The Seduction of Suzanne Page 18

  He had been stringing her along like a gullible fool. She cringed with humiliation to remember the rude things she’d said about his lack of a working life, her surprise when he turned out to be well-educated and highly intelligent.

  How he must have laughed at her. How amused he must have been when she had shown concern about him buying their plane tickets.

  He must have thought her the most naive little idiot.

  Slowly Suzanne began to pace, fighting the urge to curl into a foetal ball and moan. ‘This is different,’ she tried to tell herself. ‘It’s not another man treating me like I’m a stupid piece of dirt who doesn’t deserve to be’ . . .honoured? Respected? What was it that felt so shattered by Justin’s opacity? She didn’t know. She couldn’t think clearly. But all those broken instincts she had fondly imagined were history now crowded round her, saying she should never have trusted. She was a fool! Lied to, misused again. And she’d walked into it with her eyes wide open. She’d known he was too good to be true.

  If she had misunderstood who he was so much, how could she rely on anything she had assumed about his character? On anything he had told her? She barely knew him at all. He was a stranger. A stranger who had shown no compunction about concealing this truth from her. How many other lies were there?

  Back and forth she walked over the luxuriant, deep pile carpet. The tortured minutes went by like hours.

  She was facing the door when it swung open again and Justin walked in. They both stopped and stared at each other, he with a frown on his face. Before she could resolve the unbearable weight of her emotions into words and throw them at him, an older man and woman entered behind him.

  One look was sufficient to tell her who they were, the man sharing Justin’s height and the woman with strikingly beautiful features which were a feminine version of his. Each of them carried their years lightly.

  The woman came forward eagerly with outstretched hands. Automatically Suzanne held out one of her own, and felt it warmly enfolded. “You must be Suzanne.”

  Later she would wonder where she had found the fortitude, but for now Suzanne shoved all of her hurt and anger down deep inside her, and shut it away. There was no way that she could function with any semblance of normality otherwise. Then she dredged up a smile. It felt strained and unnatural, but it was the best she could do.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said in a rather limp voice.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, dear. I’m Justin’s mother, Olivia, and this is my husband Geoffrey.” The distinguished-looking man stepped forward to shake Suzanne’s hand, his grip pleasantly firm.

  “I’m afraid that Justin didn’t tell us much about you,” the older woman continued. “All we got was one scanty little email, saying that he was on the next flight home. Clearly missing out the important details.” Her meaningful glance made Suzanne into one of those details. She shook her head scoldingly at Justin, and paused. His eyes were fixed on Suzanne. She could feel it, and was carefully not looking at him, for fear her control would dissolve if she did.

  Justin’s mother went on with a bit more effort, clearly aware that all was not right. “Anyway, he tells me you’re an artist, which sounds very exciting. He’s helping you launch yourself here.” Suzanne nodded. Thus far their stories agreed. “If I can lend a hand I’d love to. Justin has quite the eye for good painters so I’m sure you’re something special.”

  Or maybe I’m just the woman he’s been banging and the whole thing about the paintings is a lie. Who knows? Suzanne thought bitterly, but didn’t say aloud. Heaven only knew what her expression looked like though. Her face felt tight, locked in a rictus.

  From his sharply indrawn breath, she could guess that Justin didn’t like what he saw. His mother persevered bravely: “I barely had time to arrange a celebratory party for tonight.”

  This did get Justin’s attention. “You did what?” he asked explosively.

  Clearly taken aback, she blinked, and then said curtly, “You heard me. Tonight we are having a party to welcome you back into the family. No one’s seen you in months. We’ll introduce Suzanne at the same time. And I’ll thank you not to take your bad temper out on me, if you please.”

  “Sorry mom,” he said in a much more controlled tone. “I’m just concerned that it will be a strain for Suzanne after our long flight, and with the time difference as well.” Suzanne saw the lies in action this time, knowing what really concerned him. And he was smooth. Very smooth in fact. She wanted to vomit.

  “Goodness me, I hadn’t thought of that. You never get jet lagged,” said Olivia, looking chagrined. “I suppose I could cancel it again.” Her expression was dubious.

  “Oh, please don’t,” said Suzanne. “After all, I got plenty of sleep on the plane, and I can always have a nap sometime today. I’ll be fine. Don’t cancel for my sake.” She spoke on contrary impulse. She didn’t care one scrap whether there was a party, but if Justin wanted to prevent it happening, she was all for the scheme.

  “Good girl!” said Olivia cheerfully. “If you want, we can go shopping and get you something lovely to wear.’

  “I’d like that,” said Suzanne steadily, choosing not to be offended that Justin’s mother obviously thought she wouldn’t have anything suitable. And for the kind of party that would be hosted at this house, she was right. Anyone looking at the inexpensive and now crumpled cotton t-shirt and shorts she wore for comfort on the plane would guess as much.

  “Why don’t we all go and have some breakfast. I could do with a good cup of coffee,” said the older woman.

  It didn’t feel like it was breakfast time, but as she glanced at her watch, Suzanne saw that it was indeed almost seven thirty. She, Justin and Geoffrey all obediently followed Olivia downstairs and into a spacious and airy breakfast room. The table was beautifully set with linen and crystal.

