'We shouldn't, Gavin.'
Emily froze in the act of stepping forward.
'We've got to tell her, Charlotte.' The sound of soft cries of distress and the unmistakable murmurs of exchanged embraces hung in the humid air.
Emily felt strangely objective, as if what she was listening to had nothing to do with her: it was as impersonal as a radio drama. It wasn't her fiancé and her sister exchanging what sounded like a wildly passionate embrace, but two strangers and studio effects. The sound of her own breath sounded unexpectedly loud in her ears, accompanied by the thud of her heartbeat.
'It's no good, Gavin, we can't do this to Emmy… she's my sister.' Emily heard her sister's soft voice crack with emotion and the sound of soft sobs filled the room.
A mental scream was building in her head; this was real…it was actually happening. Her head felt as if it would explode; there was no vocal outlet for the anguish that swiftly flowed through her ruthlessly. With my own sister… The words went around in her head. Not Charlotte, she prayed uselessly, the concept was too awful to contemplate, but it was true. Gavin's reply left no room for doubt.
'But it's you I want, darling.'
'I couldn't, knowing I'd wrecked Emmy's happiness. I couldn't live with that.'
Emily touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet with tears. Teeth clamped over her lower lip, she closed her eyes. She couldn't live with it, poor Charlotte, she thought bitterly. Charlotte was a fraud. Anger mixed with an acute nausea surged through her in violent waves. It seems a little late for regrets, sister, dear.
'But I need you…'
She had never heard that inflexion in Gavin's voice; she wished she hadn't heard it now. The pain was intense, and humiliation more profound than anything she had encountered before confronted her like a solid object. It jolted into life a long-forgotten memory, just as an odour could conjure up some distant recollection of a time, a place, an event consigned to the dim recesses of memory.
'Emily needs you.'
She shook her head free of the scarlet fingernails running through the dark hair of the tall man. The image was startlingly vivid. Her mind returned to her sister's soft pink nails and her fiancé’s blond hair. The pain was acute; it stimulated her senses, and she was conscious of every nuance in the voices; her ears, strained to hear, could imagine every gesture, every touch.
'Emily needs someone to agree with her.' Bitterness was unmistakable and she bit her lip to stop the sound of distress which obstructed her throat. 'She never actually listens to me.'
The duplicity was like a physical blow. He was angry with her… The irony tasted bitter in her dry mouth. She couldn't listen to any more; she felt as if the walls were closing in around her. With her hands clamped over her ears she ran towards the open door that led out on to the terrace, past caring if they heard her.
The soft evening air hit her after the hothouse atmosphere of the emotion-clogged room she'd fled from. She hit the turf running and didn't stop until her lungs complained too fiercely. She sank down on to her knees and her head fell forward, spreading her honey- brown hair around her. A touch on the exposed nape of her neck made her start and raise her tear-stained, turbulent features.
'Go away!' she spat venomously. The last thing she needed right now was any of Luke's barbed comments. What had happened was bad enough, but that Luke of all people had heard every humiliating syllable was the crowning glory.
He met the tear-drenched, golden-brown eyes, shot with gold as they always were when she was in the grip of strong emotion, impassively. 'OK,' he agreed after a short pause.
She watched as he turned, his long-legged stride, peculiarly elegant, swallowing up the ground. 'No, don't go…'
He turned. 'You need a whipping-boy?' he asked, one dark eyebrow quirking.
'Well, if it's sympathy I'm after I wouldn't be turning to you, would I?' she snapped back. She sniffed loudly; the instinctive words needed an explanation, and she was glad he'd supplied it because she couldn't. Why cling to Luke's company? She pushed her heavy hair back from her face and straightened the skirt of her heavy silk dress. 'Grass stains all over,' she said, wondering why she was discussing the state of her clothes when her whole future lay in shreds around her…
How could they? Outraged horror blinded her to her surroundings; she forgot the man standing contemplating her limp, distraught figure with enigmatic eyes. How long had they been…? They had been lovers…they were; some instinct told her this. The intimacy had been in their voices.
She recalled Gavin's smiling face as her parents had toasted them earlier; nothing in his exterior had given any clue to the infidelity which even then he—they— must have been plotting and scheming. Had he continued with the charade because he hadn't been totally sure of Charlotte? Am I a reserve? she wondered furiously.