His Diamond Bride (5 page)

‘Maybe I'd better ask Mark,' Sylvia said shrewdly.

‘No,' Dee said quickly. ‘I wasn't supposed to repeat it. I forgot. It's just that—'

Briefly, she outlined what he'd told her about his lonely childhood, and the dog his selfish mother had got rid of without even telling him.

‘That woman sounds hateful,' she finished. ‘However unhappy she was, she had no right to take it out on a child. No wonder he grew up cautious about getting close to people.'

‘So that's why he doesn't open up to anyone,' Sylvia mused. ‘Including me. But it seems he talks to you.'

‘Because he sees me as a sister. A sister can't hurt him like you can, so he feels safe talking to me. But don't tell him I told you.'

‘All right, I promise. I'll keep hoping that he'll tell me himself, but he won't, I know that in my heart. You see, I don't matter to him, or not very much. The other night we were going to meet for a date, and he was nearly an hour late. He made some excuse but I think he was with another girl. I'm sure I could smell her perfume.'

‘You're imagining things,' Dee said, unwilling to believe the worst of Mark.

‘Am I? Maybe. But I resent the time I spend worrying about him. I once thought that he and I would walk off into the sunset and live happily ever after. But now—' She gave an awkward laugh. ‘If I don't matter to him, there are plenty of other men who think I matter. I'm going to bed. Goodnight.'

When Dee finally went to her own room she was puzzled. Whatever Sylvia said, Mark was surely under her spell, even if it was only her physical beauty that had drawn him there. She recalled her mother's teaching on the subject.

‘They all start off wanting just one thing,' Helen had said. ‘A clever woman uses that to get a ring on her finger.'

It was the wisdom of the time. Any woman of Helen's generation, or even Dee's generation, would have said the same. The idea of risking the wedding ring by playing fast and loose with his affections was sheer madness. Dee knew that she could never have done so if she'd been lucky enough to entrance Mark.

‘But that's not going to happen,' she told her reflection. ‘He's never going to gaze at you as if the sun rose and set on you, so shut up, go to bed, forget him and get on with your life.'

Sometimes lecturing herself helped. Mostly, it didn't.

What did help was walking in the evening with Billy, now their mutual friend. ‘You're crazy about him too, aren't you?' she asked the dog as they strolled along.

Billy gave a soft grunt of agreement. The next moment it had turned into a yelp of delight as a motorbike turned the corner of the road. Even in goggles, it was clearly Mark, and Billy shot ahead so fast that the lead slipped out of Dee's hand.

‘Billy, no!' she shrieked as the dog went bounding into the road, straight into the path of the speeding motorbike, and to inevitable disaster.

It was all over in a flash. One moment the bike was bearing down on the dog; the next moment there was a crash and a yell as the vehicle swerved violently and smashed into a fence. Mark was flung to the ground and lay still.

‘Oh, no!' Dee whispered, running towards him and dropping to her knees beside his frighteningly still form. ‘Mark!
Mark!
'

‘I'm all right,' he murmured. ‘Go and catch that daft animal before he gets killed.'

Catching Billy was easy as he'd come to a halt, staring at
the mayhem he'd caused and whining. As she secured his lead, Mark was already rising painfully from the ground.

‘Are you hurt?' Dee begged.

‘No, just a few bruises,' he gasped, rubbing himself.

Doors opened. People came running out. Sylvia had seen everything through a window and was weeping as she threw her arms around him.

‘I'm all right,' he said, staggering slightly.

Sylvia turned on Dee in fury. ‘Why don't you keep that animal under control? Mark could have been killed.'

‘But I wasn't,' he said. ‘It's not Billy's fault.'

‘No, it was mine,' Dee said quickly. ‘I'm sorry. Don't stay out here. Let's get inside quickly.'

Leaning on Sylvia, he walked slowly into the house and sat thankfully on the sofa, throwing his head right back, eyes closed.

‘Let me have a look at you,' Dee said.

‘I've told you, I'm fine.'

For once she lost her temper. ‘
I'm
the nurse,' she snapped. ‘
I'll
say if you're fine.'

That made him open his eyes. ‘All right, nurse. All right, all right. Whatever you say.'

She gave him a sulphurous look and started undoing the contraption he wore on his head. It was made of some light metal, barely covering his hair, and if he'd landed on his head it wouldn't have protected him, but luckily he hadn't. His shoulder had taken the full impact.

‘Fine, let me see your shoulder,' she said, becoming businesslike.

Between them, she and Sylvia eased off his jacket, then his shirt, revealing bruises that were already turning a nasty colour.

