The Stand-In Bride Page 12

  ‘Fine, you’ve done it now,’ he said, breathing hard.

  ‘Yes, I have. And I’m going to do it again. You don’t have to.’

  He took hold of her as she turned away. ‘Understand me,’ he said grimly. ‘If you insist on doing this, then we do it together.’

  ‘There’s no need!’

  ‘There’s every need, because when you break your neck I want to be there to say I told you so.’

  ‘Fine! On that understanding.’

  When they reached the top she darted away again, but this time he was ready for her. They took the mountain almost side by side and reached the bottom together.

  ‘That’s it!’ he said.

  ‘It may be it for you, but I’m going back.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he shouted. ‘What are you trying to prove?’

  ‘Nothing that you have to prove with me.’

  His face was strained. ‘You know better than that,’ he said harshly.

  Stubbornly she returned to the top, but this time she knew that she’d made a mistake. She was tired, and had lost the edge that had carried her successfully through the first two runs. Except that now she had experience of the slope, she assured herself. That would make all the difference.

  But she’d miscalculated. This time the drop felt steeper, faster, her reactions slower. She tried to ease up. Would the end never come?

  What happened next was too fast to follow. Suddenly, the ground, which had been sloping away steeply, seemed to vanish altogether. She had a sickening view of the long drop down into the valley, of nothingness rushing up to greet her. She fought for some footing but the mountain had become an enemy. She heard Sebastian cry out and the next moment she seemed to be in free fall. She called to her aid everything she knew about falling, not fighting it but trying to control it. Even so, she knew she was lucky to reach the bottom in one piece.

  The knowledge did nothing to ease her anger at having failed in front of him. As the world ceased its spinning she sat up and slammed her fist into the snow just as he reached her and dropped to his knees.

  ‘You could have been killed,’ he cried hoarsely. He seized her. ‘Do you understand me? You could have been killed!’

  ‘Well, that would have solved your problem for you,’ she yelled back.

  His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders. ‘Of all the stupid-idiotic-come on.’ He helped her to her feet. She winced and was forced to cling to him for support, but she freed herself at once.

  ‘As soon as we get back to the hotel you’ll see a doctor,’ he said.

  ‘I’m all right. Just a few bruises.’

  ‘You’re going to see a doctor,’ he said with exasperated patience. ‘Since you’ve marked me down as a domineering bully, I may as well act the part.’

  She didn’t answer. She was trying to hoist her skis over her shoulder, but she was all aches. Silently Sebastian took them from her, and they returned the short distance to the hotel. She found the walk harder than she would have admitted to. The mountains seemed to be still spinning around her and she was looking forward to a long sleep.

  They had booked into the most luxurious room of the Hotel Frontera. It had two double beds, both big enough to take three, and a huge fireplace with logs. The actual heating was done by radiators, but the fireplace created the right rustic atmosphere, and the hotel maintained it diligently.

  Maggie began to remove her outer clothing, moving slowly, and wincing a good deal. But she couldn’t reach her boots.

  ‘Let me,’ Sebastian said quietly, and knelt down to work on the straps. Maggie took a long breath as he slipped them off.

  ‘I’m sorry. Did that hurt?’

  ‘No more than I deserve, I dare say,’ she replied with a gruff laugh.

  ‘For the sake of domestic harmony, I won’t answer that.’

  There was a knock on the door. Sebastian answered it and returned with two glasses of brandy, one of which he gave her. ‘It will make you feel better.’

  It was a very fine brandy and it did make her feel better. He watched her drink it, then offered her the remaining half of his. She accepted it.

  The doctor arrived, a pleasant middle-aged man, who looked her over efficiently and announced that she had no bones broken, or even cracked.

  ‘Lots of bruises, but nothing worse,’ he announced. ‘Don’t try that run again until you are well. I’ve seen people break their necks on it.’

  When they were alone Sebastian asked gravely, ‘Will you tell me the truth? Was that what you were trying to do?’

