The Last Illusion. Diana Hamilton

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      ‘You’ve changed your habits,’ she remarked, doing her best to sound offhand, not willing to let him know that being in the same room with him threw up the kind of emotions that were definitely bad for her health. ‘Dinner was never served before ten, and it was more often nearer eleven before we sat down to eat. And I’m not very hungry, anyway.’

      ‘Hungry or not, you will eat.’ His black eyes glittered into the topaz defiance of hers. ‘The meal was brought forward because you have been travelling for the best part of the day. You must be tired.’

      ‘How thoughtful!’ Charley made it sound like a sneer. ‘Another change. Thoughtfulness was never one of your strong points, as I recall.’ She would have stalked back into the bathroom, if she’d had the nerve. But she wasn’t too sure about the security of the towel, and she wasn’t at all sure that he wouldn’t stalk right after her and drag her back. No one left the presence unless expressly commanded to do so.

      But he merely reiterated, ‘Fifteen minutes,’ and walked out of the room as if he couldn’t bear to be near her for one more moment. And that makes two of us! Charley fulminated, her face going white with temper as she snatched up the skirt and blouse she had put out earlier.

      Fully dressed, she didn’t look as if she were about to light any fires. But then that wasn’t the object, was it? And if the features that stared back at her from the mirror were strained and pinched, could it be wondered at?

      A heavier hand than normal with the make-up she’d brought with her didn’t make her feel any better, but banished the wrung-out-old-dishcloth look. Got to keep my end up, she rallied herself as she left her room. And so far she was doing fine. If she was keeping score she would give six to one and half a dozen to the other!

      Rooting around a bit, she discovered a lavishly arranged table in the smaller, more intimate of the three courtyards that bounded the graceful fortress of the house. In the centre, one of the fountains for which the house was named permeated the soft darkness with the song of water. The Moors, coming from dry lands, had deeply appreciated the gift of water; it refreshed the eyes and ears as much as it refreshed a parched throat. And here, as in many parts of the province, the Moorish influence was strong.

      And the night was richly perfumed, an evocative mixture of roses, lilies, rosemary and oleander that went straight to her head, more intoxicating than wine. And added to the music of the water was the rustle of palms from the gardens beyond, and lamps in iron brackets cast a glimmering, magical light, enhancing the quality of soft mystery—merely hinting, never revealing, giving a glimpse of the curving purity of a white rose, heavy with fragrance, drawing a gauzy veil over the half-seen line of a piece of marble statuary...

      Charley caught her thoughts and slapped them roughly down. Once, years ago, she would have nearly gone out of her tiny mind at the thought of dining alone with her idolised Sebastian in such a romantic setting. She would happily have licked his boots in adoring gratitude.

      But not any more. And when he stepped out from the arcaded shadows she put the wave of pain that tore through her down to a mangled nervous system—brought on, of course, by what he had made her do. For some reprehensible reasons of his own—spawned from that twisted, cruel mind of 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 СКАЧАТЬ