Spanish Vengeance Read online

  He said, ‘I’ll ask Rosa to take fresh coffee to the courtyard. I’ll join you there shortly.’

  Watching his smooth stride, the proud angle of his handsome head as he walked from the room, Lisa felt her eyes blur with tears. She knew what form the discussion he’d mentioned would take.

  Would he accept her heartfelt apologies? Probably. With a formal, chilling courtesy. But all the grovelling apologies in the world wouldn’t change a single thing. The damage had been done. His current attitude towards her, the way he deliberately refused to even look at her was proof of that.

  ‘Pouff!’ Isabella patted her slender midriff. ‘I eat too much. I soon will burst! Shall we do as ordered?’ She tucked her arm through Lisa’s as they both rose from the table. As they strolled together to the inner courtyard Lisa knew that under any other circumstances she would have enjoyed this woman’s lively company. They might have become really good friends.

  Pausing by the central fountain, gently splashing into the shallow stone basin, Isabella dabbled her fingers in the cool water. ‘I am always telling Diego he must have a pool put in this place. At least then there would be something to do.’ She shrugged her elegant shoulders. ‘But he always tells me something so modern wouldn’t fit the whatever you call it—ambiente.’

  ‘Atmosphere?’ Lisa supplied gently. ‘I think he’s right. There’s something so timeless about this ancient place. It would be a pity to spoil it. ‘

  ‘Then I am outnumbered! Diego must be right when he calls me a barbarian!’ Her wide white grin was stunningly unrepentant. ‘But of course he has the swimming pool at his so modern home near Jerez. I am surprised he didn’t invite you there for your business meeting. Or book you into a hotel, one belonging to our family, naturally, as is usual with his business associates.’

  The dark eyes were dancing with sardonic little lights but Lisa managed a throwaway shrug as if she didn’t understand what Isabella was getting at. But of course she did. She obviously had her doubts about her brother’s assertion that Lisa’s presence here at his isolated and private hideaway had something to do with her father’s business.

  The water danced with flashing lights. The sun beat down on her head. The paving stones seemed to tilt beneath her feet. The scent of the flowers that rambled over the old stone walls and billowed from the dozens of planters was suddenly overpowering. Lisa raised an unsteady hand to her temple. She was feeling strangely dizzy. She should have forced herself to eat something…

  ‘Oh—you are engaged to be married?’

  Did Isabella sound disappointed? Not possible, surely? She had to be imagining it. Lisa’s aching brow pleated as the other girl took her hand and examined Ben’s ring. She had forgotten she was wearing it. It was nothing like as grand as the huge emerald Isabella sported next to her wide gold wedding band.

  ‘So when is the big day? Are you soon to be married? To an Englishman back home? Or to someone else, someone I might know?’ the Spanish girl enquired archly.

  ‘Sorry?’ Lisa’s eyes clouded as she attempted to sift through the spate of questions with a brain that was suddenly assaulted by a headache of unprecedentedly vicious proportions.

  ‘Are you to marry your Englishman soon?’ Isabella persisted as Rosa appeared at the far side of the courtyard to deposit a tray of fresh coffee on the table beneath the fig tree.

  ‘Yes,’ Lisa stated as firmly as she could, given the way she was feeling—all wobbly and feeble, her head pounding. It was a silly weak lie, of course, but it should stem the spate of eager intrusive questions. Saying no would involve explanations about the broken engagement, her reasons for still wearing her ex-fiancé’s ring, explanations that she didn’t feel up to making right now. She felt with draining misery that she would never want to talk to anyone about anything ever again.

  ‘Move into the shade.’ Diego’s command was ferociously taut. The sound of it, right behind her, made Lisa jump out of her skin.

  Had he heard that stupid lie? More than likely. Her heart lurched downwards at the speed of an out-of-control lift. But she could explain later, of course she could. She twisted her head, seeking his eyes, but he was already walking Isabella to the table.

  If he had heard, and he must have done—she’d spoken the lie firmly and he wasn’t deaf—it certainly wasn’t bothering him one little bit. He was smiling and looking sveltely relaxed as he held out a chair for his sister. As far as he was concerned she could go and marry the devil himself. She had never felt so utterly wretched.