  ‘Break my neck? No, of course not. But-I don’t know how to put it-it sometimes feels good to take risks and leave it in the hands of fate. When you don’t know what the answer is-just to shrug and say, what will be, will be. It can be the most exciting feeling in the world.’

  ‘I know it can. I’ve done it myself. Nobody would ever ski a black run if they didn’t have a touch of the fatalist about them.’

  ‘When I’m better, I’m going back,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Very well, we’ll go together. But this time, side by side. No races. Whatever you may think, seeing you get killed would not solve my problem. I don’t know what the answer is-perhaps there isn’t one. But it’s not that. Of course,’ he added ironically, ‘the broken neck might be mine, and then your problem would be solved.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Roderigo died, but it didn’t make me free of him. He just became more and more destructive. I thought I’d escaped from his shadow, but now it looms larger than ever.’

  ‘Because of me?’ Sebastian asked tensely.

  ‘In some ways you’re just like him.’

  His head went up. ‘I am like that shiftless criminal?’

  ‘He did what suited him and told me about it afterwards, just like you with our wedding.’

  He frowned. ‘I did what I thought was right, but maybe-maybe I was wrong.’

  ‘What about what I thought was right? It didn’t count, did it? Never mind. It’s done now. I’m going to bed.’

  She got carefully into her bed and curled up at the edge. Sebastian stayed up, drinking brandy until, about one in the morning, he got into the other bed.

  Next day she rested, while Sebastian went out onto the slopes. He took the Wall of Death twice in the morning and twice in the afternoon, wondering what he was trying to prove to himself, and not caring to search too far for the answer. He had lunch out, rather than return to the hotel where he knew he wasn’t welcome.

  In the evening he found Maggie up and dressed, looking better, although she still moved stiffly. She asked politely after his day, and said she thought she might venture out tomorrow, not to ski, but to wander around the town. This kind of small talk carried them through a full half hour.

  ‘You must be hungry,’ he said at last. ‘Shall I call Room Service?’

  ‘No need. I’m well enough to come downstairs.’

  Of course, he thought. The restaurant, where there were other guests and waiters to be spoken to, and the silence wouldn’t yawn so terribly between them.

  The carefully polite meal that followed was more dreadful than the most bitter quarrel. When it was over she said she would have an early night, but why didn’t he spend half an hour in the bar, if he wished? He agreed, and when he returned upstairs found the light out and Maggie apparently asleep.

  He was awoken by the sound of water running. Through the crack in the bathroom door he could see a light, and her shadow as she stepped into the tub. After a while he heard what sounded like a gasp of pain, followed by a muttered, ‘Damn!’ He got up, slipped on a silk robe and went to the door.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was sitting in the bath, clasping the sides, a look of frustration on her face.

  ‘I thought a hot soak would help,’ she said. ‘But now I can’t pull myself up. It hurts when I try.’r />
  He leaned down. ‘Put your arms about my neck.’

  She did so and he straightened up slowly, taking her whole weight. As her naked body came into view he gave a sharp exclamation. The bruises had come right out now and she seemed to be black and blue all over.

  ‘There’s a towelling robe on the door,’ she said.

  He draped it carefully around her and helped her out. Then he picked her up gently and carried her over to the fireplace, setting her down on the sofa. Then, to her surprise, he fetched a towel from the bathroom and sat down beside her, taking hold of one of her feet and beginning to dry it gently.

  ‘I can do that,’ she protested.

  ‘You can’t. See what happens if you try to reach this far.’ She tried, and gave up, wincing. ‘You shouldn’t have to go into that bath alone. Why a bath, and not a shower?’

  ‘I wanted a hot soak. I though it would make me feel better.’

  ‘And if I hadn’t woken up?’

  ‘I’d have sat there until morning, I suppose. Anyway, thank you.’

  ‘I think we should go home tomorrow.’

  ‘No way. I’ve had a day’s rest and a bath, and I’m feeling better. I’ll be out tomorrow.’

  ‘No more Wall of Death,’ Sebastian said at once.

