The Bridesmaid's Secret

‘I’m adjusting,’ she said carefully. ‘It can be a bit stressful.’

‘I can see that,’ said Annis, equally careful. ‘What’s your boss like?’

Bella’s face suddenly creased into its irresistible gamine grin. ‘Impressed. For the first time in her life, apparently.’

Annis grinned back. ‘Oh? You must have been writing like an angel.’

‘Nothing to do with me. It’s all down to you.’

‘Explain,’ said Annis, entertained.

‘Well Caruso never wanted this exchange thing. She doesn’t like trainees or foreigners and foreigners begin in New Jersey. But she just loves high-achievers. You and Dad have done it for me.’

‘Me?’ echoed Annis, genuinely taken aback.

‘The consultancy got a name check in the Wall Street Journal. Caruso saw it and asked me if that was my sister. So I said yes and basked in your reflected glory.’ Bella chuckled at Annis’s expression. ‘We don’t only read about fashion and film stars, you know. Caruso has a regular feature, millionaire of the month. Carry on the way you’re going, and I’ll get you a slot.’

‘Thank you,’ said Annis.

Bella laughed aloud.

‘No, I haven’t got the influence yet. But I’m getting there. Caruso has given me a piece to write about what it’s like starting out in New York. It’s called New In Town. It’s in the April edition. I’ll send you a copy.’

‘I’ll buy it.’

‘No need to go that far. I know you never read anything but the financial press.’

‘I told you, Kosta’s educating me.’

Bella flinched. She could not help it. The name came out of nowhere and she was not ready for it.

Fortunately Annis was concentrating on her fettucini and did not notice.

‘I shall expect fan mail, then,’ said Bella after a minimal pause. Her amusement did not even sound forced, she congratulated herself.

‘Count on it.’ Annis stirred her pasta absently. ‘Bella, look, I don’t want to interfere with your job, of course I don’t, but my wedding—’

Bella braced herself. But Annis was talking more to herself than she was to Bella.

‘I don’t know what’s happening. You know that we wanted it to be really small, just immediate family and a couple of friends. But I keep bumping into people who tell me they’re coming, though I haven’t asked them and neither has Kosta. And we’re getting wedding presents from people I haven’t seen for twenty years.’ Her voice rose. ‘Lynda says everything’s fine, she’s got it all under control, but she doesn’t listen to me. I don’t know what to do.’ She looked up then, her face pinched. ‘When I said I need you, I wasn’t joking.’

Bella stared at her, horrified.

Suddenly she was swamped by memory. Annis was not the cool-suited businesswoman who’d impressed Rita Caruso any more. She was the Annis who had climbed up to get Bella out of the apple tree when she’d been stuck; the Annis who was scared of heights and clumsy with it, but who had still told Bella to stop crying and not look down; the Annis who had got her back on the ground and then had been violently and noisily sick. Anxious and determined and scared but still the Annis who did not give up just because she didn’t think she could do it.

How could Bella let her down?

Yet how could she not? Surely the best thing for Annis was for Bella to stay away from the man they were both in love with. Annis was going to marry him, after all. Only Bella could not say that she was in love with him, not ever, not out loud. Annis must never know.

‘Oh, Annie.’ She groaned.

‘I mean, if you can’t come over until the wedding, that’s fine. I can moan to you down the phone. Or email, like you said. Just as long as I know you’re part of it. That you’ll be there on the day.’

Bella felt as if she were being torn apart.

‘I don’t know,’ she said wretchedly. ‘It’s so damn complicated…’

‘Can we at least talk about it?’ said Annis.

‘We are talking.’

‘I mean properly. Without you looking at your watch every minute. This evening. What are you doing after work?’

Bella pulled a face. ‘Taking some honoured visitors on the town. I’m supposed to be the best in the department on the guided tour of the Big Apple.’

‘Oh.’ Annis was disappointed but not defeated. She fished in her shoulder bag and brought out a typed sheet. ‘Let’s see.’

She scanned it.

‘What is that?’ said Bella, recoiling.

‘My timetable. My client’s idea. When I told him I was coming to see you, he gave me the day’s itinerary, so I could catch up with him if I got delayed anywhere.’

Bella was revolted. ‘The dweeb,’ she said. ‘Could he also be a control freak by any chance?’

