Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #5-8

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

T HE DINNER WAS being held somewhere that Joaquin called ‘the central keep’, and the walk to where the dinner was being held took so long she joked that she wished she had worn her trainers.

Her first view was from a gallery level that was built into the stone barrelled roof. Stairs led down to the ground level, where guests congregated, their combined glitter competing with the row of chandeliers that illuminated the scene.

‘The dining room is that way.’ He nodded towards a wide Gothic arch. ‘What are you thinking?’

Her eyes lifted to his face. ‘I’m imagining what size the party will be when your mother celebrates us splitting up.’

His face went blank. Maybe he was regretting his decision to bring her?

‘I’m assuming they will expect me to use the wrong fork, or offer to do the washing up?’ she whispered behind her hand, her eyes travelling around as they approached the staircase. ‘It looks like a film set!’

‘My thought exactly.’

Joaquin arched a brow at the speaker. ‘Always working, Allie?’

‘You know me.’

A tall brunette wearing a dramatic red dress with a split that was daringly high smiled at Clemmie and leaned up to kiss Joaquin on each cheek.

‘Hello, stranger,’ she said.

‘This is Clemmie.’

‘No introductions necessary. We all saw the movie. I’m Alice Betts.’

‘Real life—not a movie, Allie. Allie is a set designer,’ he said, by way of explanation to Clemmie.

‘Not a movie yet ,’ the brunette cut back, with a sly look up at him. ‘Maybe Rob could play you?’

Her gaze slid to the other side of the room, where the famous Hollywood actor was surrounded by people, mostly female, who were hanging on his every word.

‘I should go and rescue him,’ said Allie. ‘He’s jet-lagged... Who’d be married to a sex symbol? Well, you, I suppose,’ she added, grinning at Clemmie as she skipped past them on the staircase before heading across the room towards her husband.

‘This feels bad...lying to your friends.’

Joaquin’s magnificent shrug suggested he did not share her guilt. ‘The lie is not one of our making,’ he reminded her. ‘And not many people here are friends—just contacts and family.’

Now she was on ground level, Clemmie recognised a few faces of his family members from functions held at the manor, when she had been roped in to help, but she could not have put names to them.

‘But we are perpetuating the lie.’

‘Isn’t it worth putting your moral scruples in a dark cupboard when you see how sick my dear mother is looking?’

Following the direction of his gaze, Clemmie saw Aria Perez, the diamonds at her throat giving the chandeliers that lit the dramatic barrel-ceilinged room a run for their money, bearing down on them, her face wreathed in fake smiles of welcome.

Dread tightened in the pit of her stomach.

‘Oh, well...this is going to be cringey, isn’t it?’

It no longer seemed like the harmless joke it had when Joaquin had suggested it.

As she angled a resigned look up at her escort she caught a strange look on his austerely handsome face. She was immobilised by the cold ferocity stamped on his features as he stared across the room at his mother.

Clemmie, who was not a ‘revenge is a dish best served cold’ sort of person—hers burnt bright and then faded—realised that, for Joaquin, it was not just cold, it was icily implacable.

Before Aria could reach them, they joined the people beginning to move en masse through to the dining room.

‘You’re here, Clemmie.’ Joaquin held a chair for her. ‘I’m opposite.’ He looked from the place setting card to the man approaching. ‘Rob will look after you.’

‘Rob will be delighted.’

The American actor bared his perfect teeth.

There were actually several occasions during the meal when she was grateful for the American’s presence, his quick wit and his ability to defuse a tense moment.

There had been a few of those, but Clammy had made it through to coffee without allowing her hostess to provoke her.

‘Are there any more like you at home, Clemmie?’ asked Joaquin’s father, whose conversation had stayed only just the right side of inappropriate so far.

It was the third time he’d asked the question; it was also his third brandy.

‘Just me and my mum.’

Aria raised her voice. ‘Who is our cleaner at the manor.’

Six.

Clemmie, who had been counting, calculated that it was the sixth time the woman had managed to drop into the conversation that Clemmie’s mum was their cleaner.

‘Really excellent cleaner...such a good little worker. Husband left her, poor woman... It must be so hard being a single parent—they say the child always suffers.’

Seven.

She almost felt sorry for the older woman by this point. She didn’t realise that her not very subtle attempts to embarrass Clemmie were backfiring. Clemmie was not at all embarrassed and a significant portion of the guests didn’t like what she was doing.

‘Wasn’t there talk of a sister?’ asked Aria now.

‘I had a twin, but she died when we were children,’ Clemmie said quietly.

The entire table had fallen silent, all aware of the malice in Aria’s eyes, glittering behind the fake smile.

‘I’d forgotten. Wasn’t there some talk of therapy...?’

‘Hasn’t everyone had therapy?’

Rob, the man who was everyone’s favourite Hollywood actor—or at least by this point in the evening Clemmie’s favourite—broke the awkward silence.

He had turned out to be as charming in real life as he was on the screen. Clemmie mouthed a silent thank-you.