  Diego’s face ached from smiling and responding to Isabella’s idle chit-chat. And his heart ached because of what he’d heard.

  She couldn’t still be planning to marry Ben Clayton. He wouldn’t let it happen! He must have got hold of the wrong end of the conversation. They couldn’t have made love with such passion, tenderness and beauty if she’d been in love with another man.

  Lisa wasn’t that kind of woman.

  Unless… The unwelcome thought darkened his soul and made his blood run cold. Unless they’d cooked something up between them.

  Faced with the failure of the magazine, their parents facing a mountain of debts, both of them about to lose what they probably thought of as their inheritance, not to mention their jobs, he could almost hear Clayton telling her, Do this for us, for our future. Do what he wants, lie back and think of Lifestyle flourishing again. And when he throws you out we’ll marry anyway.

  Utter nonsense!

  He wouldn’t let himself go down the tortuous track Lisa had followed earlier when she’d believed Isabella was his wife. In view of what Rosa had said to her he could understand why she’d jumped to that conclusion. Coupled with the misconceptions of five years ago he could understand and forgive.

  But she’d been kissing Clayton as if she couldn’t wait to jump into bed with him.

  He wished he hadn’t had to remember the torrid scene that had left him feeling so shattered, the shock quickly turning to bitterness and anger.

  In any case, she had never been to bed with Clayton. He knew that for a fact. She’d been a virgin; he’d stake his life on it.

  She’d been angry enough to slay him where he stood when she’d accused him of being married. If she was in love with Clayton, if together they’d hatched up the plan to part him from a sizeable chunk of money, then the fact that he had made her his bit on the side wouldn’t anger her so much, would it?

  Dio! If he didn’t haul her away to somewhere private within the next few minutes he’d go loco! He needed everything straightened out. He had to know if her feelings for him ran as deep as his did for her.

  Brooding eyes rested on her for longer than he’d allowed himself thus far. Sideways glances, swift and quickly away again, had revealed her—unusually—adding dollops of cream and several spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee. And she’d drunk thirstily of the jug of iced water Rosa had provided. She’d been worryingly pale when she’d joined them in the shade but, thankfully, she looked marginally better now.

  He loved her so much—he adored her. His heart turned over. She was listening to Isabella’s rapturous descriptions of the delights of Seville, predictably focusing exclusively on the best boutiques, restaurants and night spots. The Plaza de Espana, the Giralda, the lovely gardens of the Maria Luisa Park not rating a mention. Lisa was doing her best to look interested, smiling, inserting the odd comment or question when she could get a word in but her beautiful eyes were troubled.

  Time to butt in, make his excuses to Isabella and take Lisa some place where they wouldn’t be disturbed. To the coast, as he’d originally planned. Isabella could kick her heels here until Cesar arrived. A just punishment for the earlier histrionics that had come within a whisker of ruining his life!

  Lisa could feel Diego’s eyes on her. She felt her cheeks go pink, tried to concentrate on what Isabella was chattering about, blissfully unaware of any undercurrents, and couldn’t. Wondering what he was thinking, she gave a start of surprise as Rosa appeared with a portable p
hone extension and handed it to her.

  ‘For me?’

  Stupid question! Why else would Rosa bring the phone to her?

  Her stomach lurched sickeningly. She had insisted Diego left a contact number with her father in case he wanted to get in touch with her, just for a chat, but secretly aware that he wouldn’t. As far as he was concerned, if his daughter was out of sight she was out of mind.

  Her hand was shaking as she took the instrument. Had something terrible happened to him? The headache that had eased while she’d been sitting in the shade came crashing back.

  She spoke her name on a near whisper and heard Sophie’s voice—loud, clear and riven with tension.

  ‘Ben’s been in a traffic accident. They’re operating on him now. And the last thing he said before he went through to theatre was, ‘Ask Lisa to come. I need to see her.’ So you’d better forget what you’re doing over there…’ Her old friend’s voice curled with contempt. ‘And get back here. You owe him that much. We thought he was dying, and he still might, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that a man who was always an ultra careful driver should turn into the opposite after he’d been dumped, do you?’

