A High Price to Pay (9 page)

married to Nicholas Bristow had made her wonder whether her

mother's assessment of him had been justified. It had clearly hit him

hard, and Alison hadn't known whether to be glad or sorry. Glad, she

supposed, because there had been one man who had actually wanted

her for herself. Sorry, on the other hand, because she knew she would

never have returned his feelings.

She realised with a start that the music was swelling to a crescendo,

and glanced up into the cold hard glitter of Nick's eyes as he waited

for her at the chancel steps.

His face was mask-like, but he was angry. She knew it—could feel it.

But why? Was he disappointed, perhaps, that she had not opted for

the white dress and the veil after all? Yet that had been the

agreement—no formal dress, family only, and a tiny reception at her

uncle's house afterwards.

She was no beauty, of course, but he'd known that from the

beginning, so it was hardly fair to blame her for it now.

And for appearances' sake at least, he might have smiled at her. She

wanted him to smile. She wanted to put up a hand and touch his face,

stroke away the harsh lines beside his mouth, and the fierceness of

that wanting sent a shock like an electric current through her entire

being.

In an agony of relief, she switched her attention to the kindly, familiar

figure of the Vicar, and the words he was beginning to say to them.

Obediently she repeated what she was told to say, put out her hand to

receive Nick's ring when obliged to, but all the time her mind was

whirling in small, frantic circles.

The tension of the last weeks had finally got to her. She was cracking

up. That was the only feasible explanation for that piercing rush of

feeling. And a fine way to embark on marriage—as a hopeless

neurotic.

She was amazed how soon it was over, how soon she was walking

back down the aisle, but on Nick's silent arm this time. The silence

followed them into the car, wrapped them round as they drove the few

miles to the Bosworths' house. Nick showed no inclination to break it,

and Alison didn't know where to begin. Perhaps they would never

exchange another word for the rest of their lives, she thought, a little

hysterical bubble of laughter welling up inside her.

She was glad Aunt Beth had prepared a buffet lunch, instead of a

formal meal round the long mahogany table in the dining room. That

way, she could pretend to eat and no one would notice.

There was only one couple at the reception she hadn't met—Nick's

cousin Judith, and her husband Alan.

'Welcome to the Bristow clan,' said Judith, her eyes fixed on Alison in

candid assessment as they shook hands. 'You look pole-axed!' she

added with a grin. 'I remember it had much the same effect on Alan

when it happened, and I'm much less formidable than Nicholas!'

'Don't you believe it,' her husband put in. 'We should have met before,

Alison, so that I could have talked you out of it. You're clearly far too

nice a girl to fall into the clutches of a hardened reprobate like Nick.'

Alison joined in the general laughter, forcing the muscles of her face

to smile until they ached. They were being kind, but she could sense

the astonishment underneath. They were wondering why the wealthy,

glamorous Nicholas Bristow had saddled himself with such a

nonentity, when he could have chosen almost any woman he wanted.

They were his friends as well as relations. They moved in the same

social circles in London. They would know his usual girl-friends—be

aware of what he looked for in his women. And for the life of her she

could think of no feasible explanation which would satisfy them.

Even her mother had adapted to the new situation with the speed of

light. She had stopped calling Nicholas 'that man' from the first day of

the engagement, and had in fact behaved as if the whole thing was a

love match engineered by herself in some way. Alison sighed

inwardly. Her mother had decided that long fraught encounter

between them had never happened, it seemed. And how nice it must

be to be able to ignore reality when it became inconvenient!

And reality was here and now in the shape of Melly, telling her that it

was time she went up to change.

'Are you going to leave your hair up?' Melanie asked as Alison

carefully took off her wedding dress and began to put on the soft coral

silky two- piece she had chosen as her going-away outfit.

'I don't think so.' Alison smiled rather carefully as she fastened her

zip. 'It was a nice effect for the occasion, but now I think I'd better

revert to being me again. And it's very much casual clothes and

relaxation on the cruise. He—Nick—stressed that,' she added, aware

of how difficult she still found it to say his name. 7,
Alison Mary, take

thee, Nicholas..."

Melanie sighed luxuriously. 'The GreekIslands—how truly

envy-making! It'll be perfect now—all those wild flowers.'

'Yes, it should be lovely,' Alison agreed with deliberate neutrality.

Melanie picked up her wedding dress and began to replace it on a

padded hanger, her face pensive. She said suddenly, 'Ally—you are

happy, aren't you? It's all been so sudden and—miraculous, from my

point of view anyway, with Nick stepping in like this and taking over

all our lives. I suppose I've just taken it for granted that it's what you

want too. But it is, isn't it?'

'Of course.' Alison unpinned her hair and began to brush it with

smooth rhythmic strokes back into its usual shining neatness.

'Thank heavens!' Melanie hung the dress on the wardrobe door, and

spent a few minutes arranging and rearranging the folds of the skirt.

She said suddenly, 'I'm really sorry I said all those bloody stupid

things about Nick—and all that stuff in the paper. There was probably

nothing in it, you know. In fact in Sunday's paper, it said that Mrs

Monclair had gone back to her husband, and they'd had a complete

reconciliation, which proves it, doesn't it?'

The note of appeal in the last question wasn't lost on Alison. She

smiled at her sister. 'Of course it does,' she said soothingly. 'But then I

never did believe any of it anyway.'

'That's good.' Melanie beamed at her. 'Are you wild about him? You

must be. It's a bit like a fairy tale, isn't it?'

Alison transferred her star sapphire engagement ring hack to her left

hand, reluctant to face any more of this eagerly artless interrogation.

