Devil and the Deep Sea (21 page)

'Implicitly,' Roche returned. 'But sometimes it is possible to see

trouble coming, and fend it off before it gets out of hand.' He smiled

faintly. 'Hugo Baxter is only one of a breed.'

She grimaced. 'I suppose so.'

Maitre Giraud was spreading papers across the big desk.

Obediently she signed where she was told, a little alarmed by the

sums of money she saw mentioned. Roche added his own signature

almost negligently, then opened the bottle of champagne which had

been waiting in its cooler.

'To marriage,' he said lifting his glass.

Jean-Paul laughed. 'That is one toast I never expected to hear you

make,
mon vieux.'

A
buzzer sounded, and Roche walked round his desk to flick an

intercom switch.

He said brusquely, 'I thought I had made it clear I did not wish to be

disturbed . . .' He listened frowningly, then sighed. 'Very well, I will

come down.'

'Problems?' Jean-Paul asked.

'A request for credit which my house manager does not feel equal to

refusing,' Roche said, with a touch of grimness. 'Entertain Samantha

until I return,
mon ami.'

'With the utmost pleasure,' Jean-Paul said promptly, refilling

Samma's glass with champagne.

She sipped slowly, assimilating more of her surroundings. Long

windows had been opened to the warm night, and a table set with

snowy linen and silver cutlery had been placed in front of them.

Roche intended them to dine up here, it seemed. And on the other

side of the room was a door, half-opened, and affording an

unmistakable glimpse of a bed, with its covers invitingly turned

down.

'A true home from home,' Jean-Paul commented laconically,

following the direction of her gaze.

She swallowed some more wine. 'I—suppose so. And Roche did

live here, didn't he?'

'At one time,' Jean-Paul agreed. 'In the bad days which are now, I

hope, gone forever.' He paused. 'I will be frank. I was—alarmed by

this hasty marriage of yours. Roche and I have been friends for

years, and I could not bear it if he made another mistake, but seeing

you together has allayed my fears completely.' He sighed slightly.

'In fact, I am almost tempted to try my own luck again.'

'You're not married?' Samma was frankly surprised. Jean-Paul was

clearly affluent, ambitious and with more than his fair share of

attraction.

There was a silence, then he said slowly, 'At one time I hoped to be,

but the woman I loved would not have me. There was, she

considered, an impediment which her pride would not allow her to

ignore. I was young and intolerant, and we—parted.'

'I'm sorry,' Samma said with sincerity.

'I was a fool,' he said, with a shrug. 'I should have overruled her,

swept her off her feet. I see her now from time to time, and I know

that for me it is still the same, but for her—who can say?'

He smiled at Samma. 'Perhaps I should engage you, Madame

Delacroix, to plead my cause—to convince her that love is real, and

marriage can still bring joy.'

She flushed. 'I think I should have to be married for much longer to

sound really convincing.' Wanting to change the subject, she went

on, 'Those awful people—the Augustins—did they leave?'

'Mais oui,
and if God is good they will never return,' Jean-Paul said

with a sigh. 'All you have to do,
madame,
is stay married to Roche.

If you decided to leave him, it might be a different story.'

Samma set her glass down slowly on the desk, aware of an odd

sinking sensation deep inside her. 'You mean—if Roche and I

separated, they would try again for custody of Solange?'

'Certainement
.' He smiled at her. 'But I have it on the best authority

that your husband has not the slightest intention of letting you go,

so be warned.'

'He told you so?' Her heart was thudding unsteadily, and the palms

of her hands felt damp.

'Only yesterday,' he said casually. 'He admitted to me, as a friend,

you understand, that he would do anything to keep you at his side.'

He sighed again. 'That is love,
n'est-ce pas?
He paused. 'Some more

champagne?'

'No—thank you,' Samma managed. She felt sick suddenly—sick

and bitterly humiliated. Everything Roche had said, everything he'd

done, was revealed in a new and shaming light.

And she'd fallen for it, she thought despairingly. She'd allowed

herself to believe that he was beginning to care for her—let herself

be seduced with the promise of love—without seeing the harshly

cynical motivation which had prompted his advances to her.

I saw only what I wanted to see, she thought, as pain lashed at her.

Jean-Paul was staring at her. 'Are you well,
madame?
You are very

pale.'

Out of a constricted throat, she managed, 'It's a little warm in here,

and I'm not used to champagne.'

Jean-Paul moved purposefully towards the intercom. 'I will call

Roche.'

'No—please. I—I don't want to worry him. I think I'd better go

back—to Belmanoir.' She moistened dry lips with the tip of her

tongue. She started for the door, then stopped as it opened, and

Roche came in.

'Mon Dieu,
what a scene!' he said ruefully.
'Mignonne,
I'm sorry. I

have been neglecting you again, in spite of my guarantee earlier.' He

gave her a close look. 'Is something wrong?'

'She seems to be a little faint,' Jean-Paul said concernedly. 'Shall I

fetch someone?'

Roche shook his head. 'I will look after her.' He turned to Samma.

'You are probably just hungry,
ma belle.
I will tell them to serve

dinner at once.'

It would be so easy to tell herself that the gentleness in his voice

was genuine—so easy, and so totally, fatally stupid. She'd been on

the verge of making a complete and pathetic fool of herself, yet

again. She should be thankful she'd been spared that humiliation at

least.

She heard Jean-Paul say something tactful about leaving them

together, and then, at long last and all too late, they were alone.

