The Bride's Secret

She turned quickly as the lights on the car died, walking swiftly into the hotel and picking up the key to her room before Hudson reappeared; knowing she couldn’t face him again that night. But perhaps he was finished with her anyway? He’d made his point, told her exactly what he thought of her and in what contempt he held her; perhaps he would be satisfied with that? She had hurt him, she knew that—the knowledge had sent her half mad at times—but the alternative would have been far worse; it could have destroyed him and his career, she told herself frantically.

She reached her room, entering it quickly and then leaning weakly back against the door in the darkness as the tears began to seep from her closed eyelids. She had done the only thing she could two years ago, and it had been because she loved him, pure and simple. So why couldn’t she gain just the smallest crumb of comfort from the knowledge to help combat the pain that was tearing her apart inside? It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair.

She sank to the floor, her legs finally giving way as the storm of weeping overtook her, her moans like the cries of a wounded animal that had no hope.

She had just been learning to live without him, to accept that her life would never be one of fulfilment in the family sense—as a wife and mother—and now the pain was as raw and lacerating as it ever had been in the early days.

How long she lay there she didn’t know, but when at last she rose, her face sticky and damp, there were no more tears left—only a cold, chilling emptiness in the pit of her stomach as she recalled his last words to her and the look on his face as he had uttered them.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT’S the matter with Keith today?’ Marjorie pulled a face as she bent over Marianne and whispered in her ear, ‘He’s like a bear with a sore head; I’ve never seen him like this. Is it because you were late back last night?’

‘I don’t think that helped,’ Marianne said quietly as the wafer-thin model straightened again, and they both looked to where Keith was bawling at June and Guy, his face turkey-red.

‘He makes my Tony seem like a positive angel,’ Marjorie drawled softly. ‘And that’s hard to do, believe me. Well, we live and learn. I had no idea Keith had it in him.’ She glanced down at Marianne again, who was setting up the equipment, her face pale and sombre. ‘He’s crazy about you, you know,’ she added quietly.

‘Marjorie, please...’ Marianne raised anguished eyes. ‘That doesn’t help. I could never think of Keith in that way.’

‘Sorry.’ There was a pause, and then, ‘Mind you, if I had the choice of Keith or that hunk you went off with yesterday there’d be no contest. He was absolutely gorgeous . Old flame?’

‘Sort of.’ Marianne’s voice was dismissive but it didn’t work.

‘You were careless to let that one escape,’ Marjorie said softly, her beautiful almond-shaped eyes bright with curiosity. ‘Is he married? The best ones usually are,’ she added resignedly.

‘Marjorie, I’ve got to do this.’ Marianne kept her head bent to the task in hand. ‘Okay?’

‘I get the message: mind your own business, Marjorie,’ the other girl said good-naturedly. ‘But if he’s not married and you want to introduce us...?’ she wheedled hopefully.

‘It was a one-off, Marjorie; I probably shan’t be seeing him again,’ Marianne said as calmly as she could through her screaming nerves. Much more of this and she would say something she’d regret.

‘Pity.’ The model sighed deeply. ‘Great, great pity.’

The morning had started badly and got progressively worse, and by lunchtime Keith’s bad temper had affected everyone, making the very air tense and volatile, which made it all the more awkward when, just as they were packing up, Marjorie called across, ‘Marianne, you know that one-off? He’s going for double.’

‘What?’ She straightened and turned as she spoke, and then froze, her heartbeat going haywire, as she saw the tall, dark figure watching them from the road as he leant indolently against the side of his car, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans and sunglasses hiding his eyes. How could one man look so—so gorgeous?

They had been filming on Tangier’s three-mile-long white sandy beach, the atmosphere enhanced by several grazing camels and the two barefoot, curly-haired Moroccan children tending the animals; they had been delighted to pose for the cameras for a few dirhams. Although the May sun had been pleasantly warm at first, for the last two hours it had been blazing down out of a cloudless blue sky with the temperature steadily soaring. Marianne felt hot and dirty and sticky, and the last person—the very last person in all the world—she wanted to see at that moment was Hudson de Sance.

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