‘Now your vest,' she said. ‘I want to see your ribs. That's it, now lean forward so that I can see the back.'

There were more bruises, but nothing was broken.

‘You don't know how lucky you are,' Dee said. ‘But I'd like you to come into Accident and Emergency at the hospital tomorrow and they'll take some X-rays.'

‘What for?' he demanded with cheerful belligerence. ‘I've had the best nurse in the business. If you say I'm all right, then I am.'

‘Yes, but—'

‘Stop making a fuss, Nurse.'

‘Put your clothes on,' Sylvia said.

Something in her voice, perhaps a tense note, made Dee suddenly realise that Sylvia was jealous. She didn't like anyone else to see Mark's bare chest. Nor did she like Dee being free to touch it.

The knowledge was like a light coming on, revealing what she hadn't seen before, that Mark's lean muscularity was as eye-catching as the rest of him. Functioning solely as a nurse, she'd run her hands professionally over that smooth torso, sensing only its medical condition. Now she wondered how she could have failed to notice the rich sheen of his skin, the faint swell of muscles that were strong but not over-developed.

But that was forbidden thinking, so she turned away, saying gruffly, ‘Sylvia will help you get dressed.'

Joe came in from the garage where he'd been examining the bike.

‘How is it?' Mark asked quickly.

Joe sighed and shook his head. ‘Not good. The wheel's bent and there's plenty of other damage.'

Mark groaned.

‘It's my fault,' Dee said. ‘If I'd kept better hold of Billy's lead, it wouldn't have happened. I'll pay for any repairs.'

‘I don't think it can be put right,' Joe told her.

‘Then I'll replace it,' she said stubbornly.

‘Dee,' Mark said, ‘sweet, innocent Dee, it would take you a year's salary to buy another. Forget it.'

‘But that bike was your pride and joy and I've ruined it,' she protested.

‘So, it's ruined. That's life. Easy come, easy go. I only acquired it in the first place through being thoroughly devious. Something else will come along and I'll be devious again. Don't worry. It comes naturally to me.'

There was a growl of rage and a middle-aged man thrust his way into the room. With a groan Dee recognised Jack Hammond, the neighbour whose fence Mark had smashed, and who was bad-tempered even at the best of times.

‘Do you know what you've done to my fence?' he shouted.

‘Sorry about that,' Mark said. ‘I'll mend it.'

‘I should think you will. Why the devil did you have to swerve?'

Mark sighed. ‘Because otherwise I'd have killed the dog,' he said, like a man explaining to an idiot.

‘So what? It would have been his own fault.'

‘Sure. I wonder why I didn't think of that,' Mark said ironically. ‘It would have made everything all right, wouldn't it? I've told you I'll mend the fence.'

‘You'd better.'

From the corner came a whimper. Billy was sitting there, looking apprehensive, as though he understood.

‘You should put that creature down,' Hammond snapped. ‘I've a good mind to—'

He didn't finish the sentence. Mark had struggled to his feet, wincing but determined, and confronted Hammond fiercely.

‘Leave Billy alone,' he grated. ‘I don't even want to see you looking at him. Now get out of here before I make you sorry.'

‘Oh, so now you're—'

‘Get out!'

Hammond didn't argue further. He knew murder in a man's eyes when he saw it. He fled.

Mark collapsed back onto the sofa and held out his hand to Billy. ‘Come here.'

Apprehensively, the dog came to him. Dee held her breath.

‘You daft mutt,' Mark said in a mixture of exasperation and affection. ‘You crazy, stupid animal; have you got a death wish? You could have been killed back there, do you realise that? Of all the—' Words seemed to fail him. ‘Will you be sensible next time? Do you know how?'

Billy whined softly.

‘No, you don't,' Mark said. ‘Nor do I, according to some people.' He put an arm around the dog. ‘Don't worry; it's all over now. But don't take any more silly risks because
she
—' indicating Dee ‘—can't do without you.'

‘Considering he nearly killed
you
—' Helen said, amazed.

‘That's all right. I can take care of myself. He can't. He's an idiot.' But, as he said it, he enveloped Billy in a bear hug. Dee barely saw it through her tears.

It was settled that he would stay the night. Dee's room was cleared for him and she moved in with Sylvia, as she'd done last time. She produced some liniment to rub into the bruises, but Sylvia snatched it out of her hand and insisted on doing it herself.

She spent some time comforting Billy, reflecting on Mark's comment that she couldn't do without him. He was right, of course. She wondered how many men would have swerved and accepted injury to themselves rather than hurt an elderly mongrel. He might play the giddy charmer, but this was the real man, she was sure of it.

