If for no other reason than the fact that between now and Friday morning when she had to stand before a congregation and speak, she had her dead husband’s eulogy to write.
CHAPTER THREE
THE SMALL CHAPEL was packed to the rafters. Outside, a clutch of news vans and reporters were stationed, poised and ready for the opportunity to snap any picture that would feed the media frenzy of the notoriety behind this funeral.
So far, Perla hadn’t found the courage to turn around to see just how many people had wedged themselves into the tiny chapel. The one glance as people had filed in had been enough to terrify her. But she hadn’t missed the trio of limousines that had crawled past and parked ominously on the chapel lawn.
Morgan’s bosses. Probably Sakis Pantelides and various executives from Pantelides Shipping Inc. The letter announcing their attendance had arrived yesterday.
She supposed she should be thankful they were bothering to attend, considering the nefarious circumstances leading to Morgan’s death. A small, bitter part of her wished they hadn’t bothered. Their presence here would, no doubt, keep up the media frenzy, and she also couldn’t dismiss the fact that she’d had to keep demanding information from Pantelides Inc. before she’d been given very brief details of what had happened to her husband.
Granted, Sakis Pantelides had been gentle and infinitely considerate when he’d broken the horrific news to her but the fact remained that Morgan Lowell, the man she’d married, and whose secret she’d kept—still kept—had died under suspicious circumstances in a foreign country after trying to get away with defrauding his employer. Pantelides Inc. had kept a lid on the fact to protect itself from adverse publicity.
What no one realised was that this was yet another morsel of unwanted truth she had to keep to herself; another detail she couldn’t share with Morgan’s parents, who had idolised their son and remained devastated by his death. She’d been forced to gloss over the truth for their sake. Again...
She clenched her hands and forced herself to focus. She had more important things to think about now, like how she could stand up and speak of her husband when another man’s face, the fevered recollection of another man’s hands and the thrust of his hard body repeatedly flashed through her brain.
Dear God, what had she done? What had she been thinking?
Although guilt clawed through her belly, the shame she expected to feel remained way below an acceptable level. In fact she barely felt anything except the forceful presence of her one-night lover, deep inside her, surrounding her, pulsing around her like a live electric current with every breath she took.
She’d taken three showers this morning, all in the vain hope of washing herself free of his scent. But it was as if he’d invaded her thoughts as well as her pores. Behind her, whispered voices surged higher and she heard shuffling as the congregation made way for new arrivals.
Perla’s breath stalled as she caught the familiar scent again. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. God, please give me strength because I’m seriously losing it here.
When her elderly neighbour and only friend Mrs Clinton’s hand covered hers, she gratefully clutched it. The discerning woman had wisely put herself between Perla and Morgan’s parents but she felt their heartbreak with every fibre of her being.
For their sake, for the kindness and open warmth they’d shown her, she had to keep it together. They were the reason she’d borne this humiliation for so long. Morgan had known that. Had banked on it, in fact, and used it as the perfect blackmail tool when she’d threatened to leave him—
‘Not long before it starts. Don’t worry, dear; in less than an hour, it’ll be over. I went through the same thing with my Harry,’ she whispered. ‘Everyone means well, but they don’t know the best they can do in times like these is to leave you alone, do they?’
Perla attempted a response and only managed a garbled croak. Mrs Clinton patted her hand again reassuringly. With relief, she heard the organ starting up. As she stood, Perla caught the scent again, and quickly locked her knees as she swayed.
She glanced to the side and saw a tall, imposing man with a thin scar above his right eye standing next to a striking blonde.
Sakis Pantelides, the man who’d phoned two weeks ago with news of her husband’s death. His condolences had been genuine enough but after her discovery of just what Morgan had done to his company, Perla wasn’t so sure his attendance here was an offer of support.