‘Any time,’ he said, and his low voice held understanding. ‘In-laws...what are you to do? Though actually mine are pretty terrific.’ His glance slid to his wife, who was talking animatedly, gesticulating as she spoke. ‘I really got lucky. I was on my way to... Well, let’s just say that Allie is one in a million.’

Clemmie smiled, her heart aching as she wondered wistfully what it would be like to have someone feel that you were his one in a million.

The actor cleared his throat. ‘So, how long are you here for?’

‘Not long. I need to be back at work on Friday.’

Back to real life, which would be a natural cut-off point for their fake engagement.

Her reply had coincided with a lull in the conversation around the table and all eyes swivelled her way.

Aria Perez responded for her.

‘She works in a library ,’ she announced, as if she was revealing a guilty secret.

‘You’re a librarian?’ asked Rob.

‘A library assistant,’ she said. Then, because the American’s interest seemed genuine, she added, ‘It suits me. And I love books, which helps.’

He joined in her laughter.

‘The library is a real community hub. We have a group of “silver surfers” who meet up, craft sessions, story sessions for nursery kids... It can get a bit noisy. Sadly, for some people, it’s just a place to come to stay warm.’

‘Do you intend to carry on working when you get married?’

Caught off guard, she struggled to hide her embarrassment and glanced across the table to Joaquin.

‘That is still under discussion,’ he inserted smoothly, directing an intimate look towards Clemmie that was clearly intended for their audience, not her, but which made her heart flip anyhow.

‘I’m sure your expertise would be an asset for Joaquin’s literacy project.’

The actor flashed a questioning look across at Joaquin, who nodded.

‘That had occurred to me. She’s actually already helped a lot with ideas when I was launching the programme.’

‘So, you two have known each other...?’

‘I rescued Clemmie from a tree when she was eight and I was ten. She kicked me for my efforts.’

The American gave a delighted chuckle. ‘So you were childhood sweethearts? I love it!’

At the end of the table Aria, in a voice that was penetrating enough to cut across all conversation, deliberately took centre stage as she launched into a long and detailed description of all the charities she supported. Clemmie relaxed slightly. It seemed to that Aria had run out of spiteful things to say.

‘Of course, red hair is actually a genetic mutation...’

Clemmie couldn’t repress a laugh. That would teach her to be an optimist.

‘A very beautiful mutation,’ Joaquin corrected, coming to stand behind her chair and addressing the room at large.

His caressing tone sent a shiver of helpless longing down her spine. She stood as he pulled the chair out for her, and then she felt one hand remain on the back as he leant down to speak to Rob, who was still seated.

Clemmie looked around the room, congratulating herself on having survived the evening with her temper intact.

Most people had left their seats, and there was a general rash of air-kissing, along with a few unsteady staggers from those who had partaken a little too generously when the port had been passed around the table. They made her smile.

It was a smile that became tinged with cynicism when she saw Aria Perez, still enjoying her role as hostess, surrounded by guests and lapping up the attention.

Joaquin was still deep in conversation with Rob. Had she imagined she would be able to get back to his suite without getting hopelessly lost, she would have tried.

She wandered away and, drawn by the silence of the massive antechamber, went in. There was a row of deep-set, floor-length windows in square-cut embrasures along one of the stone walls. Seeing the fluttering of a light drape in the nearest, she walked across and discovered that the window behind it had been opened.

She stood there, eyes closed, breathing in cool air scented with pine. It was when that scent became mingled with the heavy, cloying expensive perfume that always cloaked Aria Perez that she opened her eyes.

The other woman was standing a few feet away, watching her with a cat-like intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

Clemmie chided herself for her reaction. There was nothing this woman could do to her.

‘I came to say I am sorry.’

Clemmie’s jaw dropped. Shock and suspicion fought for supremacy in her head.

‘Sorry...?’

‘I’m sure your mother will find another job easily enough... But one that comes with a home...?’ She gave a sigh. ‘Not so easy for a woman her age.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ she exclaimed, evincing surprise. ‘I have decided to divest myself of Maplehurst Manor. The sale went through today, and I seriously doubt the new owner will want to keep your mother on.’

Clemmie felt the blood drain from her face. ‘But...’ She looked past her wildly, instinct making her search for Joaquin. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘Oh, I’ve been thinking about it for some time and—’

‘When Joaquin finds out he will...’ Her voice faded. If this was true. what could Joaquin do?

‘Joaquin knows.’ The woman searched her face and gave a crow of laughter. ‘He didn’t tell you? Oh, priceless! But that is the sort of man you are marrying, my dear. He knew this was going to happen. I told him that if he brought you here, if he did not break this connection with you, I would sell the place.’

Clemmie shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you!’

The older woman shrugged. ‘Have it your way. I actually don’t care. I’m just glad to be rid of the place...too provincial. I have my eye on a villa that has just come onto the market, right next door to...’

Clemmie stood there, watching the woman’s lips moving, the rest of her words an incoherent static buzz.

Joaquin had known.

He had lied to her again!

‘Excuse me, I must...’

