Comparative Strangers by Sara Craven Page B

‘I was planning to take a holiday, anyway. Have you any preference as to destination?’
    She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘If you really think it’s necessary, I’ll leave the choice to you.’
    He nodded. ‘We’ll have to do something about your passport, of course.’
    ‘My current one’s at the flat.’ There was a feeling of total unreality about the entire conversation, Amanda thought weakly. She couldn’t be standing discussing travel arrangements for her own honeymoon with Malory Templeton, this comparative stranger she was pledged to marry.
    He must have sensed her inner confusion, because he said gently, ‘Leave the details to me. Why don’t you go and unpack and rest before dinner?’
    ‘Thank you,’ she muttered. She sent him an awkward look. ‘This is an awful lot of trouble to go to just to find yourself a hostess’
    ‘Ah, but that isn’t all I hope to gain,’ he said.
    She was tense suddenly. Was he warning her already that he intended to bend the rules of their agreement? she wondered.
    She said huskily, ‘What else is there?’
    He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face up towards him. He said softly, ‘As I told you last night, darling, the pleasure of your company—and the promise of future delight.’
    He let her go, and walked away downstairs, leaving her staring after him. She went to her room, closed the door, locked it, and lay down on the bed.
    She had come here for sanctuary, she thought. And Malory had told her she was safe. So, why was it she had never felt more insecure in her life?

CHAPTER SEVEN

     
    Amanda walked along the warm edge of the sea, small waves foaming delicately round her ankles.
    This was her favourite time of day, she thought, these moments before sunset, and the swift, almost magical descent of the tropical Balinese night. And it was a time when she was certain of having the beach to herself.
    Already, twinkling lights were beginning to appear in the lush vegetation of the rambling hotel gardens. When they’d arrived three weeks before, she’d been exhausted, both by the flight and by the emotional pressures of the preceding days, and she’d thought dazedly, as a pair of white-coated porters led them down winding paths, past waterfalls and tiny lakes afloat with lilies, that she’d stumbled into paradise.
    It was an impression which had lingered. The hotel complex had tucked its luxurious bungalows in the heart of its gardens, creating for each of them an illusion of privacy and isolation.
    Under ordinary circumstances, Amanda could imagine no more magical place for a honeymoon. But the circumstances were far from ordinary, and the magic had been confined firmly to their surroundings.
    Amanda gave a small, wry smile. The fact that Malory had chosen to start their pretend marriage in such a romantic spot had aroused, initially, all her worst misgivings. And these had been compounded when she saw the immense double bed which dominated the room in which their luggage had been placed. She’d stood, staring at it with blank eyes, while Malory thanked the porters and tipped them.
    When they were alone, he’d said, drily, ‘Don’t look so stricken, darling. There’s another room across the hall.’ And he’d removed his bags there without further delay.
    It had been, she had to admit, the only awkward moment she had experienced, and that was largely due to Malory’s completely prosaic attitude to their situation.
    Once she had been able to accept the fact that he had meant what he said, and she wasn’t going to have to fight him off each night, Amanda had begun to relax, and even to enjoy herself.
    She had flung herself headlong into an orgy of trips and sightseeing, with his amused encouragement. But Malory himself did not accompany her. This was not, he’d told her pleasantly, his first trip to Bali.
    She’d been slightly disconcerted by this, without really knowing why. She’d found herself asking, ‘Did you come