Helen Bianchin - Married For Convenience

Elise could only stare straight ahead as Alejandro pushed open the door and slid to his feet, and his hard inflexible tones combining with those of the man who had tempted providence by making an erroneous move barely penetrated her conscious mind.

Was this how her memory would return? A series of brief isolated incidents every few days?

Seconds later Alejandro slid in behind the wheel, and Elise bore his intent scrutiny with equanimity.

‘I’m OK,’ she assured him. ‘Is there much damage to the car?’

‘ You concern me. Not the car,’ he said bleakly.

At some stage she heard the distant wail of a police siren, then it came close, red and blue lights flashing. Doors slammed, voices.

It wasn’t until they arrived home that she saw the broken light and its surround, the deep gouges and scratches. The sight of them brought on a wave of nausea, and she only just made it upstairs in time.

No protest she made prevented Alejandro from calling in the doctor.

‘Dammit, this is normal ,’ she uttered fiercely, and saw his expression measurably harden. She lifted her hands in mock surrender. ‘All right, I give in.’

An hour later she barely refrained from reiterating the doctor’s reassurance, and the only concession she made to resting was to recline on the sun-lounger beneath a shade umbrella at the pool’s edge.

The next few days assumed a regular routine as Elise attended the physiotherapy clinic and kept an appointment with the neurologist.

Alejandro rose early, spent an hour working out in the downstairs gym, followed it with several lengths in the pool, then after breakfast he closeted himself in the study until Ana served lunch.

An urgent telephone call on Friday morning necessitated his presence in the city, and Elise rejoiced at the thought of spending the day alone.

The physiotherapy session was scheduled for midmorning, and after lunch she settled down to leaf through a supply of the latest glossy magazines.

Tall, perfectly proportioned young women modelling beautiful clothes, she perceived as she flipped idly through the fashion pages.

One model in particular caught her eye, and she wondered at her instinctive fascination with a longhaired brunette with classical features and cool dark eyes.

Without any warning those same features seemed to come alive, and it was like watching a re-run of part of a film depicting an isolated incident in her life, Elise decided, momentarily freezing as images crowded her brain. So clear, so hauntingly vivid.

Alejandro, Elise and Savannah seated together at a table, aiding one of several charities Alejandro was known to support.

Savannah. The hauntingly beautiful model who had been Alejandro’s close companion for several years before Elise had been thrust into the limelight as his latest conquest.

Now Savannah seemed intent on proving she still held Alejandro’s interest by indulging in a little game of subtle flirting, a fact which was not lost on Elise.

It was extremely difficult to maintain the semblance of a smile as she spooned morsels of delectable fruit from the elaborately presented dessert.

Jealousy was a terrible emotion, she conceded, as she picked up her fork and speared a segment of orange with more force than necessary. With little provocation, she could have killed Savannah for her blatant attempt to capture Alejandro’s attention. As for Alejandro…She would have liked to do temporary harm to a vulnerable part of his anatomy.

Perhaps he sensed her antipathy, for he turned his head and his eyes gleamed with mild amusement as he met her calculated smile.

Without a word he reached for her hand and carried it to his lips, kissing each finger in turn as she seethed with silent anger.

How dared he? She wanted to walk out and take a taxi home. As it was, she barely managed to preserve a calm front for the remainder of the evening, and the instant Alejandro brought the Bentley to a halt inside the garage she burst into angry speech.

‘In future you can choose whether you partner Savannah or your wife,’ Elise railed in fury.

‘You expect me to display ill manners by ignoring a friend I have known for several years?’

‘Heaven forbid,’ Elise said sarcastically.

‘You have no reason to be jealous.’

She slid from the car as he moved out from behind the wheel, and it gave her the utmost satisfaction to slam the door.

‘I am not jealous. I simply refuse to be part of a ménage-à-trois. ’

Alejandro began to chuckle, and the husky sounds of his amusement acted like flame placed too close to combustible octane.

Elise threw her evening bag at him, and followed it with one evening sandal, then the other, each of which he neatly fielded and slid into the pockets of his jacket.

‘So you want to play?’

He reached her far too easily, before she had gone more than a few steps, and she gasped in outrage as he lifted her effortlessly over one shoulder and carried her indoors.

‘Put me down!’

He walked through the foyer to the stairs, gaining the upper floor with galling ease, seemingly uncaring as she beat her hands against the broad expanse of his back.

In the bedroom he tumbled her down on to the bed, discarded his jacket, then captured her wildly scrambling form by the simple expedient of covering it with his own.

‘Damn you,’ Elise vented as she struggled impotently against his superior strength. ‘I hate you.’

‘I love the way you hate, mi mujer. ’

‘Sex. Lust,’ she qualified. ‘Bought and paid for.’

He went curiously still. ‘I suggest you retract that vilifying statement.’

‘Why? Does the truth penetrate your conscience, Alejandro?’ she taunted, only to cry out in shocked surprise as his mouth closed over hers with punishing force.

What followed was a form of retribution he actively encouraged her to share, their mingling anger resulting in wild, untamed sex that gave no quarter…for either of them.

‘Elise?’

The sound of Ana’s voice seemed to come from far away, and Elise dragged her mind back to the present. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and her skin was damp with the fine sheen of sweat.

‘I have just made tea. Would you like some?’

Somehow she managed a suitable response.

Dear God. This was the most explicit span she’d experienced. The memory of it was so vivid, the act so primitively savage that it was all she could do to prevent herself from being physically ill.

I don’t want to remember any more. Not if total recall means a revival of anger and dissension.

The friendship, the special closeness which she and Alejandro had shared at Palm Beach seemed part of a distant fantasy.

Instinct warned her that she was teetering on the edge of reality, and a chill feathered over her skin, raising all her fine body-hairs in protective defence.

IT RAINED most of the weekend, squally wind-driven showers that beat against the windows, bringing much-needed water to the city’s depleted dams and providing relief against the seasonal threat of bushfires.

Alejandro taught Elise the basic skills of chess, checkmating her so many times that she declined to allow him further victory as she opted to trounce him at cards. That too was a disaster, for, although she won twice, she suspected that it was only because he deliberately set out to lose.

Monday dawned bright and clear. The Bentley went in for repair, and Alejandro took the Porsche into the city.

Elise attended physiotherapy after lunch, then José drove her across town for her appointment with the obstetrician. They arrived early, and she opted to check in rather than wait in the car.

The senior nurse greeted her warmly. ‘Doctor has a patient with him, Mrs Santanas. He won’t be long.’ Elise took a seat, selected a magazine, and began leafing through the pages. An article caught her eye, and she read it with interest.