Laura Martin - Living With The Enemy

‘You must swim every day whilst you are here.’ He came and stood beside her and once again she felt the sudden, strong, uncompromising presence—an animal magnetism that had unnerved her before whilst travelling with him in the car and was unnerving her again.

‘You have a wonderful home.’ She moved slightly to put more space between them. He noticed but she couldn’t help that. She had never been very relaxed with men—look at how she had been with Paul...

‘Yes. I like it. You’ve had a difficult few months,’ Alex continued smoothly. ‘You really need to make the most of your time here.’

Lucy ventured the question which had been plaguing her since the beginning. ‘You’re allowing me to stay here as a favour to Charles. Why is that?’ she asked.

Dark eyes surveyed her face impassively. ‘Does there have to be a reason?’

‘In my experience, people rarely do something for nothing,’ she murmured.

‘But your experience hasn’t been very good, has it?’ Alex remarked quietly.

She stared hard at the swimming pool. ‘So you do know more than the basic details!’ she accused him. ‘What exactly has Charles been saying?’

‘I told you,’ he replied. ‘I know about your husband’s death. Nothing more. I didn’t ask for details.’

‘But he gave them to you all the same!’ Lucy shook her head angrily. ‘Damn Charles!’ she murmured quietly. ‘He always was a terrible gossip.’

‘He cares about you. Surely you know that?’

‘Yes.’ She pressed her trembling lips together. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘You look exhausted,’ Alex said quietly. ‘You need to rest’

‘Don’t treat me like a child!’ She spun away from the caring voice and concerned eyes and erected a wall of hostility to hide behind. ‘I’ve been married. I’ve been widowed. I’m a grown woman, for heaven’s sake!’

‘At the present moment you barely look fifteen,’ Alex commented, seemingly unaffected by her sharp outburst ‘If I ask exactly how old you are, will I get my head bitten off again?’

‘Most probably!’ Lucy kept her gaze fixed on the valley. ‘I’m surprised Charles hasn’t told you that already. Twenty,’ she added, after a few seconds had passed. She glanced across at the far too attractive face and asked pointedly, ‘How old are you?’

‘A lot older.’

‘And wiser no doubt!’

‘In some fields, yes.’

‘Not all? My, my, you do surprise me! Such modesty.’

She was being a pain again—unnecessarily irritable, just because she was feeling unsure of herself. Just because standing in the same room as this man made her feel weirdly unsettled, excited, confused and totally mixed up.

‘I’ve never been married,’ he replied, with brutal smoothness. ‘You have the lead on me there.’

‘Or widowed?’ Lucy’s expression was hard. She’d show him.

‘No.’

‘I disappointed him,’ she murmured, fixing her gaze on the view from the window.

‘Who? Your husband?’

Lucy’s smile was twisted with irony. She shook her head and worked hard at blotting out Paul’s deceptively mild countenance. ‘No, not my husband. I mean Charles.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘My behaviour over the last few years...it’s not been the best I was a difficult teenager and then, of course...’ there was a telling pause ‘...I got married. That only reinforced his belief that I was incapable of running my own life in a satisfactory manner. Charles had hoped for great things...’

‘And you? Did you hope for great things?’

His question surprised her. She looked across at him and frowned. ‘Maybe, at one time...’ Lucy thought back to her days at drama school. She had been keen and ambitious then. She nodded, almost reluctantly. ‘Yes, I did.’

He looked at her in silence for what seemed like an age, his eyes somehow mesmerising her so that she didn’t have the strength to look away. His expression—cool, impassive, almost distant—gave no clues as to what he was thinking. It was unnerving and Lucy didn’t know how to handle it.

‘You’re young,’ he asserted firmly. ‘You’ve got a future. ’

‘You think so?’ Alex Darcy had a disconcerting way with him, Lucy decided. He wasn’t overly sympathetic, he wasn’t particularly friendly, yet she suddenly had an overwhelming need to unburden herself, to tell him things that she had spoken about with no one else. ‘At times...’ She swallowed, fixing her gaze on the sunlit greenery of the terraces. ‘At times,’ she repeated slowly, ‘I feel ancient inside, like an old, old woman.’

There was a silence. It lengthened to embarrassing proportions. Oh, goodness! Lucy thought wearily. What did I have to tell him that for? If he says something kind now, she told herself, I’ll cry; I know I will.

Maybe he read her mind, for there was no trace of compassion or sympathy in his tone when he next spoke. ‘We all feel old on occasions,’ he replied crisply. ‘Life has a habit of wearing even the most resilient down—weakening the strongest.’

‘Not you.’

‘Why not me?’ Alex shook his head, dark eyes smouldering like hot coals in his face. ‘You’d be surprised.’

‘Would I?’ Lucy frowned. ‘Tell me, then,’ she added firmly. ‘When have you not been able to cope?’

‘Plenty of times.’ His voice was terse, his reply abrupt. It was clear that he wasn’t interested in elaborating. ‘Take a shower,’ he added smoothly. ‘There’s a bathroom through that door there.’ He crossed the room and opened the door, turning to look back at Lucy, who was still standing before the window, wondering about him. ‘Then I think it would be a good idea if you got some sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.’

‘I’m not feeling particularly hungry,’ she murmured.

‘Dinner.’ Alex repeated firmly. ‘See you later.’

Late afternoon had merged with evening. Lucy sat up on the large four-poster bed and hugged the towelling robe that she had slipped on after her shower around her body. Her sleep had been deep and surprisingly refreshing and she felt a whole lot better. Not exactly a new person, but a vastly improved one.

It was so peaceful. She gazed across at the window and took a deep breath. The stillness was quite beautiful after the hustle and bustle of the airport and the warmth of the car journey.

She wondered what the time was. Early or late? She couldn’t judge by the light in these new surroundings—not yet, anyway.

After a few moments of just lounging on the bed enjoying the peace, she swung her legs to the floor and strolled to the open window, breathing in the sweet, warm air which smelt of citrus fruits and roses. To call this place your own must be a wonderful thing, she thought. Absolutely magical.

The bedsit that she had shared with Paul during their short marriage came into her mind. She had done her best, but there was no denying that it had been a dump. Maybe if she had accepted Charles’s offer of the down payment on a flat as a wedding present things would have worked out, but Lucy had refused and they hadn’t. Stubbornness had always been her weak point. Paul had been keen, though—too keen; she should have noticed that. Maybe it would have given her a clue as to what he was really like. Maybe he had always wanted something for nothing...

The silence seemed endless. Too easy to think here, with all this quiet, and thinking was something that she had promised herself she would not do.

Lucy turned away from the window. Where was Alex? Hadn’t he said he’d wake her in time for dinner? She listened. The house was quiet. No movement, no rattle of dishes from the kitchen below. Too quiet, maybe?

She walked to the bedroom door and opened it. The thought struck her that she might be alone, and a sudden, unexplained rush of anxiety flooded through her.