From Dirt To Diamonds Part 9

But she had not got away with it in his eyes-he knew the truth of what she had done-and so he had exacted his own justice upon her. Just as, now, he'd refused to allow her to continue to deceive her hapless fiance about her past.

But she's paid the price for both ...

Did he need to feel only anger towards her any more? Or was he now free to indulge that other, equally powerful emotion he felt about her? The one that was even more powerful now, five years on, in the face of her new, mature, cultured beauty.

He didn't know. Not clearly yet. Knew only, as his hand went with automatic gestures to loosen his tie as he proceeded to head for his solitary bed, in the acute consciousness of her presence so short a distance away, that he wanted to find out-and that to do so would require continuing to keep her with him.

But not here. His thoughts resolved themselves, gelling to a point of decision that focused within him with sudden clarity. He did not want to be here with her, in this suite, with the memory of how she had behaved five years ago all around him, dragging him back into the past. No-if he was to allow himself to feel any emotion for her other than anger, as that revelatory moment in the elevator had forced him to admit he did, then he must take her somewhere he could discover the truth of her character, whatever she called herself now.

And he knew exactly the place.

Decision made, he started to ready himself for bed. From tomorrow he would start to discover the truth he was seeking. And whether he could have what he wanted.

CHAPTER SIX.

Someone was knocking softly. Thea heard the sound of a door opening, then a female voice spoke.

'Madam, breakfast is served.'

Blearily, Thea raised her head from the pillow. She had scarcely slept-not until dawn had been fingering across the city sky. Her head had been filled with memories-memories she had fought for five years.

I let him-I let him kiss me. I did not fight, I did not yell, or pull away, or hit at him, or anything-anything at all. I just stood there and let him do that to me ...

But now, at last, the day had come-her release. She was free, she thought blankly, to go home, take up her empty life again.

Swiftly, she made a basic toilette, desperate to be gone. But as she walked out of her bedroom her eyes immediately fell on him, fully dressed in a business suit, seated at the breakfast table. There was no sign of the maid who had roused her. His head turned as she came into the room. For a moment their eyes met, then she blanked hers and said, her tone brisk, 'I'm going now.'

His expression did not change. 'You're going nowhere. Come here, Kat, and sit down. I may not keep my mistresses long, but I keep them longer than one night. You're coming with me to Geneva-we leave at noon.'

Her dismay was open. 'I can't just leave London. I have appointments.' It was all she could think to say through the tide of rejection sweeping through her at his words.

'Cancel them,' he said indifferently. 'Your agency can phone my office if there are any problems. I'll compensate for any contractual objections arising from your absence.'

She stood, fulminating with fury-and something more than fury that was not fear, never fear, but still made her want to rush from the room. But if she did his threat to expose her to Giles would hang over her head still ...

She set her face. She could not let Angelos see either her fury or her dismay. 'You said noon, I believe?' she said carelessly.

He nodded.

'Very well.' She didn't bother to ask what she should pack. Didn't bother to do anything except head for the door and leave.

At the table, Angelos watched her go. Was he deranged? Deranged to do this? Yet one glimpse of her standing there, bristling and defiant, her face bare of make-up yet still startlingly beautiful, had told him that his decision was the right one. Definitely the right one. Whatever he wasn't sure about, one thing was for sure-he was not about to let Kat Jones go.

The executive jet skimmed the cloud surface. Sunlight poured in through Thea's porthole. How could the world be so bright when inside her head was only darkness? Across the aisle Angelos sat, ensconced in paperwork. Her mask of studied indifference had hardly been needed. He had ignored her presence throughout the journey to the airfield and so far throughout the flight. His attention had been reserved only for his work-and the smiling stewardess who had fawned over him. Thea would have laughed at her efforts had she not had a stone in her chest. She stared, unseeing, down at her book, taking in nothing.

How was she to get through what was to come?

And what was to come? The stone in her chest hardened.

If he tries it-if he lays a finger on me ...

Panic choked her throat, and she fought it down, regaining control of herself. Keeping that control rigidly for the remainder of the flight, and then for the business of deplaning and travelling into the centre of Geneva. She was considerably better travelled now than she had been when she'd been Kat, but Geneva was new to her, and she gazed about her as a car drove them along the edge of Lac Lemain, past the famous iconic fountain jetting out of the water, and turned into the older part of town. The hotel was discreetly expensive, and Kat felt panic bite again as they were shown into Angelos's suite. It subsided again as the bellboy took her bag into a separate bedroom. Surely if Angelos intended to try and get her into bed he would not have allowed her a bedroom of her own?

But if that was not his intent-then what was? The question ran round the inside of her skull, finding no answer, only tormenting her.

Her tension still sky-high, she heard Angelos's voice from the doorway.

'I have engagements this afternoon. Do whatever you want, but be ready to go to dinner at eight.'