  ‘No. I’ve done that.’

  ‘Did it work?’ he asked shrewdly.

  ‘Up to a point.’ She fell silent.

  ‘Tell me about him,’ Sebastian said at last. He saw her eyebrows rise faintly and said, ‘Yes, I should have asked before. But I should like to know what a woman like you saw in such a man.’

  ‘I wasn’t a “woman like me”, in those days. I was a girl of Catalina’s age, and just as ignorant and naive as she is. Now, I’m the woman Roderigo made me: not a very nice one, I often think. I don’t really trust anyone-not really, deep down trust with my whole heart-because I trusted him so much.’

  She was silent for a long time, before Sebastian said, ‘Tell me, please.’

  ‘My parents had died, and I was on my own. I thought Roderigo was wonderful, so handsome and charming. He told me he was on a business trip, buying and selling things.’

  ‘He never made an honest penny in his life,’ Sebastian couldn’t resist interrupting.

  ‘That’s not true,’ she said quickly, impelled to defend Roderigo by an impulse that she didn’t understand. Or perhaps it wasn’t him she was defending but the eighteen-year-old Maggie and everything she had believed in. ‘The business was real enough. It just didn’t do very well. At the start, he really was trying, I know he was. And sometimes he pulled off very successful deals. But then he got carried away and spent the profits before he had them.’

  ‘So how did he turn into what he became?’

  ‘He didn’t have much head for money, I suppose. He always thought money would turn up, and when it didn’t, well-I had a little, only that disappeared too. I kept thinking he’d grow up, become more responsible, but he wasn’t a boy. He was twelve years older than me. I guess he just couldn’t grow up. And when the money was gone he started to panic.’

  ‘Did he hit you?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘he didn’t do that.’

  He watched her, wondering if she knew what she’d revealed. The speed with which she’d said, ‘No, he didn’t do that,’ implied that it was virtually the only thing he hadn’t done.

  ‘He liked to take the easiest way,’ Maggie went on. ‘In the end, he couldn’t do any work. I think he’d forgotten how. So the only way to get money was stealing.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘He was quite good at that. So, of course, he went on.’

  ‘Why did you stay with such a man?’

  ‘Maybe it was a kind of stubbornness. I couldn’t bear to admit that our love had turned into such a mess.’

  ‘You loved him?’ Contempt and disbelief mingled in his voice.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered. ‘I loved him once. He’d been everything to me, and it was so hard to let it go. And then-I found I was pregnant.’

  She was looking into the fire, and didn’t see him start.

  ‘I had such high hopes when I knew about the baby. I thought Roderigo might change, become responsible.’ She gave the little mirthless laugh again. To Sebastian it sounded almost like choking. ‘As though a man’s basic nature could change. He grew worse. He thought it justified him being a thief. He kept saying, “I did it for you and our son,” until I wanted to scream.

  ‘He was so sure it would be a son. He kept making grandiose plans for the boy, and then going out to steal. I think that’s when I noticed that his face was changing. It became thinner, withered and-mean.’

  ‘I remember seeing him at the trial and thinking how like a rat he looked,’ Sebastian said. ‘A miserable, cornered rat, twisting this way and that to avoid his guilt. Luckily he didn’t succeed. Even his own confederates were disgusted with him. One of them gave evidence against him.’

  ‘Yes, I heard.’

  ‘I never saw you at the trial or I would have remembered you.’

  ‘I wasn’t there. The day before it started, I went into premature labour. My baby was born at six months. She lived for a week in an incubator. I stayed with her all that time. I knew the trial was going on, but it was like something on another planet. For me, the whole world was in that little incubator.’

  ‘Now I understand what I saw in your face when you looked at the crib,’ Sebastian said heavily.

  ‘That wooden baby was almost the same size as mine. Six-month babies are so tiny-you could hold one in your hand-except that I couldn’t touch her, only look.’ She sighed. ‘Until the end. When she died they took her out and wrapped her in a shawl, and I could hold her. She was still warm, almost as though she were still alive. I kept wanting to tell them there was a mistake. She must be alive because she was so warm. But then I felt her start to go cold, and I knew she was dead.’