Let Melanie enjoy the romance she had conjured up in her

imagination. She only hoped disillusionment would not come too

soon.

The
Ariadne
was moored at Rhodes, so Nick had informed her, and

they were spending the night at a hotel not too far from the airport

prior to taking an early flight the following day.

The first hurdle, Alison thought, as she waited in the luxurious foyer

for Nick to register. He'd been as taciturn as ever on the drive to the

hotel, merely asking if she was comfortable, and whether she'd like to

listen to some music. She had let the stately strains of Vivaldi fill the

space between them. What she would do if there was no piped music

in the hotel, she had no idea.

Nick seemed to be taking a long time at the desk, and when he

rejoined her, he was frowning thunderously.

'The suite I booked is not available,' he said curtly. 'Apparently some

damned fool set fire to a waste paper basket, and the whole place has

to be redecorated. Shall we find another hotel, or do you want to take

what they have to offer?'

Alison gave a faint shrug. 'What's that?'

Nick's mouth curled in a mixture of wryness and derision. 'The bridal

suite,' he said.

He saw the embarrassed colour wash into her face, and nodded. 'I

thought as much. We'll find somewhere else.'

'No.' Alison caught at his sleeve as he turned away. 'We can make do

with it, surely. It—it's getting late, and I'm tired.'

It was his turn to shrug. 'Then we'll take a look at it.'

When they were ushered into the suite, Alison's first wish was that

they had gone somewhere else.

Someone had clearly lavished time and money on turning the suite

into the perfect love-nest. There were red roses waiting in the small

sitting room, beside a complimentary bottle of champagne on ice, but

that was only the start of it. In the bedroom, the huge bed was covered

in ruched apricot satin, and draped with filmy curtains in the same

shade. And the sunken bath in the turquoise marble bathroom was

clearly intended for dual occupation.

Alison had an overwhelming desire to laugh until she hiccupped.

Only the certainty that Nick was certainly not sharing her amusement

kept her silent. But at least there was a couch in the sitting room, she

thought, and she'd noticed him noticing it too, so they could manage

for this one night.

'Charming,' Nick remarked too pleasantly. He tipped the porter. 'Have

our bags brought up immediately, please.'

As the door closed behind the man, Alison said defensively, 'Well, it

will do.'

'It seems it will have to,' he said acidly. 'Shall we get into the spirit of

the occasion by having some champagne?'

'Why not?' Alison moved towards the window, stumbling slightly as

she did so. 'Goodness, this carpet is thick!'

'Wall-to-wall mattress,' observed Nick, opening the champagne.

She felt her face warm, and went on hurriedly, 'There isn't much of a

view.'

'Obviously an unnecessary refinement,' he drawled. 'The occupants

are supposed to have better things to do with their time than stare out

of the window. Here's your champagne.'

She took the glass he handed her with a numb word of thanks.

'So what shall we drink to?' Nick went on. 'The usual matrimonial

toasts seem a little loaded in content for our situation. Would "To our

better acquaintance" be going too far, do you suppose, or shall we just

say, "Cheers"?'

'Please, don't.' Alison stared unhappily down at the floor.

There was a silence, then he sighed. 'I'm sorry, Alison. I'm giving you

a rough time, aren't I? Can I say I've found today more of a strain than

I believed possible, and leave it at that?'

She nodded. She said constrictedly, 'I don't think it's been easy for

either of us.'

He slid off his coat and put up an impatient hand to loosen his tie. it

will be good to get on board
Ariadne
and unwind,' he said, half to

himself. 'All in all, it's been a hell of a six months.'

A knock on the door heralded the porter with their luggage. Alison sat

on the window seat and sipped her champagne and listened to Nick

giving clipped instructions about newspapers, and an early call, and

breakfast. As the porter left, he gave Alison a swift sideways glance.

Perhaps he was surprised they hadn't already been in some kind of

clinch, she thought ruefully. Or, more probably, he was surprised that

they were there together at all. Because she knew she didn't look like

a bride. She didn't feel like one, either.

'Do you want to eat here, or go out?' asked Nick, glancing at his

watch. 'There's a good restaurant on the river, not too far from here,

where I can usually get a reservation.'

She could guess in whose company, and the thought cost her a nasty

little pang. She said coolly, 'I'd just as soon eat in the hotel, thanks. As

I said, I'm rather tired.' She finished her champagne and got up. 'I

think I'll have a bath.'

'Well, take care you don't drown in that monstrous thing,' Nick told

her, pouring himself some more wine. 'Would you like me to show

you how the jacuzzi works?'

'Good God, no!' Her voice was appalled.

The blue eyes mocked her. 'But you might find it—er—stimulating.

It's time you started to live a little, Mrs Bristow.' He paused. 'And I

was only suggesting a demonstration, not that I should share it with

you.'

'Well, that's naturally reassuring, but I'm really not interested.' She

managed to keep her voice equable, but inwardly she was in knots.

He was doing it deliberately, she thought stormily, because he knew

quite well that sharing a bath with a man was something totally

outside her experience. That, and a great many other things besides.

In fact, he probably thought she was left over from the Dark Ages.

She took her time over her bath, and wasn't altogether surprised when

she eventually emerged to find she had the suite to herself. She

couldn't blame him. The ambience of the place must be setting his

teeth on edge. Yet if their relationship had been different, they might

have enjoyed its absurdities together, she thought with a faint sigh.

She put on a sleeveless green dress and sat down to wait for him.

When he returned, he seemed preoccupied again, but fortunately no