She looked at him stiffly, stifling her anxieties, making herself think only of trivial, practical things. 'What dress code?'

'c.o.c.ktail,' he said briefly. 'And, Kat, this is Switzerland. They're a sober people. Dress accordingly.'

The outfit she'd chosen, out of the variety she had brought with her must have been what he had in mind, for he made no comment on the knee-length olive-green dress. Her nerves were stretched like wire. She had spent the afternoon desultorily watching television and reading, and somehow she would get through the evening. She was relieved to find they were not a deux, as she had dreaded, but instead at a dinner function held in a private dining room at an expensive restaurant. She had gone into the kind of automatic social chitchat she was used to with Giles, and had it not been for Angelos Petrakos's brooding presence would have found the experience perfectly pleasant.

She did her best to ignore Angelos, but his was not an easy presence to ignore. She was conscious all the time of his deep voice, his harsh, handsome features, and the dominating impact he made at the table, drawing the eyes, she knew, of all the other women present. At one point towards the end of the evening, to her shock, she heard him laugh-a sound she had never heard before. Her head whipped round, and she could only blink as she saw how the planes of his face had altered completely, with deep lines indenting around his mouth. She felt a jolt go through her, and for one fatal moment his line of sight intercepted hers. The jolt came again, like an electric shock, then, draggingly, she tore her eyes away.

It had shaken her-and as she got back into the limo she knew her tension was sky-high again. Yet Angelos did not speak to her until, back in the suite, he turned to her. She was standing, not sure what to do, in the middle of the room.

'It's really quite remarkable,' he said. His eyes rested on her. 'If I didn't know the truth about you I would be as fooled as anyone. You're unrecognisable from five years ago.'

He flicked his dark gaze up and down her, as she stood, immobile, making her face expressionless. Then he turned away, and she felt her muscles sag in reaction.

'I've work to do,' he said dismissively. 'Tomorrow you can do what you wish, but we need to leave for the concert hall by seven. Dress code is black tie.'

She took her dismissal, and escaped to the refuge of her bedroom.

Against all her expectations, Thea slept well. Maybe she was just compensating for the previous sleepless night. When she woke it was already ten o'clock. Tentatively she ventured from her room. There was no sign of Angelos, and no sound from his room. After a while she relaxed, knowing he was not there. Nevertheless, she dressed swiftly and left the hotel. It was a dull morning, threatening rain, and she took coffee and a roll for breakfast in a cafe. Her mood was strange. She seemed remote, dissociated from herself and the rest of the world-dissociated, too, from memories of Giles, the man she had thought she was going to marry but who now seemed as unreal as if she had dreamt him.

She spent the rest of the day exploring Geneva, walking along the lake's edge. A slight wind was ruffling the surface of the dark water. Finding an unoccupied bench, she sat down, looking out over the lake, at the clouds scudding overhead.

This is an interlude in my life. Nothing more. It's a question of getting through the days, reaching the end. I don't know when the end will be, but it will come. At some point he will let me go. Until then-I must wait. Just wait.

For a moment longer she looked out, unblinking, out across the lake. Then, with an intake of breath, as if to mark a decision to think no more for now, she opened her bag and got out her book to read-a pocket history of the city.

She got back to the hotel in good time, bathed and dressed herself. Then emerged from her room a few minutes before seven. Angelos was already there.

Her eyes went to him immediately, as they always did. But now, as she looked at him, she felt her breath catch-hate herself though she did for it. She had never seen him in evening dress before. It made any man look good, she knew. But on a man like Angelos Petrakos it was-breathtaking. The stark formality of the tuxedo, the dazzling white of the s.h.i.+rt sheathing his powerful frame, contrasting with the black bow tie, was devastating in its impact. She felt it jolting through her, rendering her incapable of doing anything but staring at him, taking him in. Feeling his power ...

He'd been talking on his mobile, but he finished his call, turning to inspect her. She held herself rigidly steady, refusing to react to him.

'Another elegant outfit,' he murmured, eyes flickering over the black silk evening trousers topped with a long-waisted, long-sleeved silk jacket faintly threaded with silver. Tonight she was not wearing pearls, but a filigree silver necklace that fitted into the narrow vee between the revers of her jacket, and long, graceful silver earrings. Her hair, as ever, was in its customary chignon.

'Models get discounts,' she said carelessly, stepping into the elevator.

He made no reply, and they travelled down in silence, but Thea was aware of his gaze on her. Aware, too, of his presence at her side, of the faint tang of aftershave and, deeper than that, of a s.h.i.+vering sense of his raw, ruthless masculinity.

It persisted, to her growing discomfort, through the evening ahead. All through the concert as she sat beside him-too close, far, far too close!-she could feel his presence there. Feel the heat of his body, the long line of his leg so close to hers, feel his shoulder almost graze hers. She kept her hands doggedly in her lap, not using the armrest at all lest her arm brush against the smooth, svelte sleeve of his dinner jacket.