In her mind she saw him again, bare-chested, lean, strong, powerful. Her hands seemed to tingle with the memory of
touching him and an equation began to hammer on her brain, demanding entrance.

Medical condition: satisfactory.

Personal condition: a million times more than satisfactory.

Go to bed, she told herself crossly. And pull yourself together. Remember you're a nurse.

She slept for a few hours and awoke to hear Sylvia getting out of bed and creeping out of the room. She slipped out after her and reached the corridor in time to see her sister go into Mark's room. The whispers just reached her.

‘I came to see if the patient's all right.'

‘All the better for seeing you,' he said.

‘Let's see if I can make you feel better.'

Standing in the bleak corridor, Dee heard muffled laughter ending in his exclamation of, ‘Ow! Be careful. I'm delicate.' More laughter.

She crept back to her room and closed the door.

Next morning, she rose early. Even so, he was down before her, in the garden with Billy. She found them sitting quietly together, his hand on the dog's head.

‘Have you managed to reassure him yet?' she asked.

‘Just about.'

‘Mark, I don't know how to thank you for being so nice about this, not just about the bike, but about Billy.'

‘Let it go. It wasn't his fault. But listen, keep him indoors for a while. In fact, I'll take him into the garage with me.'

‘You think Hammond—?'

‘I don't know, but I didn't like the look on his face last night.'

‘I do wish you'd come to the hospital—'

But his serious mood had passed and he waved her to silence. ‘Who needs a hospital when they've had you looking after them? I didn't hit my head. Look—' he leaned forward for her inspection ‘—nothing there.'

‘That's certainly true,' she said wryly. ‘Nothing there at all. Outside or in.'

He grinned. ‘I see you understand me. Are you cross with me?'

‘How can I be when you were so generous about it? Especially to Billy. But I will help out with the money and—'

‘No need. I'll probably get something from the insurance.'

‘But if it's not enough, I'll—'

‘That's it. This conversation is over. Isn't it time for breakfast? Come along, Billy.'

Man and dog strode into the house, leaving her gazing after them, exasperated and happy.

 

You barely got anything from the insurance company, did you? Not enough to buy another motorbike, but you didn't tell me. You simply said you'd changed your mind about having one. I might have believed you, but Dad was there when the inspector came and he told me afterwards. I tried to speak of it but you got really cross. It's funny how there were some things you just couldn't cope with. Sometimes you seemed happier with Billy than anyone else. You didn't have to put on a performance with him.

Or with me. That was the nicest thing.

D
EE'S
eighteenth birthday was approaching. There would be a party with all the neighbours and for a few hours everyone would forget the approaching war.

On the night, Mark came to meet her at the bus stop.

‘I'm the delegation sent to escort you home,' he said cheerfully. ‘Your dad let me leave work a little early so that I could shift the furniture for your mum and help her put up the decorations. She's baking a cake for you—the best cake ever, with eighteen candles.'

‘Mum always does the best cake ever,' Dee chuckled. ‘For Sylvia's twentieth she produced a real masterpiece. Is Sylvia home yet, by the way?'

‘Not yet. She'll be along soon.'

As they neared the front door they could see the first guests arriving, everyone waving as they saw each other. Laughing, they all hurried in. After that, the bell rang every few minutes and soon the place was full. Except for Sylvia.

‘We're not waiting for anyone,' Helen declared. ‘This is your evening. Let's get on with it.'

There were cards and presents to be opened, laughter to be shared. Afterwards, Dee vaguely recalled these things, but the details blurred in the shock of what came afterwards. Neither she, her parents, nor Mark, would ever quite recover from that shock.

She had slipped into the hall, meaning to fetch something
from upstairs, when she noticed an envelope lying on the mat. With a sense of foreboding, she saw that the handwriting was Sylvia's.

She tore it open, telling herself that her worst fears were realised, but even her worst fears hadn't prepared her for what she found.

She read it again and again, trying to understand that it was real and not some wicked joke. Then life returned to her limbs and she tore open the front door, running out in a frantic search for whoever might have thrust this through the letterbox. But the street was empty in both directions.

Her head spinning, she stumbled back to the house and leaned against the wall, shaking. Mark came out and found her like that.

‘You're being a long time. Everyone's asking what—Dee, what is it?'

‘Sylvia,' she said hoarsely.

He took the note from her hand and read it.

‘Well,' he said heartily, ‘so that's that.'

But she wasn't fooled. She'd glanced up just in time to see his expression in the split second before the mask came down, and she'd never seen such devastation in any man's face. He actually seemed to wither, mouth growing pinched, eyes
closing as if to shut out intolerable pain. The next moment he opened them again and smiled. But the smile only touched his mouth. His eyes were blank.