Her sister smiled. ‘He thinks ahead.’ She went back to the list. ‘Dinner, venture capitalists, blah blah blah. No, that won’t do. Hey, what about this? Hombre y Mujer Club, ten-thirty.’

‘If you try and talk at Hombre y Mujer you’ll get burst eardrums,’ said Bella.

‘We don’t have to talk there. Just meet. Then I could come back to your place and we could thrash this thing through.’

That gives me ten hours to find an excuse she’ll believe, thought Bella. Just great.

She said, ‘Fine. I’ll see you there. Now tell me all the gossip.’

And, recognising that she had won a battle, if not the war, Annis allowed herself to be diverted.

Bella kept the conversation light and away from weddings for the rest of lunch but she knew that the evening was going to be heavy. Everyone noticed how silent she was all afternoon. She still teased the post boy, and was merciless with Sally coming back from a fashion shoot with orange sequins on her cheekbones. But her heart wasn’t in it.

‘You in love, English?’ asked Sally, handing her a revised production schedule.

Bella pulled a face. ‘All the time.’

But Sally had a suspicion she wasn’t joking.

‘Doesn’t he like you taking the Japanese on the town tonight? They can get possessive these love-of-your-life types.’

Bella just shook her head and laughed. But Sally noticed in the mirror that as soon as she turned away Bella’s laughter died. The only thing that cheered her up, perversely, was a message from her sister that she was feeling too ill to join her at the club, after all. Bella was concerned, of course she was, but Sally saw she was relieved too.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said, calling Annis back at her hotel.

‘Something I ate, I expect. Plus jet lag. I’ll be better tomorrow. Can we meet tomorrow night?’

‘Yeah,’ said Bella, resigned. ‘Sure.’

But she went to the club anyway. The Japanese had been enthusiastic when offered a Latin beat and Hombre y Mujer was one of the classier venues. It was new, with some great music and a terrific sprung floor. The décor wasn’t bad either and the food—if you wanted food—was as hot and spicy as the Cuban beat. A lot of professional dancers went there as well as a lot of Latin Americans. The well-heeled Manhattan crowd had not really found it yet. As a result, said Paco the proprietor, the dancing was as good as you got outside Rio or Havana.

And tonight, thought Bella, she could really dance out her demons. She needed to. She had not felt as desperate as this since the night she never, ever, thought about. The night that had left her with a secret that burned into her soul. A secret she was never going to be able to share. Because Annis was the person she shared her secrets with. Annis was her best friend. And this secret would ensure that friendship ended for ever.

That was why she locked it away. Never looked at it. Went on with her life, just a little damaged, just a little wary. And very, very alone. But alone was all right, Bella told herself. She could handle alone.

So she fluffed out her hair, shook out her shoulders, and sashayed out onto the dance floor.

The hell with tomorrow. Tonight the demons were going back in the box.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN Gil walked into the club, it was already buzzing. He shouldered his way past the queue and nodded to the bouncer on the door.

‘Good evening.’ His clipped English accent was very pronounced. ‘Paco is expecting me.’

‘Oh, yeah. Professor,’ said the bouncer, trying the word out as if it was the first time he had said it in his life. ‘He said to go on up. First landing, door marked Private.’

He held the heavy door open for him. Gil ran up the stairs.

Paco was in his office, sitting at an impressive desk, for all the world like a captain of industry. But when Gil rapped on the door and pushed it open, Paco leaped to his feet and rushed forward like the enthusiastic freshman he had once been.

‘Gil! Great to see you!’ Paco embraced him, then held him at arm’s length. ‘What’s with the suit? You look serious.’

‘And you look like a pirate,’ said Gil, taking in the tight black head scarf and a single earring. He was taken aback.

Paco grinned. ‘Image. Just like they used to tell us in college. Marketing is everything.’

They went way back, he and Gil. They had met in the days when they’d waited tables and had driven delivery trucks to pay their way through college. Paco had graduated from waiter via barman to nightclub owner and, these days, music entrepreneur.

Gil prowled round the room, inspecting huge signed photographs and a couple of framed disks.

‘You’ve certainly made your MBA pay for itself.’

‘You, too, from what I hear.’

Gil swung round neatly. ‘What do you hear?’ He rapped the words out.