  Considering what she had seen of the house so far, Suzanne had half expected the table to be much longer, with room to seat at least a dozen guests, but instead it was a comfortable size for four. She was glad when Justin’s parents chose to sit one at the head, and one at the foot. It meant that there was no way that she could be expected to sit next to Justin. However she soon discovered that it was worse to be opposite him, much more difficult to avoid meeting his eyes.

  As soon as they were seated, Cathy began to carry in chafing dishes, which she set in the middle of the table. Fruit, bacon, French toast and pancakes.

  Cathy asked whether Suzanne would like anything special prepared, as the cook would be happy to make it for her. She refused politely. There was more than enough food on the table to serve twice as many people as were here. Besides, a moment’s calculation sufficed to inform her that her stomach was under the impression that it was nearly four in the morning, hardly the time at which it would expect a substantial meal.

  And with everything else going on she wasn’t at all hungry. She put a little fruit onto her plate, then chased it around with her fork.

  As they ate, Olivia pumped her for information about herself and her life. It obviously took only a few sentences for the woman to conclude she was a country bumpkin.

  “I’ll take you under my wing,” she declared enthusiastically. “We’ll have so much fun, at least until Justin takes off again. If I know him, he’ll want to drag you all over the world with him.”

  “I do believe that was his intention,” murmured Suzanne. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Justin stiffen in reaction to her use of the past tense, his fork stilled on his plate. Then he resumed his meticulous assembly of food ready to ferry to his mouth, his manners a perfect match for his surroundings.

  As for Olivia, Suzanne couldn’t figure out how she should behave to her. The woman seemed anxious to like and be liked by Suzanne. And all the while Suzanne felt like leaping over the table and tearing a strip off her son. Or bursting into tears and running for the hills.

  She was holding onto self control by the narrowest of margins, biding time unt
il she could speak to him alone. And if she didn’t like his explanation then. . .then what?

  Tears started to well up. She blinked them away angrily, mashing the fruit on her plate with little jerky stabs of the tines of her fork. After a minute she looked up to see the other three diners watching this small show of violence with fascination.

  She scooped up the mangled remains and put them into her mouth, chewing but not tasting.

  Finally it seemed that everyone at the table had finished eating. Olivia wiped the corners of her mouth daintily on her napkin, and rose. Without moving from her place, she said:

  “Now Suzanne, about that shopping . . .”

  Rising, and deliberately giving every indication of eager anticipation, Suzanne said “If you’ll just give me a moment to have a shower and change, I’ll be ready to go shortly. And Justin, I need a word with you.” Even to her own ears she sounded menacing.

  “Of course, how thoughtless of me,” Olivia was quick to say, a fragile laugh pasting over the awkward moment. “You’ve probably be longing for some hot water therapy. I always am after a long flight. Tell you what. I’ll ask Wilson to bring the car round in a couple of hours, at ten o’clock. Will that give you enough time to refresh yourself?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Suzanne assured her. “Justin, shall we?”

  As Suzanne walked up the stairs, she could feel Justin right behind her, virtually breathing down her neck. She was less than a foot in front of him as she entered the bedroom. The moment he had closed the door behind them he said: “Alright. I know you have some things you want to say to me.”

  “Was it fun?”

  He blinked, nonplussed.

  “Was it fun watching me be an idiot? Talking about you needing to work; suggesting a management position; imagining you needed to actually be a contributing member of society? Did that amuse you? When the reality is you could skive off for the rest of your life and never do a bloody thing and you’d be fine, wouldn’t you?”

  “But I do-“

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Well yes, if I didn’t mind letting people down. But that’s not about Mom and Dad’s money. My parents also have views about contributing to society, as a matter of fact. So if I didn’t work – which by the way I do – but I wanted to live off them I’d be expected to pull my weight working with the charitable trust, or in one of the family businesses. For your information.”

  “So what’s with the worn out clothes full of holes? And living off your friends? You like to pick up chicks incognito so they don’t get their claws in your money?” She saw the guilt flash across his face, a tiny expression instantly wiped away. She felt her rage balloon, welcomed the sensation. Better this than grief and despair.

  “Thank you very much. Thank you very much for thinking I’m that sort of woman. Thank you very much for encouraging me to trust you, open up to you while you never trusted me, never told me the truth. Treated me like some. . .some object to scratch your itch with. ‘Don’t bother letting Suzanne know what’s really going on. Keep her in the dark’.” She was mocking, scornful,

  “Look, it’s not like that-”

  “What about my painting, huh?” She was afraid to ask, to hear it all come crashing down around her ears. But this was like a band aid. Rip it off quickly. No, bigger than a band aid. This wound needed to be cauterized. “Did you lie about that too, to get your little bedwarmer to go on tour with you?”

  “No!” he exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, no, Suzanne. I meant everything I said about your work.”

  She stared at him for a split second, trying to gauge if this was the truth. But she really had no idea how to tell if he was lying through his teeth. She was lost in a labyrinth, and the most dangerous thing in it was him.