She tipped her head to indicate the conversation was over. Her spine ramrod-rigid and her chin up, she painted an expression of serene calm over the chaos of her swirling inner thoughts.

She must have presented quite a picture, because she had the mild satisfaction of seeing an expression of thwarted confusion drift across the older woman’s face before she walked away.

She had no idea where she was going... She just walked, her thoughts not on the stone floor, nor the priceless art, nor the curious glances.

She was just thinking of betrayal.

She had made Joaquin out to be someone he was not; she had fallen for an illusion. He was someone with the bare minimum of decent human feelings. And she hated the weakness in her that made it so hard for her to believe this.

It was a lie—it had to be a lie.

The Joaquin she knew would not do this...

Then the ice-cold in his eyes came back to her.

Could his need to punish his family really make him not care about the hurt he caused to others in the process? And not anonymous others, but her mum?

And he knew how much she loved the house...the memories it contained of her twin.

He had used her.

Perhaps she was leaping to conclusions...

Leaping to conclusions? How much more proof do you need? she asked herself contemptuously. When are you going to wake up to the fact that people lie, that they betray?

As she passed down the endless corridors her thoughts continued to tread endless corridors of their own, many with dead ends and many looping back in circles.

People nodded and smiled, but nobody questioned her right to be there—and then, when she wasn’t even looking, she saw a landmark: a massive oil painting of a luminous Madonna and child. Surely she had seen it before?

Joaquin paced the salon of his suite. This wasn’t the way he had planned for this evening to end.

Where the hell was she?

He had already retraced the route back to the dining room and there had been no sign of her.

He felt his panic rise even as he recognised there was no logic to it.

He had almost lost her once before; he had even recognised what he would be losing.

It couldn’t happen again.

On one level he knew that he was overreacting—that she would be sitting in a corner somewhere, nursing a glass of wine and chatting, or else wandering down a corridor, totally lost. Neither scenario was life-threatening.

The knowledge didn’t lessen the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

‘You lost your fiancée? Man, that was careless,’ Rob, mellow after an after-dinner brandy, had joked when Joaquin had come across him with a group of guests.

It was a joke that had not made Joaquin smile, and he’d voiced his lack of appreciation—maybe not so politely. Not that Rob had seemed offended. And Allie had chased after him, telling how much they loved Clemmie.

‘Me too,’ he’d said.

Allie had squeezed his arm. ‘Might be an idea to tell her that?’

He would, he decided, as he contemplated retracing his steps again, unable to rid himself of the idea that his mother had got to her.

He was tired of games. He’d been so proud of her tonight...of her dignity and humour in the face of his mother’s snide comments.

He should have been there to protect her.

At last, he faced his biggest fear.

Could she have left him?

The door opened and she appeared, and his initial relief immediately switched to anger. ‘Where the hell did you vanish to?’

When her green eyes lifted to him, his mood made another ninety-degree turn.

‘I was worried. It’s been an hour. People are looking for you... I was looking for you. Where have you been?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You got lost?’ he said, struggling to moderate his tone. ‘It’s easily done. You should have waited for me.’

As he approached she raised her hands, as if to fend him off.

He stopped dead. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Is it true?’ she asked, amazed that she sounded totally normal.

‘Is what true?’ he said, playing for time.

He could see in her eyes that they both knew it.

‘You knew that your mother would sell the manor and chuck Mum out of her home if I came here with you.’

She looked at him, willing him to say it was a silly misunderstanding.

‘I wasn’t sure she’d go through with it.’

His words sucked all the hope out of her body.

‘You weren’t sure?’ she echoed, feeling sick as she searched his face, even now hoping for a sign of contrition. But there wasn’t not even a hint. ‘So you knew it was a possibility and you didn’t care? You just had to show her and your entire family who was boss.’ She shuddered. ‘It makes you just like them.’

He took a step towards her. ‘No, Clemmie, that is not how it is. Let me explain...’

‘Save yourself the bother. I am not interested in anything you have to say!’

It was the contempt and hurt shining in her green eyes that cut him like a blade, not her words.

‘Clemmie...’

He went to take her hands but she moved away. As her back made contact with the massive iron-studded door there was a loud urgent banging from the other side.

Clemmie stepped away.

His jaw taut, he wrenched open the door. The exchange in Spanish was short.

When the visitor left, Joaquin turned to her. He studied her face for a moment.

‘I have to go. My father has had, they think, a stroke. He was in bed, and he wasn’t alone.’

He delivered the information in a bleak monotone.

This time when he reached for her arm she didn’t pull away. She struggled to reconcile the opposing desires to wrap her arms around him and to hate him.

To punish him for punching a hole in her heart with his betrayal.

To punish him for not being the man who, in a world where bad things happened, was the one person she could always rely on.

The man she had grown to love.

It felt like a bereavement.

His face was grave as he reached down and blotted the tear that was running down her cheek.

‘Just promise me... Don’t do anything or go anywhere until I get back. I can explain.’

She gave a futile little shrug as the fire went out of her like a snuffed candle.

‘Where could I go?’

The sense of isolation she felt was total.