Ruthless Awakening

He said, half to himself, ‘Of course—the child. I’d almost forgotten.’

‘Diaz!’ Carrie was there, hurling herself at him. ‘How truly great! No one said you were coming.’

‘It was intended as a surprise,’ he said, returning her exuberant hug with more restraint before he looked back at Rhianna. He added unsmilingly, ‘It seems to be a day for them.’

And she thought with inexplicable desolation, Someone else who doesn’t want me to be here…

Simon’s panting arrival provided a momentary diversion, but the greetings were barely over before Moira Seymour came sauntering across the lawn towards them, cool in a blue cotton dress, and fanning herself languidly with a broad-brimmed straw hat.

She said, ‘Simon, my pet, your mother’s telephoned, asking where you are. Carrie, darling, get cleaned up for tea, please.’ Her glance flickered dismissively over Rhianna. ‘And I’m sure, young woman, that your aunt can find something for you to do.’

The first direct remark Mrs Seymour had ever made to her, Rhianna realised. And one that made her inferior position in the household quite explicit. Turning her back into the intruder. The trespasser that Diaz Penvarnon had just called her. A name that might have started as a joke, but was now, suddenly, something very different.

My first starring role, Rhianna thought bitterly, and one that will probably haunt me, for so many reasons, as long as I live, wherever I go, and whatever happens to me.

Diaz—Diaz Penvarnon…

He was a chain, she told herself, linking her with the past, which must be broken now that he was out of her life for ever.

I’ve got to start thinking of him as a stranger, she thought, almost feverishly. I must…

But from that first moment of meeting he’d imprinted himself indelibly on her consciousness, and Rhianna had found her life changing once more—and not for the better, either.

Because she had once more been strictly relegated to the flat over the stables and its immediate vicinity, pretty much reduced to the status of non-person again, while a protesting Carrie had simply been whipped away and absorbed into the sudden surge of activities at the house itself, putting her out of reach for the duration of the owner’s visit.

The owner…

Even at a distance, Rhianna had sensed that the whole place seemed to have lost its languid, almost melancholy atmosphere and become—re-energised.

And that had been even without the constant stream of visitors filling the place at weekends, flocking down to the cove to swim and sunbathe, or play tennis on the newly marked court at the side of the house. Not forgetting the dinner parties that went on into the early hours, with music spilling out through the open windows into the warm nights, and dancers moving on the terrace.

With Diaz Penarvon at the forefront of it all.

On the few occasions that Rhianna had dared venture further than the stable yard she had seen that. Had recognised that his tall figure seemed to be everywhere, exercising effortless dominion over his surroundings, as if he’d never been absent, with the cool, incisive voice she’d remembered only too well issuing orders that were immediately obeyed.

‘And I wonder how Madam likes that?’ Rhianna had overheard Mrs Welling, the daily help, comment with a chuckle to Jacky Besant, who worked in the grounds, while they were enjoying a quiet smoke in the yard.

‘Not much, I reckon.’ Jacky had also seemed amused. ‘But she’s no need to fret. He’ll be gone again soon enough, and then she’ll have it easy again.’

Maybe we all will, Rhianna had thought, stifling a sigh.

It had occurred to her that Diaz wasn’t a bit as she’d imagined when Carrie had first told her about him.

For one thing she’d assumed he’d be much older. Physically much heavier, too. Not lean, rangy, and possessed of a dynamism she’d been able to recognise even at her immature age.

‘He’s what they call a babe magnet,’ Simon, himself sidelined under the new regime, had commented resentfully when Rhianna, sent on an errand by her aunt, had met him emerging from the village Post Office. ‘Tall, dark and mega-rich. My parents say that every female in Cornwall under thirty is trying to have a crack at him.’

‘Well, I think he’s vile,’ Rhianna said vehemently, remembering how those extraordinary eyes—almost silver under their dark fringe of lashes—had frozen her.

Recalling too how she’d seen him in a corner of the terrace one evening, when she’d slipped round to listen to the music. How she’d become aware of a movement in the shadows and realised he was there, entwined with some blonde girl in a way that had made her burn with embarrassment, together with other sensations less easy to define.

And how, as he’d pushed the dress from his companion’s shoulders, she’d turned and run back to her own domain, and not ventured out at night again.

