Conditional Surrender Page 17

  And anyway, though modesty forbade her admitting it out loud, she thought she had never looked better. Her skin had taken on a special bloom, her eyes glowed bright. Even her hair had started behaving itself! And certainly she had never felt better—until now.

  The only other thing Kate could think had upset Greg was the house. And that did bring a small twinge of apprehension as she recalled how immersed she had become in drawing up plans over the last week.

  And there had been all that hassle of making Greg see what could be done to the house to transform it into a home—a real home, as far removed from this empty shell of an apartment as could be.

  In fact—Kate went to search out her growing portfolio of sketches, recalling the evening they had returned home after first viewing the house. Greg had been in an odd mood then, she remembered, and, thinking he was brooding on the wisdom of his decision to let her go ahead, she had drawn a large sketch of the house—transformed according to her dreams.

  Ah yes, there it was. She drew it out of the portfolio and forced herself to study it objectively, and was alarmed to see how she had romanticised it. She had even drawn a sunset in the background, for heaven's sake! But even so, she could not believe it a valid reason for his attempt to distance himself now. If he had objections, he would have voiced them at the time. Unless .. .

  Kate chewed absently at her lower lip. Unless he was feeling neglected? She had spent a long time on the portfolio. And come to think of it, they had barely touched on any other subject all week.

  Even when they had visited Sam and Marie four days previously, Kate had enthusiastically regaled Marie with every last detail, Marie's interest fuelling her own.

  `Nest building,' Marie had called it when Kate shyly

  described the feeling of welcome she had experienced at first sight of the house, as if the bricks and mortar had been impatiently awaiting her arrival. She had been so immersed in her theme she had not sought Greg's reaction. Had her thoughts become so focused on the house that she had failed Greg in some way? It was all too possible.

  With an impulsive resolution, she grabbed her purse and shopping bag, mentally altering the menu she had planned for that evening. Tonight she would put a favourite maxim of her mother's to the test! 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach'. Just let him try and feel neglected after she had finished with him! Kate thought, with the inevitable blush, of rather a novel idea for dessert! Of course, she would have to think of something else to serve to Sam and Marie!

  The phone was ringing when she re-entered the apartment, several pounds poorer, and she hurried over to answer it, thinking—hoping, that it was Greg.

  She was mistaken.

  Just how mistaken, about everything, was still tormenting her half an hour later when she called Marie to cancel their dinner arrangements.

  It was a difficult conversation. It had been the great sadness of the Goodises' lives that they had been unable to have children of their own. Greg had filled that gap to some extent, and Kate, especially now that she was pregnant, had been taken firmly under their joint protective wing. But Marie finally accepted Kate's excuse of tiredness without imagining anything too catastrophic.

  For how could she tell Marie the real truth? With the bitter gall of failure rising to her throat, Kate could imagine the conversation as it would have been:

  `Sorry, Marie, I can't have you to dinner . . . You see, I've just discovered Greg has hired his ex-mistress to design the interior of our new house—of what was to have been our home—knowing, of course, how I feel about it, and her—and her damned cold designs. Knowing it could—would destroy everything good between us. And I won't be able to pretend that everything is wonderful, not even for you, because my heart's never been broken before, and I don't know how to

  cope with it . .

  Much later, like an old woman crippled by pain, Kate slowly made her way to the bedroom, the only room in the apartment bearing her own personality. On the lounge floor she left the litter of her dreams—all her plans, her designs for the home she would never see outside her imagination. A sudden attack of nausea forced her into the bathroom.

  The retching left her weak and giddy. She slumped to the floor and rested her hot forehead against the cool wall tiles, feeling too wretched to move—even when she heard the sound of the outer door opening.

  She came slowly back to full consciousness when a damp flannel was passed over her forehead and she raised listless eyes to Greg's impassive features. Her lover of the last few weeks was nowhere in sight, only the cold-eyed, enigmatically sardonic stranger she had married.

  If she had harboured the tiniest of hopes that Caroline Sterling had lied to her on the phone, they were dashed in that instant. But still her skin burnt where he touched her and she roused herself enough to push him violently away.

  `Don't you touch me!'

  Her eyes, the only trace of colour in her ashen face, blazed green fire at him, but there was no visible reaction to her blatant misery. Tight-lipped, Greg turned on his heel and marched from the bathroom.

  Grimly Kate strove to embrace the hazy numbness beginning to anaesthetise her mind, and forced her trembling limbs to carry her back into the bedroom.

  `Do you need a doctor?' Greg asked with icy impersonal concern the moment she made an entrance. 'Marie was concerned about you,' he added when she did not answer.

  `No, I do not need a doctor.' Her voice was as pale as her face.

  `You were sick . .

  `Your girlfriend tends to have that effect on people,' she returned calmly—too calmly.

  His brows lowered to an ominous level. Kate couldn't have given a damn. 'She was rather upset at the way you spoke to

  her.'

  `I can't remember saying above two words?

  `From what Caroline tells me, they were more than enough.' `Well, I'm sure you consoled her. I take it there's no point in trying to persuade you to change your mind?'