Paco looked surprised at the tone. ‘Only what was in the old alumni newsletter. Your company develops cutting-edge research software. That’s what it said.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I see. We’re talking industrial espionage. That’s what you’re doing in New York, isn’t it?’

Gil flung himself down in a chair. ‘Am I that transparent? I must have made it so damned easy—’ He broke off. His jaw was as tight as a vice.

Paco looked alarmed. ‘Hey, I’m just making social conversation here. What’s wrong?’

Gil looked at him for a frowning moment. Then, quite suddenly, he shrugged.

‘My famed judgement of people,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘It’s struck again.’

‘Ah,’ said Paco after the slightest pause.

‘Yes,’ said Gil, answering his unspoken comment. ‘I suppose you thought Rosemary Valieri had taught me all there was to know about duplicitous women? You were wrong.’ He sounded savage.

‘Oh, it’s a woman, is it? The English chick you were supposed to bring tonight?’

‘No.’ Gil dismissed Annis with a shake of the head. ‘My marketing director. The first non-specialist I brought in. She’s been with us since the start. I thought she was a friend.’

Paco looked at him with a good deal of sympathy. ‘Happens to all of us.’

‘We all thought she was a friend. She’s betrayed the whole team.’

‘Can you sort it?’

‘Yes,’ said Gil with cold fury. ‘I only have to divert my attention from important stuff. Work my butt off getting additional funding. Spend hours with corporate lawyers. Lie.’

Paco was amused. ‘That’s what makes business a fun world.’

‘I trusted her.’

‘Big mistake.’ Paco gave him a beer. ‘But we all do it. Don’t beat yourself up.’

‘She’s got some big investors moving in to take over the company. I only found out who today. And how they’re going to do it.’

‘Bad. But you’re sure you can handle it?’

‘Yes,’ said Gil. He showed his teeth. ‘Oh, yes.’

Paco was briefly sorry for the unknown marketing director. ‘If anyone can, you can. You were always the most focused guy in the class. Wish you luck, buddy.’ He took a swig of his own beer. ‘Now, what do you want to do? Stick around or go back to the hotel to wheel and deal?’

‘Wheeling and dealing is tomorrow. Tonight I want to release some major adrenaline.’

Paco was enthusiastic. ‘Right on. Have a meal, then boogie. The food’s Brazilian tonight. Chef does a mean feijouada.’

‘Great,’ said Gil, getting to his feet.

‘We got a great couple of DJs tonight. Real enthusiasts, know what I mean? We’ve got the PR crowd, too. Some of those kids can really move.’ He punched Gil lightly on the shoulder. ‘You want to channel aggression, you’re in the right place. Let’s party!’

They ate the spicy food, talking about old friends and new businesses. It was just like being back in college, Gil thought. The same jokes, the same heady sense they could do anything they wanted if they put their minds to it. All the time, the noise from the dance floor rose steadily.

Eventually Paco pushed back his chair. ‘Time I showed myself. Time you hit the floor. Let’s prowl.’

On the floor of the club Paco was different, Gil saw with amusement. The homely beer was gone. Instead he strolled around holding a glass of colourless liquid awash with chunks of lime and some anonymous leaves. Gil knew that the leaves were basil and the liquid was mineral water but it looked dangerous.

‘Mountebank,’ he said affectionately.

‘That’s what the punters expect,’ said Paco. He struck a fencer’s attack attitude.

They said in unison, ‘Renegade, you will die at the bite of good Corsican steel,’ and made a couple of imaginary passes in the air, ending with a high five. Paco looked momentarily startled.

Gil laughed. It seemed like the first time for weeks. He took off his jacket and tossed it behind the bar.

‘Enjoy,’ said Paco and went to talk to the barman.

Gil strolled round the floor. Paco was right, the dancing was good. The nightclub pulsed with Latin beat. Unbelievably rapid maracas warred with a rock base as physical as a hand closing round the heart. He danced with a dark woman, lithe as a jaguar; then a girl who looked as if she’d just come from the office; a glamorous redhead; a laughing Cuban girl who knew the steps so well she did not have to concentrate and even tried to talk to him a little; another office girl.