Now, she added with renewed emphasis, ‘Sick-making.’

Simon grinned faintly. ‘Keep thinking that way.’ He paused. ‘Fancy going down to the harbour for an ice cream or a Coke at Rollo’s Café?’

She shook her head. ‘I—I have to get back.’ It was only partly true. She didn’t want to admit that she’d been sent out with the exact money to pay for her aunt’s requirements and no more.

‘You can be spared for ten minutes, surely?’ Simon said reasonably. ‘And you need something cool before you bike back to Penvarnon or you’ll be roasted.’ He paused. ‘My treat.’

She flushed with pleasure. Simon the cool and totally gorgeous was actually offering to buy her an ice cream. Normally he didn’t take a great deal of notice of her, when Carrie was there. They’d been friends long before she came on the scene, and she’d always accepted that, told herself it was nasty of her to feel even slightly envious.

But now Carrie was occupied, and she had this one blissful chance to spend a little while with Simon on her own. Without, she thought, having to share him. And instantly felt thoroughly ashamed of herself.

Then she saw Simon smiling at her, and drew a small, happy breath. ‘I mustn’t be too long,’ she temporised.

He bought their ice creams, and they sat on the harbour wall in the sunshine, watching the boats and chatting about everything and nothing, until Rhianna said regretfully she really had to get back, and Simon lifted her down from the rough stones.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘This has been great. We must do it again.’

As she’d cycled back to Penvarnon her heart had been singing. It might only been half an hour, but for Rhianna it had become thirty minutes framed in gold. A pivotal moment for a lonely girl on the verge of adolescence. Heady stuff.

But certainly not enough to provide the foundation for any dreams about the future.

But I didn’t know that then, she thought unhappily. And it was long, long in the future before I realised that by the time you’re sure of your dream and want it to come true it may be completely beyond your reach.

She was startled out of her reverie by the train manager’s voice announcing the express’s imminent arrival at her station.

Rhianna rose, reaching for her sunglasses, reluctantly collecting her suitcase and dress carrier as she prepared to alight.

You don’t have to do this, an inner voice urged. You could stay right here, extend your ticket to Penzance, and from there catch the next train back to London. Then make the excuse you’ve been hit by some virus. Summer flu. Anything…

Carrie will be disappointed if you don’t show, but that will surely be a minor issue when she has so much else to be happy about.

And if you can’t stand the idea of London, then get yourself to the nearest airport. You’ve got your passport in your bag, plus your credit cards, so buy a flight somewhere—anywhere—and chill out for a while.

And stop—stop agonising over the past. Because there’s nothing you can do—not without ruining Carrie’s happiness. And that’s never been an option.

But she was already caught up in the small stream of people who were also leaving the train. The door in front of her had opened, and she was stepping down into the sunlight.

It was hot, but Rhianna felt the fine hairs on her arms react as if a chill wind had touched them.

She paused, all her senses suddenly alert, and saw him.

He was waiting at the back of the platform, taller and darker than anyone else in the bustling crowd around them. A shadow in the sun. His anger like a raised fist. Waiting for her, as she’d somehow known he would be. As she’d felt him deep in her heart—her bones—even while she was trying to convince herself that he’d be long gone, a thousand miles away, and that she had nothing more to fear.

Then, as their eyes met, Diaz Penvarnon began to walk towards her.

CHAPTER TWO

RETREAT was impossible, of course. There were people behind her, and she was being carried forward by their momentum. Towards him.

And then a voice beside her said, ‘It’s Rhianna Carlow, isn’t it? Lady Ariadne from Castle Pride. This is a bit of luck. May I have a quick word?’

Rhianna turned quickly to the newcomer, youngish and thin- faced, his brown hair slicked back, his smile confident, but her relief was short-lived.

‘I’m Jason Tully,’ he went on. ‘From the Duchy Herald. May I ask what you’re doing so far from London? They’re not planning to shift the new Castle Pride series down to Cornwall, are they?’

‘Not as far as I know.’ She could handle this, she thought, making herself smile back, every nerve in her body tinglingly aware that Diaz Penvarnon was standing only a couple of feet away. ‘Although that would be lovely, of course. But I’m actually here on a private visit.’