  Even as his expression answered her question, Kate realised it would be a waste of time. Her objections would be the last thing to be taken into consideration. After all, it was only her life being torn apart.

  `It's only a house, Kate,' Greg stated quietly, shrugging off her misery as of no account. 'Why all the fuss?'

  `And why, from the scores of firms you could have chosen if you were so intent on bringing in professional help, did you -settle on the one most likely to hurt me?'

  One brow rose, deriding her conclusion.

  `Rather melodramatic, don't you think?' He shrugged again, his eyes glittering over her pale sad face. 'I simply prefer her designs to yours. Nothing personal, you understand?'

  A swift sharp stab of pain hurtled through the numbness and held her motionless. His cold scrutiny brought a terrible bleak emptiness to her face.

  He was lying—she knew that. But the knowledge did not help her one iota. His mind was made up. And Kate knew she could never reconcile herself to living again in the cold emptiness of a marriage as devoid of warmth as a house designed by Caroline Sterling would be.

  Not now—now that she knew how it could be .. .

  Her neck ached with the effort of holding her head high, but she bravely fought her way through the new access of misery lying in wait for her.

  `Fine,' she bit out tightly. 'You have Caroline build you another igloo—you can chill each other to death over the chrome accessories. But count me out, Greg. I need warmth in my home—something to thaw me out after any encounter with you. She'll suit you much better.'

  Moving like an automaton, she pulled open the doors of the large walk-in closet built into the wall and dragged out a large suitcase.

  `What the hell do you think you're doing?' Greg tore the

  case out of her nerveless hand and flung it across the room. `We made a bargain, Kate.'

  Wearily, she turned and drew out another case which went the same way as the first.

  `No, Greg. You made the bargain. I was just dragged along for the ride.'<
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  `If you think for a moment that I'll allow you to go from me to Terry, you're making a very grave—'

  `What did you say?' Incredulous, Kate began to back away from him, recoiling in horror from the raw anger devouring him.

  `Oh, so innocent!' he rasped harshly, his lips twisting in vicious contempt. `So sweet, so caring, so bloody loving! And it was all a sham, wasn't it?' The words were ground out through tightly clenched teeth, his hands jammed tight into his trouser pockets as if he were afraid to let them loose.

  The emotionless mask had finally cracked with a vengeance. And it was too late .. .

  As bitterly unhappy as she had been before, Kate had not felt anger. But now it took flight. How dared he? Terry had told her Greg was jealous of him, but she had never believed it. She did not believe it now. It was all an excuse—an excuse to push her away. An excuse for his own inability to give her anything he could not buy.

  And still his foul accusations rent the air between them.

  `Don't bother to deny it, Kate. I heard him—this morning, remember? I actually had the crazy idea I'd upset you, so I came chasing after you to find you in his arms. "I love you, princess"!' His voice was a savage mimicry of Terry's. "'I want you to be happy". And you, Kate? How do you feel? Are his feelings reciprocated? Tell me, dammit!'

  The open-handed slap she delivered caught them both by surprise. Throwing any remnants of caution to the wind, she flung back her head, meeting his murderous glare head-on.

  `You miserable bastard! What the hell has it ever mattered to you how I feel? But just for the record—yes, Terry loves me. Just as I love him. He gives me something you're incapable of even feeling! Friendship, Greg—ever heard of it? Ever experienced it? No—you can't, can you?' she sneered as icily as

  with any callous remark he had casually thrown her way during their brief marriage. 'Can't have the great self-sufficient Gregory Courtney actually needing someone, can we? To need to confide in someone? To share, to laugh—to even, heaven forbid! asking a favour of someone? No, that would mean having to give part of yourself in return, wouldn't it?' This time it was Greg who backed away from stark fury. 'Have you ever given anything of yourself, Greg? Even to Sam and Marie? Yes, I know you rewarded them financially—you can't bear to be beholden—' She passed a hand over her face. 'I doubt if you even know the difference.'

  She exhaled slowly, the anger draining away with the breath, to be replaced by a misery so acute she could feel it begin to claw at her. She was so tired.

  `I'm the daughter of Terry's best friend, Greg. He's loved me since I was nine years old. Just as I've loved him. Just as Sam and Marie have loved you. Nothing more, nothing less. Oh lord!' Wearily she sank on to the bed, burying her face in her hands. 'I don't know why I'm bothering to explain. This has nothing to do with any imaginary infidelity.' She kept her face averted. 'You've been looking for an excuse ever since we found the house, haven't you? Why, Greg? Why does the concept of a real home frighten you?'

  `I don't know what you're talking about.' The lowering brows were an automatic reflex.

  `No, I don't suppose you do,' she whispered sadly, a wistful curve to her pale lips. 'You really should have married Caroline, Greg. It would have saved you all the trouble of turning me into a duplicate of her. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Someone you could keep at a distance? Someone who would be content with the things you could give her, without asking for feelings too? I won't let you do that to me.'

  lust what am I supposed to think when I see you and Terry embracing in the hallway? When I see him hand you gifts?' Greg went straight for the jugular, disregarding her explanation. But Kate had already gone through the pain barrier. Nothing he said now could hurt her any more.