  Too shocked to speak, Lisa’s lips moved wordlessly. She could hardly take it in. Dear Ben, the lifelong friend who’d been looking out for her for years, might be dying! He mustn’t!

  Crisply, Sophie named the London hospital he was in then snapped, ‘Say something, why don’t you? Even if it’s only sorry!’

  Lisa snatched in a breath, anxiety making her voice thin. ‘Tell him I’ll be with him as soon as I can. I’ll get the first available flight back. And tell him to—’ her words wobbled emotionally ‘—hang on in there and—and wait for me.’

  If he died it would be like losing a brother. And Sophie, who had been like a loving sister to her, would always lay the blame on her.

  She scrambled to her feet, the phone slipping from her nerveless fingers. Trying to keep the panic out of her voice, she told the wide-eyed Isabella, ‘Excuse me, I have to go.’ She shot a glance in Diego’s direction, noted that he’d picked up the phone and was saying something to Sophie, and fled to her room.

  Once there she had to take deep breaths and really force herself to think straight, get a grip. Someone would have to drive her to the airport or arrange for a taxi. And, more importantly, she would have to say goodbye to Diego and explain what was happening.

  Although, as he’d been speaking to the distraught Sophie, he would already know. There wouldn’t be a problem with him. From his recent attitude towards her, he would have packed her off home as soon as he decently could in any case. This crisis merely meant that she’d be leaving a few hours earlier than he’d anticipated.

  The very thought of saying goodbye to Diego made her want to throw herself on the bed and cry her eyes out. Courtesy of her nasty suspicious mind she had lost him, she knew that. Tears coursed down her pale cheeks as she began to push the things she’d thrown down on the bed earlier into the waiting suitcase.

  She would have liked to have had the opportunity to apologise, to tell him she would regret everything—from her awful behaviour five years ago to the latest tantrum of suspicious abuse—for the rest of her life.

  The thought that the little box she’d seen him push into his pocket in that hotel reception area had contained the ring he’d meant to give her had her hating herself. A huge sob built up inside her, venting as Diego walked into her room.

  Her heart juddered to a halt and then rushed on in a panicky catch-up exercise. He looked so tense, his dark eyes glittering, his wide shoulders rigid. He was so perfect. And she’d lost him! Another sob exploded within her chest and, before she could tell him how much she regretted everything, Diego said flatly, ‘I was sorry to hear the bad news. You and his family must be terribly anxious.’

  The predictable words of sympathy increased the pain even more. Guilt stabbed at her heart, reminding her of how selfish she was being—crying because she’d lost whatever chance she might have had of Diego falling back into love with her when her dear friend was fighting for his life back home.

  Memories of Ben’s many kindnesses, the way he’d always been her ally, taking her firmly under his wing after her mother had died and her father had as good as abandoned her, came rushing back. She might have shared Sophie’s amusement at his old-fashioned pedantic ways but there had always been an underlying staunch affection.

  Diego, his sensational features flatly expressionless, asked, ‘Do you love him?’ The stark guilt of thinking only of her own utter misery regarding her fraught relationship—ex-relationship—with the man she would love for the rest of her life had the words, ‘Of course I do!’ tumbling in a driven wail from her tremulous lips.

  His eyes glittering with pain, Diego turned. He had had to know and now his worst nightmare was staring him in the face.

  How long would she have kept the pretence up? Coming willingly to his bed, even after he had told her, in a crisis of conscience, that she was free to go. How long, if the co-author of their plan to make a fool of him, take him for all they could get—the man she admitted she loved—hadn’t called her back from what he must have believed was his deathbed?

  Reaching the door, he turned back. The sight of her tears for the man she loved sent a cold shaft of pain through the centre of his heart. The last words he would ever say to his cheating fallen angel were, ‘Manuel will drive you to the airport. Take your case down. He will be ready when you are.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SHE’D been fortunate with her flight but even so it was late when the taxi deposited her outside the hospital. Praying Ben had come through the operation successfully, Lisa dragged herself and her suitcase towards the main building on legs that felt too limp to hold her.