She was careful not to mention it was a wedding, in case her presence there was enough for him to rouse the rest of the press pack and bring them homing in on Polkernick Church.

Which would no doubt be interpreted as her deliberate attempt to upstage the bride, she thought bitterly.

‘I see.’ He signalled to an older stouter man, carrying a camera, then looked past her to the train. ‘So, are you travelling alone, Rhianna? You don’t have a companion?’

‘I’m on my way to see friends,’ she returned, not daring to look at Diaz and see his reaction.

‘Sure.’ Jason Tully grinned again. ‘I guess you know it’s just been announced that your co-star Rob Winters has split up with his wife? I’m wondering how you feel about that?’

Ah, so that’s who you were expecting to see following me off the train, you little weasel.

She suppressed an inward groan.

‘No, I hadn’t heard that,’ she returned steadily, aware that Diaz was absorbing every word of the exchange, brows lifted cynically, that other people were halting to stare—and listen. ‘And if it’s true I’m—sorry. However, I’m certain that it’s a temporary difficulty which will soon be resolved.’

‘But you and Rob Winters are pretty close?’ he persisted. ‘Those were some very torrid love scenes you played in the last series.’

‘Yes,’ Rhianna said. ‘We played them. Because we’re actors, Mr Tully, and that’s what we’re paid for.’

And you will never know, she thought, how true that is—for me, anyway.

She added, ‘And now—if there’s nothing else…?’

‘Just a picture, if you don’t mind.’ He looked at Diaz, standing in silence, his hands on his jean-clad hips. ‘And you are?’

‘Miss Carlow’s driver.’ Diaz stepped forward and took the bags from her unresisting hands. All of them, she realised too late, including her handbag, with her money, return ticket and everything else.

‘I’ll be waiting in the car—madam,’ he added, as he turned away, heading for the exit. Leaving her staring after him.

‘We only came down here to do a story about the delay in track repairs,’ Jason Tully announced jubilantly as Rhianna recovered herself, posing obediently for the camera. ‘This is a real bonus.’

Your bonus, she thought. But my can of worms.

‘Have a nice visit,’ he added as she began to walk away. ‘I hope you enjoy yourself with your—friends. When you meet up with them.’

The innuendo was unmistakable, and she rewarded it with another dazzling smile, wishing that she could knock him down and jump on him.

He’ll be on to the nationals as soon as he can get his mobile phone out of his pocket, she thought bitterly as she left the station. I only hope that idiot Rob is staying with his parents in Norfolk, and hasn’t chosen to go to ground somewhere, in true dramatic fashion. Or nowhere west of Bristol, anyway.

But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had her own problems to deal with. The most major of which was standing beside his Jeep, his face bleak and hostile, his pale eyes brooding as he watched her walk towards him.

Her mouth felt dry, and her hands were clammy. If there had been anywhere to go she’d have turned and run. But that wasn’t possible, so she’d have to fall back on sheer technique.

Treat it as stage fright, she thought. Then go on and give a performance. The kind that saves the show.

‘Mr Penvarnon,’ she said, her voice cool and detached. ‘What a surprise. I thought you’d be on the other side of the world.’

‘You hoped,’ he said, as he opened the passenger door for her. ‘Was that why you decided to ignore my advice?

Her brows lifted. ‘Is that what it was?’ she asked ironically. She climbed into the vehicle, making a business of smoothing the skirt of her plain café au lait linen dress over her knees. ‘I thought I was being threatened. And I don’t respond well to threats.’

‘But you deal very well with inconvenient questions from reporters, I notice,’ Diaz said smoothly. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t use that coy old cliché, We’re just good friends, when he was quizzing you about your involvement with Robert Winters.’ He paused. ‘So, what is he? Your consolation prize for missing out on the man you love?’

Her heart seemed to stop, but she managed to keep her voice level.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Both Rob and his wife are genuinely friends of mine, but Daisy and I are closer because we met at drama school. And the reason they’re having problems is that she wants to stop work and have a baby, whereas he sees them as some starry theatrical couple on a smooth and uninterrupted ride to the top. I see no reason to mention that to the press, local or national.’

She paused, drawing a swift breath that she tried to keep steady. ‘And I’m telling you this only because I’m sick of the implication that any other woman’s man is fair game as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Your protest is touching,’ he said, as the Jeep moved forward. ‘But the evidence is against you.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps it’s genetic.’