And then he saw her. She did not look Latin. She was blonde. Golden hair, luminous skin in the club’s hectic lighting. Not tall. Not at all one of the athletic semi-professionals that crowded the floor. But the way she moved—

Gil stopped dead. Something caught in his throat as he watched.

She was dancing alone, quite unselfconscious. Her concentration was total. She moved like a mettlesome horse, graceful yet powerful, and just on the edge of danger. She even stamped like a horse pawing the ground. Gil felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

She was unaware of anyone looking at her. She gave her whole body to the music. Her shoulder-length hair swung from shoulder to naked shoulder. But she did not have the overt sexuality of most of the dancers. Her dancing was spiky, even savage. Was she angry with someone? Maybe herself?

Gil took rapid stock. Paco should know. It was his club. If he was half as good a businessman as he had promised to be, he would know his clientele in depth. Gil eased round the dance floor to the bar where Paco was watching the floor.

‘Who is she?’ Gil said with an urgent undertone.

Paco did not have to ask. Gil could not take his eyes off her. Neither could plenty of other men. Which, in a lively New York club, was unheard of.

She was light as thistledown. Elusive as quicksilver. Fierce as fire. And oblivious to the hungry stares.

Gil was not oblivious. He saw the stares, recognised the hunger and it infuriated him. More than that, it filled him with a desire to shake the girl awake and make her see what she was doing. So much concentration, so much passion was dangerous. Why couldn’t she see that?

Paco looked across at the blonde and pursed his lips.

‘She comes with the fashion crowd. New. Been around since Christmas. Don’t know her name. Could be a dancer.’

Gil was still watching the vital figure. She was never still, not for a moment.

‘She looks like it.’ There was a husky note in his voice. The abandoned blonde was magnetic.

Paco raised his eyebrows. ‘Want me to ask around?’

Gil smiled. Paco could not quite keep the surprise out of his voice. Gil knew why. Paco knew him very well. He knew that Gil was not into instant lust.

And he wasn’t. Not even now, though his pulses were pounding. The girl, writhing and punching the air, was much more than a lust object. She looked difficult. And demanding. A conundrum and a challenge and—

Mine, thought Gil.

He felt exultant yet oddly calm.

‘I can find out about her,’ offered Paco.

Gil did not take his eyes off the dancer but he reached behind him along the bar and picked up a small bottle of water by touch.

‘I think it’s time I did that,’ he said amused, intent.

He did not even look at Paco before heading out onto the seething dance floor.

Bella was having a wonderful time. She always had a wonderful time. That’s what she was known for. The original party girl, ready for anything. She was always laughing. She made everyone else laugh, too. You knew you were going to have a great time when you went out in a group with Bella Carew. Under her lively magic, gloom and despondency turned into stardust.

Tonight the Japanese fashion editorial team, slowly unbuttoning to the Cuban beat, would have endorsed that enthusiastically. They let their long day of meetings dissolve in the rhythm. Seeing that they were happy, Bella allowed herself to relax. She let the stomping beat take over.

The music changed. One of the boys she had danced with before, caught her by the hand. Matching her steps to his, Bella went into a near perfect copy of the singer’s videoed routine. Her partner laughed in delight. She laughed back at him.

I am enjoying myself. That’s what I do best.

Except that these days it was getting harder and harder to enjoy herself. Oh, she could stay out late, dancing or talking with her friends. But eventually they wanted to go home. And when Bella got back to her rented loft apartment she was cold. The central heating system was American and efficient. But that had nothing to do with it. This was the cold of loneliness and it bit to the bone. And it was going to be worse tonight, with the prospect of that discussion with Annis tomorrow.

Still, no need to think about that yet. No need to think about that for hours. She slid both hands into her hair and swung it, letting her shoulders keep the rhythm as she turned her back to her partner, dancing round him provocatively.

Only to find that someone else responded to the provocation.

The first thing she was aware of was a warm hard hand on the bare skin of her midriff. Bella was so startled she almost missed her step. She looked back over her shoulder at the intruder, indignant.

‘Hi,’ he said.

Or she supposed that was what he said. It was too loud to hear him and nearly too dark to read his lips. But she could see them with odd vividness in the flickering shadows. Sculpted, sensually full and yet with a tension to them that spoke of deliberate control. A man of passions, then, but passions carefully mastered.