  Even if he was well enough to have a visitor it was too late to see him now but she could find out how he was. Surely someone would tell her, even if she wasn’t a close relative.

  If Diego had been with her he would have got all the information going. He was that kind of man. He had natural authority. Her heart gave a painful twist. She had to stop thinking of him, beating herself up over what had happened; if she didn’t she would go to pieces.

  Nearing the double automatic doors she saw them slide open in front of the Claytons—Honor, Arthur and Sophie—who were exiting together. Lisa’s heart banged frantically inside her ribcage.

  After Sophie’s phone call she knew they were blaming her for what had happened. She had to face them as bravely as she could. Automatically, she straightened her shoulders as they walked towards her, her heart clenching with compassion when she saw Honor’s red-rimmed eyes and Sophie’s drooping mouth.

  ‘How is he?’ Anxiety streaked her voice; she was dreading having to hear the worst.

  ‘The operation was successful, thank heavens. He’ll probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life but he won’t lose his leg.’ It was Ben’s father who answered. His voice was heavy with strain and his big shoulders were slumped.

  ‘He will be all right, though?’

  ‘He is sleeping. We were only allowed to look in on him for a few moments,’ Ben’s mother put in. Honor Clayton looked a decade older than the last time Lisa had seen her at the engagement party. ‘Tomorrow, all being well, we will be able to see him for a few minutes longer. It was, was—’ she stumbled over the words ‘—good of you to come so quickly.’

  Lisa shivered as a chill wind flicked her skirt against her body as she dipped her head in wordless acknowledgement of Honor’s thanks, suddenly aware of the way she was dressed.

  She had meant to change into practical jeans and a shirt but she hadn’t had a coherent thought in her head after Diego had simply walked out on her, not giving her a chance to say she was deeply sorry for everything. In the light skirt and skimpy top she wasn’t dressed for a chilly spring evening in England.

  ‘Well, we can’t stand out here getting cold.’ It was Honor who rallied. ‘We’ve persuade
d Sophie to stay with us until Ben’s over the worst. You must, too. You can use your old room.’

  Lisa instinctively shook her head. How could she accept their hospitality when they blamed her for being the indirect cause of Ben’s accident? They were going through enough without having to endure her surely unwanted presence.

  ‘Please come.’ Sophie spoke for the first time. ‘We want you to. Really we do.’

  Inky-blue eyes met tearful hazel. ‘Honestly?’

  Sophie nodded vigorously, too choked to speak, and Arthur settled the matter, taking her suitcase and dropping a hand on her shoulder. ‘Let’s get to the car. There’s no point hanging around here. There’s nothing we can do. What we all need is a stiff drink.’

  For all her school holidays after her mother’s death, and that first year when she’d been working at Lifestyle, this room had been hers. It hadn’t changed at all. The same pretty wallpaper, matching curtains and bedcover, the same white scatter rugs here and there on the pale blue fitted carpet.

  She’d expected it to be quite different, for Honor to have altered the young-girl decor after she and Sophie—to Ben’s irritation—had made a bid for independence and moved into the rented flat.

  Somehow it didn’t seem right that anything could remain so completely unchanged when her whole life had altered so drastically.

  She opened her suitcase, looking for her washbag. She felt so tired, so emotionally drained, she scarcely knew what she was doing.

  It had been a busy, emotional evening. While Arthur had fielded a spate of phone calls from people anxious to learn how Ben was, she and Honor had retired to the kitchen to heat soup and make toast while Sophie had located her father’s single malt and given them all a more than generous tot.

  The conversation, inevitably, had centred on Ben’s accident. ‘Apparently, he overtook a lorry on a blind bend and met a van sideways on.’ Honor shuddered violently, her hand visibly shaking as she lifted the glass to her lips. ‘As the police said, if he hadn’t managed to swerve at the very last moment it could have been so much worse. The van driver was relatively unscathed. But Ben wasn’t wearing his seat-belt. I simply can’t understand it. He’s always been a sensible driver.’