‘She just vanished without a goodbye,' he whispered.

‘Mark, I'm so sorry,' she whispered.

He raised his head. His face was set. ‘Sorry? What for? Sylvia has the right to do as she pleases. We weren't engaged or anything like that.'

‘But to do it like this—'

‘Not very polite, but if she wants to be with him—' His voice shook and for a moment he shuddered uncontrollably.

‘Dee, are you coming back in?' It was her mother's voice, approaching.

Swiftly, Mark put the letter into his pocket.

‘Say nothing until the party's over,' he said.

He was right. She wilted at the thought of telling her parents about this. Their eyes met and they each took a deep breath before heading back into the house.

Someone had brought a gramophone and a collection of dance records, which mercifully made talk impossible for some time. But there was no hiding the way people looked at Mark, or the almost tangible curiosity about Sylvia's absence.

And how they would laugh, she thought angrily. Mark's popularity had always contained a touch of jealousy, even spite. Every girl who'd yearned for him, every young man who'd envied him, would relish seeing him undermined now.

A fierce desire to protect him made her grasp his hand, saying, ‘Dance with me, Mark. It's my birthday, and I get to choose.'

He seized her with what might have been eagerness, but she sensed mainly relief that with her he could briefly drop the bright mask.

I wonder where Sylvia's got to. Do you think Mark knows?
The words floated indistinctly through the crowd. Impossible to say who'd uttered them, and nor did it matter.

‘Ignore that,' she told him. ‘The fact is, you knew Sylvia wasn't going to be here, and you're completely relaxed about it.'

‘Am I?'

‘All you can think about now is enjoying yourself with me,' she persisted, meeting his eyes urgently and trying to convey her message. ‘Hold me close and look deep into my eyes, as though I was all you cared about in the world.'

If only…

He nodded, understanding and following her lead with a good deal of skill. The house was tiny and ‘dancing' consisted mainly of taking small steps from side to side, but that, too, was useful, because their ‘audience' had a close-up view of the performance.

‘Smile,' she whispered, favouring him with a dazzling smile of her own. ‘Pretend I'm Sylvia.'

He managed to stretch his lips, although his eyes were still blank. Dee raised her head so that her mouth was closer to his, not kissing, but conveying the impression that she would kiss him if they were alone.

Suddenly she clutched her head and said, ‘Oh, I've got such a headache.'

‘It's getting late,' Helen said. ‘It's been a nice evening, but—'

Obediently, everyone began to drift off. It wasn't really late at all, but everyone knew ‘something was up'.

‘Shame Sylvia couldn't make it,' someone murmured. ‘I wonder what kept her.'

There were several curious looks at Mark, then everyone was gone.

‘Right, what is it?' Helen demanded, looking from one to the other. ‘What are you two keeping a secret?'

‘Sylvia's gone away, Mum,' Dee said. ‘She left a letter.'

Mark handed it over and Helen read it, her face becoming like stone.

‘She's with a man,' she said harshly. ‘My daughter's a bad girl?' She glared at Mark. ‘What do you know about this? Why didn't you stop her?'

‘Because I didn't know.'

‘You're supposed to have been courting her all this time. Why didn't you protect her?'

Dee forced herself to be silent. She longed to cry out that someone should have protected Mark from Sylvia's treachery, but he would have hated that. She contented herself with saying, ‘Why don't you save your anger for Phil?'

‘Just who is he?' Helen demanded.

‘I think I saw him once, when I went to collect her from the shop,' Mark said. ‘They were giggling together. We had a row about it.'

Suddenly Helen burst into sobs. Dee moved towards her, but her father appeared from the doorway where he'd been hovering and signalled for them to go. She left them in each other's arms, while she and Mark went out into the garden.

Once outside, Mark leaned against the wall, dazed like a man in a nightmare.

‘We can't just leave it there,' he said. ‘I have to find her, but I don't know how.'

‘She said she was already far away,' Dee recalled. ‘They'll probably know more at the shop. It's my half-day tomorrow. I'll go over and see what I can find out.'

‘Shall I come with you?' he asked quietly.

She knew what it cost him to make the suggestion, for she felt everything with him: the pain of revealing himself as the rejected one, the shame of admitting how he'd been deceived, the awareness of smothered grins. Her heart ached for him.

‘It's best if I go alone,' she assured him. ‘They'll talk more freely to me.'

‘Thank you.' That was all he said, but she knew he'd divined her understanding and was grateful.

She went to the shop the next day and returned home that evening with a heavy heart.