'what is it,
ma belle?'
His voice and face tender, Roche drew

Samma into his arms, tensing when he felt her instinctive recoil.

'Mon Dieu,
you cannot be frightened of me! There is no need, I

swear. I will be gentle . . .'

'No,' Samma said hoarsely. 'You're not going to touch me. You're

not going to come near me.'

'Cherie,
what is this?
Qu'est-ce que tu as?'
He stared at her. 'Are

you really ill? Shall I send for a doctor?'

She said, 'I'm not ill. I may have been blind for a time, but that's

over now.'

Roche flung his head back. 'And what does that mean?' he asked

evenly.

She walked over to the desk, where the settlement papers were still

lying, as she said, 'You've been very generous today, Roche, but

there was no need.' She picked up the papers and tore them across,

again and again. She went on, 'I've no doubt you'd have been

equally generous in bed. That was the new deal, I take it—the

re-negotiation you mentioned. Cash, and—' her voice faltered

slightly '—and sex to keep me sweet —to keep me on Grand

Cay—because if I left you, the Augustins would make another

claim for Solange—and with two failed marriages behind you,

Judge Lefevre might take a different view next time.' She took a

deep breath. 'Isn't that how it was?'

He said harshly, 'You seem to have it all worked out,
ma belle.
You

tell me.'

It was an effort to meet the blaze of anger in his face without

quailing, but Samma bravely continued, 'But you had no need to go

to those lengths. As I told you on
Allegra,
I'm here because I feel so

sorry for your little girl. Your—money—a relationship—they never

mattered. I never wanted either.' The words were like knives,

twisting in her. 'I—I know I threatened to leave, but that was in the

heat of the moment. I would have changed my mind—for Solange's

sake. There was no necessity for a full-scale . seduction, with

financial inducements. I'll stay anyway—but without the money.' In

spite of herself, her voice shook. 'And without you.'

The anger in him was almost tangible. He said too quietly, 'You are

so sure the choice is yours to make?'

His hands reached for her, took her before she could back away.

Her protesting cry was smothered by the heated violence of his

mouth. Her hands rained blows on his chest, until he dragged her so

close that her clenched fists were trapped against the hardness of

his body, making further resistance an impossibility.

A lifetime ago, he'd teased her—excited her with the possibility of

exacting some sensual vengeance from her. Now this had become

an angry, terrifying reality. There was no more laughter, no more

tenderness —just a stark and ruthless passion intent on enforcing

submission, however reluctant.

When at last he lifted his head, she was weak and trembling in his

arms, panic turning her limbs to water.

He said with dangerous softness, 'I brought you here to make love

to you, my lovely wife, and I shall do so, with or without your

permission. You will understand, I am sure, that I cannot promise

under the circumstances to show you the understanding and

forbearance that I once intended.' He shrugged. 'But as you do not

want me anyway, what difference can it make?'

He swung her up into his arms, and carried her into the other room,

tossing her contemptuously across the bed. He shrugged off his

jacket, dropping it to the floor, and tugged at his black tie.

He said icily, 'If you wish to have a dress fit to go home in,

madame,
I suggest you remove it now.'

Her voice was shaking uncontrollably now, as she saw the abyss

which had opened in front of her. 'Roche—please. You don't really

want me—you know that . . .'

'How can I know?' His lip curled as he unbuttoned his shirt and

stripped it off. 'You have been so sparing with your favours,

mignonne.
You have made me—curious, if nothing else. Now strip,

before I do it for you.'

He meant it. She could see it in the smouldering light in his eyes,

the harsh set of his jaw.

She gave a little sob, and fumbled for her zip.

In the other room, a telephone began to ring suddenly with loud,

jarring insistence. Roche paused in his undressing, and a small,

silent sigh of relief rose within her, but after a brief, furious glance

in the direction of the desk, he evidently decided to ignore the

interruption.

He said coldly, 'You are keeping me waiting.'

She said, 'The phone . . .'

'Can go to hell.' He smiled at her without amusement. 'I gave orders

for my—night of love—to be without interruption.'

'But it could be important . . .' The pleading in her voice was

unmistakable.

'Nothing,
ma belle
, could match the importance of having you—at

last.' His tone jeered at her, made light of the sacrifice of her

innocence.

He sat down on the bed beside her, his fingers wrenching at her zip.

The dress fell away, and she felt his mouth caressing the nape of

her neck, his fingers tracing the long, naked length of her back. Felt

the unbidden quickening of her own flesh in response to his touch.

Felt all the agony of a need she could not deny.

Very slowly, she turned to him, aware of the flame of his eyes

touching her bare breasts. His hands took her shoulders, pushing

her back against the pillow, and she made no resistance, her lips

parting achingly as he bent over her. She knew the warmth of his

breath on her face, the brush of his naked flesh against her own as

he came down to her, and a little sigh, half yearning, half

capitulation escaped her.

For a long moment, he looked into her widening eyes, then he said

with cold mockery, 'And yet you tell me you don't want me.'

He lifted himself away from her, and walked into the other room to

the desk, and the clamouring telephone. As if from a great distance,

Samma watched him lift the receiver, heard him say curtly,
'Out?'

She saw the fierceness fade from his face, to be replaced with

concern, as he said swiftly, 'Elvire—
c'est toi?
At this hour? What is

wrong?'

But of course, thought Samma, who else could it possibly be? I