Betrayed(31)

“And what do you know, Katrina?”

She stared him out. “Fuck off!”

His face remained blank. Had she forgotten how to read him, or was he getting better at masking emotions? The only thing she could be certain of was the terrible ache she felt. It made her vulnerable.

He said, “Come on! Tell me everything you know.”

Most people can point to a moment when a wrong word committed them to something irreversible. Kat knew this was that moment. If she said the wrong thing, she would be lost. She couldn’t waver. “You bedded me then you partied with Fran and her naked bitches. You have no conscience; that’s what I know.”

“I don’t remember forcing you to sleep with me,” he said quietly. “But that was only part of our relationship.”

“I had the impression it meant much more.”

“I thought not. Maybe I didn’t place enough emphasis on it for your liking. Is that where I went wrong? Did you want more sex from me?”

“You bastard, you don’t care what you say. You just do what you want, and say what you want, despite consequences.”

“Do I?”

“You’re not bothered whether you’re right or wrong. What do you care about other people’s needs?”

He regarded her curiously and Kat gulped. Too much had been said.

“You told me none of this,” he said gruffly. “Am I supposed to apologise for disappointing you? Didn’t I match your expectations? Am I not the sex machine you wanted?”

She stared with dismay. What had she done? Her voice became broken. “Perhaps we should concede we disappointed each other.”

He stood abruptly, his face shrivelling into something hard, fury in his eyes. To her disgust she felt tears beginning to sting… she mustn’t cry; she mustn’t.

For a moment, there had been a crude need in her to hurt, but how she wished she’d kept quiet. Ten minutes ago she could have taken another route and the situation would have been totally different.

He gave a coarse laugh. “Of course, how stupid of me. I should’ve realised the great Katrina Bligh would have sex-gods queuing up to give attention. I suppose they’re waiting even now.”

“You flatter me.”

“I don’t intend to.”

Her insides twisted. Her instinct was to reach out, to reassure him that any others meant less than nothing.

“I’m sorry to have intruded,” he said. “I’ve wasted my time.” Rafael spun away.

Cold gripped her. No matter what she said, it was too late. She said, “Yes I believe you have.”

Rafael looked devoid of emotion. “You won’t see me again. I’m sorry to have intruded.”

“I think it best,” Kat couldn’t believe she had said those dreadful things to him. Where had the words come from? Whatever, it was too late to do anything about it.

“Yes, I know what you think.” He turned and began to walk off. “I made a mistake… By the way,” he said, in afterthought. “I’ve seen your mother.”

Without warning, an emptiness enveloped Kat. “What the hell do you mean, you’ve seen my mother? You’ve spoken to her?”

She had to pull herself together. She was faint, keeling over, filled with dread. Couldn’t let it happen.

Rafael stopped by the door. “I traced her. I told you I intended to. She wants to contact you. She has something to say. You should listen.”

“I told you to leave it alone. Why have you meddled? You have no right to interfere.”

“I wanted to help.”

“No you didn’t,” she shouted angrily. “You want to take control as you always do. Well it won’t happen. I won’t let you. I won’t listen to you. I don’t want you here. Get out. I never want to see you again.”

“See her, Kat. It might open your eyes. You’ve been so wrong, about so many things.”

“Get out,” she yelled.

He shot her one last look, started to say something again, thought better of it, closed the door and left.

What the hell had he done? She’d come to this place to separate herself from him; to be as far from him as possible, but he’d found Pandora’s Box and peeked in. Kat overflowed with complex feelings. He didn’t understand the enormity of what he’d done.

Her eyes were blurred with tears. Every corner, every cranny would hold Mum’s shadow from now on. Damn him, he’d spoiled everything.

The evening dragged out interminably and when she went to bed, sleep came fitfully. The night was more than dark; it became black, where memories turned more alive than the present. She dreamed of her mother and had nightmares of her leaving all over.





Chapter 10



Kat lay on top of the bed, her nightclothes in a heap. Rafael was gone, as if he had never taken breath, as if there had been no overwhelming desire between them, no pleasure, no touching, none of it had ever been.

Mum wanted to speak to her, probably to make trite excuses. It seemed a lifetime ago but the horror was still with her. What had Rafael let loose? She couldn’t possibly face seeing her. Mum hadn’t wanted her then, and Kat didn’t want her now?

She eventually slept, and Rafael’s lips became as real as they’d ever been, hands touching, fingers exploring. Kat struggled for consciousness to dispel him. She awoke and lay staring at the ceiling. Lights from passing cars, made strange patterns on the walls, only to disappear seconds later.

She coexisted in the garden of the villa, chased by angry giants, walking through endless corridors, sat opposite Rafael, eating, candles glowing and flickering. The trail of ghosts had no end.

The following morning she checked out and went home.

Home remained blissfully normal. She busied herself washing clothes and tidying the house. The garden needed weeding and the lawn mowing, a dozen things to keep her mind occupied and her hands busy. At any moment she expected to see the familiar figure of Francine. She dreaded seeing her, yet wanted to. How mixed up could she be? Things needed sorting.

***

Kat wiped flour from her hands, flipped open the cell-phone, and deposited a streak of flour on her nose. The kitchen was a mess, pans strewn over work surfaces, dirty plates in the washing bowl. A man’s at the other end said, “Is that Miss Bligh.”

“Yes. Can I help?”

“Nathan Ashleigh, lawyer. I wonder whether you have any thoughts about the offer from my client.”

Kat closed her eyes. Suddenly the offer seemed tempting. She said, “Well… it sounds interesting… But I haven’t given a lot of thought, I’m afraid.”

“Oh!” He sounded disappointed. “I rather hoped you would have done. My client is busy, and the offer won’t be about for much longer.”

Kat’s fingers trembled. The fabric, finally perfected, flowed like liquid over the skin, almost transparent. It would complement Italian Concept perfectly. The collection could be among the most sensuous on the market.

She had already run up an outfit from the fabric and been stunned with the result. Cut on the bias, the dress caressed the curves of her body. For moments, it was as if she wore nothing. It became a shimmering ethereal mist, diaphanous material sluicing over her like opulent liquid. It shimmered. She had never seen anything cling like it, yet the fabric flowed and modesty was preserved.

All she needed now was a manufacturer to weave commercial quantities. A cash injection now would work wonders.

He said, “We understand there’s been a disagreement between your and Las Modas Ibéricas. This might be an opportune moment to consider a change.”

“I don’t know… I’m interested, but...”

“Well, capture my number and text me.”

“Yes I’ll do that.”

“Make it soon, Miss Bligh. We need an answer.”

***

Filled with tension, Rafael paused at the open gates, and wondered whether people were visiting. It seemed a good idea an hour ago, but now he wasn’t so sure. If there were visitors, could he go through with it? He stared at the house, debating whether to say it this way, or that.

He had never been there. The place looked…comfortable… smart without being contrived. A gravel drive, curved, flanked on one side by shrubs, by a lawn on the other. The house looked solid, middleclass, dependable. He expected something like a penthouse apartment, with open plan living, infinite stretches of glass, and all manner of arty things. He was wrong.

Was he putting it off? He never used to be like this, but he suffered a dollop of uncertainty after Kat left.

He forced himself to walk steadily up the drive. Anything he said would need not only the shield of reality, but a suppressing of emotion, which would be difficult because his emotions were running damn high.

It took him thirty slow strides to traverse the drive. Each step crunched in the gravel and he thought it would make it difficult for intruders to be quiet. He counted fourteen types of shrubs and could not name any. Gardening was to be admired from a distance. He liked results, liked to bathe in colour and silence, but had never planted a single flower. Others were employed to do that.