'My father, my sweet little innocent, won't be coming to the party.'
'What?' Distractedly she stared at him.
'Didn't I say you were dumb?' He didn't move from the doorway, just looking, savouring her nervous fear. 'He set you up, and me. We may as well go along with it. Did you know it was my birthday today?'
Sarah stared at the madman. Did he want her to sing 'Happy Birthday'?
'He likes his presents to be unique, extravagant. . . and superbly wrapped. . .'
She didn't need his eyes wandering over her to tell her what he meant.
'You're mad,' she breathed.
'Insane,' he agreed. 'You told me that before. And my father told me, when I spoke to him on the telephone this morning that when I got back from New York, he had a present for me that he would deliver tonight.' His eyelids drooped. 'And that it was something I wanted. . . very. . . much.'
'He wouldn't.' Sarah whispered, feeling used, confused.
'He did. It's the kind of devious game he likes to play.' Max smiled, too kindly. 'I imagine you're feeling now like I felt when I found out you worked for him. You'll get used to it, and him.'
'But how, why should he?' Sarah's fear had receded on impact of this new bombshell, as she slowly fathomed the implications.
'No doubt he was concerned about my mental health. My convalescence in New Zealand didn't seem to have had the effect he was hoping for—so he obviously did some detective work. And if Tom knew you were here, I can guess where he got his best information from.'
Oh, God—Tom! What sort of information had he provided Sir Richard with? His suspicion that she loved Max? No wonder Sir Richard had been so smug when she accepted his job, and all the time he had been planning this—coolly working it all to a precise timetable. And all because . . . her eyes stopped looking inward and re-focused on the man who had moved into the room without her realising it and now stood an arm's-length away, watching the expressions chase across her face. Watching her reach the unbelievable conclusion.
'Why should he think you wanted me?' she asked, hardly daring to voice the question out loud.
'Perhaps he came here snooping.' His steady gaze went past her. 'And saw that.'
Numb as her brain was, she knew what she would see before she turned. Knew, feared, hoped. And there it was. On the wall, by the bed, displayed by the soft lighting. The picture, Roy's picture—that alluring, inviting Sarah —safe in some rich American's private collection, so she'd thought. She closed her eyes, and opened them. It was still there, telling her something, and she was terrified of misunderstanding the message.
She turned back, skin milk-white, eyes huge and dark.
'Why?'
'You know why.'
But she didn't. She couldn't make the step, the leap from fantasy to fantastic reality. 'Tell me.'
He moved to touch her and stopped, warned by her expression. 'Did you mean it when you said you loved me?'
She knew what he wanted. He wanted her to make it easy for him. But he had hurt her too much. Let him risk rejection, know the pain of uncertainty.
'Tell me.'
He began stiffly, guardedly. 'I knew it was going to be sold in America so I had my dealer put up a standing bid for any new works of Merrill's that came on the market. I got it two weeks ago.' His voice became rough, and he wouldn't look at her, staring instead at his fingers playing lightly over the chrome of the bed end. 'I didn't have you, so I had to have the next best thing, no matter what it cost me. And it cost me quite a lot.' The smile was a mere twitch. 'I flew it out first-class Concorde on a seat all of its own, with an escort.'
'You wanted it that much?'
He looked at her, dark lashes flickering, sweat breaking out on his forehead as though this was a labour of physical strength. 'I wanted
you that much. It didn't start out that way. In the beginning I just wanted to go to bed with you, to draw out the fire that I sensed inside you, for my own pleasure. Yet the more I got to know you the more I wanted to know. You tried to be so dull. . . but with me you were sharp and fierce and passionate, and you had an inner strength and intelligence that I liked. And then, and then—' he broke off and swallowed, and his voice became thick with effort as he forced himself to continue.
'That night at your place the whole world crashed in on me. I felt humiliated, betrayed, as if I had some moral claim on you when in fact I had none. I felt angry, jealous, things I've never felt before about a woman. I didn't know what was happening to me and I hated feeling so ... so helpless before you.'
The bewilderment was there on his face and in his voice, as he had felt it then. He was carrying on an internal struggle, grimly intent on stripping away a lifetime's defences—on holding up each imperfection to the light for her inspection.
'The next day, when you told me about your relationship with Merrill I wanted to believe you so badly that it scared me. I wouldn't let myself listen. For the first time I was in an emotional situation I couldn't control. It was important that you be a cheat and a liar and a promiscuous tart, because that gave me the perfect excuse to reject you, to regain control. But it didn't work like that. I still wanted you, and I hated myself for it so I—I—God' He closed his eyes briefly, clinging tightly to the cold chrome and sucking in a painful breath. When I think what I did, what I said ... I thought you must know and be laughing at me for my weakness.'