  When she’d said that there was a long silence. Maggie wrapped her arms about herself and rocked back and forth, her head bent. Sebastian watched her, appalled. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this. He reached out to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away from him.

  He too dropped his head and covered his face. Helplessness, frustration, the feeling that he’d done harm and couldn’t put it right, these were things he found hard to handle. Don Sebastian de Santiago always had the answer. That was why people came to him. But tonight she was hurt beyond bearing and he wanted to punish someone for doing it. But the someone was himself, and he didn’t know what to do.

  ‘She was so tiny, and she fought so hard to live,’ Maggie whispered. ‘I’d have given my own life to save her, but I couldn’t. I was her mother, but I couldn’t help her. My little girl! My sweet, brave little girl! She never had a chance.’ Anguish racked her.

  Sebastian reached out to touch her but withdrew his hand at once, knowing that there was nothing he could do or say that wouldn’t seem like a crass impertinence. So he stayed as he was, cursing silently, and after a while Maggie raised her head and spoke again.

  ‘Nobody cared but me. She was only a girl. José came to her funeral. Nobody else from the family bothered.

  ‘A strange thing happened then. I stopped feeling. And I was glad, because that way there was no more pain. I knew it was still hurting really, deep down. But I couldn’t feel it. I saw Roderigo in prison and he screamed at me. I know he did, but it was as though I didn’t hear it. I told him I hated him because our baby was dead but I couldn’t feel the hate either, although I knew it was there.

  ‘I went back to England. José took me to the airport. He was only a boy, but he was very kind. None of Roderigo’s immediate family would help me. They blamed me for not supporting his alibi.’

  ‘It would have made no difference,’ Sebastian said. ‘Who would have believed you?’

  ‘That’s true. But José wasn’t like them. He wrote to me when Roderigo died. And that’s when-’ She stopped and a shudder went through
her. ‘That’s when I started to feel things again. I began to hear him screaming at me. At night-in my dreams-he was always there-crying out that it was all my fault-’

  ‘But that’s nonsense!’ Sebastian exclaimed. ‘How can it be your fault?’

  ‘You thought it was. When you discovered my real name, as far as you were concerned I was just an Alva, one of a tainted family.’

  ‘I was wrong,’ he said at once. ‘I behaved badly to you. But can’t you forgive?’

  ‘And who will forgive me?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘He’s dead. Perhaps I should have lied and saved him.’

  ‘You can’t really believe that.’

  ‘By day I don’t believe it. But at night, when he accuses me in my nightmares-’ She shuddered and put her hands over her ears.

  ‘Stop it!’ Sebastian said urgently. He took hold of her and this time she didn’t draw away. He wasn’t sure how much she was even aware of him. ‘Maggie,’ he said, shaking her gently, ‘Maggie, listen to me. It’s over. He was bad and he was punished. It’s over. But you have to get on with your life.’

  ‘What kind of life can an Alva have? Bad stock, tainted, incapable of good-’

  ‘Don’t!’ he said, in a torment almost as great as hers. ‘You’re not an Alva. You never were. Your name is de Santiago, and you are my wife.’

  ‘I’m his wife!’ she cried.

  ‘No. You belong to me, now. Feel my arms about you. Feel how much I want you. Don’t let the dead claim you. There’s so much life for us.’

  He kissed her eyes, her mouth, desperately trying to recall her from the cold place that threatened to suck her in. With all her heart she longed to respond to him. Perhaps Sebastian’s passion could recall her to life.

  But almost at once they knew the truth. Sebastian looked into her face and saw not coldness but despair. Slowly he released his grip.

  ‘It’s too soon,’ he said haltingly. ‘You’re not well. Go back to bed. Try to sleep. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’

  ‘No more talking,’ she said. ‘There’s no point.’

  She let him help her back to bed and tuck her up, then she turned away at once, closing her eyes.