Bella could have laughed aloud at her fantasy. Especially as his mouth was almost all she could see of him.

In the strobe lighting though she could make out that he was tall and thin as a rake. She was aware of deep, intense eyes that seemed to burn into her. And there was a wicked rhythm to his dancing. Behind him, Bella saw her former partner fling up a hand in rueful farewell and move on to one of the other girls without missing a beat.

Which left her hard up against a body that seemed made of steel.

Pliant steel. She gasped, as he flung her away from him, brought her back. While she was still reeling, he clasped her to him in some routine that he was completely master of. Bella did not know it. Between surprise and lack of familiarity with the steps she floundered. For the first time in years she missed her footing several times.

The stranger bent forward, pushing her head back and said in her ear, ‘Let me lead.’

It went against the grain because Bella was an excellent dancer, but she did. At once, she seemed to know what he was going to do before he did it. The steel body moulded hers, signed to her what she was to do, and she responded. They were perfect together.

When the track ended, she turned to face him, out of breath and exhilarated.

‘Who are you?’ they said in unison.

He shook his head. ‘You first.’

He offered her the bottle of water. She drank deeply, then tipped some over her hot forehead. The water dripped down her cheekbones, her throat…She saw him watch a tear-drop slide between her breasts under her scoop-cut top.

He masked it at once but she saw the effect it had on him. It made up a little for being hijacked on the dance floor. She smiled brilliantly at him.

‘Tonight I’m Tina the Tango Dancer. You?’

‘Tonight?’

She shook her head, so that her hair swung wildly. ‘This is New York. You can’t expect me to give out my name to anyone who walks up and grabs me.’

He was amused. ‘But you look like a girl who likes to live on the edge.’

She winced. That was what everyone thought. Even her family thought Bella could cope with anything. Love them and leave them, that was Bella. Light-hearted. Adventurous. Never, ever, vulnerable.

And she wasn’t. She wasn’t.

That was why she was in this wonderful town alone, putting her life together and telling herself the loneliness would pass as long as she did not let anyone see it.

The disc jockey was talking, promoting his latest mix. Bella tuned it out.

She said airily, ‘There are edges and edges.’ She passed the bottle back to him. ‘You’re not telling me your name, I notice.’

‘Gil.’

‘Just Gil?’

In spite of his amusement, the dark eyes rested on her bare shoulders as if he was hungry. She saw it. A small curl of awareness thrilled through her.

But he answered coolly enough. ‘If you’re Tina the Tango Dancer, I’m just Gil.’

She liked the hunger. It made her feel alive. Just as the music and the strobe lights and the cold midnight streets outside made her feel alive. As she had forgotten how to feel when she was on her own.

‘Fine,’ she said, preparing to enjoy herself.

The jockey stopped talking. The unforgiving beat started again. At once Bella was moving: hips, shoulders, feet, all talking back to the music.

Gil, whoever he was, began to dance too. But he made it very clear he was not letting her go. Every time she spun and jumped, his hand was there to guide her back to his side.

Exciting, decided Bella.

She grew bolder, challenging him, trusting him not to let her go. His hands were like iron as she bent away from him, her hair brushing the floor. She straightened, laughing delightedly.

At the end of the set, she was hot and breathless. Gil looked down at her, his eyes glinting. He was not even breathing hard.

He must be very fit.

One of the Japanese visitors came up. Even without his tie, he was still impressively courteous. He made a little breathless bow.

‘You have been most kind. We thank you.’

Bella read the signs. ‘You’re ready to go?’

Mr Ito was regretful. But there was an early plane to catch.

‘No problem,’ said Bella, detaching herself from Gil and dismissing him from her mind. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

She was piqued that Gil did not try to stop her. After all that possessive machismo on the dance floor she would have expected him at least to ask for her phone number.

She would not have given it to him. Of course she would not. But he should have asked. But when she looked round the tall thin figure was nowhere to be seen.

She shrugged, trying to laugh it off.

In the cloakroom, Rosa, one of the other club regulars, was fluffing out her hair.

‘Who’s the hunk?’ she asked Bella in the mirror.

Bella shrugged again. ‘Who knows?’

‘Thought you were going for the big one there.’

‘Big one?’

‘Don’t be so prim and English! I thought you were going to let him have a date. For once.’