‘If you mean like mother, like daughter,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you just say so? I have no objection. Because I know that whatever my mother did it was for love, and that I am no different.’

‘Slow curtain,’ he said sardonically, ‘and tumultuous applause. I loved the authentic quiver of sincerity in the voice, sweetheart. You could make a living in straight drama without needing to take your clothes off on television. But perhaps you enjoy it.’

He paused. ‘Incidentally, how did this good friend of yours react to the sight of you cavorting naked with her husband?’

She shrugged. ‘She thought it was funny.’

Even now she could remember being in Daisy’s kitchen, the pair of them hooting with uncontrollable laughter as they waited for Rob to come back with their Indian takeaway.

‘Do you know how long it took me,’ Daisy had asked tearfully, ‘to put concealer on his bum because he thought he was getting a spot?’

‘He didn’t mention that.’ Rhianna shook her head, hiccupping. ‘He just kept c-complaining about the draught on the set.’

‘He does that when we’re in bed,’ said his loving wife, wiping her eyes. ‘Invariably at the wrong moment. He’s terrified of catching a cold. Some people have champagne in their fridges. We have gargle, bless him.’

God, but they were so right for each other, Rhianna thought. Rob—his ambition and talent battling his anxieties. Daisy—serenely grounded.

Their love for each other had been unquestioned and unquestioning—until Daisy’s biological clock began ticking away.

If they were now separated it had to be a glitch, she told herself passionately, because they belonged together in a way she could only observe and admire. And, if she was honest, envy.

‘So what are you doing here, Rhianna?’ Diaz’s voice broke harshly across her thoughts. His hands were gripping the wheel so fiercely that the knuckles stood out. ‘God knows there isn’t a soul that wants you at Penvarnon—apart, I suppose, from Carrie. In her case, love is indeed blind, or she’d have seen you a long time ago for the treacherous, self-serving little madam you really are.’

‘Heavens,’ she said. ‘What a turn of phrase. If we ever need a scriptwriter for Castle Pride I’ll recommend you. Unless, of course, you’re planning an alternative career as a cabbie?’

‘You didn’t really think I’d risk Simon coming to meet you from the train?’ he said softly. ‘Because my poor trusting Carrie would have let him do it if I hadn’t stepped in.’

‘Dear me,’ she said lightly. ‘Is he so little to be relied upon?’

‘No.’ His voice hardened. ‘You are. You’re the loose cannon around here. The snake in the grass. And don’t think I’ll let that slip my mind even for a minute.’

They were outside the town by now, and he swung the wheel suddenly and sharply, pulling the Jeep on to the verge at the side of the road and bringing it to an abrupt halt.

‘And this isn’t more advice,’ he went on. ‘It’s a warning to be taken seriously.’

He drew a deep breath. ‘You probably have every red-blooded man in Britain lusting after you, but that’s not enough for you—is it? Because you didn’t learn your lesson five years ago. You had to make another play for Simon, and this time it worked.’

He paused. ‘But, sadly for you, the Rhianna effect didn’t last. You can’t have been too pleased when the stupid bastard came to his senses just in time, and realised what was genuine and worthwhile in his life, and how easily he could have lost it. After all you’re irresistible—according to the television company’s publicity machine.’

His voice roughened. ‘You betrayed the best, most loyal friend you’ve ever had in order to bed Simon, just to prove that you could. But on Saturday she’s still the one he’s going to marry. And you will say nothing and do nothing to jeopardise that in any way. Do I make myself clear?’

‘As crystal.’ She stared straight ahead of her through the windscreen. ‘Tell me—did Simon receive a similar lecture, or was this fascinating diatribe designed for me alone?’

‘I didn’t need to have another go at him,’ he said. ‘Simon is subdued enough already. And he’s made it clear that he bitterly regrets the criminal stupidity of putting his entire future on the line, however potent the temptation. I recommend you keep out of his way,’ he added grimly.

‘No problem,’ she said. ‘It’s not as if we’ll be sharing a roof for the next two nights, after all. And if you’re concerned about the daylight hours, why not ask the Hendersons if they’ll move out of the flat and put me back in the stables—the servants’ quarters—where I belong?’