But though she was not touching him he was there all the same. Far too close. Far too real. Doggedly, she determined to concentrate only on the music. To appreciate the opportunity to listen to a world-famous orchestra, see a world-famous conductor and soloist, in acoustically the best seats in the house.

She wished, though, it had not been Rachmaninov. The lush, lavish tones of the second symphony poured over her, disturbing her senses, arousing her emotions. She felt its power dissolving her rigidly imposed control. The music seemed to strip it away, making her feel things she did not want to feel. Arousing emotions she did not want aroused. She sought to hold herself immobile in her seat, spine straight, hands still, but the music swayed through her, crescendo after crescendo. And always the perpetual consciousness of the dark, disturbing presence of Angelos Petrakos at her side.

The second half of the concert was Shostakovich, and all the lushness of Rachmaninov was swept away in stormy discordance. She was glad of that, too. But when the concert finally ended it appeared their evening was not yet over. Angelos made his way with her up to a s.p.a.cious private function VIP salon, where there was some kind of reception going on. Just as he had the night before, Angelos introduced her to whoever he talked to, and Thea found herself in the same kind of social situation. She performed her allotted role perforce, discussing the concert or any other subject that came up, sipping sparkling mineral water and orange juice, allowing herself a little of the delicious-looking buffet.

But if the polyglot social-chitchat was easy enough, coping with Angelos's constant presence at her side was not.

It seemed to be getting worse, her consciousness of him.

He was standing far too close to her. The s.p.a.ce was crowded, with groups forming and breaking up, waiters circling with trays of drinks and canapes, and she felt his body always too close to hers, felt herself oppressed by his nearness whenever his sleeve brushed her arm or once-worst of all, and making her spine freeze-when his hand grazed the small of her back to draw her aside and let a waiter come by. She knew there was nothing she could do-they were in a social setting, and she could not react by pulling sharply away, biting out at him vehemently. Instead she had to continue smiling, conversing, being polite, courteous, civil, as the occasion warranted.

And all the time beneath the surface she felt like a radio receiver set to maximum-and to a single frequency. Hyper awareness of Angelos-his presence, his voice, his occasional low laugh that seemed to vibrate somewhere very deep in her bones, a disturbing, debilitating frisson.

It worsened on the way back to the hotel, in the confines of the limo, though she did her best to stare out of the window.

'Did you really enjoy the concert, or were you merely mouthing politely?'

The question made her head turn. In the shadowy light the strong planes of Angelos's features seemed more overpowering than ever.

'Why should you want to know?' she countered.

'I'm curious about you,' he answered. His eyes rested on her in the dim light.

His scrutiny disturbed her. 'I can't possibly like cla.s.sical music?' she riposted sarcastically.

'The Kat Jones I knew would not.'

She gave a half-shrug. 'That's why I became Thea. No one,' she went on, and found her voice had tightened, 'should be Kat Jones. No one should be that ignorant, that uneducated.'

'So why were you? Ignorant and uneducated? Schooling is free in Britain.'

She gave another shrug. 'You can lead a horse to water ... I was like far too many children from that background. I simply thought my teachers were trying to control me, and everything they tried to teach me seemed pointless, stupid and boring. I wouldn't play their game, and I thought that made me smarter than those docile morons who did.'

Why was she saying this? she thought. Why tell him anything? Why talk to him? Why acknowledge his existence? Yet she was, all the same, though she did not know why.

'What changed you?'

She looked at him. 'You did,' she said.

There was a moment's silence. Then she spoke again.

'You destroyed Kat Jones. So I stopped being her.'

The dark, long-lashed eyes narrowed. 'Did you, Kat?'

'Yes. And if you destroy Thea Dauntry I'll become someone else. Because you'll never destroy me. I won't let you. Whatever you do to me, I'll survive it. I'll survive everything. I'll survive you.'

Her eyes held his. Held them and would not back down. The car travelled on, turning a wide corner, and her gaze broke.

Why on earth did I say that? What for?

Her eyes looked out at the anonymous rain-wet streets. What was she doing here, in this city she did not know, with the man who was her persecutor? Why had the twists and turns of her life brought her here, to this moment, to this man? Her eyes flicked back to him. He was looking at her, and she broke the gaze again. But his image stayed imprinted, shadowy, disturbing, on her retina.

Why this man?

The words echoed in her head. Why this man?

But she did not know the answer.

Her dreams that night were confused, disturbing, filled with the lush, impa.s.sioned strains of Rachmaninov. She woke, music still echoing in her ears, to find suns.h.i.+ne pouring into the room and Angelos still in the suite, breakfasting. Stiffly, she took her place, shaking out a pristine white napkin over her lap and reaching for the freshly squeezed orange juice. As she poured her juice it registered on her that he was not wearing his customary business suit. Instead he was wearing a grey cashmere sweater, and it made him look, she realised, with yet another jangle to her stretched nerves, disturbingly different from his usual power-suited self.

