none too friendly speculative glances from every other woman in the room. When a crush of people had moved forward, Maggie had got separated from Caleb and found herself surrounded by three or four women. They were all dressed in what she knew to be haute couture, totally over the top, but a clear statement of their wealth and status. They had looked her up and down as if she were a specimen in a glass box. She couldn’t believe how rude they were being and tried not to look as intimidated as she felt. One of them spoke.
‘Vous êtes ici avec Monsieur Cameron?’
Without even thinking, Maggie immediately slipped into her schoolgirl French, trying to be polite, wondering who they were and why they wanted to know. ‘Oui…’
‘Ah, bon. Mais juste pour ce soir, n’est ce pas?’
Maggie was trying to figure out what the woman was saying…Was she actually suggesting that she was here with Caleb just for tonight, like some kind of…call girl? A mortified blush rushed through her; they were hemming her in and their overdone faces, lacquered hair and cloying perfume was making her feel sick.
‘I’m sorry…excuse me.’ She tried to push her way out, but couldn’t. She was feeling more and more desperate.
Caleb swivelled his head. Where had she gone? She’d been at his side only two minutes before. He’d got caught in a conversation with a property investor from France and hadn’t been able to extricate himself. He felt mildly guilty that he hadn’t been more attentive to Maggie, but he was still feeling the uncomfortable sensation of being somehow open, foolish in his desire for her…He had to be careful around her.
Then he saw her. She was surrounded by the doyennes of Monte Carlo—he knew them well. His mouth tightened. They were responsible for many matchmaking attempts with one or other of their invariably too young, spoilt and petulant daughters. And he suddenly realised that Maggie looked terrified. Without stopping to think, and knowing that it surprised him as he would have imagined her to be a match for them, he strode over and reached through the women to take Maggie’s arm.
She looked up and the flash of sheer relief and something else that crossed her face made something flip flop in his chest. But then it was gone, as if it had never happened, and now her eyes flashed veritable sparks at him. He smiled his excuses to the ladies and led Maggie away.
‘Are you okay?’ He slanted a look down at her.
She glared up at him. ‘No thanks to you. Those women are…unbelievable.’ She shook her head. ‘You could have warned me I’d need a flak jacket to come here.’
He couldn’t help the unbidden smile. He doubted the women would last again in Maggie’s company; they’d obviously just caught her off guard. He could well imagine what they’d said. And again he wondered at how she hadn’t been better able to handle them. He would have cast her as one herself—well used to the poison-talon-tipped women of society who were more akin to social climbing piranhas.
He refused to dwell on that now. He was thinking ahead and wondering how long he could suffer to be polite before he could get out of there and take Maggie with him. Take her to bed.
‘Ah Cameron, there you are…’
Not just yet, anyway. He pulled Maggie into his side, swallowed a grimace and smiled as yet another colleague bore down on him.
Maggie flicked the object of everyone’s fascination a reluctant look, anger still bubbling through her. She had to admit that he was the most handsome man in the room. He stood head and shoulders above everyone and with that physique…again her insides cramped with nerves and anticipation. Finally, after what seemed like more torturous hours, he leant down, his mouth close to her ear, sending a little shock wave through her.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
She nodded mutely. Time was up, no more waiting. Tonight he would demand payment…take her body and, she was afraid, her soul too. And she couldn’t say a thing.
She suddenly felt absurdly vulnerable and alone, her anger dissolving. What could she say, anyway? As she followed him through the crowd, stopping every two seconds for people to say goodbye, she thought a little hysterically of what she might say if given a chance: how six months ago, on the day of their date, Tom, her beloved stepfather had informed her of his plans to take Caleb over and ruin him. And how, if Maggie didn’t co-operate with his plans to keep Caleb occupied, he would beat Maggie’s mother so comprehensively that—in Tom’s succinct, devastating words, ‘I’ll put her in hospital’.
She could tell him how she’d racked her brains for a way out…but had known, no matter what she did, even if she’d gone to the police, that he’d still make her mother pay. Because, you see, he’d been doing it for years. Once, in her youthful naïvety, Maggie had gone to the police. Tom hadn’t punished her…No, it had been her mother who’d suffered, even though she’d claimed a random mugging to protect Tom. Classic bullying, abusive tactics. He had been very cunning—you could never see the bruises. They had always been well hidden.
She could tell him of how, before Tom’s bombshell, she’d been ridiculously excited at the thought of going on the date with him, had even bought a new outfit. But then…that was when Tom had forced her to go to that shop, had bought that excuse for a dress instead. And had informed her of her role in his awful macabre play.
She could tell him how she’d been so filled with guilt that she couldn’t go through with sleeping with him, that was why she’d stopped…She’d been on the verge of actually telling him everything, somehow trusting that, maybe for once, her mother could be protected.
Maggie was not in Monte Carlo any more; she was back in that hotel room, the memories rushing back with sickening clarity, and she was powerless to escape them. She was on that bed, the sheet pulled around her shaking, half naked body as Caleb stood in front of her, pulling on his clothes. ‘Maggie, you’re a fool. You think I didn’t know exactly what you had planned?’ He gave a harsh laugh as he pulled on his shirt. Maggie felt an icy stream washing through her, the defensive words of explanation dying on her lips.
‘I heard your stepfather. His exact words were, “That step-daughter of mine will do anything and she wants Cameron; she’s with us”. So you see, Maggie, I’ve known for days now that you’ve been cooking up this little plan…very hammy, though. And the outfit? I’ve seen classier ones on women who tout for business on the streets.’
Maggie could feel her insides contracting, pulling inward as if to protect herself from the cruel blows. Her voice was dry and raspy when it came out. ‘But…I never knew…I—’
‘Save it, Maggie. You knew all right. I even have the evidence.’
And she watched as he found his jacket and took out a small envelope, throwing the contents at her. Photos. Lots of them—of Tom and her on Oxford Street, going into the shop, emerging with the bag. Getting into his car. And from these deceptive angles it looked to all the world as though she were the eager accomplice…
She looked up with huge wounded eyes, ‘But when, how…?’
He was almost dressed, not even looking at her any more. ‘I had you followed for the day, just to see for myself. And what a pretty picture those photos paint, don’t you think?’
‘But…you’ve known…you knew all along, for the past—’
‘Yes, Maggie, I’ve known since practically the first day we met. So all those shy, innocent glances,
