‘Nothing—I shouldn’t have said.’
‘Yes, you should.’ There was a lead weight in her stomach. ‘What did he say, Crystal?’
‘Nothing really. I mean, he doesn’t know anything—’ Crystal stopped abruptly. ‘What I mean is, he had reservations about you and Rafe. He was worried for you. Not that he doesn’t think Rafe cares for you, that’s been apparent all along, but after Fiona Rafe swore he’d never settle down again. And you, well, you’re not the sort of person for a brief affair, are you? And I know you like Rafe. More than like him, perhaps?’
‘Do you think he’s decided to pull out of the hotel venture?’ Marianne asked numbly.
‘No, no, I’m sure not. Why would he do that?’
Because he felt he’d got in way over his head here? Because withdrawing from the deal would mean he could cut his losses and run? The expenditure so far would mean nothing to him; he could take that in his stride and barely notice it. And perhaps he thought he had set her up with a nice renovated property as compensation? Certainly Andrew hadn’t got as involved as Rafe had expected. Rafe’s father seemed perfectly happy spending all his time with Crystal. Maybe he thought that with the hotel idea squashed, Crystal might take on the role of permanent housekeeper to his father? That would round things up nicely. Drawing on all her strength, she managed to say calmly, ‘I don’t know why he would pull out, Crystal. In fact, I think I don’t know him at all. I thought I did…’ Her voice trailed away.
‘You say he said he’s coming back the middle of the week?’
Marianne nodded.
‘Then would you not mention it to Andrew before then, for my sake? He’s been so worried about this fire in America and I don’t want anything else to upset him and put him back a bit. He’s done so well the last weeks and he’s such a dear man—’ Crystal stopped suddenly, as though aware she had said too much.
Marianne stared at Crystal. How could she have been so blind to what was happening under her nose? But she had been so obsessed with Rafe that nothing else had registered. Her voice soft, she said, ‘Does Andrew feel the same, Crystal?’
Crystal’s plump face turned a vivid shade of pink. Silently she nodded. ‘We didn’t plan for it to happen and Andrew hasn’t told Rafe yet but last night he asked me to marry him. Since he’s been over here he’s gone into remission but there are no guarantees and we want to make the most of every moment.’ She stopped. ‘Oh, Annie, I didn’t want to tell you like this.’
‘I’m so glad for you both.’ Stepping forward, she hugged Crystal hard, her head spinning. Crystal and Andrew. Crystal and Andrew. But why not? Why not, indeed? Thinking about it, they were perfect for each other. ‘You deserve this,’ she said warmly. ‘No one deserves happiness more than you.’
‘Stop it, you’re making me cry.’
They both cried and then Crystal made a pot of coffee and they sat together, discussing when and where the nuptials could take place. ‘Andrew wants to tell Rafe face to face,’ Crystal said quietly a little later when Marianne got up to go. She was thrilled for Crystal and she had meant every word she said but she needed to be on her own and consider what this new complication meant. ‘He thought a lot of his mother and Andrew isn’t sure how he’ll feel.’
‘He’ll be as pleased as I am,’ Marianne said warmly, and she meant it. ‘He likes you very much, Crystal, and he knows you’ve been so good for his father over the last little while. He wouldn’t begrudge you both your happiness.’
‘I hope so.’ Crystal gave a nervous little smile. ‘But Rafe’s so hard to figure out, isn’t he?’
Oh, yes.
She took her time walking home. Once there, she wandered round the house for a long time, stroking a piece of furniture here, touching a picture there, tears coursing down her face. Something was terribly wrong. She knew it.
Eventually she walked out into the garden, taking a book she knew she wouldn’t read and making her way to the bench near the wall. Purple shadows were already stretching their long fingers over the lawn and the birds were busy having their last meal before night fell. She sat and watched a blackbird stamping on the ground to bring a worm he had spotted to the surface, his bright black eyes checking on her every so often to make sure she was staying still. He flew off after his meal, singing as he went.
She wasn’t going to call Rafe. She looked back at the house, dozing gently in the late evening sunshine, sun-spangled shadows bathing its white walls. And she
wouldn’t pick up the call if he phoned her. The next time she spoke to him, she wanted it to be face to face. Whatever had happened, whatever had changed—and she was now positive something had—she wanted to hear it from him in person. The temptation to start questioning him if she spoke to him before he was back in England would be too strong and she didn’t want to burst into tears on him. She was going to get through this with some dignity, no matter what happened. Her back straightened slightly and her jaw tightened. She would have all the time in the world to shout and scream and cry an ocean once it was over and she was alone.
Marianne’s throat constricted. ‘Stop it,’ she said sternly. She wasn’t going to be like this. Whatever happened in the next few days, when she saw Rafe again, she would cope. Anything else was not an option.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RAFE phoned three times before he left America the following Wednesday and, true to her word, Marianne did not speak to him. By the third call his voice had been flat and cool. It did not intimidate her as it would have done just days earlier. ‘So you’ve finally realised I’m not as stupid as I look,’ she said grimly to the telephone when she had listened to his message. ‘Good. Because if you expect me to fall on your neck and beg you to make a go of things, you picked the wrong girl.’
Then she closed her eyes and leant back in the sofa. Her body was so tense it hurt. She had gone through every emotion known to man in the last few days but one thing remained constant. She loved him. More fool her.
Thursday dawned cold and wet, sea mist swirling in the garden when she opened her bedroom curtains and the whole world was grey. From experience, Marianne knew the weather could change in hours; by that afternoon the view could be bathed in sunlight and the air warm. She hoped it would remain as it was. It suited what was going to happen so much better.
She forced herself to eat a slice of toast although she had never felt less like food in her life and then settled down with a pile of brochures on colour schemes. She had absolutely no idea why she was continuing to plan out each room in the house except that if she didn’t do something she would go mad. One thing was for sure, if Rafe did pull the plug on the hotel idea—and she was now sure he was going to—Seacrest belonged to him. Even if he suggested she live here, she couldn’t. Crystal was OK now, she didn’t have to worry about her any more, so she would become a free agent. She could move back to London and find herself a job and take up her old life. She had been happy before Rafe. She would be happy again.
Oh, who was she kidding? She stared aimlessly at the scattered brochures, wishing with all her heart she could have just one hug with her mother. She would have given everything she possessed to have her parents back. She brushed a hand over her eyes. But they had gone. She was on her own and she was a grown woman. She took a deep breath and picked up the nearest brochure.
The doorbell rang just after lunch and the English weather had done one of its unique turnabouts and banished every trace of sea mist. Although the air was cooler than it had been for some time, the sun was shining when she opened the door to Rafe.
‘Hello, Marianne,’ he said quietly. ‘Why haven’t you answered my calls?’