Before she could wonder why he wasn't in a suit, he spoke. 'Today,' he announced, as he poured himself a refill of coffee, 'we shall be leaving Geneva. I'd like to get going right after breakfast, so please ensure you are packed.'

She only nodded, refusing to ask where their next destination was. High powered business types like him, she knew, travelled the world constantly, and presumably yet another private jet would be waiting for him this morning.

But when they exited the hotel, waiting at the kerb was not the customary smoked-gla.s.s-windowed limo, but a sleek, low, powerful, luxury high-performance car. The doorman hurried to open the pa.s.senger door for her, and the parking valet to open the driver's door for Angelos. Thea lowered herself in warily. What was going on? Where were they going? But she would not ask, and Angelos did not enlighten her even when they were clear of the city and its environs on a road that seemed to be heading decidedly towards the mountains.

So she merely sat still as they climbed steadily up increasingly tortuous roads into the mountains. Snow still capped their peaks, glistening in the brilliant sun which turned the Alpine pastures to verdant green and the pine forests to a dark l.u.s.tre, transformed the rus.h.i.+ng streams that the road crossed in its climb to sparkling diamonds. Watching the dramatic scenery gave her something to do-something to distract her from Angelos's presence. Yet from the corner of her eye she could still see the strong curve of his hands on the wheel, the glint of sun on the dark gla.s.ses he had slid over his eyes. The sense of his presence was, as ever, overpowering.

How long the journey took she didn't register, but it must have been a good couple of hours. They'd driven through several towns, the last one clearly a ski resort in winter, but now they were leaving it behind and climbing up a narrow road marked by snow poles, rising steeply into the mountains towards a col that was visible in the distance. Then, abruptly, the car turned off even this road and started to snake slowly, with its low suspension, up an unmetalled track towards a wide stand of pine trees about half a mile further ahead. Any sign of human habitation had been left far down in the valley.

As the car rounded the base of the stand of pine trees the unmetalled track opened out and revealed, cantilevered out over the steep slope of the mountainside, a large wooden chalet with a sharply angled roof and wrap-around wooden balconies at several levels. It was spectacularly sited-as if hanging on to the edge of the mountain. Angelos slewed the car to a halt near the entrance, which was bedecked with flower baskets full of trailing geraniums. Several people were issuing out of the chalet-a middle-aged man, a younger one and a maid.

Angelos cut the engine and got out of the car, greeting the older man in German and nodding at the younger members of staff. As Thea got out of the climate-controlled interior of the car she felt her lungs seize. The air was crystal, sharp and clear, the sunlight dazzling. She gazed about her, breathing deeply. The setting of the huge chalet was breathtaking, but she could only stare around her for the time it took for Angelos to ushered her forward, pausing briefly to introduce the staff to her. She smiled politely at them, glad that they seemed to speak fluent English. Indoors, as Thea looked around a large hall with a sweeping wooden staircase leading to the upper levels, was the kind of rustic luxury that only real wealth could afford. A huge fireplace with antlers on the wall above, everything wood-panelled, wood-floored, solid furniture gleaming with the patina of a.s.siduous polis.h.i.+ng, and warm rugs and carpets in abundance. Although the style was simple, it was clear a great deal of money had been spent on it. Yet nothing was ostentatious, and the overall effect was warm and appealing.

The maid took her upstairs, showing her into a s.p.a.cious, sunny bedroom in the same solid, wood-dominated style, and Thea's eyes were drawn immediately to the doors leading out on to the balcony at this level. Thanking the maid, who had started to unpack for her, she wandered out.

The view was incredible! She had realised it must be spectacular, but actually standing here, poised over the edge of the mountain, it was as if she was almost a bird in flight, soaring down from the high peak. The clarity of the air caught at her lungs again, and as she gazed about the snow-capped peaks were impossible to look at in the brilliant suns.h.i.+ne. She wrapped her hands around the sun-warmed wood of the bal.u.s.trade and gave a sigh of pleasure.

'Is that a vote in favour?'

A deep, half-drawling voice sounded from along the balcony, and Thea's head whipped round. Angelos had emerged from what she a.s.sumed must be the master bedroom, further along. He strolled towards her.

He was still wearing his sungla.s.ses, and for the first time Thea was looking at him straight on. She felt a jab of dismay. Why, oh why, did sungla.s.ses do for him what they were so obviously doing? And not just to him-to her ...

'The view is amazing,' she said, her voice stiff, but she felt it would be unfair to the unknown architect of the chalet to deny it.

'You don't suffer from vertigo, I take it?' remarked Angelos.

She shook her head.