It was clear that he wasn’t interested in elaborating. ‘Take a shower,’ he added smoothly. ‘There’s a bathroom through that door there.’ He crossed the room and opened the door, turning to look back at Lucy, who was still standing before the window, wondering about him. ‘Then I think it would be a good idea if you got some sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.’

      ‘I’m not feeling particularly hungry,’ she murmured.

      ‘Dinner.’ Alex repeated firmly. ‘See you later.’

      

      Late afternoon had merged with evening. Lucy sat up on the large four-poster bed and hugged the towelling robe that she had slipped on after her shower around her body. Her sleep had been deep and surprisingly refreshing and she felt a whole lot better. Not exactly a new person, but a vastly improved one.

      It was so peaceful. She gazed across at the window and took a deep breath. The stillness was quite beautiful after the hustle and bustle of the airport and the warmth of the car journey.

      She wondered what the time was. Early or late? She couldn’t judge by the light in these new surroundings—not yet, anyway.

      After a few moments of just lounging on the bed enjoying the peace, she swung her legs to the floor and strolled to the open window, breathing in the sweet, warm air which smelt of citrus fruits and roses. To call this place your own must be a wonderful thing, she thought. Absolutely magical.

      The bedsit that she had shared with Paul during their short marriage came into her mind. She had done her best, but there was no denying that it had been a dump. Maybe if she had accepted Charles’s offer of the down payment on a flat as a wedding present things would have worked out, but Lucy had refused and they hadn’t. Stubbornness had always been her weak point. Paul had been keen, though—too keen; she should have noticed that. Maybe it would have given her a clue as to what he was really like. Maybe he had always wanted something for nothing...

      The silence seemed endless. Too easy to think here, with all this quiet, and thinking was something that she had promised herself she would not do.

      Lucy turned away from the window. Where was Alex? Hadn’t he said he’d wake her in time for dinner? She listened. The house was quiet. No movement, no rattle of dishes from the kitchen below. Too quiet, maybe?

      She walked to the bedroom door and opened it. The thought struck her that she might be alone, and a sudden, unexplained rush of anxiety flooded through her.

      ‘Alex!’ Her voice sounded thin and unnatural, echoing against the whitewashed walls. She tried again, her heart sinking when there was no response.

      Perhaps something dreadful had happened. Once upon a time she had been like everyone else, imagining that nothing bad would ever touch her. Then she had married Paul and she had seen the stupidity of such naive assumptions.

      Lucy heaved a steadying breath. She was being silly and she knew it. Calm down! she told herself. Go and find your reluctant host; he’ll be here somewhere.

      She started off at a steady pace, walking briskly but calmly along the passageway, hugging her robe around her as she descended the stairs.

      The kitchen was empty. The clock on the wall told her that it was almost nine o’clock, and there was no sign of dinner. No sign of anything or anyone.

      ‘Alex!’ Her voice was stronger now, but the response was still the same. Silence.

      She ran outside. The heat had subsided and it was a beautiful evening. Orange trees glowed in the dusk, laden with ripe, juicy fruit. Lucy brushed by them unseeing, scanning the terraces, hurrying down the steps to the pool, discovering around a corner a walled vegetable garden that was as beautiful and as deserted as the rest of the place.

      Stirrings of panic were starting to take a real hold. Desertion, mugging, death—every possibility ran through her mind. Where was Alex Darcy? How could he do this to her?

      She ran back towards the house. Her feet were bare and she cried out in pain as she stepped on a sharp stone and fell forward, sprawling on the sitting area close to the house, where bright geraniums grew in terracotta pots and orange trees shaded the terrace.

      ‘What on earth are you doing?’

      She saw his feet first, clad in well-worn loafers; then Alex crouched down and she saw more of him: his legs, tanned and muscular, dusted with a covering of curly black hair; his strong hands resting on his knees; well-worn navy shorts; his broad chest straining against the cotton material of his polo shirt.

      ‘I...I thought you’d gone,’ Lucy murmured unsteadily, cursing her foolishness. She scrambled to her feet.

      ‘Gone?’ He helped her up, putting one hand around her waist, the other under her arm for support. ‘Where would I have gone?’

      She swallowed, suddenly breathless. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the physical exertions of her search, or relief, or because Alex Darcy was close, holding her with an ease and familiarity that was disturbing and exhilarating all at the same time. She glanced swiftly up into his face, met the stunning eyes and handsome, angular features and looked away again. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But the house was so quiet, and when I saw the time...’ She shook her head, feeling inadequate under the dark, piercing gaze. ‘I thought you’d be in the kitchen, getting dinner,’ she mumbled. ‘But there was no one there.’

      ‘Is it that late?’

      ‘Nine o‘clock.’ Lucy looked briefly across to where the sun, blazing like an orange ball, was slipping steadily below the horizon. ‘I slept for five hours.’

      ‘Sorry. I tend to forget the time. Whole days slip by without me being aware of it.’ The attractive mouth curled. СКАЧАТЬ