Lee Wilkinson - The Marriage Takeover

Lang Dalton had said the helicopter would be ready ‘first thing in the morning’. What time was it now? A glance at her watch only served to confuse her; she had omitted to adjust it to the time difference.

So how long had she got? At a guess she must have nearly slept the clock round, so probably not long, she thought with sudden urgency. But all she needed to do was throw a few things in her overnight bag before Alan knocked. She could always skip breakfast.

Jumping out of bed, she hurried to the bathroom.

Having showered and dressed at top speed, and pulled a brush through her long hair, she began to pack some changes of clothing and a few essentials. She had barely finished when she heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter.

Just in the nick of time, she thought with relief. Any second now Alan would be knocking at the door.

But no knock came, and it took a moment or two of stunned disbelief before the unwelcome fact finally sank in that the engine noise, rather than approaching, was moving away.

No, no, it couldn’t be. Alan wouldn’t leave without seeing her, without saying goodbye.

Her heart suddenly racing, she pressed a button set into the side of the nearest arch, and the glass panels slid aside.

Hurrying out onto the patio, she shielded her eyes from the brightness and looked up into the cloudless sky. The helicopter, silver against the deep blue, was heading south-west towards the coast and the urban sprawl that was Los Angeles…

‘Good morning.’ Lang Dalton’s low-pitched, attractive voice made her jump. ‘You’re up and dressed earlier than I’d expected.’

Bare feet leaving wet prints, he was coming towards her, tanned and fit-looking, wearing well-cut navy swimming trunks, a towel slung around his neck. His thick blond hair was wet and rumpled, a single lock falling over his forehead.

‘That isn’t…?’ Her voice shook betrayingly, and she stopped speaking abruptly.

Following her gaze to where the helicopter had become a rapidly dwindling speck, he said, ‘I’m afraid so,’ adding with a kind of mocking concern, ‘You look upset. I do hope you hadn’t changed your mind about going?’

‘No, I hadn’t changed my mind,’ she lied jerkily, and felt almost sure that he didn’t believe her. ‘But Alan promised he’d…’ Once again she was forced to stop.

‘See you before he left?’ Lang finished for her. ‘You’ll have to forgive him. He didn’t have a moment to spare. In fact he was forced to go without any breakfast.’

A drop of water ran down his lean cheek and he lifted the towel to wipe it away before continuing, ‘The helicopter arrived over an hour early. Some last-minute problem had cropped up that meant McDowell, my pilot, was needed back in LA urgently.’

But surely Alan could have found just a few seconds to say goodbye?

As though reading her thoughts, Lang went on smoothly, ‘Brent and I agreed that as you were obviously jet-lagged it would be a shame to wake you for what would have necessarily been a very brief farewell.’

Brent and I agreed… Cassandra bit her lip vexedly. Reading between the lines, what it amounted to was that to make sure she didn’t change her mind and take advantage of his offer Lang Dalton had tried to prevent Alan from waking her.

And Alan, no doubt feeling uncomfortable about leaving her, and possibly fearing some kind of last-minute reproach, had taken the easy way out.

Aloud, she said, ‘How thoughtful of you both.’ And, feeling caught, trapped, wondered despairingly how she was going to get through the next two days.

But somehow she would have to, and with the best possible grace…

As though applauding her unspoken decision, Lang smiled at her, and said briskly, ‘However, as you are awake, you’ve time for a swim before breakfast.’

The blue, sparkling water looked very inviting, but she found herself oddly unwilling to appear in front of him in a swimsuit.

‘I’m not sure what the time is,’ she prevaricated. ‘I forgot to alter my watch.’

Glancing at the slim, waterproof Rolex he wore on his left wrist, Lang told her, ‘It’s just after six.’ Then, with a glint, he said, ‘And I can recommend that swim.’

Making a big deal of adjusting her watch, she half shook her head. ‘I’m really thirsty. I think I’d rather have a drink.’

‘Why not have both? There’s some freshly squeezed juice waiting.’ He indicated a table by the pool-side that had been set with a selection of fruit and cereals, a jug of orange juice and two tall glasses.

As she hesitated, his sardonic smile making it clear that he had recognized the reason for her reluctance, he added, ‘I’m going in now to shower and dress. Afterwards I’ve got a couple of things to take care of, so you’ve a good half-hour before I join you for breakfast.’

‘Thank you; in that case I think I will.’ She was pleased that her voice was steady.

Watching him walk away, his carriage easy, athletic, she gritted her teeth. He was the most complex, demoralizing, disturbing man she’d ever met.

Going back into her room, the first thing she noticed was the overnight bag that now wouldn’t be needed.

Oh, if only she’d wakened sooner! Agitated and jumpy, nervous as a cat shut in the wrong house, she sighed. But it was too late. There was nothing she could do but make the best of things.

Stripping off her clothes, she pulled on her black swimsuit and looked in the cheval-glass. It fitted her slender, long-legged figure to perfection, and by modern standards was quite modest, but her heightened sensibilities made her feel half naked.

A cautious peep showed the patio was deserted, and, with a rueful grimace at the stupidity of her own behaviour, she ventured out.

She helped herself to a glass of the delicious, sweet-tart juice, and drank it thirstily before slipping into the pool.

The water was blissfully cool and refreshing, and she swam several leisurely lengths while the tension slowly drained out of her.

Turning on her back, she floated motionless, her hair fanning out around her, her eyes closed, the Californian sun warm on her face.

‘About ready?’

Lang’s voice startled her, and her head went under. She gulped in water, and for a second or two thrashed about wildly.

A strong hand caught one of her wrists and drew her to the side. Then, crouching, he took her under her arms and hauled her out with what seemed to be effortless ease.

While she coughed and spluttered, he set her on her feet and steadied her until she’d blinked the water from her eyes and got her breath back. Then, picking up a short white towelling robe he’d tossed over a chair, he held it for her.

‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. Pulling the robe around her, she knotted the belt and used the cowl collar to wipe her face and dry the dripping ends of her hair.

A hint of amusement in his voice, Lang suggested, ‘Perhaps in future you should avoid the deep end, rather than risk drowning.’

‘I can swim perfectly well,’ she informed him indignantly. ‘I would have been in no danger of drowning if you hadn’t startled me.’

She hadn’t meant to sound quite so accusing, she thought belatedly, but the shock had momentarily put out of her head the need to tread warily.

‘I’m sorry. Trying to drown you wasn’t my intention. Believe me, I much prefer you alive.’ Then he said softly, ‘You see, I have plans for you, Cassandra.’

‘Plans?’ A little chill of alarm ran down her spine. ‘What kind of plans?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see. I’ve always believed that anticipation hones the…’ There was a brief pause before he added, ‘Pleasure. Now, are you ready for some breakfast?’

He had changed into lightweight trousers and a blue open-necked sports shirt. Conscious that he was studying the slim length of her bare legs, and feeling very much at a disadvantage, she stammered, ‘I—I was hoping to get dressed first.’