  “Oh that’s very reassuring. Because of course I believe you completely. In fact I don’t know why I’m even bothering to have this conversation. You’d lie to me at the drop of a hat. I’m done talking to you.”

  “What do you mean by that? We haven’t finished here. You need to listen for just one second!”

  Suzanne ignored him, picked up her suitcase and backpack and swept into the en-suite bathroom.

  “Don’t you dare walk away from me, Suzanne!” he said, a warning tone in his voice. She didn’t falter, entering the large, marble-tiled room, closing and locking the door behind her.

  “Suzanne!”

  She laid her suitcase flat on the floor and began unzipping it. She was shaking. She didn’t want to face him after all. She didn’t want to talk to him, look into his lying eyes and listen to him string together a story for her. And perhaps start to stupidly, stupidly believe him again.

  If she could somehow make him completely disappear from her life, taking all the pain and confusion he had caused her, the emotions roiling behind the surface defence of righteous anger she had thrown up against them, then she would do it.

  There was no way she felt ready to deal with the implications of his lies and deceit. How could she ever trust him again? He wasn’t at all the man she had thought he was. She didn’t even know the man he in fact turned out to be. The relationship which had become so vital and precious to her had been all in her mind. She would cope with that soon. She couldn’t hide from it forever.

  Yet not now.

  Not while the hurt was so fresh and raw.

  She couldn’t do it.

  Far better to shut it all out, and concentrate on small, unimportant details such as a shower, a shopping trip, a dress, a party. Because once she started trying to deal with the useless shreds of her pretend relationship, she would fall apart. She knew it.

  The handle turned on the bathroom door. Then, finding it locked, he pounded on it, making her jump.

  “Suzanne, this is stupid. Open the door now.”

  With trembling hands she laid out a pair of jeans, a plain black t-shirt and a red sweater to change into after she had washed. She put the toiletries she would need for her shower onto a shelf in the luxuriously spacious glassed-in cubicle. Then she turned on the water so that it would have time to warm, and began to undress.

  “Fine,” he said savagely. “If you want to stay in there and sulk, you can. But you’ll have to come out eventually, and I’ll be waiting. You can’t ignore me forever.”

  To Suzanne, the words sounded like a threat.

  Leaving her discarded clothing in a crumpled heap on the floor, she stepped under the spray of the double-headed shower, gasping at the force of the unaccustomed water pressure. As she ducked her head under to wet her hair, the roar in her ears seemed to drown out thought. Gratefully she stood for long minutes, hands braced against the cool wall tiles, eyes closed, hot water pounding against her scalp, running down her face, over her eyelids and into her mouth.

  Without warning she began to cry, great racking sobs which shook her body. She gasped for air, and felt her legs give way beneath her, carrying her to the floor of the cubicle.

  Hunched over, the weight of the water was no longer a blessing but a burden, pinning her in her misery.

  She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. Her hair was a thick and sodden veil over her face.

  There was no way that Justin should have been able to hear her through the door, over the rushing susurrus of the shower. Yet she distantly heard him call. “Suzanne? Suzanne!”

  Then there was a thud, a crunch, and moments later the relentless pressure of the water was gone, and she was being awkwardly pulled into his lap, his hard arms wrapped around her.

  She thumped weakly against his chest with the side of one clenched fist.

  “Lied . . . to me. Lied,” she choked out nonsensically.

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry,” he murmured, trying to rock her comfortingly, lift her hair out of the way and place urgent kisses on her face.

  “Hate you. Hate mmph.” As his mouth touched the corner of hers, she abruptly turned her head and captured it. She was blind, unthinking, reacting solely to his large male form
wrapped around her as she plunged her tongue into the dark, warm depths behind his lips. Freeing one arm, she encircled his neck, dragging him even closer, digging her nails in and kissing him mindlessly.

  It didn’t matter that it was he who had caused her pain. She was fighting it the only way she knew how. By seeking oblivion in sex.

  She tasted his initial startlement, and then the moment when instinct took over, and he returned her kiss with a passionate intensity to equal her own. She was utterly lost, deliberately shutting off her brain, fighting any return to her senses which might have made her break away, knowing only a heedless desire to merge with his hot body.

  With ineffectual hands she plucked at the clothing that clung to him, wet from the water on her own skin and the floor of the shower. He pulled his shirt over his head, grunting slightly as she clawed at his back, gouging him, dragging him closer.

  Hauling her up against his chest, he stood, bracing against the tiled wall of the cubicle. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, lowering her head to recapture his lips. With slow steps he carried them both out of the bathroom, only narrowly missing banging her head against the lintel of the doorway.

  As they landed on the bed together, his shorts unfastened and kicked away on the journey, she pulled at him impatiently. She didn’t want to stop, to think. She wanted blackness and fireworks, a break in thought.

  Without hesitation he joined their bodies together, groaning her name hoarsely. She bucked, cried out, took a handful of his hair and pulled it while he hammered into her, her heels in the small of his back as she lifted her pelvis higher, higher, grinding against him madly.

  Their rhythm was quick and wild, a frenzy as they strove together for climax. They reached it at the same time, bodies so close that there seemed no boundary between them. Crying out at the rush of ecstasy, they strained against each other, and tumbled into oblivion.