  `You're supposed to remember who I am, what I am. You're supposed to remember how we made love last night. You're

  supposed to know how impossible it would be for me to give myself to you if I were betraying you. That's what I had to do when Caroline rang me. Don't you think I had good reason to believe you intended taking up with her again? But I know, because of who you are and the promise you made me, that you wouldn't be physically unfaithful to me.' There was no emotion left in her voice, just a sad reflection of what might have been. Even so, she was wasting her time.

  Greg wasn't listening to her. He was watching as she automatically folded a few things into her suitcase, her precise actions pouring fuel on the flames of his anger.

  `Damn you, Kate!' He jerked her around as she opened another drawer. 'You're going nowhere!'

  `I have to go! I can't stay here any longer.' She looked around her, the pleasure she had once found in this one room of the apartment dissipating to leave it as cold as the rest. Her head was lifted until her mouth was a whisper away from his, his compelling sexuality drawing her into him despite her despair.

  `I could force you to stay here, Kate. We both know that.' Her eyelids fluttered down to protect her from the metallic glitter demanding her surrender.

  `I've never denied it, Greg. But if you still feel any of that liking or respect you once said you had for me then you'll let me go, because I can't bear this half-marriage any longer.'

  The stark honesty of her weary reply stunned him. For once in his life he was at a complete and utter loss. Despite the speed with which his mind worked he could think of nothing to stop her—save one. One far too dangerous to even contemplate.

  `Very well, Kate. I—I apologise if I've over-reacted . . . But you have to admit that takes some explaining.' He gestured towards the package Terry had delivered. It was lying in open view in the drawer she had just started to empty. 'And when do I get to hear that secret you're waiting for the right time to divulge?'

  The breath caught painfully in her throat. Had she possessed the energy then hysterics beckoned enticingly. Oh yes, she had been waiting, planning, yearning for the right

  time. Somehow, this little scene was not at all what she had had in mind.

  But the luxury of hysterics would have to be denied. She needed all the energy she could conserve. Her baby would need it. She would need it—when she left.

  There was no other way but to leave. All that had sustained her throughout the months of her marriage had been the hope and then the certainty that Greg loved her. She had now been stripped of both. If she were to retain any sense of self-worth to pass on to her child, then it was imperative she remove herself from the temptation of Greg's presence. And, with the clarity of vision visited upon people at such a time of extreme distress, she knew there was only one way to escape him. One reason he would let her go before he destroyed more than her dreams.

  She retrieved the lovingly wrapped package and handed it to him.

  This—this is what I was waiting to tell you. Open it, Greg.' His head jerked up, eyes questioning her.

  `My birthday present? I don't understand . .

  `You will when you open it.'

  She sat beside him on the bed as, in slow motion, as if reluctant to reveal the secret, he carefully unwrapped the gift, drawing in a sharp painful breath at the sight of his own image staring back at him.

  It was clear from the shocked revelation written on his white face that he was recalling what she had once said to him—that she could only sketch portraits of people she loved.

  `I knew you would need proof, you see. You wouldn't have believed the words . . . Terry got it framed for me. I . .' She could not go on. His silence was eloquently informing her that she had been mistaken all along. He might care for her in his own fashion. But he did not love her—not as Kate understood the word.

  And all the time he simply sat there, staring at his own face. It really was an incredibly good sketch—better even than those of her family. The eyes, alive with that faintly quizzical air, as if he were questioning himself along with everyone around him. One well-defined brow was raised, and there was a cynical smile playing around his lips. She had seen that expression so often

  lately, and had misinterpreted i
t completely. She had put too much warmth in the eyes, she could see that now. Funny how it had come so naturally at the time .. .

  She swallowed once—twice, then tried to speak. Nothing more than a husky whisper could force itself past the tight constriction in her throat.

  `So you see . . . you see, I have to leave, Greg. You—this marriage—it's destroying me. I can't . . .' She breathed deeply, not even sure he was listening to her. He was so very still, his fingers wrapped tautly around the gilt frame of the portrait. 'I have to leave before I give in to the temptation to become the sort of person you want me to be. I—you want me to give up the part of myself which makes me who I am.'

  `Yes, I know. I can see . . .' He cleared his throat, though he still spoke as if to himself. 'All this time I thought I was protecting you . . . I'm sorry, Kate, more sorry than I can say.' He looked at her and flinched at her broken expression. The skin was stretched tightly over his well-sculpted cheekbones—a path she had traced so very many times. 'You're absolutely correct, of course. I can't go on hurting you in this way.'

  And Kate's last, lingering hope died a swift and excruciatingly painful death. She barely heard his next words.

  `We both need a breathing space. I have to know . . . Kate?' His hands shook with a fine tremor as he carefully placed the portrait on the bed behind them. He turned her to him, attempting to gather her close, but his movements were clumsy, and Kate shrank away from him, knowing she would not be able to bear the slightest hint of sympathy.

  She was terrified that the frozen state enveloping her senses would thaw into the anguish she knew was lying in wait for her. Terrified she would break down and beg him to let her stay, on any terms, any conditions. He rose, to her relief moving away, but staring at her down bent head, his eyes reflected all the agony she was feeling, if she had only looked up. But she could not.