Sara Craven - The Marriage Proposition

She thought, I can’t—I won’t endure it …

But as the belt finally gave way she heard the engine start, and the plane began to move, preparing for take-off.

And she knew it was too late.

PAIGE found her voice. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Flying to Sainte Marie,’ Nick returned tersely. ‘But perhaps it’s a trick question.’

‘But yesterday you were on board someone’s yacht.’ Jerkily she refastened her seatbelt.

‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘But not as a permanent feature. I always planned to disembark at Sainte Marie and fly back. And I can’t afford to hang round in harbour at St Antoine waiting for this storm to pass, so I decided to use Hilaire’s taxi service.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be much missed.’ She spoke before she could stop herself, and could have bitten her tongue out. She sounded as if she was jealous, she groaned inwardly.

‘Allow me to pay you the same compliment,’ Nick drawled. ‘I saw Brad Coulter trudging back to his car like a lost soul. Did you console him with a fond farewell?’

‘That,’ she said curtly, ‘is none of your business.’

‘And that,’ he said, ‘is open to debate.’ He paused. ‘After all, my sweet, we are still married.’

‘A technicality,’ Paige put in quickly.

‘But an important one. So it’s natural that I should have—concerns.’

‘“Natural” is not a word that I’d ever apply to our relationship,’ she said tautly. ‘I can’t wait to put a stop to the whole ridiculous pretence.’

‘Then we have one thing in common at least,’ Nick returned coolly. ‘In the meantime, is it possible that we might treat each other with a measure of civility? Otherwise a thirty-minute flight is going to seem like eternity.’

It will anyway, Paige thought, biting her lip. Aloud, she said, ‘I can do civil. But I won’t put up with the kind of wind-up that I was subjected to on the beach last night. No more jokes about getting me back. Is that clearly understood?’

He surveyed her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘That’s fine with me. Although the temptation was quite irresistible, believe me. But—all joking cancelled. Will that do?’

Paige looked coldly back at him. ‘Thank you.’

He gave her a brief nod and turned away, reaching down to the briefcase he’d brought on board with him and extracting a sheaf of papers.

The conversation, it seemed, was over. The contact broken. Which was exactly what she wanted.

Paige found herself confronted by a view of the back of his head. His dark hair was thick and silky, and in need of a cut. But that was one of the few things he was careless about, she thought. A curious lapse in one who normally conducted his life with such precision.

Or was it? After all, how much did she really know about him?

But, again, that was how she wanted it, she reminded herself. This way there would be no intimate details to torment her memory when the final legalities had been completed.

She sat back in her seat, firmly turning her own attention to the rapidly diminishing airfield beneath them while her thoughts continued to run riot. Because it wasn’t just a matter of thirty minutes, she thought, an icy fist clenching inside her. It looked as if they were catching the same plane back to Britain, too, and that meant hours. But on a big passenger jet it was unlikely they would be thrust into this kind of unwelcome proximity.

Not, she thought, with a wry twist of her mouth, unless I’m very unlucky and someone upgrades me to business class.

But good fortune had played little part in their dealings with each other so far, she was forced to admit.

It had been barely a month after their first disastrous encounter in the wine bar when she’d received a call from Toby to say the family equivalent of a three-line whip had been issued for the coming weekend.

‘It’s not awfully convenient,’ she objected, frowning. ‘I was thinking of going over to Paris. The magazine’s doing a series on the problems of single travellers and—’

‘It’s not only single travellers who have problems,’ Toby interrupted. ‘We have a finance guy to entertain, all stops pulled out.’ He paused for dramatic emphasis. ‘And it’s really important that we make a good impression.’

‘Is it?’ Paige pulled a face at the telephone. ‘I don’t think I like the sound of this. What’s been going on?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Toby told her. ‘We need some extra financial backup in the short term, and it’s not been as easy to raise as we thought. Hence the charm offensive. We want to assure this chap that we’re a united family firm, solidly established and totally reliable. Come on, Sis,’ he added in a wheedling tone. ‘It’s not often we ask you to get involved, and you’re a member of the board, too.’

‘Nominally, yes.’ Paige made the concession without pleasure.

She knew what was behind this, of course. Denise had clearly gone into panic mode at the thought of acting as sole hostess, but she would still resent her sister-in-law being brought in to help. Paige would have to perform miracles of tact and diplomacy to ensure the weekend ran smoothly, and prevent Denise retiring in sulky dudgeon to her room with a convenient migraine attack.

I really don’t need this, she told herself.

‘Paige?’ Toby’s voice was urgent. ‘Dad’s relying on you, you know. We all are.’

The emotional blackmail card, Paige recalled bitterly. It had never failed. But if she’d had the remotest idea what form this reliance was going to take she’d have gone to Paris and never returned.

Instead, she’d left work early on Friday and driven down to Priors Hampton. Like a lamb to the slaughter.