‘When,’ he said harshly, ‘did you ever belong anywhere at Penvarnon?’

She should have expected it, but for a moment Rhianna felt her throat close in shock.

But I never wanted to be there. She wanted to say it aloud. Shout it. Not once. And I left as soon as I could. If it wasn’t for Carrie, I wouldn’t be here now. And once these next few ghastly days are behind us, you’ll never—ever—see me again.

But she remained silent. Because he would no more believe her now than he’d done in the past, so there was no point in hoping.

She simply had to deal with the present pain, and face the uncertainty of the future. Both of which she would accomplish alone.

Then his hand moved. The engine roared into life and the Jeep moved forward.

Taking them to Penvarnon.

‘Alone at last.’ Carrie’s laughter had an edge to it, and her hug was fierce. ‘Oh, Rhianna, I’m so thankful that you’re here. Wasn’t it ghastly downstairs just now? You must have noticed.’

‘You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife,’ Rhianna conceded drily as she returned the hug. ‘But I attributed that to my arrival.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ Carrie returned. ‘Besides, no one cares about a lot of old nonsense that happened years ago. Not any more.’

Don’t they? Oh, God, don’t they? What makes you so sure? Because I can think of one person at least who hasn’t forgotten a thing. Or forgiven…

She was still shaking inside, she thought, as she had been throughout the remainder of that taut, silent drive to the house. Seated beside him, hands clamped in her lap. Staring at nothing.

Still shaking when she reached for the door handle almost before the car had stopped on the wide sweep in front of the main entrance and swung herself recklessly, desperately, out on to the gravel.

She’d thought—imagined—just for a moment that Diaz had very quietly said her name, and in that instant had been tempted to turn and look at him.

Only to see Carrie, almost dancing with excitement at the top of the shallow stone steps, while Henderson, very correct in dark trousers and a linen jacket, came down to collect her luggage. So she’d walked towards the house instead.

And as they’d moved inside she’d heard the car drive off—fast.

Swallowing, she now applied herself to the task in hand—hanging the dress carrier in the elegant wardrobe and unzipping her travel bag. ‘So, what’s the problem?’

Carrie sighed. ‘Just that the bell seems to have gone for round fifty in the battle of the mothers. Dad says it’s like Waterloo—“a damned close-run thing”—then disappears to the golf club. His answer to everything these days,’ she added, with an unwonted hint of bitterness.

‘Well, you can’t expect him to take a passionate interest in hemlines, flower arrangements and tiers on the cake.’ Rhianna tried to sound soothing. ‘He probably thinks it’s his duty just to keep quiet and write the cheques. Besides,’ she added, ‘knowing that he’s going to have to give you away very soon now and watch you disappear to Cape Town must be preying on his mind, too. Maybe he needs time and space to deal with that?’

‘It’s going to be hard for me too,’ Carrie admitted unhappily. ‘Oh, Rhianna, Simon and I—we are doing the right thing, aren’t we?’

Rhianna’s heart lurched. ‘In what way?’ She tried to sound casual.

‘The new job. I sometimes get the feeling that Simon’s having second thoughts about it. He’s been so quiet over the past few weeks. Yet when I ask him he says everything’s fine.’

Rhianna bent over her case, letting a swathe of waving mahogany hair hide her sudden flush. ‘Then probably everything is,’ she said constrictedly. ‘And don’t forget that it’s only a job, Carrie, not a life sentence. If it doesn’t work out, you move on.’

‘I suppose so. But Diaz probably wouldn’t be too pleased about that.’

‘And is the maintenance of his goodwill really so vital?’ She tried to speak lightly. ‘Or just a habit?’

‘Well, he has been incredibly kind,’ Carrie said. ‘After all my parents could never have afforded a place like this, and Diaz has let us live here all this time.’ She sighed. ‘Although that’s coming to an end quite soon, as I expect he told you.’

‘No.’ Rhianna straightened. ‘No, he didn’t mention it. But we’re hardly on those terms.’

‘Oh.’ Carrie looked at her, dismayed. ‘I thought maybe things had improved a little in that quarter—especially as he offered to fetch you from the station. Simon volunteered, naturally, but Diaz reminded him he was supposed to be getting his hair cut in Falmouth, and said he’d go instead.’