‘They all know Phil,' she said. ‘He's the rep for a clothing firm so he was in and out quite a lot, and they got to know each other.'

‘But why did they run away?' Helen asked wretchedly. ‘Why not just get married?'

‘They can't,' Dee said reluctantly. ‘It seems that Phil is already married.'

Helen gave a little scream and covered her face. Joe grew pale and said, ‘I don't believe it. A married man, and she's living with him. She wouldn't do anything so wicked.'

‘I'm afraid it's true,' Dee said. ‘His wife was in the shop when I arrived. She'd come looking for him. They have two children and he seems to have just left them all.'

She was giving them only half the story, but there was no way she could tell them about the other things she'd learned—about Sylvia's reputation as a minx who routinely flirted with any man, and perhaps more. His abandoned wife had gone further, calling Sylvia a prostitute, but this, too, she would always keep to herself.

At last Helen dropped her hands and lifted her head. Her face was hard. ‘She's no daughter of mine,' she said. ‘As far as I'm concerned, she's dead.'

‘Mum!' Dee protested.

‘She never sets foot in this house again. She's not my daughter.'

Dee turned to her father.

‘I don't know,' he said helplessly. ‘Perhaps your mother knows best. Sylvia has put us out of her life.'

‘But maybe she'll need our help.'

‘She's dead to me,' Helen said stonily. She rose and kissed
Dee's cheek. ‘You are my only daughter now. Remember that.'

She stalked out of the room, followed by Joe.

‘I'm going out,' Mark said. ‘I need to get drunk.'

‘Let me come with you. We'll get drunk together.'

She had no intention of drinking, but she wasn't going to turn him loose upon the world in his present state. Taking him firmly by the hand, she led him out of the house. She, too, was in shock, but she'd had time to think about things on the way home. Mark was still stunned. When he spoke, it was in short, jerky sentences.

‘How long has it been going on?' he asked.

‘I…can't say,' she said, not entirely truthfully.

‘Tell me,' he said violently. ‘Don't spare my feelings. I want to know the truth, however bad.'

The truth was that Sylvia had been playing them off against each other for at least two months, perhaps longer. Dee had encountered Philip Mason once, a burly man in his thirties, pleasant enough but uninspiring. How Sylvia could have preferred him to the dashing Mark baffled her.

‘It was a few weeks,' she said vaguely.

‘And I thought she loved me. I respected her, do you know that? I thought she was a decent girl and I didn't…well, anyway, I respected her. And all the time she was…well…'

They walked on in silence for a while. Dee had tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and kept it there determinedly, lest he escape and do something that might harm him.

‘Don't brood about it,' she begged. ‘It can't do any good now.'

‘It might teach me to be more wary of girls another time. How everyone will laugh at me.'

To comfort him, she denied it, but her words were hollow. Their performance at the party would help only for a short time. The truth would soon seep out.

‘They don't matter,' she said urgently. ‘You must thumb
your nose at them. All they need to know is that you and Sylvia have split up—'

‘Because she preferred someone else.'

‘No, she pretended to prefer someone else because she knew you'd lost interest.'

‘Who'll believe that?'

This was what Dee had been preparing for, when she must risk everything on one throw of the dice. To the last moment she wasn't sure if she had the nerve, but then she took a deep breath and threw her fate to the winds.

‘Everyone will believe it,' she said, ‘if you're seen with another girl.'

‘But how can I do that to any girl—deceive her into thinking I'm interested when I'm just playing a part?'

‘But if she already knew the truth, you wouldn't have to deceive her,' Dee pointed out.

‘But who would—?' He stopped as her meaning started to get through to him. ‘Are you saying that you'd be willing to—?'

‘It can't be anyone but me,' she said. ‘You said once I was your best friend. Well, friends help each other out. One day I'll ask you to do something for me.'

‘Is that a promise?' he demanded harshly. ‘Because I must give you something back.'

‘It's a promise.'

‘I still don't understand. How do we go about this?'

‘Look down that road,' she said, pointing. ‘Those three people coming this way were at the party. Now they're turning into The Dancing Duck, so we'll go there, too.'

‘They'll be our first audience,' he said, catching her mood.

‘That's right. They're looking at us. Put your arm around my shoulders—that's it! Are you ready?'

‘Quite ready. Sound the bugles! Forward march!'

Defiantly, they raised their heads and walked on into battle.

Eyes turned towards them as they went into the public house. Apparently unaware, they found a corner table and sat talking quietly while he sipped a beer and she an orange juice.

She knew, because Sylvia had told her, that they had often come here together, sometimes alone, sometimes in a group of their friends, the very ones who were glancing at them now, while trying to seem as if they weren't.